Work Text:
The club is so loud, and Peter’s head is light and spinny; the lights flash brightly around him as he grips his fourth drink of the night for dear life.
He doesn’t really drink that often and goes to parties even less, but he’s here because Wade is here, and if Wade is somewhere, then Peter is not far behind. That’s just how it is, and usually that embarrasses him, but honestly, he’s too drunk to care how obvious he looks watching Wade.
He’s laughing at something a pretty girl with long black hair and a tight dress is saying. His hand is curved around her hip, and her face is tucked against his ear. She’s whispering something that’s probably clever, funny, and sexy and is going to literally charm those tight pants right off him. Peter takes another burning sip of his drink, something strong that Wade had gotten him, and it’s gross, but it also burns in a way he needs because it dulls the twist in his stomach when he sees Wade with people who are actually capable of making a move on him.
The girl is pressing a kiss against Wade’s cheek now, and he’s saying something that’s making her laugh. Peter takes another long drink. Of course, she’s laughing. Wade is immensely funny, not that Peter would ever tell him that. He’s also immensely arrogant and thinks he’s hot shit because he is, and Peter wants him so, so bad. Too bad he’s not a hot girl or a hot guy, just Wade’s weird, nerdy roommate who has had a crush on him since they became college roommates three years ago.
"Peteyy." Gwen screams into his ear, knocking her shot glass against his cup and downing it before grinning widely up at him. Her chrome earrings sparkle and match the shine of pure evil in her eyes when she looks between him and Wade.
Peter scowls at her and takes a murderous sip of his drink as he waits for the inevitable.
"Just go for it!" She screams into his ear before giving him one rough drunken pat on the back, followed by a hard punch to the arm that almost sends him tumbling onto the sticky floor.
"Fuck you." Peter mouths at her, and she makes a heart by cupping her hands together and dangling the now-empty shot glass to the side with her pinkie. Mary-Jane comes up behind her, pressing a signature lipstick kiss to her neck before scooping Gwen under her arms and dragging her giggling toward the dance floor.
Peter stares at the space they were in and sighs before looking over at Wade, who has the girl pressed up against the wall, running his hands down her perfect body while she twirls little patterns onto the back of his neck as they make out. It hurts so much to watch that Peter wishes he were anywhere else.
He takes a wobbly step back so he can figure out somewhere else to be when someone elbows him hard in the chest, sending him full-body crashing into the guy next to him.
"Watch where you’re going, asshole!" The guy scowls as he looks down at his shirt, which is now stained entirely by Peter’s now mostly empty drink. He shoves Peter hard, and Peter barely feels it as he stumbles back.
"Sorry." Peter slurs because he is. He’s so sorry. Sorry, he came to this party; sorry that he’s not brave enough to tell Wade that he wants to fuck him so hard that their dorm wall breaks; sorry that his friends are out there dancing and having fun while he’s getting into fights because he can’t walk in a straight line. He’s also kind of sorry that he ran into this guy, but it’s pretty low on the list.
The guy reaches out and yanks him forward by the collar of his shirt. "You’re about to be." He says his breath is heavy with vodka, making Peter’s nose itch.
Peter wants to tell him that he couldn’t possibly punch him lower than rock bottom, but before he can, there’s a strong arm slung around his waist, pulling him against a familiar, firm chest.
"Hey, is this guy bothering you?" Wade’s cheery voice rings loud against the tinny music of the club, and Peter feels himself relax on instinct. Wade really does have a second sense for when Peter’s about to do something stupid.
"Just so you know, I’m talking about this guy." Wade emphasizes by poking Peter’s chest, and Peter elbows back hard and aims for the ribs.
"Yeah, man, your stupid friend spilled his fucking drink all over me." The guy loosens his grip on his shirt and stumbles back, flipping Peter off unsteadily. Peter resists the urge to flip him back only because his stomach turns and he doubles over.
Wade rubs his back soothingly.
"I don’t need your help." Peter groans, tasting drink four in the back of his throat, and wishes he was back in his dorm so he could puke it up in the comfort of their own toilet.
"I just like watching the house burn." Wade's voice curls around his ear and makes his entire body prickle.
Peter opens his mouth to say something back and then sinks boneless into Wade’s arms. His head hurts so much; there’s a ringing in his left ear, and if the guy wants to punch him so badly, then he should just get it over with already.
"Dude, he can’t even stand." Wade says dismissively over his shoulder and tightens his hold on Peter. "Let me buy you a drink to make up for it."
"I don’t let faggots buy me drinks." The guy says this before spitting on the floor. "You get your ugly face out of my way, or I’m beating the shit out of you both."
Peter suddenly, magically no longer needs to hurl.
Wade digs his fingers into the collar of his shirt, pulling back toward him, but Peter is beyond being able to be leashed.
The lights flash when he lunges forward and punches the guy so hard that it knocks him to the floor. Peter follows him down because he has no means of righting himself and lands hard on top of him.
"You take that back!" Peter grabs the guy by his hair and slams his head hard onto the floor. Blood drips out of the man’s nose and down his sweaty face as he stares at him with wide eyes. "You take that fucking back!"
The guy spits in his face, but Peter can barely feel it; he just sees red.
"I said." Peter grinds his teeth, reeling his arm back before driving his fist straight into his chest. "Take it back."
The man wheezes as the breath is knocked out of him, his wild eyes darting to look over at Wade, who is watching unmoving with his drink in hand. Peter doesn’t know what Wade’s thinking right now; he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking right now. He just wants this piece of shit to apologize already so he can puke in the bushes.
The guy starts thrashing underneath him, trying to get up, but Peter is drunk and pissed and is not getting up without significant assistance, so this guy isn’t either.
Wade crouches down next to them, taking a sip of his drink before winking down at the man. "I’m all fucking ears, asshole."
The guy stares between the two of them, and he looks terrified, and Peter likes that. He really, really does. He’s got a sleeper build and a consistent nerdy wardrobe that he hasn’t changed since high school, so most people don’t look at him like that until he’s got them pinned to the ground. Wade says it’s his superpower; Peter just thinks it’s his particular brand of crazy.
"Apologize." Peter digs his knee hard into the man’s ribs, and Wade laughs next to him, and he has such a nice laugh, and man, he hopes this dude caves soon so this cool moment isn’t ruined by puke.
