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They left the party inside.
Still, it spills out into the city in the form of thrumming, neon light. It pours over the bouncer’s stoic frame, creeps down the sidewalk, and seeps a little into the alleyway where Wade and Peter are pressed against a grimy wall.
They haven’t brought much of it out with them, only the wristbands and cheap tequila that their heads are thick with.
Why did they come out here? Fresh air?
If that’s the case, neither of their masks are off. You don’t breathe with your masks on. Generally, you don’t kiss with them on either. And yet they’re managing both.
Between two layers of fabric, their mouths manage to find each other, lips clashing in a crazed rush. Peter’s head is swimming. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Why he’s doing it. He just knows that he wants to.
“I don’t want to hear about this tomorrow,” he says breathlessly, hitching a leg up around Wade’s hip. “I don’t want to read it in the paper, I don’t want it in my twitter mentions, I don’t want a text message sent with gentle effect. Got it?”
Wade hooks an arm under Peter’s knee, yanking his leg higher. Then he pitches forward, pinning the younger even harder against the wall.
“You forgot to say you’ve been served,” he grins, kissing him again through the mouth of the Spiderman mask. “How boutcha take off that mask off and serve me some looks, sister.”
Peter’s hands fumble up his suit, but instead of losing the mask, four metal legs spring suddenly from the back of it, propelling him off the wall. He pounces forward, throwing Wade to the ground, and then gets on top of him, cocooning both their bodies within the cage of spindly limbs.
He reaches up and pulls off his mask, ripping it away. Then he yanks off Deadpool’s and crashes their mouths together, the extra limbs bending and straightening out with each movement he makes.
“Hold up,” Wade says, panting, running a hand through Peter’s hair and pulling his head back to examine him. “Holy shit, I know that face. Peter Parker. Hello there.”
“Hi,” Peter says, then lies back down on top of him, kissing his lips.
Wade grabs the sides of his face again, gently pulling him away.
“Yo, let me look at you,” he requests gently, turning his head from side to side. “Spidey-fuckin-boy. A rich ass CEO with a body like flex tape. America, explain.”
“Look now, because you’re not getting it again.”
Wade’s eyes narrow. “Fuckin’ ow.”
“I mean it. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t like you. I don’t like anything about you.”
Wade does a double take.
“Okay, bullshit,” he splutters. “You were having fun in there. You like drinking, Parker. You like dancing and flirting and it’s not my fault you’re so fucking repressed that you have to blame it on me.”
Anger flares through Peter’s face, cutting through the drunken buzzing in his head. He doesn’t know when the light jokes became heated, but now it feels like a full on fight.
“You think having standards is the same thing as being repressed.”
“If your standards are the standards of a pussy? Then yeah, I guess I do.”
“Fuck off, Wade.” His metal legs dig against the concrete, bristling with the rest of him. “You know what, actually? This whole thing was impulsive. It was careless. I’m going home.”
Wade’s eyes flare. He grabs two of the spider legs, fists crushing down on the metal.
Then he seems to realize what he’s doing and lets go, a sad look in his eyes.
“Fine,” he says, icing over. “Fine, you don’t like me. But that’s a little bit shitty for me, Webs, because you know what? I liked you. And I actually liked Parker too, until I found out he was a little bitch.”
“I’m not a- that,” Peter hisses. He angrily releases the legs and they fold up into his suit. He falls, barely planting his palms on the pavement before he crashes down onto Wade’s chest.
Peter feels sick with himself. Depravedly, drunkenly pawing at another man just because he got swept up in the excitement of a night out. Maybe Wade’s right. He doesn’t do anything for fun and it shows.
He gets to his feet and turns away from Wade, running his hands up his arms. He thought that kissing with the mask on was the only way he’d be able to tolerate it. Thought he needed it in order to rut against a non-woman, because otherwise he’d be too busy vomming in his mouth to use it. But he’d loved the feeling of Wade’s bare chin against him, face dotted with stubble, lips less soft than anything he’s used to. He’d loved the feeling of a body bigger than his own wrapping around him.
“Spidey,” Wade says carefully, concerned, when Peter lets out an angry sob.
“Just go away,” he seethes, feeling tears run into his mouth. “Go away.”
Hunched back on his elbows, Wade doesn’t know if he’s more angry or worried. His heart feels slashed by the rejection, but there’s still room left over to feel upset on Peter’s behalf.
Wade starts to climb to his feet, gripping his own mask in his hand, but before he’s even up, Spidey is jamming his mask back down over his head and crawling away.
“Wait-” Wade growls frustratedly, but Spiderman grabs the alley wall and scampers upwards for the roof, his limbs a blur of red. Standing in the gutter of the world, Wade barely is able to see him swing away on threads of silver, watching the gap between them open once again.
🌻
Peter’s eyes aren’t too thrilled about the existence of the sun on this bright, springy morning.
“The sun is 99.9997% a perfect sphere,” Wade told him once, “That’s almost perfectly round. But only your ass makes up for that .000299%.”
He groans and buries his head back into his arms, folded on the grated table that he’s slouched over. The worst thing about Deadpool? His mastery over trivia, pop culture, and random 5th grade facts has resulted in an endless slew of come-ons, so vast in scope, that there are very few topics he hasn’t covered. It’s hard to think about anything without remembering the matching pickup line that goes along with it.
Peter pulls the black hood further down his face and lolls his head against his arms, treating the bulky sleeves of his hoodie like a pillow. That, and the little umbrella jutting out of the center of the circular table, are his only saving graces.
The world tilted, he looks over at a bed of flowers planted in the grassy areas behind Parker Industries, blooming brightly now that it’s May. His favorite are the sunflowers. There’s something particularly lovely about them.
(“Hey, would you stigmatize me if I were to pollinate-”
“I don’t like where this is going, Wade.”
“Honestly I’m glad you stopped me. I know so little about plant reproduction! It’s so boring.”)
Peter rolls his eyes, then his head. He turns to bury his face and take a power nap, but when he rolls over he sees himself staring back at him: his icy blue eyes, the messy brown hair spilling out of his hood, his hauntingly pale skin, reflected back in the sunglasses of one of his workmates.
“Hey boss,” she greets him, sliding her glasses to the top of her head so he can see her upturned eyebrow.
He smiles sheepishly, straightening up. “I’m not your boss on Sunday, Emily,” he says in apology, as though it’s a bookable offense to be on the premises without a suit on. “Though technically, I’m not your boss at all. The cafeteria is run by a partner.”
She shrugs, brown hair spilling over her shoulder with the movement. “I mean, you’re enough of my boss that I’d still offer to get you a refill, even though it’s my day off.”
Peter blushes and lifts the paper cup off the table. “Haven’t gotten very far on the coffee yet.”
“Got a bit further on something else last night, yeah?”
He blushes again, turning away from the amused curve of her smile.
“Don’t fire me,” she adds quickly, “Just nice to humanize the big guy for once.”
Big guy. He looks in the mirror and still sees boyish features. He’s only 26. He’s running a company, he’s 26, and the attention of a girl still makes his cheeks hot.
“Well,” he murmurs, looking down at the coffee. “Sometimes I have to humanize myself too. You know? Not a lot of time for clubbing when you’re trying to keep a multi-billion dollar company above water.”
Emily laughs loudly, then slides into the chair beside him. The patio ground sparkles a brick-pink color in the direct sunlight. The girl’s hair shines a sleek, auburn shade of brown, especially when she grabs it and flings it behind her back.
“I’m impressed,” she says, nodding with a conspiratorial look in her eye. “Is Spiderman cool outside office hours too?”
Peter looks at her with his eyes narrowed good-naturedly, then shakes his head. “Nah, Spiderman’s boring. He’s all about the flash, believe me.” He focuses on the flowers, his eyes distant. Softly, he adds, “We aren’t agreeing on everything right now.”
He feels a small thorn in his heart, briefly certain that she’s trying to get close to him so she can meet Spiderman. But then she smiles and touches his arm.
“Maybe you’ll rub off on him a bit. Not sure what’s stuffier: a three-piece suit or a Halloween costume.”
He stops himself from laughing too hard, because goddamn does he have an answer for that one.
“You?” he asks after a second, distantly noting that her hand is still wrapped lightly around his arm. “Do you like the apron?”
“Hmm, I like that they let me wear whatever I want underneath it.” Right now, she’s wearing a gray tank top, with loops and loops of black necklace charms circling tight around her neck. She looks soft. Why do girls look so soft?
