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"I don't know about this anymore."
"Come on, tiger. You'll kick it in the ass."
Wade had been camped outside the women's bathroom in the back of the nightclub for five minutes. He'd endured several curious looks from passersby, although not as many as he could have given his present environment. To wit, a grown man dressed in black with a face like the inside of a pomegranate was likely the least upsetting thing seen hunkering down by the ladies room in a club like Night Owl's.
Had the female patrons known what was going on inside the bathroom, they'd likely have had reason to pause or, depending on what side of the political spectrum they occupied, protest.
Wade glanced back down the dark hallway. He could just see the club proper from here--the supernova of lasers and lights and strobes would have been hypnotizing if they hadn't made his eyes water. And he was quite certain that if the eclectic mix of EDM and Top 40 hits remixes got any louder, he'd be experiencing partial deafness until his eardrums had a chance to heal themselves.
"Don't make me come in there," Wade said to the poster-covered door of the bathroom; his voice was almost lost under the thumping bass and sick beats. "We've got a job to do remember? And I don't want to get arrested or kicked in the jewels because I had to drag your chicken butt outta the john."
There was silence--at least Wade imagined that there was silence. He couldn't quite tell what with the funky beats of Jason Derulo's "Get Ugly" drilling a hole into his Eustachian tubes.
A hot moment later, the door opened and a young woman stepped out. She fixed Wade with familiar brown eyes and a flat, uncomfortable stare.
"I feel ridiculous," Peter said, tugging at the visible bra strap clinging to one shoulder.
"You are ridiculous," Wade replied. "Ridiculously beautiful!"
"Why did I agree to this again?"
"Because you love me," Wade said, counting on his fingers. "And because you're exactly the short, slender build of all the girls that this sick fuck has been dropping in the gutter. And also you lost at rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock."
If Wade wasn't mistaken, it looked as if Peter were pouting. The cherry red lipstick he'd painted himself with certainly accentuated the expression. Wade took a step back, doing a full top-to-bottom of Peter's disguise of the night.
They'd skipped the wig, electing instead to do Peter's hair in such a way that it looked more like a Twiggy style pixie bob. Dusky eye shadow made his puppy dog brown eyes pop. Fortunately they hadn't needed the Maybelline Lash Extract mascara, given that Peter's eyelashes were long enough.
"Stop it!" Peter stamped a foot on the ground, his face flushing. He'd been practicing so long with the black knee highs that he didn't even wobble over.
"Ain't doing nothing." Wade stuck his tongue out.
"Yeah you are. You're looking at me like I'm a clown."
"Don’t talk like that! Do you know how many Michelle Phan videos I had to suffer through to get that kinda contouring down? Besides, if you are a clown, you’re the sexiest motherfucking clown I've ever laid eyes on.”
Some of the anger went out of Peter's shoulders. "Really? I don't know...I don't think I have the boobs for this." He felt his chest experimentally. "Maybe we should have gone with the padding."
"Poppycock," Wade said brightly. "Just because that tramp in black leather with the cat fetish has a pair of medicine balls in her WonderBra doesn't mean that everyone has to live up to that standard. Incidentally, someone needs to tell girlfriend that her back is going to go out one of these days if she doesn't do something about those bad boys."
Peter stared at his boots. "Felicia would pull this off better than me," he mumbled.
It was Wade's turn to frown. "You're top drawer, babe. The cat's pajamas. In fact, you're a real naughty minx."
Still Peter didn't look up. He chewed on his bottom lip, the sight of which did something funny to Wade's tummy. Dressed in a skirt that covered everything it needed to without covering much else, and a white off-the-shoulder top--a piece which afforded Wade and anyone else with eyes a generous sight of Peter's bra strap—he was practically a knock out.
"I thought we agreed to leave the self loathing bullshit to the professionals: namely me."
Peter sighed.
"Go on and say it."
"Don't wanna."
"Say it!
Music thudded from behind them. The smell of sweat born of hundreds of gyrating bodies permeated the air.
Just as Wade was starting to think that he'd have to make like the music and get ugly, Peter sighed and said, "I'm a naughty minx."
"You gotta work it, sister!"
Peter smiled, met Wade's eye and said with somewhat more confidence. "I'm a naughty minx."
