"What would you rather do for a living? Rob banks or butcher little kittens?"
Peter groaned. They really needed a hobby. Wade's ideas for post-coital brain activities usually left Peter's synapses fried.
"Ugh. Rob banks. I hate you."
"Would you rather change your costume to black and pink or add a tutu to the design?"
"Oh my God, Wade," Peter whined, biting his lips and frowning. This one was hard. He needed to think very hard. He didn't know why, obviously, because it was just a stupid, stupid game, but somehow he found himself taking it very seriously. He started to think Wade's fucked-up priorities started to rub off on him. Among other things. "Change the colors."
"Clearly, you have no sense of fashion. You would have rocked that tutu."
"Shut up. Your head is an evil dark place, Wade, I want you to know that."
"Oh, really? You haven't seen nothing yet. Would you rather kick Aunt May in the shin, the shin, I repeat, or shave MJ's head in her sleep?"
"Are you trying to get me killed?!" Peter burst and Wade laughed gleefully. Peter winced, because, yup, it was official, he was going insane. "I mean. Ugh. Whatever."
"Now, Petey, I want you to think carefully. It's not something to make light of. On one hand you have the utterly betrayed look on May's face, that sweet, angelic face of hers, after you cause her indescribable pain after all what she'd done for you. On the other, you have quite possible severe bodily harm, and that is before losing a very good friend for life. Choose wisely."
Peter really wanted to cry. "Kick Aunt May," he blurted, hiding his face in his hands. He ignored Wade's manic laughter for a whole second before smacking him in the face, that asshole.
"Ow! Geez, you're supposed to be a grown-up, Peter!"
"I don't think this applies whenever you're involved. You totally deserved it."
"Oh did I? Well then. Would you rather beat up a kid unconscious or gather all your partners and rank them from the best to the worst lay?"
"Are you- are you actually being serious right now? How is that even a real choice?"
"Well, you know, I'm easily offended and I have guns and no moral code, so, you know. And Black Cat would probably scratch your eyes out but only after she had fed you to your own dick. Did you sleep with The Human Torch? I bet you slept with him. He looks like a guy who'd burn your house down with your family still inside if you insulted his ego. But the worst would be the look on Gwen's face, don't you think? A man doesn't just get over a look like that. Should I go on?"
"You. Are. Impossible. This is- graphic. Still, I would never just beat up a kid unconscious. I could take all of you. Not that there was that many of you, alright? I'm not that much of a slut as you seem to think I am."
"Oh, no, I know, it's not sluttiness, it's called being pathetic."
Peter punched Wade's arm and sighed. He kind of did have a point. But he really didn't want to dwell on that right now. He yawned and turned to his side, his forehead touching Wade's shoulder. He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against Wade's arm.
"I'm tired. Can we-"
"No. We had a deal. If I give you a choice and you can't decide, you make me a sandwich."
"What? I never agreed to this."
"Uh, yes, you did."
"No, I didn't. I think I would have remembered having a stroke."
"Fine, maybe you didn't. I'll just have to settle for satisfaction that I will derive from winning. Because the next one? You will never be able to choose. Mark my words. Are you ready?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just hurry up, I wanna sleep."
"You poor unsuspecting soul… Would you rather have sex with The Lizard – not sexy doctor Connors, not even sexy doctor Connors minus the arm, The Lizard – or… J. Jonah Jameson."
Peter snapped his eyes open and gaped. Wade was looking at him, wearing the most smug grin Peter had ever seen him wear, and he had seen plenty. Peter felt trapped, there was nowhere to run, and this was the most difficult decision of his entire life. After a moment of tense silence, Wade sighed dreamily and smiled sweetly.
"You can't choose, can you? Ah. What a shame… Maybe you should sleep on it. Good night, baby boy. Sweet dreams."
Peter closed his eyes, still unable to speak, or react in any way for that matter, and willed himself to do the exact opposite of sleeping on it. He prayed the mental images that were currently scarring his mind, slowly driving him insane, would never find their way into his dreams. Never. If he could ever sleep again, that is.