The man looks like he wants to say something that would definitely get him another fist to the face, but he must see something in Peter’s eyes because he swallows that noise immediately. He mutters something indecipherable under his breath that sounds mostly apologetic.
Peter is going to accept it, mostly because he needs to throw up right now.
"The free drink is off the table, by the way." Wade comments as he stands up and then holds down an arm to help Peter. His hand is very warm and grounding; Peter holds it like he’s going to fall down if he doesn’t, and he probably is, so it’s a good excuse to keep holding it once he’s up.
"How’s my knight in wobbling armor doing?" Wade laughs, trailing a friendly hand against his shoulder. "My green-cheeked hero."
Peter looks up at him wordlessly, and Wade looks so fucking pretty. His scars are shifting with the scattered neon lights, and Peter really wants to reach out and touch them because he usually only lets himself do that when he’s drunk.
Wade is saying something, but it’s too loud to hear him, so Peter just watches. He’s fine with just watching. Peter likes Wade so fucking much that it almost doesn’t matter why Wade sticks around too. It’s probably just because Peter is sloppy entertainment that gets the cops called on every party he’s ever been invited to. Or maybe Wade just finds his stupid, obvious crush funny.
"Stop thinking so loud." Wade breaks through his thoughts by pulling him in hard by his collar, and Peter gulps; his mouth is so fucking dry. Funny how it feels a lot different than the other guy when Wade’s the one doing it.
"Get off me, man." Peter pushes weakly back against Wade, and Wade laughs before pulling Peter toward the dance floor. Peter should be heading toward something with an open door, but Wade is so effortlessly easy to follow. It’s like the whole world parts for him, just because it’s him.
Peter is only effortless when it comes to two things. Complex equations and beating the shit out of people. Wade is also effortless at beating the shit out of people and ninety-thousand other things, so Peter really only feels like he’s got the claim to one, and it’s fucking math. There’s nothing hot about math. There’s everything hot about Wade.
Wade grabs his arm and pulls him into a sharp left turn, which makes Peter stumble forward, crashing straight into the hard line of Wade’s back. He rights himself slowly, planting his free hand on Wade’s shoulder, who is looking toward the back of the club.
"You're welcome." Peter says he wants Wade’s attention on him again very badly.
"For what?" Wade laughs, but his fingers slip even tighter around Peter’s wrist, and it makes him feel lightheaded. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Peter doesn’t really think he’s got it in him to be in the driver’s seat right now, which is why he’s so glad Wade is dragging them through the crowds. He doesn’t even know where they’re going, but hopefully it’s somewhere near a window.
People keep trying to come up and dance on Wade, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. A few people try to dance up on Peter too, touching him in ways that make him want to scream, but thankfully Wade is moving so quickly that they break away fast. He hates clubs so much. If Wade didn’t like them so much, he’d never go to them. That applies to a lot of fucking things.
Peter is kind of pathetic like that.
Wade gets them to the back of the club and leads Peter to one of the exit doors, wrenching it open to reveal a smoker's patio with a few people lazily smoking, one couple drunkenly making out, and someone loudly yelling over the phone.
Peter looks around, confused.
"Hurl." Wade points to the scraggly bushes around them with a twirl of his fingers.
"Wha--" Peter chokes out, and then, on command, he’s blowing chunks.
Wade is rubbing his back, soothing and steady, and a couple people giggle as he throws up, but he doesn’t fucking care. This is so much better than throwing up inside the dance floor, or inside the bathrooms, or pretty much anywhere that Peter was planning.
"There you go, baby boy." Wade says softly: "Feeling better now?"
Peter wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and feels immensely gross. Not gross enough to not feel affected by the nickname. It always gets him, even though Wade doesn’t mean anything by it outside of the fact that he sees Peter as both incapable and infantile.
"In a manner of speaking." Peter says finally, and his mouth tastes terrible. He winces, and Wade laughs at him again, fishing in his pocket for a packet of gum and handing him one warm, silver-wrapped piece.
Peter takes it, holds onto the warmth, and thinks about how this touched Wade. Then his brain reminds him that he is also touching Wade. He gets to touch Wade a lot.
He unwraps it slowly, pops it in his mouth, and watches Wade watch him.
Wade doesn’t look at him like Peter thinks someone should once they’ve dragged their loser roommate to the bushes because he can’t hold his liquor. It’s upsetting because Wade isn’t really that hard to read; in fact, he’s one of the few people who makes Peter almost understand the secret language of human facial expression. It was one of the first things he liked about Wade.
He laughs when he’s happy, breaks bones when he’s not, and cries when he wants to because he doesn’t give a fuck about what people think. Peter wouldn’t know how to be emotionally honest if he had a gun to his head, and Wade goes around the world like he’s protesting the very idea of self-suppression.
Peter thinks that’s so cool of him. Everything Wade does is so infuriatingly cool, and Peter would rather throw up on the dean’s shoes than ever tell him.
"I am immensely cool." Wade agrees with a sharp grin showing off his dimples, and Peter wants to kill himself.
"Oops." Peter almost swallows his gum. "I didn’t mean to say that out loud."
"Oh, I know." Wade snorts and waves his hand dismissively. "You never compliment me unless you’re drunk." There’s something in that too, and Peter bets that if he wasn’t drunk, he’d figure it out.
"Probably not." Wade snorts, and Peter should probably give up thinking because it’s not the private conversation he desperately needs for tonight. "You’re the densest person I’ve met in my entire fucking life." He pauses. "I’m going to buy you some water."
Peter opens his mouth to protest, but then Wade is shoving him toward the door, and then they’re back in the club, and Peter misses the smokey outside air, asthma be damned. The club is loud and overwhelming, and he’d take the ambiance of the man screaming on the phone and the sloppy make-out noises over it in a heartbeat.
Wade is near him again, though, so that’s nice. He’ll be there until he buys Peter a drink and sets him up in some dark little corner while Wade finds someone he wants to take home, and then he’ll text Peter the location of the Uber he ordered for him, and then that’ll be that. Peter hates that. It’s technically a nice thing to do—Wade is technically nice.
Peter still has to go home knowing that Wade is out there with someone who isn’t him. Because he doesn’t want him and never will, and Peter has to see that in every face of every hot asshole that Wade wants instead.
"Don’t buy me an Uber." Peter slurs out
"Huh?" Wade says.
