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You wake up being squished. Not the first time nor the last time, you're sure. It doesn't mean you absolutely love it though.
Your lovely dead weight atop you hadn't even managed to get under the covers, just flopped across the comforter and you. It makes you wonder if he even knew you were there.
You thread your fingers through damp brown hair, a wave of floral notes itch at your nose. At least he showered after a night of crime fighting. He was always so exhausted on week nights, he'd forget to take care of himself most of the time. You hardly have it in you to be upset that he used your soap.
“Pete, you squishing me,” you whisper against his forehead, nails scratching lightly against the back of his head down to his neck.
He grumbles, a heavy groan type of sound, and presses his face more into the blankets. You don't know how he hasn't suffocated himself.
“Peter, you're killing me here,” you wiggle under him and your nails continue their downward directions to the top of his spine. He shudders and huffs before simply rolling off of you and onto the bed.
“Insane,” he mutters sleepily, “touch me like that and tell me to get… off.”
He manages to finish the sentence but it trails as he falls back into a light sleep. You smile at his attempts to complain. With him no longer bearing down on you, you sit up and attempt to pull the covers from under him. You want to cover him so he doesn't get a cold, high immune system or not.
You must make the wrong type of sound or put the wrong amount of pressure against him because his hand snaps at your wrist, a tight grip that borders on painfaul. You look up to find his face, eyes wide and suddenly alert. They search the room before settling on you.
“I'm awake, I'm awake. What happened? What is it?” his voice, threaded with mild panic, stays low like your hiding from some unknown threat.
You smooth your free hand across his shoulder. It must have been a rough night out.
“Nothings the matter, Pete. Just wanted to get you under the covers.” You keep your voice quiet trying not to jump his senses. It takes a moment but soon his hand loosens and he blinks.
“Are you okay?” He asks, panic gone from his tone, the sleepiness edging back in.
“I'm okay,” you lean down and kiss the high of his cheek and his hand loosens even more on your wrist to press up to your elbow.
“Tha's good,” he mumbles and you feel his jaw slack under your lips. You want to ask if Queens really had been that bad tonight but Peter Parker had never been honest to you about any spider business.
“Don't go back to sleep,” you press the words into his skin as you feel his lax hand slip from your arm.
His hand slides back up to slip under the sleeve of your sleep shirt, "'m not.”
“Liar,” you mutter and give him a kiss at the corner of his lips. They pull into a pout as you move, his head following in your direction.
“Come on, lover. Help me tuck you in.” You pull at the covers and he gives you a mock gasp.
“Lover? You'll tuck me in just to feel me up, yeah?” He teases and shimmies awkwardly to help you pull down the covers.
As you tug the covers up and over both of you, you giggle quietly, “wouldn't you like to know?”
His arm appears around your waist with a speed you couldn't see and he pulls you down against him, humming contently as he noses at any skin he can find.
“Long as you let me feel you up too.” His hand slips from your waist to grope at your hip before falling limp across your body.
“Sure if you can stay awake that long,” you agree quietly, knowing he wouldn't have the energy for anything else. Beyond that, he's not even listening. You can hear him falling asleep just as fast as he woke up, body sagging, breath growing heavy with sleep.
You curl against him, wrapping your own arms around him, and kiss his head, “g’ night, pete.”