“If I like the job? Yeah, it’s pretty good. I get paid more than if I were at some corner Starbucks. I mean, you guys are honestly the driest customers I’ve ever met, but you’re doing big stuff, so I guess I like knowing I’m feeding progress.”
“That’s… I’ve never thought of it that way.”
She laughs, folding her hand under her chin.
“What?”
“I dunno, boys like you always react to mildly deep conversations like their minds are blown.”
“Um, boys like me?” he asks, genuinely feeling bashful.
“Sorry, it’s just, we see each other every single day but I never actually knew what you were like. I imagined this scary, aloof businessman. But you’re cute.”
Peter doesn’t know how he feels about that. He’s a little flattered, he guesses, in a shy way. At the same time, he also feels like he’s steered his image way off track, and he doesn’t feel like himself at all. She’s seeing something that he isn’t, and though she seems to like it, he doesn’t know if he does.
It’s partly because she’s called him cute, and partly because he’s swept up in the idea of seeing somebody everyday and suddenly crossing a line into their personal life, but he leans forward and kisses her.
She makes a tiny sound, somewhere on the spectrum between surprised and pleased.
He should consider, even for just a second, that he’s on the property of his own workplace, his knees brushing against the bare legs of a girl who essentially does indeed work for him, the softness of her tongue in his mouth. He doesn’t consider it. He brings up his hands to cup her face, pulling her closer.
He told himself that kissing Wade was impulsive. That that was why it was wrong.
And this isn’t?
Emily pulls back, breathing a little heavier. She untangles a strand of hair from the chain on her necklace.
His eyes flash over her face: the soft, pink glow of her cheeks, her dark eyelashes, the mint-green color of her eyes. This feels like child’s play. This is like being shirtless in the back of a car on prom night, it’s like going out for ice cream after a game. Is this what he wants? To feel like a teenage boy when he’s in the presence of grown women?
“I’m sorry,” he says, face heating. “I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s cool,” she breezes back, grinning. “I won’t report you if you don’t report me for saying you’re a terrible kisser.”
Peter feels a pang of mortification. “Oh.”
She shrugs and then stands up from the table. “It’s a bad sample. Next time, when you’re sober.”
He takes a sip of the coffee, smiling nervously to himself, then watches her go. The exhaustion sinks back over him, followed by a sense of disquiet. He imagines Wade sitting across from him, speaking animatedly, offering an endless list of hangover cures that he never has to use because of his healing factor.
His mind leaps to the idea of him in Deadpool’s lap, making out heatedly in full view of the entire complex, and the sexual interest that he did not feel in the last ten minutes finally catches up to him. Guilt replaces it in a heartbeat.
Maybe Spiderman isn’t the problem. Maybe Peter is.
🌻
It’s late.
Wade is lying in bed, staring at his laptop, when something crashes outside of his window.
His mind generates a shortlist of explanations: assassins, enemies, ex-girls friends, ninjas… Chad from high school.
He jumps to a sitting position, fists up in front of his face, before realizing that he’s looking at something even scarier than his first round of guesses: the shape of Spiderman, crouched outside his window.
The younger flexes his wrist and thwips a web at the pane. Wade’s fists drop onto his lap as he blinks dumbly at the silhouette. This is fanfic material he thinks briefly to himself. But deep down, he knows that Spidey is here to chew him out. He can see it in the determined, narrow shine of the suit’s eyes.
He grabs the window and pulls it up.
“Webs-” he starts to say, but Spiderman flattens his body and crawls through the slit before Wade can even finish lifting it, knocking him back into bed.
Spidey tumbles over his body, kneeling above him, and Wade doesn’t know if his healing factor is going to be able to do anything about the way Peter is glaring at him. Like he’s going to kill him. Like he’s about to spin a web, trap him, and eat him whole.
But then Peter rips the mask off his face and lunges down, wrapping his arms around Wade’s body. With a determined growl, he presses his open lips hungrily to Wade’s mouth.
“Webs,” he tries again in a squeak. It turns into a soft mmm as Peter’s tongue enters his mouth, licking against his own. The shock melts off of him; he reaches up and grabs Peter, winding his arms tight around him. They roll over in each other’s arms, tearing off each other’s clothing. The laptop clatters to the ground with a worrying crash.
Peter grabs Wade’s shoulders and kisses him deeply, whining.
Wade’s mind goes blank. He rolls forcefully to the left and throws Peter beneath him, desperate to do nothing else but take his dick out and fuck Peter until he forgets their first kiss altogether.
Instead he opens his eyes and pulls away, trying and failing to catch his breath.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes, pinning Peter to the bed. “Talk to me, Webs.”
Peter reaches up to touch his face and Wade grabs it, restraining it against the sheets.
“Please,” Wade hisses, voice collapsing under the weight of hope and lust and heartbreak. “Kid, I’d love to shut up and let this porn fantasy play out, but if you’re about to get as mean as you were last time, I’m gonna need to stop it now.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter manages, his face flushed. “I’m really sorry, Wade.”
Wade looks at him with a twisted expression. He lets go of Peter’s wrist and uses the hand to run his fingers through the other’s mess of hair. “You’re sorry?” he asks in a strained voice.
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, teeth clenched. “I didn’t mean what I said. I do like you. I’m just, fuck, I’m scared, okay? I’m really scared.”
Something sad turns over in Wade’s chest. “Why?” he asks hoarsely, the word breaking.
“I’m having to reconsider everything about myself. I’m not who I thought I was.”
“Spidey,” he says, shaking Peter’s shoulders a little. “This is one thing. It’s one thing.”
“It feels big.”
“Thank you,” he says in a teary voice, “I’ve been told I’m above average.”
“Wade.”
“Peter,” he rejoins, forcing a humorless grin, “You’re gonna be okay. Let me, just let me make you feel good, okay? We don’t have to do anything else.”
Peter closes his eyes again and nods, reaching up to pull Wade down against his chest.
Wade crushes him tight in his arms, leaning down to take Peter’s pulse into his mouth. He sucks at the skin, licking a stripe up to his jaw, and then kisses him on the mouth.
“No, Webs, no, don’t cry,” he says very softly when he feels tears on the side of his face. “I love you. I’ve loved getting to know you. I never thought you’d actually-”
Peter clenches his features in spite against his own tears and leans up to kiss Wade. To him, this doesn’t feel like soft playacting. This feels mature, right, on the correct wavelength. Wade has crept into his life too. He’s been in New York for almost a year now, somebody who Peter has started running into on endless patrols around town. Patrols have steadily become missions. And somehow, during all of it, they’ve managed to erase their strained history and become friends. Somehow, during all of it, they’ve become this.
Peter slides his hands down Wade’s front and then into his pants, palming clumsily at Wade’s erection.
“Shine on, you crazy spider,” Deadpool approves in a rumbling voice, nipping at Peter’s neck.
He stretches out his arms, knocking Peter’s away, and leans upward. One of his hands (rough and firm like nothing Peter has ever felt before) presses steadily against Peter’s chest while the other rubs across the front of his pants.
“Any experience with other men?” he asks, cocking his head a little. He uses the motion as an excuse to sweep his eyes down Peter’s front.
Peter looks up, shaking his head.
“Never seen a penis other than your own?”
Peter laughs, and Wade grins along with him.
“You’ll be fine, Peter. Just tell me if I’m outta line.”
Peter sucks in a breath of air and then nods again, lying his head back against the pillow. He presses his hips up against Wade’s hand, grateful that the older’s touch is nowhere near as teasing as his banter. Wade quickly dips underneath the waistband of Peter’s pants, wrapping a scarred hand around Peter’s length.
The younger breathes a little harder, his heart pounding.
He arches his chest when Wade starts sliding his fist up and down, lifting his arms to rest them under his head.
He doesn’t realize he’s still wearing the web cuffs until the back of his scalp sets one off, shooting a web at the ceiling. Wade laughs when Peter startles, body tensing. He leans forward over the younger.
“Showing me your belly?” he asks in a purring voice that makes Peter’s head swim. He reaches up and gently unclasps both of the cuffs, setting them aside. “I’m flattered. Do spiders have the same body language as cats?”
“Do mercenaries have the same body language as pools…?” he tries, wincing.
“Oh, hell yeah Webs, all ebb and flow.”
“One time I dove head-first into a pool and got a concussion.”
“I ain’t be disappointing you with my depth, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He tilts his head and wraps his hand back around Peter’s cock. “But I can still help you forget your name for a few minutes.”
Peter swallows, torn between giving a laugh and sinking into the subtext.
