#also for those of you upset about the cocktease: if this gets 100 notes in a week (by 2/11/22)

[master-sass-blast]

Couples that Game Together, Stay Together.

Summary: It's a dreary, drizzly, early Spring Saturday. One best spent inside. To pass the time, you and Piotr spend your time playing video games.

That's it. Just some pure grade fluff for your weekend. You're welcome.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for strip Wii Sports, nudity, and a suggestive cutaway at the end.

Word Count: 3.7k.

Set after "It's Truly Magical" and before "The Long Awaited Arrival."

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @sadstonewrites

Update Time: I am finally on the roster to get some physical therapy. Hopefully, the center my doctor's referring me to will contact me in the next few weeks, and I'll be able to get started on proper recovery.

However, I'm not working on my shoulder. I can manage/limp my shoulder along with chiropractic treatment, heat, stretching, and rest. In the past month, however, I realized that my chronic, searing, life long back pain is Not Normal and Not A Normal Human Experience (which my parents and I think dates back to the second grade, when I fell out of a hayloft). My back pain is legitimately wrecking my mobility, ability to exercise, ability to sit in fucking chairs (I can sit in only one literal actual chair without being in immense pain, I shit you not). So yeah.

Updates will still probably be slow. But my shoulder can wait. My back can't. I need to have a fucking life.

Thank you all for your patience, understanding, and continued support. It means more than you'll ever know.

I hope you're all doing well and staying safe.

It’s a rainy, early spring Saturday. Snow is still on the ground in patches, mixing with the rain and the exposed earth beneath to create gray, muddy slush. Oppressive, slate-gray clouds blanket the sky, blotting out any possibility of seeing the sun. Even the birds –whom you’d just started hearing again over the past couple days—are nowhere to be seen, likely hunkering down and staying dry.

In short, it’s a dull, dreary day, best spent inside where it’s warm and dry.

You pull a face as you stare out the kitchen window. Yuck. You take a sip from your morning coffee, then look up at Piotr when he ambles up behind you and puts an arm around your shoulder. “Wanna have a video game marathon today?”

Piotr takes one look at the weather, pulls the same disgusted face that you did, and shrugs. “Sure.”

***

After breakfast and doing some minimal hygiene –because Piotr, the most adult-y adult to have ever adulted, insists on keeping some semblance of routine—the two of you hunker down in the family room while debating over which games to play.

“Nyet,” Piotr groans when you hold up Mario Kart for the Wii. “Game is impossible. And you only play because you always win!”

“It’s fun!” you defend yourself –even though he’s not wrong. “What if I promise to go easy on you?”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. “You would not.”

“Eh, you’re probably right.” You giggle when he rolls his eyes playfully, then pull out the puppy dog eyes and pout at your husband. “Please, baby? Pretty please? It’s so much fun when we play together, and it makes me feel so happy and like you love me…”

Piotr relents with a resigned sigh. “Khorosho. But only for little bit. I am not playing for entire day.”

“Fair enough!” You spring into his lap, peppering his face with kisses. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Piotr laughs and hugs you close before patting your thigh. “Alright. Time to begin my massacre.”

***

As per your husband’s predictions, Mario Kart ends only in his slaughter.

Part of it is due to you playing more than him; practice makes perfect, experience is everything, blah blah –that, and you’ve played extensively with Ellie, which has only honed your Mario Kart skills to a scary, probably unfair degree.

(Not that you’ve been able to beat Ellie. The only person who’s managed to do that is Yukio.)

You lap Piotr through several rounds, laughing and mercilessly flinging shells, banana peels, and bombs his way.

The other part of it is due to Piotr’s size –so he claims, anyway. According to him, his hands are too big for the controller, which makes it hard to stay on the track, use items, navigate in general…

“That’s too bad,” you say, feigning sympathy. You cackle when you lap Piotr for the umpteenth time, then fire a red shell straight back at him. “Get good, scrub!”

And then, in the next round, a miracle happens.

Piotr draws nothing but blue shells from the item boxes.

“What the fuck!” you exclaim when Piotr sabotages you for the third time in the first lap. “You dick! Knock it off!”

“‘Get good, scrubs!’” Piotr giggles as his character whizzes past yours.

