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Peter wakes with a jolt, a cold shiver running down his back. His spidey-senses roar with the blood rushing in his ears, all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing to attention. He shoots a web to snag his mask before jumping to the ceiling, silently creeping to the door.
He can hear his spidey-senses ringing, confused, muddled—they’re on high alert, but can’t quite ping where or why or what, but they insistently tell Peter someone is inside.
He pushes his bedroom door open slowly, and it creeeaaaks open just enough for Peter to crawl through. He sticks to the ceiling, in nothing but his mask, a t-shirt, and boxers, and scans the room. He sees nothing in the shadows, but he knows, he knows something lurks.
Slowly, he straightens on the ceiling, standing up before quietly letting himself down on the ground. He’s hardly upright before his ears start to ring again, but by then his neck is already kissing a silver katana, razor sharp. Peter swallows, standing on his tip-toes to avoid his Adam’s apple slicing open. From the shadows, Deadpool steps out. He’s as bulky and built as ever, easily caging Peter in from the other end of the blade, teetering over him as he holds Peter there. With the precision Peter only knows Deadpool to have, he slides the tip of the blade under Peter’s mask and pulls it up. “No!” Peter shouts, reaching up to grab it, but Deadpool twists the blade, cutting Peter’s face and tearing the mask open. Blood drips from Peter’s face onto his hardwood. He takes a deep breath, open-mouthed, panting.
Deadpool tugs the rest of the mask off, revealing Peter’s bloody face. For a moment, they stare at each other. Peter’s bare skin, Deadpool’s dark mask. The eyes are expressive—Peter’s seen them friendly, but tonight, they are out to kill.
“Peter,” Deadpool says, a purr, a snarl, a whisper. “Peter, Peter, Peter.” His leather hand grips Peter’s jaw in a tight grip, jerking his head around to look at him from all angles in the moonlight, before pulling him in close so he can lick up the blood dripping down his chin. Peter shudders. “What am I going to do with you?”
Peter swallows. His whole body shakes with fear. He has nothing to hold onto besides Deadpool’s strong chest, knees buckling from all of it. God, he’s a mess. “Are you going to kill me?” His voice trembles, and he can’t believe how young he sounds, even to himself.
Deadpool tilts his head back up, taking Peter in. Beneath his mask, Peter knows he’s smiling. “Maybe,” he says. He drops Peter, and he didn’t realize how much of his weight he was carrying—Peter drops to his knees like a doll. Deadpool just as quickly grabs Peter’s hair in one grip, using the other to free his half-hard cock from his suit. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you go.”
Peter whimpers despite himself. Deadpool tries to push into his mouth, but he clamps it shut and turns his head. Deadpool’s grip tightens. “Did you hear me, kid? Your life is on the line, here.” He gives Peter a smack, open palmed, splitting his cheek back open. Blood drips onto Peter’s shirt, onto leather boots. Peter refuses to open his mouth, and Deadpool runs his cock over the cut, Peter’s blood collecting on the head. Peter grits his teeth.
“Don’t make this hard for yourself, baby,” Deadpool says, and he grabs Peter by the nose. Peter gasps, airflow cut off, and Deadpool uses the moment to push in, and Peter tastes sweat and precum and copper. Deadpool fucks his mouth, holding his hair with two hands and thrusting deep. Peter gags. Deadpool ignores him, running his cock along the back of his throat.
Peter wrenches off, heaving and coughing and sputtering. Deadpool pushes his hips forward again, and Peter pushes him away, wiping his mouth. Deadpool smacks him again, and this time Peter’s ears start to ring. He’s being grabbed, dragged to his feet and just as quickly thrown on his bed. Instantly, he’s struggling, waving his arms and legs as wildly as he can to get Deadpool away. “Baby, you’re better than this,” Deadpool informs him.
So Peter swings. Deadpool grabs his wrist, twisting it and holding it behind Peter’s back. Peter winces in pain. Deadpool’s resting his whole body weight on Peter’s back, leaning forward so he can shuck Peter’s boxers down his legs. “Stop!” Peter shrieks, twisting and trying to throw the man off.