"Don’t buy me a fucking Uber!" Peter shouts over the noise.
Wade stares at him, and there’s something off in the twitch of his mouth. "Are you thinking of getting some?" He grins, and Peter wants to bite his fucking ear off.
He lunges for him before he can think about it, latches his teeth around Wade’s ear, and pulls hard enough to hurt before he realizes what he’s doing and immediately lets go. Wade is staring at him with a look that Peter only sees when he’s watching an immensely good take down during their college boxing binge-watches or the one time that Peter accidentally walked in on him jacking off.
Peter drinks it in. He blinks his eyes like it's his camera, and his mind will preserve the moment forever. Peter somehow randomly triggered Wade’s O face. The circumstance makes no sense, but that’s what being sloshed is for.
"Fuck." Wade says softly: "Fuck - fuck - " His grip tightens on Peter’s arm, and Peter wishes it was less loud so he could hear him better. Closer to his ear. Maybe with some moaning. Peter smiles at the thought as Wade drags him forcefully over to the bar.
"A bottle of water and a shot of the strongest, nastiest shit you've got." Wade says, and Peter looks at him confused, because he really is not going to drink again.
"I don’t want another shot." Peter says, shaking his head fervently in case Wade can’t hear him over the noise.
"It isn’t fucking for you." Wade snaps, looking so annoyed that it curbs any momentary good feeling that Peter was clinging onto. He uncaps his water bottle and takes a big swig, almost wanting to cry at how nice it is to drink something that doesn't feel like it’s trying to burn through his organs. The actual tears pricking his eyes are probably because Wade wants to take a shot because Peter just tried to bite off his earlobe.
"Thanks." He says to Wade a second after he should have. Wade is too busy downing the shot like it’s his last one on earth to hear him.
Peter watches the way his throat moves as he downs it and thinks again about how hot Wade would look sucking his dick, and then feels like a creep, a perv, and the world’s worst roommate.
Peter takes another delicate sip of his water and stares at the ground instead. Then Wade is smacking the bottle aside and grabbing Peter by the face. His hands are so warm and rough around the fingers, and Peter is staring into those intense blue eyes of his, and he’s probably burning red, and he-
Wade’s mouth is searing hot against his. Peter freezes, his fingers digging into the curve of Wade’s shoulder so he doesn’t topple to the ground. Wade’s mouth stops moving messily across his, but not before his teeth catch the curve of Peter’s bottom lip and pulls.
Peter moans, open-mouthed, and gasps as Wade pushes his tongue inside, running it across the roof of Peter’s sensitive mouth, and it feels like too much—this is all too much—the music, the noise, the way that Peter can feel Wade’s pulse under his shaking hands. Wade is kissing him. Wade is kissing him.
He’s not a gentle kisser, but then Peter never thought he would be. He tries to pull Wade closer, tries to kiss back, but his body is shaking so much with how much he wants to that he doesn’t know how to push back, how to meet him in the middle, so he just feels it. Wade is smiling against his mouth, and then he’s biting again, down the curve of his neck, and saying something that Peter can’t hear but that feels good. It all feels so good.
Wade swivels Peter’s bar stool so that he can crowd Peter against the counter; in the distance, Peter can hear someone shouting, but then Wade’s pressed his hips against Peter’s front and is grinding up against him, and his mouth is so wet and so hot, and Peter is
"Can you not fuck on my bar?" The bartender screams into Peter’s ear the moment that Wade’s hands skim the hem of Peter’s boxers, the other openly grasping at his dick, and Peter is gasping, rutting up against Wade’s hand.
"Want to take this somewhere else?" Wade yells over the noise, his eyes burning holes into Peter’s skull, and Peter needs to close his mouth, needs to say something back, but all he can do is nod his head shamelessly, groping at the front of Wade’s shirt because yeah, he does.
Before he can think about it, he grabs Wade’s arm and starts dragging him away from the bar and straight into the dancing crowd. He’s a lot less skilled at it than Wade; he’s shorter and smaller, for one thing, but that doesn’t mean that a mean elbow and a burning desire to fuck his best friend don’t make up for his lack of spatial fluidity.
Wade follows behind him, clinging tightly to Peter’s hand as he parts the waters for them with the grace of a raging horny bull.
Peter's heart is racing; he doesn’t know why this is happening or what is making it happen. All he did was punch a guy, throw up outside, and bite Wade on the ear. That’s a normal Tuesday for them. That’s practically every day for them.
He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Whatever is rushing through Wade’s system is making him actually want Peter so bad that Peter can feel it is something he wants to ride until the sun comes up and Wade is knocking back his hangover breakfast while he texts whoever he’s got plans with next.
Peter’s twitches at that, the thought of being another one of Wade’s bodies—a name on the roster, but he’ll take it. He’ll be a name; he’ll be a body if it keeps Wade touching him like this, finger skimming up the curve of his spine, insistent, wanting. Peter doesn’t want it to end; he wants to drag it out as long as he possibly can.
They finally reach the part of the bar where the bathrooms are, the only place that Peter ever takes time to memorize the location of. Usually so that if he ever has to have a panic attack or puke, he has a way point. They’re always disgusting, but if you get too drunk, that kind of fades into the background. Right now, it’s fully faded and practically irrelevant. This bar actually has a few single stalls, and they’re all currently occupied, but that doesn’t really matter.
Peter whips Wade against the door of the nearest one, pinning him there with one of his hands, before he slams their faces together, rutting up against Wade’s hip as he gasps into his panting mouth. He moves down onto his neck, biting as hard as he can against the skin and sucking on it with the hope that it lasts for days.
"Jesus Christ Peter." Wade breathes, throwing his head back and giving Peter more room to work with. Peter slips his hands underneath his shirt, feels him up, runs his hands against the soft hair of his happy trail, and drags his nails against the scars on his chest.
Peter doesn’t trust himself to say anything; he doesn’t want to ruin the fucking moment, so he keeps on following every base instinct he’s ever had about fucking Wade Wilson. He touches everything he can, kisses anything exposed, and knows that once the asshole hogging this single stall gets the fuck out of there, he’ll do more than that.
Wade smacks his hand loudly against the door, like he wants it as bad as Peter does. There’s noise coming from inside—the sound of the sink and immediate dryer. Peter grabs the hand that Wade is pounding at the door with and pins it above his head.