It’s a nail-biter of a race. Thanks to your skill and ability to stay on the race track, you manage to reclaim your –rightful—spot in first –only for Piotr to get another blue shell and launch it at you.

“This is fucking bullshit,” you grumble as you chase after your husband. “You can’t even drive in a straight line! You don’t deserve to win!”

Piotr merely giggles again –then yelps when you fire three red shells into his side and pass him. “Hey! Get back here!”

“Absolutely not.” You dart and weave along the course, fending off Piotr’s attacks left and right. “You stay away from me –bad touch, bad touch! Stranger danger! Leave me alone!”

Piotr laughs –then lets out a diabolical giggle. “Myshka…”

“No. No!” You let out a howl of dismay when you see the warning for the blue shell flash on your part of the screen. “No! I’m almost at the end! Come on, come on, make it –fucking dammit!”

Piotr whizzes past you, cackling with glee as he claims first place. “Ya vyigral! Pobeda! Spravedlivost'!”

“Fucking bullshit.” You click to move to the next race, then flip through the options until you find Rainbow Road. “Get fucked, dickhead.”

Piotr’s laughter dies. “Nyet –I cannot—”

“Yeah, I know, you’ve never finished one lap around this one because you keep falling off.” You click to start the race, then stick your tongue out at him. “See what happens when you blue shell me?”

Piotr groans, slumping back on the couch. “I think is better if I just… do not race at all.”

You tip your head back and laugh.

***

After your Rainbow Road stunt, Piotr declares a boycott on Mario Kart.

“Something I can play, please,” he begs while you sort through your stash of games once more. “Something that does not give me motion sickness.”

You flip through game cases, trying to find something that your husband will willingly play –and then you perk up and give Piotr a hopeful look. “Fall Guys?”

He groans. “I said ‘something I can play.’”

“You’re great at Fall Guys!”

Piotr arches one eyebrow at you. “I have not won once.”

“Okay, but you consistently get to the third or fourth rounds,” you argue. “You just keep getting dicked on team games. That has nothing to do with your ability.” You scamper over to the couch and straddle Piotr’s lap when he rolls his eyes. “Baby, how about this? I—” you gesture to yourself “—will be your guide. Your personal bodyguard. I will make sure you get to the final round –and, if at any point, it comes down to you or me, I will sacrifice myself for you. Come on, baby,” you coax, giving your husband your most winning smile. “Let’s get you a win!”

Piotr sighs, then relents with a smile. “Alright. Let’s give a try.”

You whoop, then hop off his lap so you can power up the Playstation console.

***

Trying to get Piotr to a finale round feels akin to Sisyphus pushing the damned boulder up the hill.

It’s not that he’s bad at the game; honestly, if anything, he’s pretty damn good at it, considering he’s more patient and less impulsive than you are.

No, the problem is everyone else you’re playing with.

“You fucking pigeon!” you shriek as you watch Piotr’s progress on Slime Climb (you’d already qualified, so now you’re watching your husband while giving out pointers). “Get off the twinkies! Leave my baby alone, you dick!”

Piotr inhales sharply while trying to keep his balance. “Let… go of me… please.”

“You’re going to have to push him off,” you say as you eye the encroaching Pepto-Bismol colored slime. “Otherwise you’re toast.”

“Konechno. And how do I do this?”

“Use the right index trigger button to grab them,” you explain, paraphrasing the details for the sake of your husband’s understanding. “Okay, good. Now push forward on the left thumbstick and release that right trigger button.”

Piotr does as you instruct –and sends the pigeon sailing into the deathly slime.

“Yes! Good job, baby! Alright, get out of there. You’re the last person left, so all you have to do is clear the rest of the obstacles without falling into the slime.”

“Da,” Piotr grumbles as he mashes the controller buttons to navigate his character around the course. “So easy to do. So simple. So very easy.”

“You got this.” You grin as he clears the “Wipe Out” style “pushy blocks,” the spinning hammers, and the doughnut towers that track back and forth. “Alright, baby, nice and easy. Just take your time and you’ll get past the wrecking balls no problem.”