“… What do you think?” Wade follows up after a second, looping a leg beneath one of Peter’s to pull him closer. “You wanna try me out?”
Peter’s face heats and he can’t help but turn it to the side. “No,” he responds. “Maybe the reverse?”
Wade grins, his teeth showing. He bends down for a kiss, and Peter realizes that he is surrounded by the smell of mint. He never thought about it before- never was close enough for it to matter. But it feels safe, like he’s wrapped up inside it.
“Have you ever tried it before?” Wade asks candidly, making him feel sheepish again. “Toys, fingers? Adventurous girlfriends?”
Peter bites his lip. Wade’s hand is casually stroking his dick as the man asks him extremely intimate questions, and it’s almost more than Peter even wants. He feels like a mess because of it.
He tries to think of how to answer that question without ruining the entire mood. It’s supposed to be an easy yes-or-no question.
“No.”
He settles upon the answer softly, half-hoping Wade will see through it, half-hoping he won’t.
But the older takes it at face value. Peter thinks he detects a flicker of nervousness in Wade’s expression, but the older shakes it off by hanging his tongue out.
“Damn. A virgin,” he says out loud.
“Wow, way to stigmatize me.”
“No plants here, baby. I like it the old fashioned way.”
Peter feels Wade pull off his boxers, then slide his hand lower, fingers trailing between his cheeks and then against the most untouched part of his body.
“Hmm,” Peter considers, shifting. “You get used to this?”
Wade rubs the pads of his fingers against him, warming him up. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I want to.”
Wade presses against him, groaning lightly, as he starts to get Peter’s body to yield to him. Then he’s reaching over to his nightstand and coating his fingers in lubricant, scissoring Peter open.
“Ah,” Peter hisses, the movement rough and fast. “That feels…”
"Stretchy?" He presses his mouth to Peter's neck and shifts his body, making to go down on him. "Here, let's focus on the other goods for a while-"
But Peter breathes a sharp "No."
He arches up, pushing Wade’s fingers deeper inside him. It’s too much too fast, but somehow he needs it to be too much. He needs the sensations to overflow until he can’t think anymore. So he reaches up and grabs Wade, kissing him furiously.
"No? This is your first time, I think-"
“More,” he breathes into his mouth, grabbing Wade’s wrist and using it like a toy, fucking himself on the fingers stretching him open.
The older releases an impressed groan. “How much more?” he demands, looking suddenly so dangerous that Peter feels a dual-processed flash of terror and heat sizzle through his core. “To what end? I want to fuck you right now, Spidey. I’ve wanted to for a long time. If you had webbed me up the day we met and had your way with me, I would’ve been fine.”
Peter looks at Wade’s blown eyes, flooded with desperation, at the sweat rolling down his temple.
“But then you played hard to get and you made me love you too, and that was fucking rude, Webs. Fucking inconsiderate-ass rude.”
Peter regards him carefully and then laughs out loud. He shrugs. “Eat the rude.”
Wade’s eyes darken. “Yeah, I intend to,” he says, the words vibrating low in his throat.
He buries his head into Peter’s neck, losing himself in the sensation of the younger. This spider god who he’s bowed down to since forever, the one who’s made him actually start to like who he’s becoming. Wade just wants him to hold still. Hold fucking still. Wants Webs to stop squirming around so he can clutch him tight, keep him close for just a little bit.
He’s not doing much moving right now, though, other than offering some encouraging undulations. God, Wade loves it. Flex tape.
With another handful of lubricant, he looms over Peter and pushes into him, making the younger cry out.
“Wade,” Peter says, grabbing at his back. “More.”
“I’m not tryin’ to tear you in half, baby boy.”
“Please,” he gasps, sure his face is bright red.
“I’m not trying to lose my mind over here,” he amends, the words dripping thickly from his mouth.
“I like you,” Peter says, as though he doesn’t care what it’s going to do to Wade to say that. As though he wants it. “You’re brave and fun to be around, and- ah, you make me feel like I’m not lonely anymore.”
Wade's breath sharpens audibly. He snakes an arm beneath the smaller’s back and crushes their chests together, manhandling him. Holding him steady, he starts thrusting his hips forward, setting a pace that makes Peter grit his teeth and cry out again.
“Y’okay?” he asks, voice muffled against Peter’s neck.
He feels Peter’s hands trail higher, spreading over his scalp like he’s looking for hair to hold onto. “Mhm,” he vocalizes, throwing his legs up over Wade’s side. His feet crossed in the air, he starts degrading into sounds, the sensation changing from that of an invasion to fireworks-quality pleasure.
“More,” he says again.
Wade hitches forward, crawling to his knees. He cups his hands around Peter’s legs, fucking him as deep and fast as he can. It makes him lose track of himself. Buried deep in Peter, he huffs out a frantic breath and then spills over the edge, pulling out too late.
His grips loosens and Peter crashes back down onto the bed, his face flushed and his limbs sprawled out.
Wade forces a breath in through his nose as he pumps the last few spurts of semen out of him, his body still shaking with exhilaration.
He takes a second to catch his breath, planting a hand down to steady himself. Peter’s body is illuminated below him, the male’s lithe, pale frame coated in bedside-window moonlight. Wade lets himself admire him for another beat before flicking his eyes down to Peter’s cock, straining against his stomach.
“Aw, baby boy,” he purrs, raking the back of his hand down Peter’s chest. “You haven’t come.”
He goes to grab Peter’s cock but the younger intercepts his hand, lacing his fingers through Wade’s.
“Please,” he says quietly, slowly letting his legs slide back down onto the bed.
Wade looks at him with confusion, holding his hand for a moment, before lying down and gathering Peter up in his arms.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, feeling nervousness creep into his own voice. “You wanna break?”
Wrapping one of Wade’s arms around him, Peter’s shoulders bristle. “I feel different.”
A kept breath releases from Wade’s chest. He presses his lips to the crook in Peter’s neck. “You’re not different, Peter. You’ve done something different, but you’re not different.” And then, in a quieter voice, “let me make you come.”
“I feel…” Peter looks over at the other end of the room, eyes sticking to details: the rainbow glow of Wade’s keyboard cover, bullet casings scattered all over the desk, an Avengers calendar with the days x’d out. “I feel violated.”
Wade doesn’t say anything. Then Peter feels both of Wade’s hands suddenly push him away.
“Jesus Christ, Peter,” he says loudly, jerking into a sitting position. “Why the fuck would you say something like that?”
“I’m just telling you how I feel,” he growls back, a cold feeling sliding through him.
“Telling me how you- Now?” Wade asks with a disbelieving scoff. “You didn’t want to tell me that instead of saying more, more, more?” He slings the blankets off him and climbs out of the bed, leaping to his feet, kneading a vein in his forehead. “God. Fuck. I knew something was off. But I just thought it was because of yesterday, and. Fuck.”
“Where are you going?” Peter asks in a weak hiss, gripping the comforter defensively.
Wade raises his shoulders in a violent shrug. “I don’t know, Peter. You came into my apartment, and you’re still here, so I obviously have to go somewhere else.”
“Wade,” he calls back, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Y’know, I think I’m seeing a pattern here. You don’t fucking think before you say something that really hurts me. Why is that?” He turns back around, eyes flaring with emotion. “Is it because I’m so gosh darn funny that I don’t feel anything? I’m so wacky that you can’t take anything about me seriously? Wade Wilson is so fuckin cute, with how goddamn crazy he is. Go foolish, yeah? Go mentally deranged, yeah!”
“Wade-”
“Go positively bonkers!”
Peter doesn’t try to hide how upset he is. He makes a helpless noise, and then, because he feels like he has no other option, says “I was violated when I was a child.”
Wade shuts up. But when he looks at Peter his eyes are still ice.
“So what?” He stares Peter down in a way that makes him feel the size of an actual spider. “So you wanted me to activate my psychic powers and find that out? Grow up, Peter.” His hands clench at his sides. “What about me, then? You bother to ask yourself that? And mine was a woman, so jot that down real fast, equality.”
“Wade,” he tries again, because he doesn’t know what else to say at this point.
“How about the fact that now, whenever I have sex with someone, I have to worry about her raping me again? How about that?” Peter has seen Deadpool crazy, has seen him absolutely raving mad, but he’s never seen him like this. “How about the fact that I thought Spiderman was so fucking out of my league that it had to be another mean joke, but I was willing to risk another week of throwing up on Al’s bathroom floor on the off chance that you actually wanted to be with me? And now you’re making me feel like I- Jesus, Peter. Where was your psychic power, huh?” He steps forward, making Peter jump. “Well? Where was it?”