"I can't, I can’t believe-" Wade stutters out as Peter stares at him. He moves the hand he has under Wade’s shirt over to tweak one of his nipples. Wade’s entire body shudders, and Peter wants to break the lock by force and throw the guy in there out by his legs.
"You’re so hot." Wade gasps. "I want you - I want you so bad." He whimpers, honest to god whimpers, and Peter is bottling the noise up, locking it up, and throwing away the key. Wade kisses him back and moves his free hand to cup Peter’s face, but Peter just wants to be greedy and wants to be in control. He grabs that hand and pins it above Wade’s head too, presses kisses angrily against the curve of Wade’s mouth, and drags his tongue against the whirl of scars there in ways he’s only dreamed of.
Wade stutters down the door, like his knees buckled and did—did Peter get Wade to buckle? His dick is hard enough to cut fucking glass.
"Can I fuck you?" Peter says he is staring so hard at Wade that it makes his eyes actually burn.
Wade nods wordlessly. "You want to fuck me?" He says, and it’s so quiet that if Peter hadn’t watched Wade’s mouth obsessively enough for three years that reading his lips is effortless, he would have never caught it.
"So fucking badly." Peter says it almost in disbelief. "How do you not know that?"
Wade, for once, looks like he's at a loss for words, and Peter doesn’t have the patience to wait, so he goes back to sucking hickies down the expanse of Wade’s neck, and then the door jingles behind them and is pushing hard against them, and Peter pulls Wade back so that the door can open all the way.
It’s that guy. The guy that Peter punched
He stares at both of them, and Wade grins cockily, pulling down his collar to reveal the trail of hickies, and Peter takes a step forward, already ready to reel his arm back because if this guy says something homophobic again—boner be damned—he’s cracking his skull on the bathroom door.
The guy stares at them both and scowls like he’s about to say something, and then Peter lunges forward, and the guy immediately stumbles back; the scared look in his eyes just makes Peter’s blood run a little hotter. He’ll take him back down to the floor again if he has to—hell, he’ll make him forget how to form slurs.
"You should get out of here." Wade says, and Peter can feel the twitch in him that makes him think that he might not even have a chance at the guy before Wade tears into him.
The guy looks like he wants to bite back, but then he seems to think better and stumbles back into the club.
"I bet he’s fucking tenting." Wade giggles. "I bet he’s into that shit." But Peter is too busy dragging him into the bathroom, throwing him inside before quickly fumbling with the door until it locks, and then he’s alone with Wade, and Wade is staring at him and Peter is staring back, and the music pounds from the outside, but it’s not as loud as the white-hot panic in Peter’s brain is.
"Hey." Wade’s voice goes quiet. "You’re drunk, I’m drunk- if you don’t want this, that‘s cool, Peter. I won’t make it weird."
That’s all it takes for Peter to swallow his nerves.
"You’re an idiot." Peter says it slowly, like it’s a revelation. "You are so fucking stupid."
Wade flinches, his eyes wide, and Peter realizes he’s probably not saying what’s important, that Wade, for someone so good at reading people, probably doesn’t know what that means. Peter barely does, and he’s in his own head.
"I’ve wanted you-" Peter breathes out raggedly, grabbing onto the front of Wade’s jacket and clawing at it, pulling and tugging until Wade realizes that he’s trying to take it off and slowly lifts his arms so Peter can drag it off of him. He flings it into the corner, even though Wade audibly looks grossed out at its destination.
"-for so fucking long." Peter hisses, dragging his nails against the whirl of his skin, pulling up Wade’s shirt and stopping halfway when he can see all the red marks he’s bitten into it. He bites at it again, leaving another when he pulls away. He loves that. Loves how it looks. Like Wade is his, like he belongs to him.
Wade groans, and Peter is saying this shit out loud again, isn’t he? He doesn’t care; it’s all true. It’s all fucking true. Wade has to know. He has to.
He lets Peter crowd him against the wall and pull the rest of his shirt up, throwing it where the jacket is. Peter takes in the look of Wade’s heavy eyes, his open mouth, and the way he looks drunk on it. Drunk on Peter.
"You’re lying." Wade says slowly that he wants to be wrong but can’t imagine how. "You? I’d know. I’d fucking know."
"What? ‘Cause you’re some fucking Casanova?" Peter hisses and shoves his hand down Wade’s boxers; they’re so wet. Wade wants him; he wants him just as bad as Peter wants him, doesn’t he? It feels so good to know it and to feel it. The way he twitched against Peter’s fingers soaked through his boxers. Peter wants to get on his knees and blow him up. Not now; now he has to somehow explain the obvious.
"I’ve wanted you since day one, you idiot." Peter says, and he’s so angry that he’s shaking with it, but mostly because he’s just so scared. He never thought he’d actually say all this. That it would just stay with him until they graduated, and he’d drag it behind him like a cinder block until Wade got married to some hot equally cool person that wasn’t Peter and made Peter his best man and watch his dreams die at the altar.
Now, he doesn’t think he can actually survive another second without Wade knowing just how badly he wants him.
"I’d know." Wade says again, even though clearly he didn’t.
"So bad." Peter gasps against his ear, "So bad, oh my god, Wade. You just had to get along with every fucking person you ever met, but no - not me.
Wade grabs his face between his hands and shakes him, his eyes wild.
"You didn’t want me." Wade says, and his voice breaks, and he’s drunk too. Peter can hear the slur in his voice, but he can also hear the thing hiding behind it, the one he’s been trying to figure out all fucking night.
"Of course I did. I wanted you more than anyone." Peter isn’t sure that’s a measurable thing—wanting. You can’t get numbers on that, but Peter is pretty sure the level of heartbreak he’s been nursing far surpasses any of Wade’s weekend sleepovers or month-long flings. No, Peter has been holding a fucking candle, hundreds of them—a dorm fire hazard's worth of candles—and Wade has never noticed, not once.
Wade doesn’t look like he knows what to say, and isn’t that a fucking first? So Peter continues grinding against his dick through his boxers, running his fingers up and down, relishing the way that Wade gasps under his hand.
"Do you like that big guy?" Peter says he's drunk on it. "You do? Huh? Let me make you feel good; let me fuck you." He almost adds a please, but he doesn’t want to sound desperate. He already looks desperate. Combining the two seems like a bad idea.