Piotr sticks the tip of his tongue out as he concentrates, taking only a few steps at a time as he slips past each of the brightly colored “wrecking balls”—

And then he’s over the finish line.

“Awesome!” You high five your husband, then pick your controller back up. “Ready for the next round?”

“I think I am ready for new shirt,” Piotr laughs as he uses the fabric of his shirt to fan himself. “I sweat so much.”

You chuckle –then gasp when you see the next round is Egg Scramble. “Ooh, okay. Easy win here. We’re gonna grab as many eggs as we can until the middle’s basically empty, and then we’re going to dick over the team with the least amount of eggs. Got it?”

“That does not seem fair,” Piotr comments, frowning.

“It’s the name of the game, baby.” You pat his arm. “Stick with me, okay? Do whatever I tell you to.”

“This sounds familiar,” Piotr remarks with a teasing smile.

You stick your tongue out at him –and then the round cues up.

Your two’s team –Red—manages to rake in a decent amount of eggs at the start, enough to put you comfortably at first.

“Alright, Blue’s in butt last,” you remark. “Let’s go ruin their days.”

“This feels wrong,” Piotr groans as he follows you over to Blue’s “nest.”

“Yes, but winning is going to feel so right,” you assure him before gasping. “Gold egg! Get that gold egg! The one that looks like it’s been dipped in butter. Yes –yes, baby! Get that egg!” you cheer as Piotr bounces towards the golden egg. “It’s worth five points!”

“I have it!” Piotr whoops when he picks up the golden egg. “What now?”

“Now, we haul ass. Okay, this egg? It’s your baby. You hold onto this egg for dear life,” you instruct Piotr as both of you hop out of Blue’s “nest.” “All you do is get this egg back to our area, and then you hold onto it for the rest of the game like it’s your own child.”

“Khorosho –uh oh. I see Yellows.”

“You run, baby,” you exclaim dramatically. “I will shield you with my body –you fucking hotdog bitch!” You grab a Yellow player in a gold hotdog costume, holding them back when they try to grab Piotr. “Go, honey, go! Get our child to safety!”

“Everyone is in our ‘nest!’” Piotr cries when he hops in.

“It’s okay, we’ve got a lot of our members in here, too. Just keep holding onto that egg!” You let go of the hotdog and charge after him so you can play defense. “We’re still in the lead; all we need to do is survive.”

The clock runs down –and, by the end of it, Red is still in the lead and Blue has a grand total of three points to their name.

You let out a whoop, then lean over and kiss Piotr’s cheek. “Great job, baby!”

He lets out a pleased, soft giggle –then frowns when he sees the next game is Tip Toe. “Oh no.”

“Don’t worry, honey. Just stay with me; I’ll protect you from the assholes.”

The two of you make it through Tip Toe without too many issues —and then you’re at the finale: Fall Mountain.

“Okay, we’re in the front. Good.” You squeeze Piotr’s shoulder reassuringly (and then take a second squeeze to feel up-slash-admire the immense amount of thick muscle he’s got). “All you need to do is get to the top.”

Piotr grimaces. “Easier said than done.”

“You can do this, baby. I’ll hold anyone back that tries to get ahead of you.” You press a hurried kiss against his cheek, then snatch up your controller as the round starts. “You got this.”

Miraculously, the two of you manage to make it up a majority of the mountain without too much trouble. You both send your characters bobbing and weaving to avoid the various flying balls (heh) and the spinning hammers. By the time you pass the second hammer before the crown, it’s just you, Piotr, and a character in the French fries costume.

“I’m grabbing the spuds!” you declare as you dive for the third player. You grab them and hold them back, letting Piotr’s character dart ahead. “Go, baby! Wait for the crown to lower, then jump for it and grab on!”

Piotr’s character scales the final ramp, then jumps—

And the “Game Over” banner flashes across the screen.

“Did you do it? You did it!” You whoop and hop off the couch, doing a victory lap while Piotr’s character does a victory dance on screen. “Holy shit, babe! That was awesome!”

Piotr chuckles, leaning back against the couch. “Spasibo, myshka.”

You bound up behind him and loop your arms around his neck. You kiss his cheek. “How does it feel?”

“Pretty good,” he admits as he turns his head to kiss you properly. “Shall we have lunch?”