Peter leaps to his feet, his Spideysense blaring. Wade Wilson is going to kill him.
He’s ready to get lunged at, to have his limbs torn from his body. But Wade doesn’t move from his spot, chest heaving. Peter just stares at him.
“What?” the older barks.
“You…” Peter stammers. “Wade, please, please calm down. Can we go back to bed?”
When Wade looks back at him, his eyes are glistening with tears.
“Stop fucking with me, Spidey,” he begs, crying. “Please. I can’t take it. You made me feel like I could be better, but you’re treating me like I’m shit. You’re treating me like everyone treats me.”
Peter realizes all at once how badly he’s fucked up. He feels sick with regret.
“Please forgive me,” he begs dryly, falling back onto the edge of the bed, frozen.
“Maybe,” Deadpool says, still looking wild with grief. “I don’t know. Maybe. I have to get out of here, okay? I can’t be here.”
Peter is still frozen when Wade tears out of the bedroom. He doesn’t think about following until a few minutes after, jogging behind in a blind haze.
His trail stops at the kitchen, where Peter finds two forks and an outlet, and a completed circuit ending in Wade dead on the ground.
🌻
Peter sits on the living room floor, thumbing through blueprints in his email.
Approving projects doesn’t fit quite the same niche that designing his own did. He loved grad school. He poured over his thesis and ended up creating the bare bones of what now stands as Parker Industries. Missing direct involvement goes along with running the company, but at least he still gets little tastes of what he loves, even if he’s never fully satisfied with them.
Looks good, Rob. Try to get me a draft of your methodology by late next week. We might be able to start organ cloning trials ahead of schedule.
Finger clacking the send button, Peter looks up from the glow of the screen. Wade is lying on the couch where Peter left him, still looking rough. He’s been twitching on and off for the last hour, but the man suddenly releases a cough. Peter holds his breath until he sees the older make a slight motion, just the turn of his head.
“Wade?” he asks nervously, setting the phone down on its face.
That seems to bring the life back to him. Wade’s arms move, curling inward, and the male coughs violently as he rolls onto his side. Singed and stiff, he shakes his head and slides over to the end of the couch. With a far-away glaze coating his eyes, he looks down at the floor, and then glances over at Peter.
“Oh, hey Spidey,” he exhales, flashing a weak smile.
“Hi,” Peter squeaks.
He looks down at himself. “You dressed me?” he notices with astonishment, picking at the t-shirt and shorts Peter forced over his corpse. “That was so nice.”
“Uh…” Peter mumbles, fixated on the gentle smile that Wade is wearing. “Are we… are you okay?”
“Shit,” Wade says harshly, running a scarred hand up his face. “I’m remembering now. Nah, it’s all good Spideyboy. Forgot to tell you that happens.” He extends his arms, working out the stiffness. “Just need a little, oooh, shock treatment and I’m right as rain. Ya know? Factory reset. Next time I get that bad, feel free to off me yourself. I’ll come back better every time, scout’s honor.”
Peter looks at him, sees Wade smile, then sees his eyes hover off to the side, his mouth turning down. He looks too sad for Peter to bear.
And Peter honestly doesn’t know what is worse: that feeling, earlier tonight, that for the first time since he’s known the merc, that Wade was not unconditionally ready and willing to have him.
Or if it’s the knowledge that Peter can cause so much turmoil in his life that Wade will kill himself- literally kill himself over the grief, and then turn around with his arms wide open again.
That’s why, when he opens his mouth, he says, “I don’t like men.”
Wade blinks out of his dazed expression, honing back in on Peter’s face. “What?”
“I don’t like men,” he repeats steadily, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I thought I would, but I don’t. That’s why I kissed a girl this morning.”
Wade keeps staring at him.
“She told me I was a bad kisser and rejected me, so I came here. Because I knew you would have me. Because I didn’t want to be alone.”
It is convincing because it’s a lie flecked with the truth. It’s those same truths that make it feel like a cork winding into Peter’s chest. Permanent. It’s going to dislodge everything in him, going to make him spill his guts in a way he’s been desperate for. But Wade is looking at him with such horror that he knows he knows this grave is dug. He knows he can’t go back.
He sees it in Wade’s eyes at the same time as he feels it: Spiderman drops off of his pedestal.
He sees Deadpool remember that dreams are for fools, sees Deadpool realize that he is always playing the fool.
“I don’t understand” he says at the same time as Peter offers a lame, “I’m sorry.”
It suddenly clicks in Wade’s head that Peter is wearing the Spiderman suit.
“Webs?”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, stuffing his phone away and scrambling out of the nearest window.
🌻
Peter goes back to work. He sits up in his top floor suite and signs off on projects, looking over mechanical blueprints and pre-published manuscripts. He glances out the window at all the flowers growing behind the back patio, the pocked faces of the sunflowers’ middles; he lasts about three days doing it. Then the loneliness snaps his professionalism in half and he finally heads down to the lab, working hands-on to get the projects into motion. It keeps his mind busy. It helps the hours pass every day.
Crime doesn’t slow down. If anything, it skyrockets as July approaches, stretching Peter so thin he’s sure he’s gonna rip himself in half getting from one side of town to another.
September comes, then winter. Peter maintains his routine. He swings into summer. He dreams of Wade.
Deadpool doesn’t show up to help fight the villains anymore. They don’t run into each other on patrols. In fact, Peter starts hearing whispers that the merc with the mouth is back in business, taking jobs again.
He doesn’t know how to feel about it.
There was a time when that would fill him with anger, make him think that his friendship meant nothing to Wade. But it’s different now. Peter walked up and ripped their friendship apart in front of him. So what the fuck does he expect Wade to owe him anymore? What does he expect Wade to owe himself?
There are nights when he gets tips.
He hears through the grapevine that there’s going to be an assassination. He gets leaked texts that put Deadpool at an exact time and place. But he doesn’t follow through on them. He doesn’t intervene.
He’s already done enough.
One night, when he’s privileged enough to be walking home straight after work, the Spideysuit tucked away in his briefcase, he runs into a colleague. James Norr is another fast-talking man at the mantle of a company, too young for the responsibility, miraculously managing to scrape by. They immediately click, relating to each other.
They go out for drinks. They dance. Peter takes him home.
They’re both lanky and lean, both boyishly inexperienced, and after it’s over, Peter feels empty in both his bedroom and the bedroom of his mind, staring at the man sleeping beside him.
He tries it again. And again.
With random people he approaches awkwardly in bars, with people he meets online. He looks for big arms and frighteningly large smiles, for men with wild eyes who look like they could put him in guillotine choke and literally take his head off, laughing the entire time.
It has different outcomes, depending on the scenario.
One night, he’s fighting a man in an alleyway when he gets blind-sided. His Spidersense reacts too slowly; the mugger suddenly flings the teen that he’s holding as hostage at Peter’s chest, and reaching out to catch them, Peter gets shot in the arm.
The man beats the shit out of him. Plants a foot on his chest and rains fire down on him, completely ruining his face.
But he doesn’t bruise and swell so bad in the first few minutes. At least, not so bad that he’s unrecognizable. His mask gets ripped off. His identity gets exposed to the world.
He leaves Parker Industries in the hands of an able friend and flees the city.
He finally decides to follow a tip.
🌻
Peter tracks the mercenary for a solid month, following a lukewarm trail.
Wade has a habit of leaving breadcrumbs all over the country: the uncommon type of ammo he uses, receipts for bar food and drinks, a trail of bodies that all fit the profile of his code.
Then the trail suddenly leaps over the Atlantic Ocean, leading into Switzerland.
Peter’s common sense kicks in then, yelling at him to abandon the plan. Without a thought, he bats it away; he boards a plane and follows Wade out of the country. All he can think about, tucked into the tiny cabin between two snoring passengers, is what it will be like to see Wade again. The fact that he’ll hunt him across the globe if he has to.
Which puts him here, now: clinging to the shadowy side of a bar in Zurich, peering in through the dusty window.
Wade is hunched over on a stool, elbows resting on the bar as he pushes around an empty glass.
He’s familiar as all fuck. He's so good to look at. He’s also a trained killer.
It doesn’t surprise Peter when his eyes shoot up from his drink, glaring straight at the direction where Spiderman is clinging half-upside-down to the wall. Wade knows that he’s being watched, but he squints and then turns back to the bartender, saying something. Another glass of what looks like cognac is placed down in front of him and he turns his back on the window, slouching over his drink.