That’s when he hears a click, and his heart drops into his stomach. He feels cold metal against the back of his head. He trembles. He has a quick image, Deadpool pulling the trigger, his brains splattered across the bedsheets. He whines.
Deadpool reaches between his thighs, running leather through the slick dripping from Peter’s cunt. He whistles. “Damn, baby, you’re soaked.” Peter whines again. Every movement he makes he feels the heavy metal in the back of his brain, threatening to make it all go black. “Does Spider-man like getting his pretty face fucked?” The metal presses further, harder. “Hmm?”
“No,” Peter sobs, he didn’t realize he was crying, “no, I don’t like it. Wade, please, no—”
The metal twists. “Shut the fuck up.”
Peter sobs into the mattress.
Deadpool sighs. “Fine, then maybe you’ll like this a little better,” he says, and pushes deep into Peter’s cunt. Peter cries, fingers twisting in the sheets. He meets no resistance, because Peter’s so wet, and all Peter can do is tremble and clench around the length. “Fuck, babydoll, keep doing that,” he hisses, hips stuttering, fucking Peter deeper.
And then Deadpool’s drawing his hips back and fucking him, hard and fast and brutal. Peter keeps crying, keeps trembling, still like a deer frozen in headlights. One of Deadpool’s hands is on the back of his neck, pushing Peter harder into the mattress so he can sink even deeper, the head of his cock punishing Peter’s cervix with every thrust. The other hand has deposited the gun in favor of holding himself up, and it rests on the mattress just in Peter’s periphery, glinting, silver and aware.
Deadpool pulls out, just for a second, to grab Peter by the hips and flip him around. Peter goes to swing his arms and Deadpool catches them, gripping them together with an uncomfortable crunch and pinning them above Peter’s head. With the other hand, he grabs Peter’s knee to wrench his legs open, and slips back inside with a sigh. “Fuck, I love this pussy,” he coos, and Peter whimpers. Deadpool fucks him with the same fervor, dragging his hips in and out like he does, fucking Peter so good his toes start to curl and his legs start to shake.
Deadpool’s grinning at him, snake-like. “Aww, is that good, baby? You like my cock?”
“No!”
Deadpool chuckles darkly. “You’re a bad liar, kid. I love feeling your greedy pussy squeeze around me.” He gives Peter’s clit a slap, making Peter cry out and writhe. “You gotta stop crying like that, baby, it makes me so fucking hard,” he growls, leaning in to lick Peter’s salty cheeks.
Deadpool starts to furiously rub Peter’s cock, flicking in between his fingers until Peter starts to squirm. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, nooooooooo—”
Deadpool laughs, a cruel thing. “Good boy, come on my cock.”
Peter, humiliatingly, does, eyes rolling back and a moan ripping from his throat against his will. Deadpool’s laughing at him, rubbing his cock and fucking him through it, thrumming up against all his good spots again and again and again until it hurts.
“It’s too much,” Peter cries. He squirms, but it’s no use. Deadpool’s hips pin his to the bed.
“Don’t be selfish, baby, I didn’t even come yet,” he says, giving Peter another smack, but stops rubbing his cock in favor of pushing Peter’s knees to his ears. “I’m gonna drop a big load right in here,” he punctuates the last few words with hard thrusts, knocking the air out of Peter’s lungs.
“No, no, no, not inside,” Peter begs. Deadpool shushes him.
“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna put a baby in you.” He moans as if at the thought of it, and his hips stutter. “Oh, fuck, Pete—” His hips still as he moans, pushing deep into Peter and grinding his hips as deep as they can go. Peter can’t stop shivering, feeling Deadpool’s come filling him up.
He stays sheathed inside Peter, laying atop him and grinding his hips slowly. He never goes soft, just stays hard and throbbing inside, even as he starts to pull out.
As soon as he does, Peter’s trying to twist his way onto trembling feet, but Deadpool grabs him by the ankle and drags him back. “Uh-uh-uh,” he tuts, mother-like. He grabs Peter by the throat. Peter chokes. “I’m not done with you yet, baby.”
Peter slams his fist against the wrist around his neck to no avail—Deadpool’s grip doesn’t falter, even as he pushes his way back on top of Peter to slide back inside him. He slips back into his cunt, the slide even wetter than before with Peter’s arousal and Deadpool’s come. He slides back out, and then up Peter’s taint, pressing against his asshole until it just barely starts to give.