"There ya go."
Peter positively beamed. He sashayed his hips and, with a feminine purr that Wade was sure he'd picked up from Felicia Hardy, said, "I'm a naughty minx!"
"Alright, alright." Wade closed his hand over Peter's shoulders and steered him back towards the dance floor. "Cool your jets. Remember, Tseng likes it when his prey plays hard to get. So when you finally get him by the gums, don't give it all away up front."
Peter nodded, although Wade could feel him tense the closer they got to the dance floor. Not that Wade could blame his boyfriend much. They were, after all, going after Vichet Tseng, notorious member of a New York City street gang who'd gotten bored with running heroin and decided to start slitting the throats of college girls. The only reason the massive wad of fuck hadn't been brought down was due to the typical cliché of his old man pulling too many strings behind the scenes.
"It's all good, tiger." Wade had his lips against Peter's ear, breathing in the fresh, ocean-smelling perfume Peter had gone with. "I'll be watching, remember?" Wade nodded to the dark rafters of Night Owl's ceiling. "Anything happens and I'll step in. Wouldn't be the first time I've offed a perp in public."
Peter relaxed, a smile gracing his lips. Almost breathlessly he sighed, "I can handle it if Tseng gets fresh. Strength of ten men in one hand, remember?"
"Yeah, I know but..." But there was something about the way Peter had transformed himself that made Wade's protective instincts go high gear.
Peter smirked, which nearly knocked Wade on his ass. "But what? You wanna be my knight in shining armor now that I'm all dolled up and ladylike?"
"Kind of. Is that bad? I mean, it's not sexist is it? Like, women can take care of themselves and stuff, although some of those romance novels I read really make me wonder if they do want an alpha male. Speaking of which--" Peter stopped Wade's babbling with a purple painted finger nail to his lips.
"I'm flattered, babe." The dance floor was waiting. More importantly, so was their target.
Peter sighed, then stood a little taller. "Show time," he said. He gave Wade a reassuring squeeze on the arm, although Wade thought that Peter was the one who could do with the squeezing at the moment. Then he swiveled around on his knee-highs and walked into the sea of dancing and drinking. Wade stood back, watching the way the skirt hugged Peter's ass. Then, remembering that he had a job to do, he stole into the shadows and hauled stealthy ass to his vantage point in the rafters.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had been gracious enough to loan Wade a pair of binocular goggles. Well...they'd been gracious enough to look the other way when he'd stolen them from the Triskelion weeks beforehand. They were more state of the art than an exhibition on Monet in Washington. They could zoom in, zoom out, shift perspective and read heat signatures and heartbeats if one so chose. For Wade's purpose, he simply needed eyes on Peter.
And boy, were his eyes ever on Peter. There was something about that goddamn skirt…even though Wade knew and had made close acquaintance with everything that the garment covered, he still felt as if he were looking at someone entirely different. It was almost criminal how believable his Petey was all dressed up to the nines.
Alright Wilson, he thought. Make like Ariana Grande and focus. Eyes on the prize, and not your boyfriend’s booty.
The bar in Night Owl’s was located in the center of the dance floor, allowing for easy access to all kinds of cocktails at the risk of the bartenders being a little too close to all the sweat and skin of the party goers. Wade swiveled his gaze from where Peter was making his way with careful, self-conscious ease across the floor, to where a tall, jacked young man sat at the bar. He had jet black hair, spiked with the tips tinted a dark red. His white muscle shirt clung to a body that looked so built it was almost sickening.
Vichet Tseng was flying stag that night, something that Wade and Peter had anticipated he would be doing. When on the prowl, Tseng liked to be alone, and not encumbered by his usual battalion of equally ripped gang bangers.
It was going to be so easy to give the sick bastard the what for.
Or, at least it would be if Peter was able to lure him in. Judging from the whole Blanche Dubois depending on the kindness of strangers act he had going on, Wade wasn’t sure that Tseng was going to take the bait.
“Come on, tiger,” Wade whispered, as if Peter could actually hear him. “You got this.”
As if hearing through some kind of telepathy, Peter started to sway to the music. Wade nodded, hoping that he could keep up the non-verbal, long distance encouragement.