"Please." Wade whines and sounds desperate enough for the both of them.
Peter runs his fingers down the curve of his hip. The inside of his thighs are wet, and Peter wants to fall on his knees and swallow him down. He wants to see how many times he can make him come under his mouth, how many it’ll take until Wade is begging him to stop, and how loud he’d have to beg to make Peter actually want to stop.
Wade stutters underneath him and when Peter looks up at him, his eyes are wet and he looks overwhelmed. Big bad Wilson looks so -
"Mine." Peter says this before he can stop himself. "You’re mine." He says it, and then he wishes he didn’t because Wade doesn’t say anything back; he just groans and bucks his hips weakly. It’s fine; Peter has him for like five minutes at least, and that’s a lot more than he ever thought he’d get in the long run.
Peter unbuckles his pants, and Wade is reaching out, tugging down his boxers, and then grabbing at his dick, rolling it between his hands, and gasping. "Fuck, you’re so big. I knew it’d be big. skinny guys like you always have- fuck, Peter-“ He’s gasping as Peter crowds him against the wall, rutting up against Wade’s hip and leaving a trail of pre-come.
"Fuck," Peter bites out when an unwanted realization hits him. "I don’t - I don’t have a condom - shit - "
"Inside." Wade is pulling Peter toward him, fingers stuttering as he rips at the buttons on Peter’s shirt. Peter forgot he was even wearing clothes. His brain just has room for one thing at a time, and right now it’s just Wade.
"Don’t care—fucking, it’s fine. Cauterized that fucking shit a long time ago. I know who you haven’t slept with, and I got tested two days ago." He finally rips Peter’s shirt off and sends it to the rest of the pile. He’s running his fingers down the curve of his hips, digging his fingers into the meat of his muscle. "God, you are so built. So fucking built. Fucking nerd. Who designed you?" He says this before leaning forward, biting at Peter’s neck, and leaving his own mark. "Compliments to the fucking chef."
Peter drags Wade’s pants down with one hand, cupping him through his boxers before sliding them off too. He wants to take the moment in, but Wade is impatient and drags him forward by his hips, his strong arms pushing him forcefully down until Peter is sinking slowly into Wade.
He feels so fucking good. Peter has thought about this a lot. Whenever he’s fucking his hand or watching porn and trying not to think of Wade, he thinks of him anyway. How he feels, what it would be like to feel him twitch around him—and now he knows, he knows—
Wade wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and pulls him further inside, gasping against his ear. "Fuck me, Parker." He growls. "Fuck me through the fucking wall."
Peter feels heat spread across his stomach, pressure building as he slams into Wade as hard as he can. Wade gasps into his ears, clawing at his back so hard that it leaves marks. Peter does it again, as fast as he can and as hard as he can. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt—the top moment of living without argument—and the burn is building, and it’s so fast-he’s going to come so fucking fast and it’ll be over and then-
"….Peter." Wade chokes out, pulling back. "Um.”
Peter is not coming in Wade. He is definitely is pissing inside him.
"Holy shit." Peter chokes out. There’s no coming back from this. He’s going to have to change dorms tomorrow, maybe schools. His cheeks are burning hot, and he moves to pull out, and oh my god, he’s going to get it all over Wade.
"No -" Wade says quietly, pulling him back close to him. "No, no, no." He quietly chants as Peter starts to move away from him.
"What do you mean no?" Peter hisses, burning alive with mortification. The best moment and the worst moment simultaneously. Just his fucking luck.
"Feels-feels-" Wade gasps, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and holy shit, he’s into this. He’s into Peter pissing at him, and maybe Peter is easy like that, but anything that makes Wade’s eyes roll back like that, he’s not against.
"You like that?" He speaks cautiously. "You’re cool with it?"
"Feels like you're fucking marking me, man. Like, like, like- " Wade forces out each word like each word takes effort, like he can barely talk. Peter feels drunk on it.
"Mine." Peter says it again, and it echoes through his head on loop. Suddenly, he kind of gets it. He shoves himself deeper into Wade. The four drinks are making him piss like a fire hose; he has no idea when it’s going to stop, and he kind of doesn’t want it to because Wade is falling apart underneath him, barely standing without Peter’s help. His cheeks are flushed pink, making the scars stark, and he’s so fucking hot. Peter can’t handle how hot he looks.
"You like being mine, Wade?" Peter whispers into his ear, and the liquid courage still left in him is for sure yanking out the breaks and tossing them out the window.
"Yeah. Yeah Petey, really- " Wade moans as Peter pulls out and pisses down his body, yellow streams rolling down Wade’s hips and staining his pants, and Wade is sinking down, knees bent, as he tries to stay upright. "Yours." He gasps. "’M yours, you - you you - "
Peter did not think he’d ever be into this shit, but pissing on Wade—fucking Wade Wilson like—like he’s his, like he owns him Like he belongs to him, like no one should touch him again—Wade wanting it, moaning and bucking up into the stream, and begging for Peter to go back inside, to keep on pissing inside.
"Want me to own you, huh?" Peter says, pulling Wade back to his feet, stopping his stream long enough to try to force his way back inside, and Wade cries at the feeling, jerking his hips and whining.
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah." Wade chants. "Fuck, oh my god, fucking wet dream, fucking-"
Peter snorts. It is kind of a wet dream. Literally—oh my god, he needs to focus.
"Please." Wade whines. "Please." Peter doesn’t know what he’s asking for; he doesn’t know what to give him, but he’d do it in a heartbeat if he did.
"What?" Peter breathes out, desperate to please. He cups Wade’s cheek, and Wade gasps, nuzzling against it, eyes closed.
"Fucking, I - want you to do whatever you want. You’re so good to me, Peter." He whines, furiously dragging his cheek against Peter’s hand. "No one has ever been so good to me. I wanted you so bad, but I didn’t think you wanted someone - like me." He finishes with a stutter, lids half closed.
"What the fuck?" Peter would be laughing if Wade didn’t sound so serious. "I’m literally pissing inside you, asshole. You think I don’t want you?" He smacks his hand lightly against Wade’s cheek, and his spine prickles at the whine that comes out of him. "Of course I wanted you. Idiot." The look on Wade’s face is everything: awe-struck and wide-eyed, and maybe someday Wade will let him piss on his perfect face. Would swallow Peter down and-
His stream stops, and he is tabling that one for later. If they get a later. If this isn’t some sort of weird drunk hook-up with an embarrassing kink discovery, that could lead to some really complicated conversations tomorrow.