Peter allows himself to lean back over, filling the window. His eyes fill with Wade.
He looks the same. Large, most of his skin hidden beneath a jacket with the hood pulled up, his head hung down in a shadow of his own making. He swirls the glass around in his hand for a moment, watching the dusky liquid slosh against the rim, then gets to his feet, stamping the full glass on top of a wad of bills.
Peter sees him meander away from the countertop, looking discreetly around at his surroundings. He doesn’t miss the flick of Wade’s fingers, cautiously preparing to draw the gun stuffed down his back.
When Peter hears the bell over the door go off, he scampers up the building and onto the roof, pressing his body flat. He peeks over the edge. Wade is slowly edging around the side of the building, back held against the wall as his neck cranes to peer into the alleyway.
He doesn’t think to look up. Spiderman jumps.
He plummets towards the ground and reaches out, wrapping both arm around Wade’s shoulders and latching onto his back.
They roll to the ground in a mess of limbs, Wade grunting and slashing at him with his arms. Spiderman leaps fluidly from each attempt, avoiding every elbow and fist that comes his way while holding fast to Wade’s body.
Then he hears the deafening sound of Wade’s gun firing in his ear. He flounders, losing his grip, and hits the concrete with a terrible wave of surety that he’s been shot again.
But the pain doesn’t catch up. The confusion clears and then Peter sees that Wade is standing above him, the gun smoking and pointed right at his face, his expression curled in sheer confusion.
“Spidey? he demands.
Peter puts both his hands up, then rips the mask off his head. Even with his face exposed, he doesn’t lower his hands.
“Spidey?” Wade repeats, stuffing the gun away. “What the hell?”
The bar door crashes open under the weight of the bartender asking what the fuck is going on. Without warning, Wade punches the man and grabs Peter, throwing them away from the scene. He squeezes them into a tiny alleyway between restaurants, the gap filled with mud and garbage.
“I needed to talk to you,” Peter manages, his mouth dry.
Wade’s eyes cycle between being filled with ice and roaring with flames.
“No,” he concludes firmly, the shock wearing off. “No, Peter, no. I’m not talking to you.”
“Please,” he hisses, throwing his mask at the wall. “Please, Wade. Let me at least talk at you, then.”
Wade’s vision goes soft for a moment. Then his features tighten again.
“Your face looks different in a way I can’t quite put my finger on,” he voices coldly, eyes narrowed, “And that’s a big red flag for impersonators.”
“I- that’s because my nose was broken. And then they had to break it again to fix it, and- don’t you know anything that’s happened to me this past year?”
Wade looks at him sharply. “No, I don’t. I don’t lurk my ex’s finstas, Spiderman. I don’t look for them on the news and I don’t stalk them down to some bar in another country.”
Peter staggers forward, his ears still ringing from the gunshot. His plants both his palms on Wade’s shoulders.
“Please,” he whispers, refusing to let the older break eye contact. “Hear me out, Wade.”
Wade’s eyes close, his teeth grit, and he grabs both of Peter’s wrists in a clench so tight that Peter almost yelps.
“I’ve finally gotten over you,” he says tightly. “I’ve finally gotten back to myself.”
“I’m not asking you to change that,” Peter swears.
“God, Peter. You- you made me feel like you were the Dalai Lama, and I was so happy to do anything you wanted. I was happy to stop killing, to adopt a new code, to make you think I was good. And then I found out what you really were.”
Peter almost can’t get the words out. They’re hoarse in his throat.
“I was lying.”
Wade opens his eyes and looks up at the sky, shaking his head. “No. Nuh-uh, Spidey, I am not listening to this.”
“I couldn’t accept myself, and it was hurting you, and I thought the only way to set you free was by making you think the worst of me.”
He’s speaking fast, the words tumbling out. But as soon as they’re out, it’s completely silent.
“If that’s true,” Wade finally responds, looking accusingly at him. “If that’s true, that’s an absolute shit show, Webs. You made me think you were using me. You made me think that, knowing I would forgive you. Knowing I would put it aside and still forgive you.”
Peter steps forward, his eyes watering. His palms are still pressed to Wade’s chest and he stumbles. The older straightens him out.
“Please forgive me,” he begs.
“That’s really what you’re going to say to that? That’s really it?”
“Please.”
And maybe it’s because deep down, Wade still thinks of Peter as the perfect example of living greatness. The type of hero he has always wanted to be, and the kind that he’s always been laughed off about. If it were him, would he be here, apologizing like this? Would forgiveness matter this much to him? Would he have ever made those mistakes to begin with?
He snarls angrily, shaking Peter’s hands off him, and takes a step back.
Peter thinks that Wade is going to leave him here, alone in this alley. But the male growls again, a frustrated noise, and looks back up at him.
“You want me to forgive you? Then you earn my forgiveness, Webs.”
When Wade reaches behind him and tosses his gun, it’s instinct alone that causes Peter to reach out and catch it.
“You come heisting with me tonight.”
Peter looks down at the pistol in his hand, still covered by his Spiderman glove. It’s a sight he has never seen before.
“What?”
“I changed for you, Spidey. You want my forgiveness, you change for me, too.” He jabs a finger forward. “You learn that yes, there are people in this world whose deaths will save lives. You let yourself graduate from cheesy comic book fodder to somebody who really makes this world a safer place.”
Peters rolls his wrist, examining the gun. “Wade, I don’t know, I-” he cuts himself off and looks back up. “You think I can?”
“Yes.” His eyes are fierce with honesty.
“I thought… I thought what you liked about me was…”
“Your morals? Your purity of soul? That’s what I liked about you, but it wasn’t what I loved about you, Spiderboy.”
Peter is still looking at the gun when Wade steps forward.
“Practice on me.”
“What?”
“Shoot me in the arm. Or the foot. Or the face, it’s all open territory.”
“What? No,” he says disgustedly.
“Aw, cute, you care about me. I gotta see if you can aim. Get me right in the shoulder.”
“Wade.”
“It’s gonna heal up in fifteen minutes. Tops.” He opens his arms in a sarcastic shrug. “Did you really forget who I am in 12 months? Shoot my fucking arm off.”
Peter lifts the weapon, motivated by Wade’s gruffness. He angles the gun and does exactly what Deadpool asked.
He doesn’t shoot Wade’s arm off, but he punches a hole right through his shoulder, clenching his teeth as the recoil undoes his footing. In the silence following the gunshot, Wade gives an impressed whistle and grabs his arm, clenching it to his side. He winces.
“You see? That’s what I loved about you, kid.”
Peter lets the gun come to rest down by his side. He stares at what he’s done. Then the words catch up to him and a smile tugs at his lips.
“God damn, so okay,” Wade grins in return, staring at the bullet lodged inside of him. “Let’s go.”
🌻
They prep at Wade’s hotel room, a luxurious suite drenched in dark blue. The sheets are silk, the curtains are silk, the bedposts are carved. Wade plonks a metal suitcase on the spongy mattress and clicks two combination locks open, revealing his collection of handhelds and firearm accessories. His katanas sit triumphantly in the center of the bag, locked into place. He shines them and slings them over his back, then begins rifling through the guns.
“I guarantee my guys aren’t as rich as the Avengers, but do they splurge on the 5 stars? Uh, yeah. Stark ever set you up like this?”
Peter grins to himself. “Nah.”
“Stark is a failed sugar daddy. Lucky for me.” He picks a gun with a silencer and sets it firmly down in Peter’s palm. The younger wraps his fist around the hilt, red fingers closing around the gleaming silver.
“This dude is bad. Sleeps in a bathrobe bad.” He leans over the case and pulls out a few photographs of a gaunt, bald guy shaking hands with important looking people. “His name is Reynard Loranno, and he gets narcotics into underprivileged neighborhoods. Doesn’t sound that bad until you count the overdoses and arrests, see who’s getting blamed for it.” He stamps a finger down on the photo. “But he keeps a very tight, very secretive grip on his operation. Without him, it will fall apart. That’s what makes this a worthy mission.”
Peter studies the man’s face. “I don’t see why he needs to die.”
“Because his trial will pay more attention to his fortune than his crimes, and even if he does spend more than a few years in jail, he already knows how to operate behind bars.” He shrugs. “Plus, we’re taking his money, so we kinda have to be on the scene.”
“Why are we taking his money?”
“Cause I needa get paid, and freelancing is a starving man’s career choice.”
Peter thumbs at the safety on his gun. “I got my identity exposed,” he shares, because it feels like the right time to mention it. “I gave up Parker Industries.”