“Lunch sounds good,” you agree before kissing him again.

***

After lunch, you let Piotr choose the next game the two of you play. And, like the old man he is, he chooses the basic Wii Sports collection.

You groan and let yourself slide off the couch and onto the floor. “What is it with you and picking the most basic, boring option we have?”

“Is nice!” Piotr defends himself. “Is simple, and peaceful—”

“And basic, and boring, and did I mention boring?” you fire back –though you’re mostly teasing. Mostly. You pick up the cardstock sleeve the game comes in, sticking your nose up as you scan the list of games proffered on the back. “I mean –who in their right mind wants to play golf!”

Piotr crosses his arms over his chest and smirks down at you. “You said I could pick. This is my choice. Besides, you are just complaining because you always lose.”

“That is entirely beside the point,” you argue, flapping your hand dismissively. “And I’m not wrong, at any rate. If we’re playing basic bitch games, we need to raise the stakes.”

“Mhm,” Piotr hums, largely humoring you while he slides the game disk into the Wii console. “And how do you propose we do this, myshka?”

“Strip Wii Sports.” You waggle your eyebrows when your husband chokes and shoots you a scandalized look. “Loser of each round has to take off an article of clothing. First person totally naked loses outright.”

Piotr’s lips quirk into a lusty grin –though his cheeks are still flushed a deep shade of red. “Interesting proposition.” He clears his throat, then raises his eyebrows at you. “And… afterwards?”

“I think we’ll just have to see where the mood takes us,” you reply. You wink at him, then hold out your hand. “Have we reached a consensus, Mr. Rasputin?”

Piotr chuckles and shakes your hand. “I believe we have, Mrs. Rasputin.”

***

Your husband, being the gentleman he is, lets you pick which game you play first.

You, being the competitive jackass you are, pick bowling.

“I should have known,” Piotr laughs when you set your Mii’s controls. “I should have known you would hamstring me from start.”

“All’s fair in love and war.” You bat your eyelashes at him while he sets the controls for his character. “You can just strip down now, if you want.”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. “Not going to happen, myshka.”

Predictably, the round of bowling ends with a landslide in your favor. Frankly, it’s miraculous that Piotr made it into double digits on the scoreboard.

You mime dusting off your hands while the end credits of the game play out. “Alright, that’s one for me. You can just quit now, if you want.”

Piotr smirks and shakes his head –then strips out of his shirt.

Your mouth runs dry at the sight of all his thick, chiseled musculature. Your gaze rakes over his torso, ogling his beefy pecs, the definition and vascularity on his arms and hands, the sharp line of his obliques—

“One item of clothing removed per stroke over par.”

You blink as your husband’s voice jolts you out of your horny reverie –then let out an indignant squawk when his meaning sets in. “What? Are you shitting me!”

“All is fair in love and war,” Piotr laughs, parroting your earlier statement.

“Fucking –fine. Give me a minute.” You fly upstairs and into yours and Piotr’s bedroom, headed straight for the closet. You put on an extra shirt and one of Piotr’s sweaters, then descend upon both of your respective sock drawers.

You put on as many of your socks as you can manage. You get about ten pairs in before you physically can’t yank the next pair over your feet –which look like swollen, deformed potatoes now—then switch to using Piotr’s socks. Once you feel confident that you have enough of a safety net, you fly back downstairs (because heaven knows you wouldn’t be able to manage walking).

Piotr bursts out into shocked, raucous laughter the moment he sees what you’ve done. He collapses against the couch, gut shaking as he howls with laughter. He gasps, face flushing as he fights for air. “Bozhe ty moi –chto –zachem—”

“Just start the damn game of golf,” you grouse as you plop down on the couch next to him.

“This is cheating!” Piotr manages as he wipes tears of mirth off his face.

“This is completely necessary!” you insist. “Just watch. I’ll go through all these fucking socks before the sixth hole.”

Piotr snorts, then giggles as he shakes his head. “Oh, myshka. You are too much for me sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, you chose to marry me.”

“That I did.” He loops an arm around your shoulders and tugs you close so he can kiss your temple. “Best choice ever.”