"I mean, you’re you." Wade laughs weakly, buckling fully to the ground when Peter pulls out. "It felt so good." He says it softly, like he can’t believe it. "Fuck, I didn’t - I didn’t think I’d ever be into that. Never gonna stop thinking about it."
"You better not let anyone else do that." Peter snaps on instinct. "Unhygienic."
"Says the guy who just pissed in and on me."
"I’m a clean dude." Peter sputters. "I have fucking clean piss."
"You eat like shit; you only drink water when I give it to you. Bet that shit is fucking neon yellow." Wade laughs weakly. "I'm still into it though; I'm still going to finger-fuck myself tonight thinking of you pissing in me and shit. When you sober up and realize that this is a mistake and you-
Peter drops to his knees so that they're at eye level.
"Shut up." He says it before he can think and then kisses him so hard that their teeth clack. His dick isn’t there yet, but he needs Wade to know that this isn’t a mistake. That of the two of them, he’s definitely not the one who’s going to back out of this in the morning.
"I’ll finger-fuck you tonight." Peter says it solemnly. "And the next night, and the next, and then—maybe you’ll get it through your thick, meat-head skull that I’m - I’m so - " His voice catches. "So fucking into you." He breathes out weakly, because he is. He doesn’t think he’s ever been into someone more.
"Me?" Wade says wondrously, and for some reason that’s the type of stupid shit that makes Peter’s dick twitch, because of course it would. Because he is in love with Wade Wilson, and that’s just his fucking hard-wiring.
"We’re in a two-person dorm." Peter rolls his eyes. "Who else would I finger-fuck?"
Wade shrugs. "You’d be surprised how many people you can stack on those twin-sized beds-"
Peter kisses him again just to shut him up.
Wade is so wet when he roughly swipes his thumb against Wade’s dick, and Wade is panting against his mouth, whining and shaking underneath his hand, and Peter loves this. Never wants it to stop.
"You’re so... so... "Peter mumbles against his mouth; he struggles to find the word as Wade bucks against his hand, forcing Peter’s fingers inside and twitching around them.
Peter crooks his fingers, and Wade moans, slamming his head against the wall.
"Desperate." Peter breathes out, and Wade flutters his eyes at him, lost and glazed as he ruts his hips up.
"So desperate." Peter says again, slipping his fingers out of Wade's mouth and moving them up to Wade’s open mouth to shove them inside, gasping when Wade licks them clean.
"Yeah." Wade says he is dazed when Peter pulls them out. "For you? Fuck, fuck yeah."
"Just for me?" Peter says slowly, and Wade stares down at him with the most naked adoration he’s ever seen, and Peter wonders if he’d be into collars and fucking full-body tattoos of Peter’s possessiveness because now that he’s seen this, he’s not sure if he can go back to listening to Wade moaning someone else’s name, texting him from someone else’s dorm—those Grindr pings at three am, followed by Wade throwing a bag together and slamming the door behind him.
"If you want just me," Wade says softly as Peter licks his tongue across the curve of Wade’s hip. He tastes like piss and sweat, and that should be gross but -
Wade whines above him, tangling his fingers in Peter’s hair and pushing him down, and Peter sucks on his dick, biting down on it softly just to hear Wade hiss and feel those fingers tighten in his hair because Wade always talked about how he likes it to hurt a little.
"Fuck. Peter." Wade gasps. "Please, please, please - "
"Hmm?" Peter hums around him, feeling drunk on it. light-headed, drugged on the sensation of having Wade’s full, undivided attention. No wonder Wade had lines going out the door from their dorm. Peter doesn’t blame the repeat customers; he just won't let those fuckers in again.
"You, could you- " Wade stutters, pushing his own fingers down to rub at his dick as Peter shoves his back inside. "Just like that." He gasps as he jacks himself off at a pace that looks borderline painful, and Peter memorizes the motion like he’s getting quizzed on it as he slams his fingers in and out of Wade.
"You’re so..." Peter can’t finish the sentence, so he just licks a long stripe against his thigh, and Wade shudders, twitching, and then he’s coming, soaking the bottom half of Peter’s face and pulling back his fingers long enough for Peter to wrap his mouth around his dick again and suck hard.
"D-don’t stop." Wade grabs onto his hair and tugs hard. "Don’t fucking stop."
Peter did not even consider stopping; he’d rather get run over by a train than get Wade’s legs away from the curve of his face. His fingers tugged at his hair like he was trying to direct Peter by the reins.
Peter feels his own erection digging painfully against his jeans, and he ruts against the floor as he takes out his fingers, wiping them pointedly on Wade’s shaking thighs.
"Jesus Christ." Wade stutters. "Where did they build you? I need to know so I can burn the factory to the fucking ground."
"Queens," Peter says before biting into Wade’s hip hard enough to leave teeth marks.
"I knew you’d be good at this. T-taking notes." Wade breathes out raggedly as Peter starts rubbing at his dick at the same pace Wade was going. It feels like it’s too much, but if Wade’s slack-jawed expression is anything to go on, he’s getting a passing grade.
"You going to come for me, big guy?" Peter gasps out, staring up into Wade’s wild eyes and wondering if they mirror his own. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, but it’s everything. This is everything.
Wade bites his lip and slams his head back, groaning as he comes for the second time, rutting his hips against Peter’s face, and sighing as he slumps back. Peter is so hard, but all he can think about is Wade and the way he looks coming down. The tilt of his head and the way he smiles when he drags his fingers down the side of Peter’s face
"I think you got yourself an A." Wade says weakly, chucking his thumb underneath Peter’s chin.
Peter grins and pulls himself up to his knees. He watches Wade’s eyes slide downward to the bulge in his pants.
"You want me to take care of that for you?" Wade grins, his tongue peeking out from the side of his mouth as he crawls forward and over Peter’s body, pushing him onto the ground.
"Not on the floor." Peter stammers out, his previous cockiness seeping out of him when he looks up at Wade’s hungry expression.
"Oh, so you can piss on me, but I can’t blow you on the floor." Wade snorts. "Double standards. Wow."