Wade stops. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I see why you’d want to leave the country.”
Peter grimaces. “You might think my ethics were good, but not everyone agrees. And, ah. I don’t blame them.”
Wade grins. He clinks his gun against Peter’s.
“We’re absolutely not gonna get caught tonight- but if we do, let’s give ‘em a real scandal to talk about.”
🌻
Wade has never wanted a partner. He hates worrying about other people, hates having to be afraid that they’re gonna fuck it up for him or that they’re going to get hurt and not regen, as is usually the case with people. But as it turns out, Spiderman is the perfect person to build a team with.
Wade flanks the outside of the mansion as Peter scales the side of the building, looking for a way in. The younger’s eyes are sharp and he collects information: which windows are locked, how the perimeter’s security operates, where he keeps his night guards, which part of the house Reynard is currently asleep in.
He descends on a web, landing beside Wade, and shares what he learned.
“Sounds like we enter in through the right wing,” Wade murmurs, which Peter agrees with by giving a sharp nod.
“I’m gonna have you sneak into the vault while I go after the guy.”
“How am I going to break into a vault?”
“Be slender. Be crafty. Just be yourself.”
Peter rolls his eyes below the mask. “I don’t think quick and sticky is enough to bypass a combination lock.”
“It was for me,” Wade says, looking over at him with suggestive eyes.
Peter’s heart lurches, not at the comment itself, but at what it feels like: this is back to normal.
“Meet back here ASAP?”
“See ya in a minute, kid.”
Peter waits for a moment as Wade takes off, dipping into the shadows and heading for a way in. Peter goes low, searching the molding of the house for small crevices that only he and the critters can take advantage of. Of course there is one: a basement window that’s barely the height of Wade’s neck. It’s all Peter needs. He hinges the pane forward and slides right through the crack, tumbling down into the dank basement of a giant house.
He catches himself on his hands and rolls immediately to his feet, crouching low just in case.
He’s entered a storage area, although if he owned furniture of this caliber, he wouldn’t put it underground to mildew and get eaten by bugs. Then again, he can’t imagine holding onto it either. He’s sticky, yes, and his funds are all liquid.
He starts working his way through the basement level, searching for a way up. Some of the floorboards have started to warp with age, so he crawls along the ceiling, peeking through into the hallway above. It’s a huge house, a place he’d get turned around in easily, but that means there aren’t guards posted at every single interval. He has some wiggle room.
He’s just found a set of stairs when his attention snaps to the far left, intuition pinging. One of the plaster panels is a slightly off-white color, differentiating it from the rest of the wall.
He slides over and lifts the secret flap, suddenly staring down a balls-to-the-wall vault, sealed tight like a huge slab of metal. The circular door winds around the middle of the vault, locked into place by iron beams.
He looks at all those tiny crevices, all those miniscule openings in the machinery. His fingers itch.
Across the manor, Wade sneaks out of a side bathroom and creeps into the hallway, his gun at his side. It’s dark, but he’s always had a good sense for the spatial stuff. If he continues this way, the master bedroom is only a few doors down.
It’s an easy trajectory, but zig zagging from room to room, he gets his first taste of the guards around the corner.
There are two of them standing impassively against the wall, guns cradled in their hands, ready. It’s probable that they don’t get ever get action on this job, but their guards are not dropped. Wade remembers what it was like to work security for high-profile baddies. A single second of laxness can mean devastation. So you don’t let that happen, not even for a second.
Wade sinks low and covers himself in the shadow of a storage closet, putting his gun away. Quietly, so that the blades don’t grate together, he draws his katanas.
He gives both handles an encouraging squeeze. Then he storms into the hallway, rushing the guards.
They both react immediately, lifting their guns. Wade sees their mouths open to call out a warning, the first thing that you’re trained to do, but the carpet beneath him grips his feet and he uses it slide forward. All he has to do is spread his arms to either side of him.
Both guards’ heads lop off, hitting the floor with muted thuds.
Wade feels the spray of blood on his mask. The rug bunches up under him and he thanks modern society for shoes and swords, protecting him from bullets and rugburns alike.
Then he hears the crackle of the guard’s radio, its transmission button pressed down beneath the guard’s body.
“Shit,” he breathes, yanking the device out from under him.
“Hello?” a voice immediately responds. “Carvo? Is there an issue?”
“No problem,” he says stupidly, then tosses it to the floor, whipping around. He starts running for the bedroom, but a door snaps open before he can reach it, sending light pouring into the hallway. A man yells at him, barreling forward, and shoots.
“Fuck,” he cries. He dips, replacing one of his katanas with a gun. He’ll come back if they kill him, but that doesn’t mean much if they take his corpse during the dark hours of regeneration. He has no interest in being kept in a cage.
Angling to the side, he shoots a rapid-fire round at the guards, scampering towards the final destination. A bullet grazes his arm, knocking off some skin. He grits his teeth and returns the favor, taking someone down.
Another bullet gets him right in the chest.
It’s worse than Peter’s shot to the arm, but at least that helped him prepare for it. He barks around the pain and slams his shoulder against Reynard’s door, bursting into the bedroom.
Moonlight floods the extravagant space, revealing a large canopy bed.
Nobody is in it.
Wade turns just as three more guards step in after him. He swipes his katana through the air, hearing it swoosh through nothing. He uses the sweeping motion to reach up and grab his second blade, ready to seal the deal, when one of the flanking guards steps out and shoots him right in the ribs. He plummets to the floor, gasping.
The man approaches, looming over him. Wade scrambles for his gun, trying to point it in the right direction, but it’s torn from his fumbling grasp.
A sense of defeat rips through him, filling him with panic.
That’s when he looks up and realizes what’s really happened: his gun has been torn from his hand by a web.
Spidey swings in through the open doorway, snatching the pistol out of the air. He jumps from a web and he’s sparkling somehow, moving too quickly to see, and Wade has just enough brain cells left to see him fire off a rapid-fire series of rounds, one gun clutched in each hand.
“Holy shit. Dual wieldy!?” Wade yells up at Spidey, entranced by the sight.
Peter grins at him and then throws himself across the bedroom, dodging gunfire. He defends himself by thrashing out with webs first, smacking bullets away, tearing men off their feet and onto the floor. Then he makes use of the real weapons, ending each threat with a bullet to the head.
When the floor is littered with bodies, Peter swings onto the ground beside Wade, breathing hard.
“That’s it?” he pants, pistols resting at his sides.
Wade squeaks. “Why do you look so cool?” he asks incredulously. Peter laughs, realizing he’s talking about the loops and loops of jewelry draped around his neck.
“There was no way I was getting into that safe, but I thought these might be worth something,” he says, dropping Wade’s pistol onto his chest. “You get the guy?”
“Bastard fled,” Wade answers, clenching his teeth as he tries to sit up. His body is already patching itself together, but it’s never exactly a pleasant sensation. “You’re gonna have to go find him, Spidey. If he leaves the house, I promise, we will never see him again.”
Peter nods vacantly, then goes still. He tilts his head.
His arm whips out and he fires a shot, the bullet tearing through the wooden slats of the bedroom closet. They both hear the body slump down inside of it, then watch as Reynard’s corpse, fitted with a hole through the forehead, tumbles out of the doors.
Wade looks up at him, forcing his mouth into a hard line.
“Oh,” he says. “Oh, okay, yeah, you just did that. Uhhhhh. Remind me why the fuck you were ever a good guy?”
Peter scoffs, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Dead parents,” he answers.
“That makes you a good guy?”
“Scares you into it.”
Wade pulls off his mask, stuffing it into his back pocket.
“So, fair game Webs. You’re the winner.” He tilts his head. “I forgive you.”
Peter’s body relaxes. “Thank you.” And then after a moment, “Do you really mean it?”
Wade more than forgives him. Wade revels in him.
He’s spent the night existing with Spidey the way he always wanted to: on his own level. He feels like he’s waited forever for Peter to crawl up here with him. Wade tried so hard to elevate him, spent so much breath trying to convincing him. But he got here all on his own. And damn, if Wade isn’t fucking proud of that.
“Yes,” he promises with a full grin. “And I’m 100% over you, so you gotta know I mean it. Your ass means nothing to me anymore. In fact, I don’t even know where your ass is right now, that’s how bad it looks. Flat Earthers: 1, Peter “science is my kink” Parker: 0.”
“Science is my kink,” Peter answers, folding his arms. “Cold, hard, empirical studies. Peer reviewed sources. Full text only.” He winks.
