Chapter Text
Peter is pissed.
(Well, okay. Technically, he’s incredibly happy and head-over-heels in a day-to-day sense. It’s been months since he and Wade started dating, and every day has been — at the risk of sounding supremely gross and cheesy — bliss. It’s kind of almost exactly what they had going for them before, except they also hang out during the day and they cuddle a lot more and Peter now knows what it really, truly feels like to love and be loved.)
But, like, right now? He’s pissed.
Wade agreed to go on some mercenary work over a week ago. No killing, but still an intense mission with lots of danger and strategy and yada yada yada. Peter’s not actually worried about that. Wade is more than capable of taking care of himself, and in fact, he’s already finished up with the mission.
The only problem is that he was supposed to be getting home tonight.
Peter had it marked in his calendar. They talked about it every day. Hell, this morning over the phone, Wade said, “See you tonight, baby boy, I love you.” And Peter had rejoiced and also sent Wade nudes, because they’d been riling each other up all week anyway. Might as well make sure Wade was all hot and bothered by the time he actually got back to New York.
But, exactly one hour ago, Wade called Peter with the bad news. His connecting flight got delayed until the morning, which means they won’t see each other until tomorrow night. Peter will be at work when Wade arrives in the afternoon, and it’s just — Peter’s pissed. This sucks. Everything sucks.
He’s spent the last hour having a quiet tantrum. Slamming dishes into the dishwasher and cooking with vigor and flipping channels like the remote personally wronged him. He’s frustrated and he misses Wade and — yeah, okay, fine, maybe he’s a little bit riled up. Maybe he’s been waiting for Wade to come home and fuck him since the day he left. What about it?
It’s this unreasonable anger, combined with Peter’s no longer welcome arousal, that has him climbing into bed with a glare, yanking his bedside drawer open, and pulling out his vibrator in a fit of anger. Yeah, he’s gonna masturbate. And, yes, it’ll feel good. But Peter’s thoroughly prepared to not enjoy it. He’s getting off angrily, in a frustrated manner, because his stupid boyfriend with his stupid big cock and stupid magic hands and stupid heavenly mouth are stuck somewhere-fucking-else, and since no one else can pay for it, maybe Peter clit can pay the price.
Or something along those lines.
Fuck, he’s horny.
He kicks his clothes off the bed and sprawls on top of the comforter, turning the vibrator on and shoving it into himself almost immediately. It’s instantly overwhelming. As intense and insane as he remembered.
It’s not Wade, but it’s a damn good substitute. Peter curls his fingers in the sheets and arches upward, clenching around the toy. Sweat erupts along his body and Peter is helpless but to obey his body’s desires. He writhes, twists, moans. He flips onto his stomach and grinds onto the bed. Drags his knees up under him and pretends that Wade is fucking him. Flops back onto his back and whines, spreading his legs wide and imagining that Wade is here, holding the vibrator and pressing it deeper into Peter and watching him fall apart—
“Fuck,” Peter whispers to himself. It’s better like this, with his imagination running wild. Better when he thinks about what this would be like if Wade knew, if he could see Peter, if he were spying through the window or if he walked through the door right now, only to see Peter totally debauched and desperate and such a slut, God.
Everything crescendos. Peter stiffens, stills, holds his breath until, “Wade!” he moans. His body jerks with the pleasure, his orgasm careening through him and sending Peter’s body into manic little convulsions. He shoves his hand between his legs and turns the vibrator off, gasping loudly in the aftermath.
“What, no round two?”
Peter jolts, going red all over as he jerks into a sitting position and gapes at Wade, who’s leaning casually against Peter’s desk, his arms crossed.
“I—” Peter’s mind replays everything that just happened, but in double time. The whining, moaning, shuffling around into every position possible. Crying out Wade’s name when Wade wasn’t even supposed to be here. “What?”
“I’m home!” Wade says, crossing the room and crawling onto the bed, pressing Peter back against the sweaty sheets.
“What the fuck.”
“I knew you’d look like that using your vibrator.”
“What the fuck.”
Wade yanks off his mask, grinning down at Peter as he presses a hand between Peter’s legs, removing the vibrator and replacing it with his fingers. “Oh, God,” Peter gasps. “Wade, what?”
“What what?” Wade says innocently. “Do you mean, ‘What possibly possessed me to get you all hot and bothered every day of my trip only to pretend that I was running late so that you’d be desperate and turn to your vibrator for relief simply so I could see what you look like using it when you think no one’s watching?’”
Peter flushes even harder. If that’s possible.
“You didn’t,” he says.
“I did,” Wade says, wincing sympathetically. “And God, was it worth it.”
“You’re a—” Peter moans, arching into Wade’s hand, “—maniac.”
“Good surprise though?” Wade ventures, his voice turning soft. Peter grins, pulling Wade on top of him and into a kiss. His orgasm surprises him — it washes over him softly, Peter trembling under Wade’s touch and gasping into his mouth.
“Best surprise,” he admits, groaning as he hugs Wade into him. “I missed you.”
“Mmm, I missed you too,” Wade says, nuzzling under Peter’s jaw. “I love you.”
Peter’s eyes flutter shut, enjoying the pressure of Wade’s lips against his neck, his body on top of Peter’s, his words floating dizzily around Peter’s head. “I love you too.”