"Fuck you." Peter smacks his leg against Wade’s shoulder and rolls his eyes. "You liked it."
"You’ll like it when I blow you." Wade says, narrowing his eyes before dragging Peter’s jeans off the rest of his legs, leaving him fully naked and feeling more exposed than he feels ready for.
"For sure." Peter says and immediately feels like an idiot. The drunken haze is seeping out of his body one mortifying second at a time, and he wants Wade—he wants Wade so bad—he’s literally had dreams about him blowing Peter, multiple dreams. It’s just so real now.
"You need to stop overthinking." Wade says fondly, ruffling a hand through Peter’s hair. "Just let me take you on the magical journey of getting your brains blown out."
"Um," Peter starts, and Wade presses a finger against his lips. "Shhh. Relax and enjoy the fucking ride."
Then Wade is pushing him back down, and Peter cranes his neck so he can watch Wade go down on him. It’s another one of those moments that he wishes he had a camera for—not that this gross bathroom is really the dream location, but it just all feels so temporary. Peter still thinks that if he blinks too fast, it’ll all be gone.
"God, do you ever relax?" Wade snorts as he runs his big hands across the curve of Peter’s legs, and Peter twitches underneath him.
"You’ve been my roommate for three years." Peter chokes out. "You tell me."
Wade slides Peter’s dick between his fingers and jacks him off slowly. "Oh, you relax." He says it thoughtfully, staring down at Peter with a hungry expression. "I’ve heard it."
Peter flushes, and his dick jumps into Wade’s hands.
"Yeah. You’re not really quiet." Wade chuckles, bending down to press a quick kiss against Peter’s twitching leg. "I didn’t mind though. Fucking white noise." He starts moving his hand faster, and Peter digs into his bottom lip and doesn’t look away.
"God, I wanted you so bad." Wade says. "You’re so hot, stupid - fucking - " He gasps, swiping his thumb against Peter's weeping head. "Hot - 'n sweet, and weird." He gasps, slipping his free hand against himself and bucking shamelessly against it. "I thought you were so straight, oh my god. I kept on watching you trying to figure out what your type was so I could be it. I was fucking shopping for red wigs and double DDs on Amazon to see if you would actually look at me." He breathes out shallowly. "Were you thinking of me when you were relaxing, Peter?" He asks, looking up underneath his lashes. "Huh? I always thought you were getting off to girls."
Peter shakes his head violently. "No-not girls."
Wade’s grip tightens around his dick, and he slides onto the ground, running his tongue from shaft to tip. "Good." He says that, and then he swallows Peter down to the root, his dick hitting the back of Wade’s hot throat.
"Fuck." Peter stutters out, bucking his hips and groaning when Wade rests his body weight on his legs so that Peter is pinned and can’t move.
It feels better than Peter ever imagined; he’s gotten blown before, mostly by girls. He wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t thinking about them when he was jacking off in the dorm though. He still likes girls, sure, but Wade—it was always Wade, since the moment he opened his dorm room to see him sprawled out on his sheet less mattress wearing nothing but a pair of tiny red shorts and a shirt that said GOT MILK? looking like a bodybuilder calendar cover.
"Don’t mind the scars." Wade had said when Peter stumbled in, dropping all of his luggage in an unattractive pile. "If you have something rude to say, say it now or forever hold your peace."
The scars covered most of his body in raised patterns; they look like burns, and maybe they’d be jarring if Wade wasn’t like that. Open, shameless, and a little terrifying in the way he stared at Peter like he was daring him to say something about it. The moment he twitched his mouth in that jagged smile of his, Peter felt his heart do a somersault straight into a concrete wall.
"Got milk?" Peter said instead, feeling like an idiot.
"Once upon a time." Wade had snorted, jumping off the bed and looming over Peter. "Not anymore."
"Oh." Peter hadn’t known what to say to that; it took him a few months to realize that was Wade’s insane way of coming out to him. Peter had never met a trans guy before and definitely had never met anyone like Wade. Of all the things he learned about himself in those first few months, that was by far the easiest thing to wrap his brain around.
Wade was here on a sports scholarship for hockey but was majoring in dentistry, which Peter found weird right up until he didn’t. There were much weirder things about Wade. The way he ate pizza stacked, for one thing, and how he was incapable of not cranking up their rickety air conditioner to subterranean levels. The fact that he actually seemed to like being around Peter immediately, even though Peter was not immediately likable to anyone,
Wade was funny, instantly popular, and everything Peter wasn’t; them being put together seemed like the immediate odd couple, but, well, it worked. They didn’t start being friends, though, until Peter had a guy in his class tell him he was sorry that he got stuck with a word that Peter didn’t know you could actually say out loud in 2023.
It wasn’t the first time he got into a fight that semester, but it was the first time the person he fought for didn’t get mad at him for it afterwards.
"Next time, tag me in." Wade had said, ruffling his hair as he got him an ice pack. "You’ve got a mean left hook for a bio-chem major."
"I’ve got a pretty good right one too." Peter had mumbled around the ice, his face burning from the touch. He hadn’t realized it was a crush then, but he knew the way he felt when that guy said that had tapped into a different level of anger. Peter had always been angry; he never held back a punch, but it had felt personal.
They became quick friends that first year, mostly because Wade wanted to be Peter’s friend and made the effort. Peter was used to a small circle; he liked his alone time and expected his four-year degree to be late nights at the lab and the occasional social activity with his classmates. Wade did not agree with his life plans, and before Peter knew what was happening, he was taking shots at parties off of Wade’s broad chest, coughing and sputtering as Wade patted his back and told him he was being such a good boy.
That was probably the beginning, but if Peter was honest, it probably just started at the actual beginning. The red shorts, that fucking cocky smile. He was a goner, and it never got better.
Peter can’t believe all those years of pining, of wanting, of fisting his dick through the sheets and listening to Wade’s soft pants as he fucked himself and biting his hand to keep quiet actually led up to something. Peter felt like the grossest perv in the world for getting off on the idea of getting blown off by his best friend, just to find out said best friend had also been getting off on him.
It felt too perfect. Peter stares down at Wade’s bobbing head and wants to cry. Wants to punch the air and wants to look around for the hidden cameras. It’s too good to be true, and it is. Wade is so good. Peter knew he would be.
