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It was late when they finished their patrol, and the sharp scent of smoke still clung to their suits. Three months into their—whatever it is they were doing—and Peter still wasn’t used to walking the streets after patrol instead of webbing home. Usually, they went to Deadpool’s place; his own was a bit too cramped for two.
“Pool, you can’t be serious.” Peter scoffed, scanning the vacant alleyway for any onlookers. The fire they’d just rescued a dozen people from was only a block away. The smoke still billowed angrily into the night sky. Distant sirens still wailed.
“Serious as a heart attack, babe,” his grin comically stretched the mask, “besides, thought you wanted to get a little adventurous?”
“I was thinking starting small, maybe a little bondage or fuzzy handcuffs, not fucking where anyone can see!” The shout echoed through the alley, and his palm quickly covered his mouth. How could the man be okay with such a big risk? After only a moment of contemplation, it made sense.
Peter had entered this agreement knowing that Deadpool had no shame. That’s how it had started, actually. Months ago, they’d been on a late-night patrol like usual when he’d popped the question.
“You like dick, right?” Deadpool had asked casually, licking the remnants of a soggy burrito off his gloves. Peter’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement. Leave it to him to ask such a crude question as if he were asking about the weather.
“Oh my god, what—why would you ask me that?” He sputtered, nearly choking on his tacos.
His gaze started moving down the thick lines of Deadpool's biceps, only to quickly look away. Who could blame him? The mercenary was built like a brick house, and his suit did nothing to conceal that fact.
Deadpool dipped his head pointedly.
“Okay, okay, fine. Yes, I—I am attracted to men and women. Not that it matters, and not that it’s any of your business.”
“Come on, Spidey, I see how you look at me. I’m no oil painting, but I can take you for a joyride if you want, free of charge. All you need to do is say the word.” The husky tone of his voice sent a shiver up his spine. Deadpool often made passes at him, but he’d assumed he was just teasing. That, however, was a genuine offer.
Like any sane person, Peter accepted.
He was no saint, and after years of celibacy, he needed an outlet. Deadpool was the perfect candidate for a no-strings-attached casual relationship. They didn’t take off their masks, so he didn’t have to worry about his identity, and the man didn’t pry. Most importantly, Deadpool knew how to fuck. He did it without missing a beat and always with a genuine interest in Peter’s pleasure. In fact, that seemed more important to him than anything.
Now, for the first time, he was reconsidering his agreement.
Peter knew the law in New York well enough. Public exposure was at least a class B misdemeanor. The thought of being caught having sex in public left his cheeks hot and his heart racing. Logically, he knew that he could web away, but the risk was still high. What hero wanted to be known for something like that?
Even so, Deadpool was nothing short of convincing. He pressed Peter against the cool brick and hovered over him, body shielding him from outside view. It sent a wave of arousal straight down to his cock. A strong gloved hand trailed down the front of his suit, landing firmly on his hip.
Deadpool leaned in and whispered, “If only the people of New York knew how scandalous you were. Little Old Spider-Man is into BDSM? Oh, The Daily Bugle would have a field day.”
“My point exactly!” Peter said through gritted teeth, “If we get caught—ah,” he was interrupted by Deadpool's textured lips sucking on his neck. When had the man lifted his mask? Peter scrunched his face, torn between the pleasure and the humiliation. There could be someone watching through a window above, recording them in the dark.
“Shh, baby boy,” Deadpool purred, “let me take care of you, yeah? No one’s watchin’ but us.”
“I know, but just—make sure no one can see.” He conceded, lifting his chin for better access. The alley was empty, quiet aside from them. Surely he’d notice if someone walked by, or even stopped to double-take. But then again, it was New York, and nobody could care enough to look up from their phone.
Deadpool shuffled closer and pressed hot lips against his throat. His erection strained against the dark leather, and he pressed it into Peter’s hips. The pressure was perfect. He hummed approvingly, gyrating his hips to create friction.
Deadpool lifted the mask higher onto his nose, then did the same to Peters. His lips were rough against Peter, searching and desperate. A slick tongue prodded its way into his mouth. He could taste the smoke still on his tongue, the heat of desire that followed.
Their bodies pressed together like they were stuck in a flytrap. Deadpool reached behind and grabbed a handful of his ass, squeezing. He keened, bucking his hips into the man. Peter needed more.
“Did you, bring, you know,” he trailed off, out of breath. A peek around them showed no onlookers, not even a rat was there to watch.
“What do you take me for? An amateur?” Deadpool conjured a condom and a lube packet from nowhere.
“Where did you get that from?” Peter glanced down, searching for a mystery pouch, but couldn’t make anything out in the dim lighting. The one light source was a dozen feet away at the head of the alley, far from them. The sirens finally stopped singing.
“Trade secrets, but don’t worry your pretty little head. I always come prepared. Turn around.”
A firm hand flipped him around, pressing his front to the brick. Peter clung to the wall with the sticky pads of his fingers, cheek flush against it. The sheer thrill of what they were doing sent blood pounding to his straining erection. He arched his back, waiting.
Deadpol draped himself over Peter’s back, covering him with his large frame. A gloved hand snaked around his waist, pulled down the seam of his spandex. The brisk air hit his skin, leaving goosebumps behind. There was a slight pause, and then warm ungloved hands were palming his ass.
