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It was late. Late-late. The kind of hour when the city’s noise had settled into a comforting hum. The bedroom lights were low, and the only things that mattered were within arm’s reach. Peter was curled up like a sleepy little shrimp on Wade’s chest, t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a happy curve of sated tummy.
He was um… warm. Er… boneless. Ahem… full…
Of dumplings.
Good dumplings. The crispy-bottomed, steamy little pillows Wade got from the corner spot with the red lanterns and the lady at the front who always called Peter “cutie.”
Wade’s arm was draped over Peter’s waist, fingers moving in slow, thoughtful circles—like the soft expanse of Peter’s stomach was his own zen garden and he was personally tending to it.
And, believe Peter, Wade’s rubs were pleasant and soothing, and even though this was kinda sorta new for him, he really hoped Wade had more to spare. I mean, yeah, at first it was a little embarrassing, but now he felt like he could stay here all night, letting his belly settle in the warm cradle of Wade’s hands and —
Oh.
Could Wade tell Peter had overdone it on the dumps?
Peter winced at himself.
Ugh. No. Never think (or say) “overdid it on the dumps” again, Parker. Ever.
Be cool.
Be cool.
Be cool.
Peter let out a slight hum, low and content. “I think I ate too many dumplings.”
Ghuh.
“You absolutely did, baby,” Wade cooed, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple. “I’m so proud of you. You went hard. You hit every sauce like it was a final boss.” His voice softened. “My hero. My snuggle shrimp. My precious pork parcel.”
Peter snorted. “Pork parcel?”
“What? It even has your initials,” Wade said, making his voice honey-soy sweet. “Would you have preferred dumpling-man?”
Peter huffed a quiet laugh. The movement made his tummy shift, and he frowned. “My suit’s gonna hate me tomorrow.”
“Your suit loves you. And I love you in your suit. Or out of the suit. Wink wink. Besides, ol’ red and blue should be honored to wrap around this masterpiece,” Wade ogled, letting his fingers ghost along the soft curve just beneath Peter’s ribs. “I'd wrap you in dough and steam you for twelve minutes, if you know what I mean. Look at you. You’re glowing.”
The tips of Peter’s ears turned red. “Um, hey, I’m not… glowing.”
“Petey, my sweet little steamed bun. I know that post-dumpling radiance when I see it,” Wade insisted. “In fact –” Wade lifted the blanket just enough to peek at Peter’s tummy – “Mmhmm. Yep. Confirmed. Maximum glow.”
Peter rolled his eyes but didn't protest when Wade dipped down, pressing the gentlest kiss right above his belly button. Peter let out a soft little burp and blushed immediately, toes curling into the sheets.
Wade gasped as if it were Christmas morning and someone had gifted him a life-sized cardboard cutout of Bea Arthur. “Oh my god. You’re perfect. I’m framing that soundwave, hanging it on the wall, and then immediately making it your ringtone.”
Leave it to Wade to find a burp endearing. Peter sighed, easing in closer with a tiny smile. “You’re such a weirdo,” he murmured.
“Your weirdo. And baby, you’re the one that I wonton,” Wade quipped, nuzzling in even closer.
Then, off-key but shameless, he started singing:
🎶 “You’re the one that I wonton… ooh ooh ooooooh… the one I wonton… ooh ooh ooooooh…” 🎶
Peter giggled. “Are you ooh ooooooh making a whole dim-sum set of puns?”
“Sum-thing like that. And you wanna know something else?” Wade brushed his thumb lightly along Peter’s side. “This is my favorite time of night, sweetheart.”
”Heh. What?” Peter huffed, his face flushing a delightful pink. "Uhm... oh, I... What do you mean?"
“I mean, steamed and sealed with love, this is my favorite time of night. Just this. Just us,” Wade cooed sincerely. Then added, “And your cute little burps.”
A tingly feeling spread throughout Peter's body in warm waves. It was like his and Wade's first kiss and setting a new record on Mario Kart rolled into one. Well, it was better than that. Whatever it was, it was sinking deep and soaking up all those old reflexes of keeping his needs small to keep others safe. Tonight, wrapped in Wade’s arms and full of dumplings, he was the one who felt safe.
Peter’s hand drifted up to rest over Wade’s, lacing their fingers together across his tummy. “You’re the wonton I want too,” he whispered.
Wade let out a soft gasp. “Oh my god. You do love me.”
“Course I do,” he whispered, leaning in and softly brushing their mouths together. “Dumpling Pool.”
“Heh,” Wade huffed, “Don’t you ever forget it.”
Peter pressed a kiss to Wade’s chest, right over his heart. “I won’t.” Then, a little shy, “Hey, Wade?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Um. This is my favorite time of night, too. When it’s just me and you.”
Wade pulled Peter close, like a wonton wrapper, keeping all the fillings from spilling out. “Baby, I love you so much.”
Peter smiled like someone who found an extra dumpling at the bottom of the bag, only this one was heart-shaped. “Love you too, Wade.”
It didn't matter if it was late-late. It didn't matter if it was early-early. All that mattered was that it was just them. Yeah. This was the kind of hour when the noise in Peter’s brain settled into a comforting hum.