"I love when you have no fucking clue what you’re saying." Wade breathes raggedly as he drags himself off Peter’s dick, a line of spit connecting them that makes Peter’s brain white out. He looks as blown out as Peter feels, his eyes wide and his lips wet. Peter briefly remembers what he said earlier, about Peter never complimenting him unless he was drunk.
"You are good." Peter stutters out; the words almost stick in his throat. "You’re... you’re..."
Wade grins at him, crawling up his body to kiss him, and Peter tastes himself on his lips. "Don’t hurt yourself." He breathes, tapping the end of Peter’s nose.
"I mean it." Peter feels a rush of confidence as he pulls Wade forward into another kiss. "Dude, I fucking mean it." He chokes on his breath as Wade straddles his torso and reaches down to fist Peter’s dick against his wet entrance.
“I-“ Peter starts and chokes on anything he could say next as Wade swirls the head of his dick around his.
"I - I - " Wade mocks his stuttering, sinking down on him slowly. "Spit it out." He teases, dragging his nails over the curve of Peter’s ribs.
"F-fuck. Wade. Shit." Peter grinds the heels of his hands against his eyes and stutters his hips. It feels so good. Wade feels so good. He should be saying it, but he can’t. He can’t even think.
"Good boy." Wade praises him, lifting his hips before slamming them down again. Peter tries to match Wade’s insane rhythm, but the reins aren’t his anymore; they’re fully in Wade’s hands, and he’s riding Peter like he’s a mall pony.
"Just let me take you for a spin." Wade grins, dragging his knuckle against Peter’s mouth. "You don’t have to say anything."
Peter is so glad because he’s not thinking in words right now. He doesn’t think he could form a full sentence if he tried.
"You feel so fucking big, Parker." Wade stutters as he rolls his hips. "God. They should make you carry a license."
Peter’s cheeks burn. "You should-uh-uh-" He can’t think of anything funny to say, and he hopes Wade doesn’t care because his quip on the command button is being fucked to death.
Wade throws his head back and laughs. He’s so beautiful. Peter should tell him that. The words don’t leave his mouth right; he just sort of hangs open, tongue panting, as he stares up at Wade like he’s the eighth wonder of the world.
"Wow." Wade cocks his head, looking down at Peter thoughtfully. "You know, I don’t know how I missed it."
A loud knock at the door snatches away anything else he was going to say, and Wade rolls his eyes and slams his hips down again, making Peter scream into his hand. "Out in a second!" He yells before looking down at Peter.
"What makes you tick, Parker?" He asks, grinning. "You got a speed-up button? Want me to choke you? Wanna come down my throat? Wait, you're one of those freaks who likes to be tickled?
Peter closes his eyes and tries to figure out if he can say it.
"Call me. Uh." Peter stares up at the ceiling. "Um - "
"We don’t have time for twenty questions, baby." Wade grins, running a hand down the side of his face. "You need to nut in me right now so someone can take a piss, so I need to know how to get you from zero to sixty in half the time."
"Close." Peter says, because maybe Wade will just guess, and he doesn’t have to say it.
"I know you’re close." Wade quirks his brow. "I’m on you. I can feel you. I need you to be done."
"Call-call me. Baby...uh- " Peter’s cheeks are burning. He doesn’t want to finish it, but as he watches the understanding slide over Wade’s face, turning his smug smile into something lethal, he knows he’s not getting away with it.
"Oh?" Wade grins, snapping his hips hard and making Peter gasp. "That’s funny. I always thought you kind of hated when I called you...." He drawls. "That."
The knocking gets louder, and Peter can feel his pulse spike. "Just call me - it - Wade." He hisses.
"Call you what?"
"You know." Peter snaps. "You fucking know."
Wade cocks his head at him, tapping at his chin as he stops moving entirely. "Hold on, let me think.
The knocking is getting louder, and Peter is so close and so on edge, and Wade is being such a jackass, which is so him, it’s so him, and it’s so bizarrely endearing in this situation, and Peter is going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get off right now.
"Baby boy." Peter snaps and wants to fall through the floor. "I want you to call me-" He can’t say it again; he literally can’t. His face is burning bright red; he can see the flush crawl up his chest.
Wade’s expression softens, and he runs a hand down the plane of Peter’s touch, so light that it sends shivers down Peter’s entire body. He raises his hips again so that he’s almost fully off before looking down at him.
"Come for me, baby boy." He says, rubbing his thumb against the corner of Peter’s mouth before slamming his hips back down. Peter comes so hard that he sees the club lights in the back of his brain.
Wade gasps, and Peter feels him pulse around his softening dick, and he’s made Wade come three times, three fucking times. He feels like he’s won a medal or something. Wade pulls him off slowly, and Peter watches his come drip out of him like he’s in a trance.
"Yeah." Wade breathes, running his fingers through the mess. "That’s the stuff."
The knocking gives the impression that if they don’t get the fuck out now, the door is coming down soon. Peter scrambles up as soon as Wade crawls off him and dashes for his pants, pulling things on as quickly as possible, which doesn’t feel very fast. Wade takes his time, like they have all the time in the world, and isn’t holding up the bathroom line in the rudest way possible.
"Ah." Wade chucks his finger against his cheek. "You've got a little of me there." Then he licks a long stripe against the side of Peter’s face, and Peter can’t help the little exhale he lets out.
"Damn." Wade looks at him. "You should not have let me know how easy you are to rile up."
Peter kicks him hard in the leg as he cranks open the door. "Fuck you." He mutters, stumbling out the door and feeling Wade follow behind him. The woman outside the door does not look happy to see them and says as much before she steps into the bathroom.
"Man. I'd hate to be her." Wade whistles low against Peter’s ear. "You piss like a fucking race horse."
Peter flushes. "I mean, it’s dark - maybe she won't -"
The woman’s cursing from the other side of the door confirms that it was not, in fact, dark enough.
"I think that’s our cue baby boy." Wade purrs against his ear, hooking his arm through Peter and dragging him toward the exit. "Didn’t you promise me rounds and rounds of exclusive, monogamous finger-fucking?"
"Exclusive?" Peter repeats. "Monogamous?"
"Finger-fucking." Wade finishes. "That’s the main event; everything else is a given."
"Is it?" Peter says wondrously as they stumble out in the night. He doesn’t feel drunk anymore, but there’s something running through his system that makes him feel lighter than he’s ever been.