“Hold on, I found a plot hole. Genius mechanic can’t even break into a safe?”
“Genius mechanic took one look at the fuckin thing and knew there was no way getting around it.”
“That’s pretty safe,” he whispers. “Bet it drove you fucking wild.”
Peter laughs, shoulders bouncing. “I wanted to get in so bad, Wilson.”
“My machinery is pretty predicable. Wanna see if you can slip through?” He wiggles his fingers.
“I thought I heard you say you were over me.”
Wade grins, giving a lazy shrug. “Full text not available.”
They creep out through the back, only triggering a few more alarms as they go, then steal off into the night. Sneaking through the neighborhood, it’s only a half hour later before they agree that they’re not being followed and dare to get back onto the main road.
“What happens if there’s footage of us?” Peter asks after a while when they’re downtown again, the drone of the late-night crowd masking his voice. Lamplight and neon colors splash over his face. They stopped briefly in a bush to retrieve a duffel Wade had hidden earlier, changing into regular clothes and stuffing the jewelry and weapons away.
Wade shrugs. “We hope that people don’t think we’re stupid enough to be behind it. That we’re being framed.” He hoists the strap up around his shoulder. “Or we get cool new outfits for future jobs. I still think you look great in black.”
“You say that like this is gonna become a thing.”
Wade stops. “Will it?” he asks plainly.
Peter doesn’t answer. He slides his hands into his jacket pockets.
“You’re good at it,” Wade adds.
Peter shrugs, offering a sheepish smile.
Suddenly Wade’s attention turns. He gravitates towards the entrance of a club, the purple and green lights from inside sweeping over his front.
“So, sorry to be frank, but I only half forgave you before. If you want complete absolution, I’m gonna need a new dance to wash away all my bad memories of the last one.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “I liked the last one.”
“So did I. Until it ended.”
With narrowed eyes, Peter glances at the club. “Pour some sugar on me, Deadpool.”
Inside, leaning over a standing table, he just ends up getting a drink poured down his shirt, although to be fair, it’s pink enough to rot teeth. He steps forward, grabbing the glass in Wade’s hand. “Give that to me,” he demands.
“Nuh.”
The older wrests it back and Peter falls against him, laughing, getting even more wet in the process. He finally yanks it out of Wade’s hands and takes a long swig, then plops it back down on the table.
“Show me the Swedish meatball,” he demands.
“We’re in Switzerland,” Wade reminds him.
“Oh yeah. The, uh, swiss cheese? Swiss mix?”
Wade laughs. “None of these are dance moves.”
“Not from this century, at least.”
“Not from any century. You’re 26, you wouldn’t know.”
“I’m 27 now.”
“Pft, 27 roaches in the ashtray.”
“I don’t know what that means, Wade.”
“Because you hate music.”
“I don’t hate music?”
“Alright, brah, then get out there and prove it,” he grins, leaning back.
Peter slides the drink down the metal table and pushes back, the challenge bright in his eyes. He opens his arms and walks backwards, inviting Wade to follow.
The merc does, staring Peter down, and then they’re dancing together, caught between the colorful panels on the floor and the smoky lights on the ceiling.
After the intensity of the fight, after the bloodshed and death- even after the sort of terrible way their bodies have collided before, this method of contact feels like a warm, summer rain to Peter. It’s sweet and gentle, it’s nourishing, and when he lifts Wade into the air like last time, he can’t help but melt at the delighted squeak he hears come out the mercenary, a quiet sound that tries to hide beneath the thumping of the speakers.
Three hours later, they’re back in Wade’s suite, the music still vibrating in Peter’s bones. He nurses his headache on the windowsill, looking down at the foreign city.
Wade comes out fresh from the shower, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms.
“Hey,” he greets him.
Peter is sitting in front of the huge window panes, one knee tucked against his chest. He’s spindly as always, limber and lean, and the way he arches his spine is inhuman. The way he turns his pretty neck and says hi is utterly irresponsible.
“You look different,” Wade vocalizes, pulling a t-shirt over his head.
“Yeah. Twice broken nose.” Peter smiles and turns around, planting his toes on the floor.
“No, not that. Just… the like… Spidey demeanor.”
Peter is dressed in one of Wade’s long-sleeved t-shirts. It’s black, with white jagged text written up the side, and Peter’s face has a couple tiny cuts on it. He cocks his head, looking once more like he’s sup-human.
“Also, you look like a badass. Please let me be your personal stylist.”
“It doesn’t seem too hard to replicate the ‘shirts-from-bands-I-don’t-know’ style.”
“You want a gold chain? I’ve got like, six of ‘em.”
Peter drapes his arms over his knees, laughing. “You’re fuckin welcome, Deadpool.” He gets to his feet, leaving the window behind. “Sit down.”
Wade regards him. “Sit down?”
“If you sit down, I’ll come crawl into your lap.”
Heat slices through him. “You shoot a gun once and you get a drop-and-give-me-fifty attitude?” he purrs, although he takes a step back and lowers himself onto the edge of the bed.
“It wasn’t my first time shooting a gun.”
“Shooting a gun at someone,” Wade corrects.
“Fair.”
“I said I was over you.”
“I also heard you singing Wade in the water for twenty minutes while you took your shower, which was a fucking awful joke.”
“First of all, no it wasn’t,” he whines. “And second- non-sequitur! Judge, please ask the Spidey to stay on topic about the fact that he’s currently walking towards me and I’m getting an angry boner, because I am not going back to jail for this bullsh-”
Peter’s limbs wrap around him, legs sprawling over either side of his torso, arms encircling him. For a second, Wade’s angry boner doesn’t mean anything, because he realizes dazedly that Peter is hugging him. He picks up his stupid arms and hugs him in return, laying his head on the younger’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” Wade says quietly. “Fuck I missed you.” He winds his arms tighter, smoothing his palms up Peter’s back.
Peter sighs and pulls him tighter too, feeling the huff of Wade’s breath on his neck, diving into the smell of mint (bengay and ice breakers, he knows now, after observing Wade’s nightly routine).
“Me too,” Peter breathes. “I love you, Wade.”
Wade draws back and looks at him. He doesn’t say anything. He already knows that. And Peter already knows that Wade never really stopped, either.
Wade jerks forward and kisses him. Peter reacts immediately, opening his mouth to let Wade’s tongue inside it, warm and rough as the rest of him. His hands slip beneath Wade’s pajamas, palming at his crotch through his briefs.
Lightening-fast, Wade grabs Peter’s wrists, holding him in a tight grasp.
“Let me make something clear before this party continues,” he says in a low growl. “You break my heart like that again, I tear yours out and eat it, Webs. I promise you I will.”
Peter’s heart turns. Wade isn’t telling him he can’t leave- he’s telling him that he’s out of chances. There’s no wiggle room to fuck up anymore. But Peter knows he won’t. He knows he won’t, because he knows that like always, Wade is lying. Wade will always have him back, and Peter isn’t about to take advantage of that again.
“If I ever act like such a little fuck again, even once, you can eat my heart like groceries.”
“Mmm,” Wade considers, grabbing his ass. “One year does a wise man make.”
“It was a long year.”
“It was a long fucking year,” Wade whistles in agreement.
Peter pushes Wade flat onto the bed and crawls over him, bunching up the hem of his shirt and getting it out of the way. Wade still has two hands cupping his ass, and Peter thrusts forward on the older’s chest.
“I want the merc with the mouth,” he says.
“That’s not what they mean when they say that. It’s not that kind of mouth,” Wade replies, rolling his neck back to make eye contact with Peter, who is looming above him. “Except when it is.” Two calloused hands run down Peter’s bare thigh, then start running back up the left one. “And as I recall, you said that I stole that from you.”
Peter cocks his head and then swings his leg around, turning.
“Find out why your bank should be a mutual bank,” he agrees.
Letting his body drop onto the bed, he winds his arms around Wade’s hips and pulls the male’s briefs down with the help of his teeth, taking Wade’s growing length right into his mouth.
Wade shudders before he reacts, saying something soft and vulgar. Then he grabs Peter’s legs and the younger feels a tongue curling around his cock, finally devolving into the sensation of warmth and wetness enveloping him. It’s so good that he forgets to do his half of the job, hitching his own hips forward. Merc with the mouth, indeed.
Peter hums at the pleasure, channeling it. He swallows Wade’s cock until it hits the back of his throat, making him splutter pleasantly.
But Wade suddenly sits up straight, crawling back until he hits the headboard and leans against it with a huge sigh.
Peter follows him in a blur of motion, realigning, and nestles between Wade’s legs with the older’s cock still in his mouth.