You can’t help but grin, then sigh when the golf game starts up and resign yourself to your fate of losing.

***

“You fucking bitch—”

Piotr giggles. “Myshka –just try—”

“No!” you snap as you line up your shot –again. “I’m not gonna pussy out on this, Piotr! I do it the cool way, or not at all!”

Piotr laughs, giggling helplessly as he tips his head back.

You’re on the fifth hole –which is shaped like an angled ‘L,’ which is one of the many bullshits that Wii Sports Golf likes to pull on you. To the side, however, there’s a small patch of playable fairway, which opens up a straight shot all the way to the hole.

The trick is, of course, the patch is miniscule at best.

The other trick is that you have to hit the ball at max power without going over, and –naturally—the controls for the game just aren’t meant for finesse.

“Fuck!” you scream, voice ragged, when your ball bounces out of bounds once more. “Shut the fuck up, you dickhole!” you snap when Piotr starts snickering once more. “This isn’t funny!”

“On contrary,” Piotr manages between giggles. “This is hilarious.”

You flip Piotr off –which only makes him laugh harder—then gasp and pump your fist when the ball finally lands and stays on the patch of fairway. “Oh, yes, you glorious bitch! This game is mine now. Victory is assured!”

“You are seven points behind on this hole alone!” Piotr laughs, incredulous.

“Irrelevant.”

It winds up being relevant, though, when Piotr clears the hole with a birdie (that he chips in, no less, the talented fucker) and you make out with a plus five.

You peel five socks off your hoard, tossing each one at your husband in turn. “Shut the hell up,” you grumble good-naturedly as Piotr laughs. “This is your own damn fault for choosing golf.”

“I have no regrets,” Piotr says, grinning widely.

By the end of the game, you’re out of all your socks –plus Piotr’s sweater—and your husband walks away with a negative score.

“Fucking bullshit,” you grumble, good natured, while Piotr wipes his eyes dry. “Absolutely horseshit. I call rigging. Unfair. Illegal. I demand a mistrial.”

Piotr giggles breathlessly, clutching at his sides. “Bozhe moi –ow. I cannot…”

“Serves you right.” You take his Wii remote –he’d gotten player one on top of all this injustice, the nerve—and click back to the game’s main menu. “You’re going down, motherfucker. Prepare to have your ass handed to you.”

Piotr favors you with an amused smile as you cue up the baseball game. “We have baseball in Russia. You know this, da?”

“Yeah, but did you ever play it?”

“Did you?”

“I still know more about it than you do,” you fire back. “Prepare to be owned, Rasputin. Oh, and getting a home run counts as an extra piece of clothing off.”

Piotr snorts, shaking his head. “Khorosho.”

Granted, you aren’t the best at the baseball game; you can’t throw a good pitch to save your life.

In your favor, though (and what will be much to your husband’s surprise), is that your hitting abilities are marginally better –insomuch that you can only either strike out or hit home runs.

Piotr’s mouth twitches into a frown when you hit a home run right off the bat. He glances towards you, understanding dawning in his sky blue eyes. “How… how much do you play this game?”

“Not much,” you answer as your Mii runs around all the bases. “I like bowling better.”

Piotr nods before peeling off one of his socks –though his wary expression doesn’t waver.

Fortunately, it’s not even a competition. Even with your certified lack of skills, you still outpace Piotr by miles.

He groans when you hit another home run, then strips out of his boxers with a resigned sigh. “You tricked me.”

“Honestly, it was a toss up,” you admit. “If you were able to score at all—”

“Hey!”

“You might’ve beaten me, considering that I strike out a lot and can’t pitch worth a darn.”

Piotr shakes his head –though he’s smiling—and tosses his boxers aside. He turns to face you and spreads his arms, as if to say ‘well, you got me.’ “Do you want to finish game?”

“Nah.” You grin, hit the home button so the game pauses, then hop off the couch and wrap your arms around your husband’s waist. “I’ve got something else in mind, now.”

Piotr grins. His hands smooth down your sides, stopping at your hips. “Shall we take this upstairs, moya lyubov’?”

“I think we shall,” you reply with an equally wide grin. You giggle, delighted, when Piotr lifts you up, and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you upstairs.