There were too many people in Night Owl’s to keep track of. Some were of the supermodel variety; some were plain as toast, and others were from other beautiful spectrums of the human condition: fat, thin, muscled…the club was a draw and everyone was there for one of three reasons: to get drunk, get laid, or cut loose. Or, if they were incredibly lucky, a combination of the three.
As the music swelled into a thumping techno beat, Peter seemed to forget himself. His movements became more uninhibited, more relaxed. His body swayed, his hips moving from side to side in a sibilant dance of temptation. Wade had seen the man he loved in many situations that warranted his getting a hard-on, but his body’s reaction to this...it surprised him enough to almost drop the super-expensive, state-of-the-art S.H.I.E.L.D. goggles.
Whatever had changed in Peter’s anxious mind hadn’t so much changed as it had shot itself in the face. He danced with a fluid movement of sensual grace, as if the music thudding from the speakers were playing entirely for him. Several of the people around cast this mysterious, solitary newcomer a curious look. Some of the men, and a few of the women, smiled, nodding at their friends and pointing out as Peter continued to dance where he stood.
Wade lost sight of Tseng, all his attention completely captivated by what had come over Peter. His eyes drank in those gyrating hips, and the flash of navel as Peter’s top rode up with each movement.
This newfound confidence transcended Peter's whole identity, and Wade forgot that he was watching his distinctly male boyfriend on the dance floor. Peter wore the guise of woman like he'd always had it in him--like he'd been born to wield the hypnotic powers and confidence of the fairer sex.
Wade's mind, already addled from his various and sundry mental illnesses, was taken over by a sudden cognitive shift. The masculinity related to Peter dissolved as he watched him slide with seductive ease towards the bar.
But the tightness in Wade's fatigues eclipsed the need to apprehend the very person that they'd come here for. He adjusted himself, the sensation of his fingers moving over his groin just the kind of ignition that he needed to jumpstart him into action. He slid easily from his vantage point on the rafters and maneuvered along the edges of the walls like a spider monkey until he was once more in the concrete ground of the nightclub.
Ignoring the bodies dancing and grinding on the illuminated dance floor, Wade made his way to where Peter was--feet from Tseng, who had been watching Peter's sensuous dance with mild interest.
Wade knew that what he was about to do was mildly hazardous to the outcome of his and Peter's mission. But he was too overcome with the drive of his lust to give a damn. He needed to feel Peter in his arms, to have a taste of that sudden feminine mystique. His hands encircled Peter's waist, pulling him away from the neon of the bar.
Peter started, evidently assuming that a stranger had grabbed him. But they'd been together too long for Peter to not know the feel of Wade against his body, or the scent acquainted with him. Wade, on the other hand, felt like he was holding someone completely alien; he'd never known that there had been this flame of somebody so easily other within Peter. Now that he was seeing it, however, he was jonesing to get burned.
"You have any idea how fucking beautiful you look?" Wade's voice, a growling whisper, purred into Peter's ear as he encircled his arms around him.
Peter shuddered. That perfect ass under that devilish skirt ground against the unbearable hardness in Wade's pants. "Think I've got the thrust of it."
Wade held him there, savoring the friction. Peter groaned, a sound that had the power to finish Wade on the best of days.
"Keep that up and you're going to blow our cover," Peter whispered, arching his neck as Wade went in for a scorching kiss against his jugular.
"Something's going to blow," Wade growled.
"Wade." The word was drawn out like a heavenly prayer. "I'm serious... You keep this up and there's a little something that Tseng's bound to notice."
"Nothing little about it, if memory serves me right." Smirking, Wade trailed his fingers up the exposed flesh of Peter's thigh and under the skirt. His quest for the dead giveaway was waylaid when his fingers came into contact with something silky and smooth.
"Fuck." Wade captured Peter's lips, his fingers tracing a line over the sheer fabric that covered Peter's groin. "A thong, huh? That wasn't part of the plan."
"I...thought it would make it more convincing." Peter nipped at Wade's lips, his tongue smoothing over the lovebites as if he were trying to heal them with it.
"Well it's sexy as fuck." The juxtaposition of feminine undergarment and the distinctly male bits and pieces that it covered was dangerously alluring. Wade wanted nothing more than to slide his hand down the front of those fucking panties and jerk Peter off through his teasing skirt right here in front of all these people on the dance floor.
