Blowing Raspberries and Other Things
7 days. 7 fucking days of Wade having a super duper urgent emergency mission for Agent Agent that he just couldn’t avoid no sir. He ran out of the house so fast I saw dust trails. If Clint hadn’t have texted me to ask me why Wade wasn’t making jokes on the jet to their mission... It was a tropical paradise and Wade was apparently being ‘weirdly not weird” and hadn’t completed a set up for a Backstreet Boys pun. I didn’t tell him why, but I did tell him that Wade had got some unexpected news. And wasn’t a body snatcher. Though I was tempted to let them try to shoot him just to check.
The bleary morning light saw me knelt in prayer. I groped the porcelain god and wished for blissful unconsciousness. I considered blowing chunks all over Wade’s ammo supply, but that would probably bother me more than it would bother him. Instead, I curled into a miserable ball on the couch under a pile of blankets while mainlining ginger ale. I watched Life Happens and wished for my own Kate Bosworth.
“Lucy, I’m home!” Wade called as he whistled his way into the apartment. I held in a growl.
“Ricky, you got some ‘spainin’ to do,” I called back, beyond annoyed. He busied himself in the kitchen out of sight. I heard him strip out of his costume and rustle with plastic, cursing mildly. I hoped he didn’t think sex was on the table.
Blue box: Happy fucking birthday Jackass.
Wade eventually made his way into the living room, in a white tee shirt and sweatpants, bearing a cake platter. I frowned. What the fuck? There were candles lit on top. He set it down in front of me and read the frosted messages out loud.
“Sorry your baby daddy is a dick,” he read off the first cake. It was, of course, shaped like a dick. The baker even gave it realistic veins. “Congrats on the broken condom,” read the second, shaped like a onesie. “The dick is full of icecream, in memory of my future epic blue balls. The baby one is from La Casita de Mama and is tres leches.” My favorite, god damn him.
Blue box: Bastard.
Yellow box: Agreed. Please accept my apology cake.
White box: We brought you a knife so you can aggressively stab the ice cream dick to pieces in front of us while we flinch sympathetically.
Blue box: Better.
Yellow box: We also got you a gift basket with every type of ginger candy known to the nice old lady at the bodega and George down at that international market. And a bb gun to shoot us whenever you want.
“We are not going to pull an emo ‘despear-for-your-own good’ fest,” Wade promised. “We are totes on board.” I looked up from the cakes. He was wearing a ‘Proud Papa Bear’ tee shirt. I melted to a creamsicle in his warm eyes, took a deep breath and blew out the candles.
“Grab forks so I can make you eat a dick while you cuddle me,” I ordered.
Blue box: I used your toothbrush to clean the toilet.
Yellow box: Totally deserve it.
Blue box: Don’t use it so we can kiss you.
Wade fetched forks and a gift basket big enough to sit in. I made grabby hands at him until he slid in under the blankets with me.
Blue box: You’re an asshole.
Yellow box: It’s not my fault. Blame the writer.
Blue box: Did they write you Out of Character?
White box: Nah, we would totally abandon our spawn for them to have a better life due to devastatingly low self esteem.
Blue box: You abandon me I send Logan after you.
Yellow box: Fair.
Blue box: And tell Yukio.
White box: Good thing we’re not going anywhere.
Yellow box: Because we love you Baby. Baby and all.
“We love you eyeballs to entrails, Baby cakes,” Wade agreed, kissing the top of my head.
“And I love you, even when you’re a dumbass,” I agreed. Wade chuckled. “Which is most of the time.”
“Clint said I was moping and to just go home and grovel,” Wade admitted. “He said you’d forgive me.”
“Clint was right,” I admitted. “We should make him a gift basket.”
“With the good bombs,” Wade agreed.
“The new series of Dog Cops is about to come out on DVD,” I reminded him. Wade snuggled in closer before reaching out for the dick cake. He held it between us and handed me a fork. I smiled at him sweetly and gleefully stabbed it. Wade winced beautifully on cue, and let me feed him his symbolic dick.
Blue box: You missed your birthday present.
Yellow box: Whatever it is, we don’t deserve it.
White box: We deserve to have our dick cut off for realsies.
Blue box: And with that image, you don’t get your blowjob.
White box: Should we have put in a trigger warning for that.
Blue box: Sweetie, you are a trigger warning.
We shared dick cake until we were full, then set it off to the side to get down to some epic snuggling. Wade took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to the top of my head as he let it out, just sounding happy.
Yellow box: Speaking of blowjobs, how about an oral apology?
White box: Just service with a smile.
Blue box: I’ll just lie back and think of England.
Yellow box: Or Black Widow.
Blue box: To die between her glorious thighs would be the sweetest death.
Wade kissed down my chest. He was delighted that I was naked underneath, save for the small scrap of my panties. He lavished attention on my boobs before moving on to my stomach. He paused and caressed the barely there bump. He pressed a reverent kiss to it.
Then he blew a raspberry, making me double over in laughter. He smiled up at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Blue box: I adore you, you amazing man.
“Little fucker,” I chuckled. Wade only grinned in response.
“How about I put the food away while you go get ready for bed,” Wade suggested. “Then I’ll rinse the stink off and come join you.”
White box: And eat you out until you beg me to fuck you.
Blue box: Yes please.
I stood from the couch and stretched. Wade’s eyes followed every curve.
“Daddy like,” Wade murmured, waggling his lack of eyebrows. I raised an eyebrow back.
“Mama will be waiting, Daddy,” I teased, and dropped my panties on the way to the bedroom.