Peter struggles. Deadpool lets go of his throat to push him down face-first. Peter whimpers and whines as Deadpool slides back into his cunt, gathering their slick, and tries to push into his ass again. “No! It hurts, no!”
It burns, Deadpool stretching him open where he has nothing to give, splitting him open around his length. Peter starts to wail in pain, and Deadpool grabs him by the throat again. “Jesus, kid, do you want to wake all your neighbors? Want them seeing your ass get stretched?”
Peter chokes in response, squirming on the intruder but it only makes the burn worse. Deadpool spits onto Peter’s hole, and it only makes it slip in a little more before it’s burning again, but Deadpool is pushing forward, splitting Peter open until he’s balls deep and Peter’s gagging around it.
“Please,” he whimpers, barely able to catch his breath when Deadpool lets go. “Please, it hurts, not there, please.”
He leans over Peter—pushing just that much deeper, making Peter sob into his sheets—and begins to rummage through his nightstand, drawing out a bottle of lube. “Ask me nicely.”
He doesn’t need to ask again. “Please, sir, please, it hurts, please use the lube—”
“Good boy,” Deadpool coos, dribbling the lube over his cock and Peter’s hole, and pushes back in. It’s still so big, and the stretch hurts, but the burning slowly fades, replaced with the overwhelming glide of Deadpool within him.
“It’s too much,” Peter cries. “Please, sir, it’s too big, it’s too much…” His words are slurring together, mind delirious.
“Shhh,” Wade pets his back, leaning down to kiss his shoulders. “You can take it baby. You’ve been so good for me, my perfect angel.” Peter whimpers at the praise, his cunt clenching around nothing, his ass overwhelmed with Deadpool’s cock.
Deadpool reaches beneath them to rub at Peter’s cock, fingers dipping down to thrust into Peter’s cunt. He whimpers and squirms at the attention. It’s all too much. It’s all too much.
“You can take it,” Deadpool’s telling him, and his cock is filling him up so good, and his fingers curl right into that spot that lights him on fire, he just needs, he needs—
“Please,” he whimpers, reaching out for Wade’s hand, patting around, searching. “Sir, I need—”
Reading his mind, Deadpool’s leather hand closes around his throat, and Peter’s gasps are cut short. Instantly, he body tries to fight it, squirming and thrashing, but he’s completely caught, and the fight slips out of him fast. He clutches at the hand around his throat, squeezing it, willing Wade to not let go, to hold him here until it all goes black, until he tastes copper, lead—
Peter comes, comes, and comes as his vision spots and blood rushes in his ears. His grip on Wade starts to go slack, but Wade’s still holding him steady, kissing his ear and whispering, “Shh, baby, I’ve got you. Let go, baby.”
And then it’s black.
When Peter comes to, there is a tongue between his legs.
Both his holes drip with Wade’s come, and there is come on his face somehow, too, so Wade is there, mask off, cleaning his own mess out of Peter’s cunt.
“Sir,” Peter whines, a weak, little whimper. “‘s too much.”
Wade comes off Peter with a pop! “You’ve been so good, sweetheart. You can give me one more.”
Peter pouts, squirming some more, but Wade holds down his hips. He licks through Peter’s cunt, making him whimper, even more so when he starts to suck on his cock.
Peter’s moans are just pathetic, “uhhnnn, uhhh, uhhh!” and whines as he wiggles in Wade’s grasp, and Wade draws another long, toe-curling orgasm from his shaking form. He eats him right through it, and is able to sneak a few more licks in before Peter’s shoving his head away. “You said one! No more! One!”
Wade’s laughing, kissing Peter’s sensitive thighs, up his belly, to his lips. “Sorry, angel, you know I can’t help myself.” He scoops Peter up into a great hug, tucking Peter’s head under his chin and pulling him close. “You were so perfect, Pete. You’re the best boy in the world. So sweet for me, baby.”
Peter tucks himself further into Wade, letting himself be held gently, knowing his cuts and bruises will heal. The ache for pain, for violence gives way to a gentler one—and Peter drifts to sleep.