But it wouldn't be wise. Tseng was watching the two of them from the bar, his shrewd, almond shaped eyes drinking in Peter with the blood thirst of a killer. Wade glared at the bastard, suddenly hating that he was risking Peter's neck by having to go through with this plan.
"You good to go?" Wade rocked his hips against Peter's ass. He almost wanted Peter to say no so that they could steal to the bathroom and see to the situation properly.
Peter eyed Tseng, his arm curled around Wade's neck. He may have been putting on the guileless doe eye act, but he was still a superhero. He could handle the sick fuck on his own, not that Wade was at all inclined to let him.
"Now or never I guess," Peter whispered. The perfect weight against Wade's body disappeared as Peter slid away, making like he was more interested in Tseng than the person with whom he'd been dancing and doing tongue. Wade forced himself to keep cool as he watched Peter saunter towards the bar.
"Go get 'em, tigress," Wade breathed.
Peter worked his magic in record time. Tseng went through the motions of asking Peter for a drink, then staring at Peter's ass--the ass that was property of Wade Wilson--while the bartender whipped something up. Peter took a sip of the drink, then grimaced. Wade, having crept to the sidelines of the dance floor, was magnetized by the whole show. Peter was selling the play--not exactly stuck up, but simply eager to be pleased. And Tseng was buying it as much as Wade was. He was completely enthralled by this strange woman, his need to be seen as the top dog leading him to buy three more drinks, all of which Peter found some fault with but sucked back nonetheless.
A hot jealousy licked Wade's insides as, a moment later, Peter leaned across the space that separated his bar stool from Tseng's and whispered something in the man's ear. Tseng smirked, seized Peter by the wrist and led him away from the bar and down one of the dark hallways of the club. It was go time; Wade's protective instincts, already roused by Peter's transformation, went into overdrive. It would only take minutes for Tseng to get what he wanted, not that Peter was the kind of girl to go willingly give it all away.
Wade slipped out the alley exit. The night air of New York City wove a heady concoction of aromas, most of them unpleasant. After being surrounding by the tang of sweat and skin and booze for so long, the concrete air, acrid pollution and brisk brine of the Hudson were almost welcoming smells to the merc.
He couldn't see hair nor beskirted hide of Peter, and there was only one way out of Night Owl's through the back exit. Wade half-jogged down the alley, looking this way and that to no avail. He started to panic; he hadn't been that far behind Peter and the gangster he'd left with. What if Tseng gotten the jump? Peter looked so damn breakable in that top and skirt--so fucking vulnerable and Wade wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to the man he loved. He raced down the maze of alleyways, his feet stomping over used condoms and puddles of filth, heart racing like a jackhammer on speed. He turned another corner behind a warehouse.
Peter was standing near a pile of broken shipping pallets, almost pinned to them by Tseng. The shout was already in Wade's throat, but before he could let it fly, Peter drew back his fist and socked Tseng in the jaw. There was a sharp pop; Tseng did a full one-eighty rotation, wavering unsteadily for a moment. Not content to have the prick move until the proper authorities could haul him in, Wade delivered a Mortal Kombat-worthy uppercut. Tseng sailed through the air and landed with a splintering crash on the pallet heap.
Peter smirked, flexing his painted fingers. Seeing Peter in better light than there had been in Night Owl's only served to heighten the strange erotic charge that had overtaken Wade back in the club. He closed the distance between them, seized Peter by the sleeve of his top and kissed him with all the fire he could muster.
Evidently Peter hadn't been anticipating such a warm welcome. He swayed after they broke apart, his long lashed, dusky shadowed eyes fluttering. "And hello to you too, Mister Rescuer McSaveMe."
Wade stroked Peter's jaw with his thumb. "I was just...I thought that..."
Peter smirked, those lips wreaking havoc on Wade's self-restraint. "That's sweet, baby. But I had him in the palm of my hand." Peter grimaced. "Well, okay, not like, literally. But I decked him good before he had a chance to get fresh."