He hears Wade start to say something, but it’s cut off by a hiss of air. He grabs the back of Peter’s head and curls his fingers through his messy brown hair, bobbing his head down every time the pleasure spirals through his body and he needs more.
“Webs,” he says in a strained voice, then pulls Peter off him entirely.
Saliva and precum glistens on the other’s lips, and Wade almost blows his load right then.
“Huh?” the smaller hums, leaning back on his knees so he’s at Wade’s height.
And God, this is what Wade always wanted. Spiderman has finally figured out how to fill his own shoes. Finally grown into the person Wade always knew he could be. This is what he’s been waiting for. Not just the part where he’s getting head, but okay yeah, that part too.
“Come work with me and be my love,” Wade offers, fingers lightly massaging Peter’s scalp.
Peter winces. “He’s quoting Shakespeare. This is bad.”
“And we will all the pleasures prove-”
“Okay, and he’s still going.”
“That blow jobs, 69’s, secret grownup handshakes
Are all much hotter after shooting bad dudes.”
“Is that the end? Please let that be the end.”
“Yes, that’s the end. Also, that’s Marlowe you fucking ignorant-ass nematode.”
“Jesus, leave me alone. I already told you I like science.”
Wade wraps his arms around the younger, pulling him against his chest. “I’m just fucking with ya, Spidey. Except for that first part. Come make a living with me. We’ll take this world.”
Peter squirms, his eyes bright with thought.
“Come on. You know that that was fun. I saw you. Guns blazing, fuckin’ whipping webs everywhere, it was awesome. You loved it.” He squeezes his arms tight. “It made you feel like you were saving the world again.”
Peter sighs, lying back against the pillows. “You’re right.”
“I really wanna getcha a cool black suit. I want heads to whip when they see you. Like, “whose mans is this?” whiplash.”
Peter laughs. “You just want to be a celebrity couple.”
“Hell yeah. Why not?”
“I’m trying to stay out of the spotlight for a little while, Wade.”
Wade makes a sympathetic clicking sound. “No spotlights. How about a heat lamp?”
Peter yawns and curls up in Wade’s arms. “Heat lamp sounds nice.”
“You tired, Spideybaby?”
“Yes,” he answers, “So fucking tired. I’m gonna roll over onto my side and I better have your dick between my legs before I start falling asleep.”
“God damn,” Wade breathes, “Where’d you get all this experience?”
“Here and there. Does that upset you?”
“No,” he says incredulously, “No, I love it. Lie down, let me open you up.”
Peter cuddles up with a pillow as Wade sinks below the covers and starts tonguing him open, pulling his cheeks apart until Peter is very much not asleep and very much pressing back as hard as he can, holding onto the pillow for moral support.
“Okay, this kind of upsets me,” Wade comments when he comes back up, embracing Peter from behind. “I didn’t agree to a threesome tonight.”
Panting, Peter makes a show of pushing the pillow off the bed, then pulls Wade’s arm around him.
Slowly, Wade prods his cock between Peter’s cheeks and starts pushing into him, pulling Peter closer to him with each building thrust of his hips.
The younger groans, pushing back. His face is flushed by the time he feels Wade seat fully inside him, just stretching him open.
“More,” Peter tells him, and Wade’s hand trails up to his face, fingers playfully spreading along his jaw and lips, feeling the shape of his eyes.
“I meant more fucking,” he laughs, the sensation tickling him.
“This isn’t fucking?” he asks, his thumb swiping over the bridge of Peter’s nose. “Stuffed to the brim as I explore the face that I love more than anything in this entire world?”
A deep, crazy hotness drips down Peter’s core. “Wade,” he says quietly, needily.
Wade’s free hand wraps around Peter’s cock, stroking him gently. Then he slings a leg over the side of the smaller’s hip and starts hitching forward, thrusting into him.
Peter gasps in delight.
Two of his fingers dip into Peter’s mouth. The younger hums around them, both hands scrambling to take hold of Wade’s wrist.
“Come like this,” he tells Peter, slowly working his hand from balls to tip and then repeating the motion. “Don’t rush towards it. Just let it come.”
Love and pleasure balloon in Peter’s chest, filling him up until he can’t see straight enough to tell them apart anymore. He keens at each slow, forceful thrust that Wade gives him, the motions so precise that Peter can’t focus on anything other than the feeling of being filled.
He moans softly.
“Yes, Webs,” Wade breathes in his ear, stroking him at the same pace. “Let me have you.”
The first sign of orgasm ripples through Peter’s body. He breathes faster, clawing at Wade’s arm, but the merc doesn’t change his motions, just holds him steadier.
“I’m close,” he says, another teasing spark lighting him up.
Wade chooses that moment to press his elbow to Peter’s chest and start fucking into him harder, lips closing around his neck. His hand keeps its same pace, and Peter tilts his head back as the smaller ripples collect and finally nudge him over the edge, making him come.
His mind explodes with pleasure, fucking mindlessly into Wade’s palm. The feeling rolls through him in waves, starting in his groin and ended in lightheadedness. Some conscious part of him sticks around long enough to feel Wade buck erratically into him and come almost immediately after, his teeth closing down on Peter’s neck.
Peter pants wildly, trying to come down from the high.
“Beautiful,” Deadpool rumbles.
“Oh wow,” Peter manages, breathing hard. “Wow, that’s a lot of semen all at once.”
“Daily double.”
Peter grins, hissing when Wade runs a hand over his sensitive cock.
“Thank God. If you didn’t come, I was gonna cut my hands off,” Wade says emphatically, pulling out and bundling Peter into his arms in all one motion. “Seriously. I was going to have to get rid of them and grow some new ones. But it was okay, because you were finally feelin’ it, Mr. Krabs.”
“Yeah, well, not anymore,” he laughs, reaching down to the floor for his pillow.
“I can’t believe you killed people and sucked dick tonight. Who the fuck are you? Whose mans is this?”
“People wonder,” he says with yawn.
“God damn. I don’t care who you are. I love you,” Wade tells him, burying his face into the back of Peter’s neck.
Peter barely manages to keep his eyes open.
“You get me,” he says drowsily, slogging through the words. “You’re on my wavelength, ‘Pool.”
“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Peter realizes he’s drooling. He swallows, lifting his head up to keep himself awake. “When do we have to checkout?”
“Noon.”
“Nng,” he groans, “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He’s drifting away from everything when he hears Wade say, in a hushed tone, “I wanted you to elevate, Spideyboy. And you did. Holy fucking Hell, you did.”
Peter mumbles back, mouth pressed against the pillow. Then Wade strokes a hand through his hair and it’s all over; he’s out, body submitting to exhaustion.
Wade wakes up around 5am, the hotel bed empty but still warm.
He turns, groggy, and sees Spidey standing across the room. The younger looks like he’s cleaned himself up and thrown on some fresh clothes. He stands on his toes, on the window sill, clutching the glass with his fingers and staring down at the city below.
His shoulders seem to bristle and he turns around, noticing that Wade’s watching him.
“Sup, Spideyboy?” he asks in a happy, tired voice.
“I wanna go out and swing for a bit,” he answers, each finger pressed against the window as though his suit were on, the fabric perfect for making use of the sticky residue his fingers secrete. His bare fingers slip uselessly against the pane, leaving behind greasy fingerprints.
“Why don’t you?” Wade asks, and sees Peter visibly light up at the suggestion.
“You don’t mind?”
“Nah, not at all, Webs. Do what you wanna.”
Peter smiles, leaping to the floor to retrieve his Spiderman suit. He fishes it out of the duffle bag and steps into it, clamping the web cuffs around his wrist.
“Got an extra keycard?” he asks, stretching out his fingers in Wade’s direction. The soft blue of morning illuminates him. He reminds Wade of a goddess, of a wet dream turned dream boat turned heart mate.
Wade cocks his head. He gives a cheeky smile. “I know you wanna go out through the window, Spidey. Just climb back in when you’re done.”
Peter looks back at Deadpool. A smile splits his face.
He shoots out a web and grabs the bed’s footstool with it. Knowingly, he holds eye contact with Wade before flicking out his hand, whipping the stool at the window.
The pane shatters on impact. Glass rains down onto the empty streets, scattering twenty stories below them. Peter faces the broken window, shoulders arching.
He gives Wade a wink before he pulls the mask over his head and takes off, leaping into the open air.
Wade watches him catch a web and swing through the buildings, disappearing from view. Even so, his heart stays full.
The gap between them does not open again.