Chapter Text
Almost simultaneously, MJ and Peter heave a heavy sigh as they walk into his room. It’d been four long years but they’re finally done. Ned is back with his family, celebrating, and MJ wants to stay away from home as long as possible. Maybe it’s pure exhaustion, but neither of them can help but laugh as they look sideways at each other.
Peter’s room in his and Aunt May’s modest Queens apartment is crowded with books and experiments, and half of his laundry is hiding from May on his top bunk. Looking around his cramped and messy room with satisfaction, he takes to the ceiling while MJ wanders over to his desk and drops into the chair.
Peter moves over so he’s above the desk and swings down enough to drop his phone on the surface. He pulls his webshooters off, dropping them down next. MJ holds up her hands to catch them, but misses one as it bounces out of her grasp. The webshooter knocks over a cup Peter keeps his random pens in and MJ immediately begins to snoop under all his mess. Shuffling some papers around, she quickly plucks up a golden card with an unmistakable logo.
“Why do you have this?” MJ sounds a little weirded out as she waves Deadpool’s plastic business card towards where Peter has crammed himself into the ceiling corner.
“Oh, Deadpool and I have just been patrolling together sometimes,” Peter half shrugs at her, “It’s not like we have a signal or anything to coordinate meetings so I asked for his number.”
“But that’s the mercenary that goes on killing sprees, right?” She wrinkles her nose distastefully, “Didn’t he steal your costume design, too?”
“I mean, not really?” Peter laughs, “He likes to pull the age card and insist that, since he’s older, I’m definitely the one who stole his design idea. But honestly, other than both being red, they really aren’t that much alike. His has a lot of leather, which must really get hot, but he never takes it off. And, uh, he has a lot of weapons,” Peter cuts himself off, a blush forming.
MJ continued to stare expectantly, “... and? The killing, Peter! I’m more concerned about the murders.”
“Well, he doesn’t go on killing sprees anymore! ”
MJ looks sideways at him, face skeptical, but seems willing to drop it. She shakes her head at him before turning back. With a satisfied noise, she snatches his phone up.
“Really, Peter, you don’t have it locked at all? What if I were some random villain?” MJ flops onto his bed, flipping through the home screens.
“I don’t take my phone when I’m out superheroing! That’s what Karen is for.” Peter rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, hanging down from the ceiling and stretching his arms toward the floor.
“Ooooh, what’s this, Peter?” Her voice is coy.
He looks over, confused, “What’s what?”
When he sees MJ scrolling through his camera roll, Peter instantly flips himself down from the ceiling, throwing himself at the bed.
“No, give me that! MJ!” He wails quietly as she flails away from him, giggling wildly.
“Aww! Look at little Peter, all grown up!” She turns the phone sideways and leers at the picture.
Peter curls up next to her, giving up on trying to take the phone away. His hands press over his burning face as he whimpers, “Stop it, oh my god!”
MJ cackles like a maniac but before she can make another joke at his expense, a quick knock comes from his door. Aunt May swings it open before either of them can react, and lifts an eyebrow at Peter’s bright red face.
“Aunt May!” Peter shouts, lunging for the phone and yanking it out of MJ’s hands. He fumbles and it lands face up on the bed, the explicit picture of Peter’s dick brightly visible.
Perhaps trying to redeem herself, MJ slams her hand down over the phone. Looking back up at May, they both strain to smile innocently.
Peter’s red face is probably not helping things at all. “I definitely saw that,” May says, unimpressed.
Peter tries to pretend that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, hoping that thinking it hard enough will paint the sentiment on his face, “Saw what?”
May points a stern finger at them, “This door stays open.”
She eyes them for a moment before she turns and walks away. “Supper will be ready in fifteen,” she calls behind her.
Peter groans and proceeds to bury his face in a pillow. He jerks back up when he notices how silent it is and sees MJ trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“Soooo,” MJ drawls. “Did you take that picture for someone in particular? Or?”
“I’m going to kill you,” is all Peter says as he finally snatches his phone up.
MJ leaves just before supper, face creased with a shit-eating grin. She knows Peter will struggle to get out of this one.
Peter throws a middle finger up at her, safely out of May’s eyesight.
When MJ is gone long enough that Peter can no longer pretend he’s watching her, he slinks back into the apartment. Unable to look Aunt May in the eyes after the whole mortifying experience, he does his best to keep his gaze on his plate as they eat.