"Fuckin' A, you did." Pride swelled in Wade's chest at the memory. It was more fucked up than fucked up was allowed to be, given that he knew Peter's current state of femininity was just a disguise. And yet Wade had once again genuinely forgotten the lines between male and female--Peter really had owned the role of woman in all its glory. To see him dislocate Tseng's jaw was...well, Wade couldn't really describe it. There wasn’t exactly a shortage of ass kicking women in his universe, and yet by virtue of the fact that Peter was so comfortable in the skin of a woman made him cold-clocking of the now-unconscious gang member all the more spectacular. Not to mention supremely arousing.
Peter waltzed over to the crumpled form of Tseng. He withdrew the tracking device from behind his ear and stooped to place it on the bastard. His skirt rode up in the back, giving Wade a brief shot of Peter's thong which, like the bra he'd gone with, was black as night and lacy as all get out.
Wade cleared his throat to help distract from his raging hard-on. "What exactly was it that sealed the deal, if you don't mind me asking?"
Peter smirked again--that fucking lipstick sin smile was going to give Wade a heart attack before long. "It went a little something like this--" Wade had been expecting a high-pitched imitation voice. Instead, Peter adopted a husky rasp that would have made Emma Stone proud: “Just so you know I'm not wearing any socks right now. More importantly I've got the panties to match.”
Trying to pass the groan that escaped his lips as one of derision rather than desire, Wade said, "But you are wearing panties. Real thin ones that must be feeling all kinds of awesome on your junk."
Peter shrugged. "Yeah, well, he also thought that I'd had four shots of Tito's vodka in a row. If I hadn't cleaned his clock he would have been in for an even nastier surprise than that. Come on. Let's get outta here before S.H.I.E.L.D shows up; I want to get back into something that doesn't ride up my balls."
Peter started back down the alley.
Against his better judgment, Wade blurted out, "Hey, let's not be too hasty here!"
Peter froze, his spine going ramrod straight. He looked back at Wade, incredulous.
"Wade, you have got to be kidding me."
"What's so strange about it?"
"Maybe that we’re in public, and that I'm in the running to be second string on RuPaul's Drag Race?"
"Whoa, back up there bub! I'd say you've got the makings for first place."
Peter looked startled, a pretty pink flush staining his cheeks. Still, he tried to sound like he was putting up something of a resistance, even though they both knew that this was a discussion Peter wasn't going to win. "Do you really think that?"
"'Course I do." Wade lifted Peter's chin with the back of his knuckle. "I wasn't just saying that to yank your crank, tiger. You're fucking hot to me as a woman or anything else you wanna be."
"Even if I gained fifty pounds?"
"More cushion for the pushin', tiger." To demonstrate the point, Wade led Peter's hand to the front of his pants. Peter's breathing hitched as he felt the steely hardness of Wade's cock. "That answer your question?"
Wade's cock twitched as Peter bit his lip and said, "And then some." He laughed, as if he couldn't believe he was going to acquiesce to this. But all the same, he met Wade's gaze and gave one swift nod.
That was all the invitation Wade needed. He and Peter raced back to the club, sneaking in through the exit they'd lured Tseng out of. This was so crazy, but then again, they'd done a lot of crazy things together. A few heads--those who'd watched Peter dance when he'd first made his way to the floor--turned to watch as Wade and Peter sped towards the men's bathroom. Night Owl's was notorious for hook-ups, and so long as things weren't right out in the open, management was more than willing to look the other way.
It wasn't the most romantic of places. There were a few guys lined up at the urinals, one of whom caught sight of the ostensible woman hanging off of Wade's arm. The man grinned, and shot Wade a thumbs up, because fuck yeah, Wade had the hottest chick in the place, and fuck yeah they were going to have a quickie in the bathroom stall.
Wade hesitated only a moment the second the lock clicked behind them. Peter already had his hands against the graffiti-covered brick wall over the toilet, his skirt riding temptingly up his ass. As much as that sight was making Wade's Man of Steel cock go titanium hard, he didn't want to do this just any old way.
"Uh-uh, hot stuff." He spun Peter around. "Wanna look at you." His arms encircled Peter's waist. "Gonna look you in the eye as I pound that pretty little pussy."
He pressed Peter against the side of the stall, using his strength and body weight to keep him there. Peter's arms locked around Wade's neck, his legs around Wade's waist; Wade almost came right then and there from the feeling of Peter's cock straining against those lacy panties.