“Ooh, you have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” Deadpool spoke into his ear. He ripped open a lube packet and coated his fingers. Without preamble, the man slipped a finger inside of him. Still a bit loose from their antics the night before, Peter welcomed the strain of a second, then a third.
Usually, he’d be a bit gentler, take his time. But both of them were amped up with excitement. Deadpool fingered his ass hungrily, sucking bruises into his neck until he thought Peter was ready.
“C’mon, Pool,” Peter rasped, “before someone sees us.” He ground his hips back and onto Deadpool's hand. That was all the man needed to hear. The quiet sound of a wrapper, and a hot slick presence pressed into him. Peter tensed instinctually, but let out a breath to allow his entrance.
“There we go, nice deep breaths. Very good,” Deadpool praised, peppering kisses onto his shoulder.
Deadpool pressed further, hand holding his hips steady. A searing heat filled his pelvis, arousal pulsating through his entire body. Peter let out a breathy whine, eyes scrunched shut. Anal was always a little painful, even with lube. But as the man bottomed out, pain moved into pleasure. Deadpool started moving his hips, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. He pulled back, almost exiting him, only to slide back in to the hilt. It was agonizingly good, the way he moved inside Peter.
“Ah, fuck,” Peter groaned, saliva spilling from his lips. A lewd sound filled the alley, wet skin slapping against skin. Terror seized his heart; someone had to have noticed by now, but no one came. He hadn’t even noticed one passerby. It must be dumb luck that no one had passed by and taken a closer look.
“You’re doing so good, damn, baby boy.” Deadpool nuzzled his face into Peter’s neck, groaning with every heavy breath. Deadpool's animalistic grunts sent shockwaves through his cock like a heartbeat. The effect he had over the man was powerful, like holding a dog's leash and tugging. He pressed into him further, the weight heavy against his back. Strong hands held him tight as he took every inch.
Deadpool eventually wrapped a hand around Peter’s cock, pumping him in time with every desperate thrust. The touch was like lightning. Their bodies ground together roughly, both searching for their own pleasure. Teeth pressed into the base of his neck. It was sticky and rushed and hot, and Peter didn't want it to stop. They were fucking like their lives depended on it.
A voice interrupted Peter’s focus. At the head of the alley, two young men stood together talking in hushed voices. Lead dropped into his stomach. Panic rose in his chest, and he tried to jump away from Deadpool's body.
“Shh, I see 'em, baby. Just focus on me. Close your eyes.” He reassured him in a husky tone, but Peter's eyes were trained on the men. It was dark, but not that dark. Their jerky movements and grunting were sure to indicate what was going on.
“Wait, what if they see us? Oh my god, they can totally see us.”
Deadpool kept up his brutal pace, completely undeterred by the men standing a few meters away. Peter felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He could die right there. He was so close, it was right there, and yet he was afraid to let go. The grip on his cock kept pumping, slick with lube and his precome. The girth of Deadpool burned around his rim, and he prayed that he could walk tomorrow without issue.
“Shh, focus on me, Bambi. It’s okay.” Deadpool pressed against him, hips bucking without abandon. He wrapped a firm hand over Peter's mouth, stifling any sounds. Pleasure rocked through his body, leaving his thighs shaking. Peter was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Literally. Every textured inch rubbed his prostate, pushing him closer and closer to his peak.
Peter grunted from underneath his glove, eyes screwing shut. Focus, he told himself. He ignored the men and focused on the burning pleasure in his core. It was building up like a rubber band being pulled back. Deadpool sped up, holding him tight. His fist worked over his bobbing cock, just the right amount of pressure.
A few more thrusts, and suddenly the pressure exploded. Peter's cries were muffled, his ragged breath forced through his nose. The rubber band snapped and sent shockwaves through him. Pure, uncut pleasure erupted with every thrust. He came in ribbons onto the brick wall, and the hand that worked him. Deadpool fucked him through his orgasm, grunting with each movement. Soon after, Deadpool came into the condom.
They panted against each other, forgetting the witnesses. Deadpool removed his hand from Peter's mouth, and a trail of spit followed.
“Pool,” he slurred, still drunk on his orgasm, “we gotta go, before, y’know.”
The man obliged, pulling out of his ass and leaving a cold, empty feeling behind. Peter sagged against the wall, held up only by Deadpool's capable hands.
“I gotchu, baby, don’t worry.” He tucked Peter back into his suit and wiped their mess up with a wipe he procured from the same place he’d gotten the other items. Deadpool scooped Peter up into his arms and started walking. He had to ignore the laughter that echoed from the other end of the alley. Peter wrapped tired arms around his neck, even though he knew Deadpool would never drop him.
“Where,” he started, but realized he already knew. The man in red didn't live far, had a comfortable couch, and an even better bed.
“Getting us the hell outta dodge,” Deadpool chuckled, “those guys definitely saw us. Hope they enjoyed the show. Don’t worry, they’ll think we were just some kinky ass cosplayers.” He picked up speed and rounded a corner on the opposite end of the alley. The cool air didn’t ease Peter’s fiery shame. It was hard to believe he'd agreed to something so risky. And yet, the humiliation turned into something warm in his stomach. Something that tasted like enjoyment.
Even if he got off to it, Peter didn’t want to do that again anytime soon.
“Never again, Pool.”
“You got it, Spidey. What’s next, then? Bondage or fuzzy cuffs?”
“I’ll have to sleep on it,” Peter sighed, nestling his face into the crook of Deadpool's neck.