After he’s moved his dishes into the sink, he wrings the dish rag in his hands, “Uh, I’m gonna…” Suddenly, he can’t not think about May catching them, “MJ and I weren’t-” he flails his arms around, unsure how to finish his own sentence.
She stifles a laugh and waves him off, taking mercy on him, “It’s fine Peter, go ahead and hide in your room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Peter shoots her a grateful smile before he runs down the hallway, shutting his door behind him. The card that’s now exposed on his desk immediately grabs his attention. He quickly shuffles it back under a stack of loose papers, almost guiltily.
Unceremoniously throwing himself down on the bed, he stares up at the bottom of the top bunk. MJ finding those pictures on his phone was so humiliating. How is he supposed to look at her tomorrow when they meet up with Ned?
He slips his phone out of his back pocket and searches for the picture, remembering when he took it. Of course he had been thinking about Deadpool at the time, remembering the last time he had seen the other man fight with his katanas.
It’s breathtaking to watch him move. Despite his size, Wade is incredibly graceful. He makes fighting look like a dance. It’s hard for Peter to not just stop and stare sometimes.
Peter can’t grasp how Deadpool does it. As far as he knew, the only mutation the other man even had was his healing ability. And while Peter can guess that the hyperactivity of his cells would increase Deadpool’s reflexes, speed, and ability to build muscle to the peak of human possibility, it wouldn’t give him superhuman abilities like Peter’s. Deadpool must have built his skill through sheer time and dedication.
Peter throws his phone down beside him, pressing his hand against his growing hard on. Thinking about Deadpool never fails to get him going. Peter pushes his pants down to his knees before he can even think about it.
All he can imagine is Deadpool standing in front of him, panting and out of breath as he finally decides to take off that suit. He imagines the mask staying on but Deadpool lifting the bottom half, revealing his grinning mouth and the scars standing out against his chin and neck.
He runs his hand gently over his dick, swiping his hand over the head and gathering the welling precum to help his hand slide easier.
Having seen bits of the other man’s skin through rips in his suit after fights, it’s easy to assume that the scarring is everywhere. The thought has him gripping the base of his dick hard. He imagines how Wade’s dick would look and feel in his hand, the need to come rushing over him way too fast.
He grabs his phone, quickly swiping to the picture of himself. He consciously calms his panting, trying not to come with the thought of sending Deadpool the picture. He can practically see the smirk Wade would wear as he looked at the picture. It’s so easy to imagine Wade taking his dick in hand, jacking off while looking at Peter.
Of course, he might laugh instead. Peter’s an awkward 17 year old with zero experience at sex. He would probably end up doing something stupid if he actually ever got up the nerve to offer more to Deadpool.
Yeah, Deadpool would laugh. Who actually wants a random dick pic, anyway?
Unfocused, he looks down at his reddened cock, beaded with precum. He’s just barely average. There’s nothing special about him, and he doesn’t even have the experience or the nerve to back up his fantasies.
Realizing he’s been moving his hand robotically for the last minute, he quickly swipes more precum down his length and speeds up. It takes only a moment to angle his phone to get a good looking picture.
The thought of Deadpool jacking off to a picture of Peter’s dick flashes through his head again and he groans, hand stuttering. God, Deadpool must be huge. He’s such a big guy, there’s no way he’s as small as Peter is, and the thought of the other man working himself until he spills to a picture of Peter is what finally does it for him. Ropes of cum hit the shirt he forgot to pull off, barely avoiding dripping down onto his bed.
He gently strokes himself in the aftermath, almost flinching at the feeling of too much before wiping his hand off on his shirt. It’s already got cum on it, might as well use it for clean up. He pulls the shirt off and wipes himself down, balling it up and tossing it to join its fellows on the top bunk.
He kicks his pants off and flops back against his pillow, looking at the new picture. He’s not going to send this one either. It’s stupid, why does he even keep thinking about it? He would at least start an actual conversation first. Say hi, probably even let him know that the person on the other end of the phone is Spiderman. Then maybe he could think about some mutually shared photos.
Most importantly, the chasm of age remains between them. Peter can fantasize all he wants. There’s nothing that will change how young Peter is compared to Wade. Would Wade even be willing to be with someone who is still a few weeks shy of 18?
Feeling a weird mix of dissatisfied and sated, he pulls his blanket over him and tries to keep Deadpool out of his mind for the night.