Wade freed himself from his pants, and snaked a hand under Peter’s skirt, feeling how hard Peter already was through his panties. Peter moaned, but Wade wasn't ready quite yet. He wanted Peter exposed like the lady he was. With teasing slowness, he hiked the top up Peter's body and over his head. Peter bucked, and Wade rewarded the feeling of perfect friction and heat by unfastening Peter's bra. His nipples were already rosy hard peaks, and Wade dove in for the kill.
Peter moaned like he'd never moaned before, way more into this little game of sexy make believe than Wade had ever thought he would be. They were both high on adrenaline from having taken out Tseng, and it wasn't as though anyone else in the bathroom was going to care dick what was happening in the stall—it happened all too often in Night Owl's and clubs like it.
This was messy and spontaneous, and as a result, Wade hadn’t brought anything with him—no condom, no lube.
“This okay?” Wade said between bites of the flesh around Peter’s nipple.
Peter groaned something that Wade took to be a yes. Wade gave Peter’s nipple one last long, lascivious lick before he straightened himself up. Peter’s face was flushed pink; his painted lips were open as he panted in anticipation. Wade’s fingers snaked up Peter’s skirt and all but yanked the panties down under his ass. Keeping his eyes locked on Peter’s half-open ones, he plunged into the tight heat of Peter’s ass.
He looked so fucking pretty, with his top over his head and his bra open. So pretty as he rode Wade’s cock, and Wade told him so, whispering all kinds of filthy things into Peter’s ear. They could be caught—anyone of the people dancing out there in the club could come in here and bang down the door and see this—see Peter clutching Wade’s body as Wade fucked into him. But they wouldn’t know the truth, even though Wade could feel the hard heat and wet crown of Peter’s cock rutting into his stomach.
It felt so damn perfect--pretty Peter pressed up against the bathroom stall riding his cock like it was a fucking bronc.
Peter bit into the side of Wade's neck as he came with a shudder. A perfect cherry stain of lipstick marked Wade's skin. Something about being branded in such a way only spurred Wade on further. He clutched at Peter's ass; strong as his legs were, they weren't enough to support him fully as white-hot pleasure rolled through him. He fell against the opposite wall of the stall, hips bucking as he filled Peter's ass.
A sense of gravity pulled them back down to Earth. The music pounding from the club was bombastic even this far removed from the dance floor; someone flushed the urinal outside the stall.
Peter smiled almost shyly, shifting so that Wade's spent cock slipped out of the tightness of his ass. "Damn," he panted.
"Yeah."
A sudden commotion in the bathroom made them both look around. Someone had broken open the door. Footsteps thudded towards them. A moment later and the stall door was kicked open, and Wade and Peter found themselves looking up at the face of one Natasha Romanov. Or rather, Natasha Romanov, hard-boiled Avenger and super-spy extraordinaire--who had seen things that would have shocked the Marquis de Sade--found herself looking into a grimy bathroom stall that reeked of sex at a sober suited Deadpool and someone that she sincerely hoped was not Peter Parker in what remained of a mini-skirt, Victoria Secret bra and white top.
Wade and Peter smiled politely at the Black Widow. To her credit, Natasha was shocked for only seven seconds altogether. Then she cleared her throat and said, "The, uh...the perp?"
"Outside," Wade said with a luxurious stretch. "Out the back door."
"So it would seem." Natasha looked to be debating whether or not to ask just what in God's green Earth was going on. Thinking better of it, she shook her head and said, "As you were," before closing the bathroom stall and walking away.
"This'll make for some awkward coffee break talk," Peter said as he got to his feet and made himself decent. "You think she was more shocked than she was letting on?"
"No way." Wade let Peter tuck him back into his briefs and zip him up. "Just jealous that you're more of a man than she'll ever get and a hotter woman than she'll ever be."
Peter went slightly pink again. "Thanks, baby."
"Anytime."
"Now can I please change back into my own clothes? This bra is chafing my nipples."
Wade sighed as they walked out of the now-deserted bathroom. "Guess it was too good to last."
"Not all of it."
"Hm?"
Peter threw Wade one last smirk before disappearing back into the ladies room. "I'm thinking of keeping the panties. They feel kinda good once you get used to them." And he disappeared through the door, laughing at the hungry, dumbstruck look on Wade's face.