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fall out, boy, so i can fall in(to you)

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Movie nights at the Avengers Tower were usually the highlight of Peter's month. Or rather: We-Just-Saved-NYC-Let's-Netflix-and-Chill nights, as he liked to call them. Just being able to sit back and relax and eat his fill of whatever food Tony's seemingly-magic kitchen was able to produce on short notice was like a vacation from both halves of his life: small fries tended to stay indoors during massive almost-apocalypses because they couldn't keep up with the chaos, and his coursework, well, he just pretended he didn't have any homework or studying he had to do; the college had stopped letting aliens get in the way of their students' educations. For just a night, Peter didn't have to worry about anything. Except maybe being squished into the couch by Tony's steady weight at his side or stray projectiles from whoever was arguing about whose turn it actually was to pick the movie.

"I made the kill shot," Natasha said calmly, remote firmly in hand and the selection square on Tony's massive screen lingering on Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

"That has no relevance on the pick order!" Clint shot back, waving around a battered VHS copy of Iron Giant.

Peter leaned closer to Tony - not that he had to go far with Tony's arm wrapped around his shoulder - and asked curiously, "Do you even have a VHS player?"

"I had to put one in after Bird Brain over there refused to just use the digital library," Tony replied with an exaggerated eye roll.

"Actually, Mr Barton, I do believe per the agreed upon list, that Miss Maximoff has the next pick," Vision said as he walked into the room with Wanda, his arms laden with bowls of snacks and more bowls and plates floating on clouds of red in front of Wanda.

Natasha and Clint expertly ignored him and Wanda just smiled and shrugged as her and Pietro helped Vision and Steve transfer bowls from arms to coffee table.

"Naaat," Clint whined. "I don't want to read two fucking hours of foreign film after I just saved the city."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Natasha said in the sort of faux-contrite tone that made Peter's heart pick up in anticipation and his ears prick forward. "Did you leave your hearing aid at home?"

Peter's pocket buzzed and he pulled out his phone and dismissed the flashing AUNTIE EM alarm.

"My-" Clint spluttered, face turning splotchy. Then he ripped the device from his ear before flipping her off with his it dangling from his fist.

The room burst into laughter and Peter used the distraction to slip out from under Tony's arm and away down the hall. As he rounded the corner into the unlit hallway, he dialed his aunt while he pulled the bottom of his mask up to his nose; he still hadn't shown the Avengers his face or given them his name, and he wasn't sure he was ever going to.

"Hello, Peter," Just hearing Aunt May's husky voice soothed something in Peter, just under two decades of comfort ingrained in his psyche. "I saw there was another battle on the news and you know I worry about you living so close to downtown."

"I know, I know. I was actually hanging out with some friends while it was happening and we were all staying safe. And actually we were just about to watch a movie, I just wanted to check in first."

"Alright, dear. I'm glad you're safe and thank you for calling." There was a resignation to her voice, the same tone Peter had been hearing from everyone he knew for years. Apparently aliens and near-apocalypses were just something they just dealt with now, but it didn't take the edge off anything. Gotta love New York.

"I'm glad you're safe too," he said, and he meant it. He was always scared that something would happen to her like it happened to Uncle Ben and that he wouldn't be there to stop it. Or worse, that he could have and didn't.

"This old woman isn't going anywhere, Peter," she laughed, and it simultaneously amused and saddened him because one day, she was going to be gone, whether by aliens or nature, and the older she got, the more he worried that that was going to be sooner than he'd be prepared for. Not that he could ever prepare himself for her loss. "Have a good night and enjoy your movie. Love you."

"Love you too."

Peter pocketed his phone and sighed as he leaned against the wall and pressed his fingers into his eyes. Even after half a decade, living a double life and keeping secrets from Aunt May never got any easier or less exhausting. Maybe it could be if he ever got to eat or sleep enough, but he hadn't been that lucky ever and he probably never would be.

The sudden touch of large hands at his hips had his eyes snapping open and his body jerking back, which turned out to be a slight miscalculation when his head thunked against the wall he was leaning on.

"Careful, baby boy. You don't wanna injure that pretty little head of yours."

"Ugh. It's you." Deadpool looked down at him and moved closer, pressing their bodies tightly together. Peter crossed his arms over his chest, trying to regain a little of the distance between them and trying even harder to ignore the sparks following the paths of Deadpool's thumbs as they traced the lines of his hip bones. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be on a bodyguard mission for two months in Egypt or something?" And why had his Spidey-sense failed to alert him to his presence, as usual?

Deadpool gasped dramatically. "Baby boy!" he cooed and Peter rolled his eyes. "You remembered!"

"I put it on my calendar so I knew how long of a vacation I'd get," he snapped back. He had been having a nice night, especially in anticipation that the mercenary wouldn't be even close enough to ruin it.

"Aw, are you in a bad mood?" Deadpool leaned in even closer, his broad chest pushing against Peter's crossed arms, nearly forcing them to release their pose. He tensed his muscles to keep it from happening.

"I am now. Why are you here?"

Deadpool pouted and leaned away from Peter, finally removing the pressure on his arms, but it also pushed his hips into Peter's. He was already hard, and it only made Peter angrier that he the feeling of it pressing so solidly against his belly made his skin warm. "Weeelll," Deadpool drawled, knee bumping against Peter's legs, forcing them apart to make room for his thigh between Peter's. "This bodyguard job is reeeaaallyyy boring and I reeeaaallyyy missed you so I came back to see you. Got back in town just in time to see your BAMF self kickin' some serious ass downtown today and couldn't stop lookin' at yours. Got me all hot and bothered and hungry for some sweet cinnamon buns." Deadpool's mask was still on fully, but Peter could see the wide smile stretching the spandex.

"The Avengers are right down the hall, Deadpool. Waiting for me to get back." Peter unfolded his arms and pushed Deadpool away from him before turning and walking away. "I don't have time for this."

He knew he knew better than to turn his back on Deadpool, but the sudden shift in his mood had apparently obliterated his critical thinking. He paid for his mistake a moment later when arms he was more familiar with than he wanted to be wrapped around his waist, preventing him from turning the corner into the adjacent hallway that would leave him in full view of the Avengers. The same people who had the same disdain for Deadpool that Peter had and who would have been able to prevent the dominos he could already see falling. He went rigid in Deadpool's arms as a chin hooked over his shoulder, the fabric of his mask doing nothing to prevent the breeze of hot breath from hitting his sensitive ear.

"I caught you. You promised," Deadpool reminded Peter, gloved fingertips dipping just below the waistband of Peter's pants and shifting through the fringe of the short, curly hairs hidden there, sending more shivers down his spine . "And I promise that I'll be quick. I'll be quiet. The quietest. You'll be back before you know it, that sexy freshly-fucked look hidden all away under your suit."

"You make me sick," Peter sneered, but he didn't fight Deadpool when the bigger man pulled back only far enough to turn Peter around again and push him against the wall.

"That's not a 'no', sweetie-pie," Deadpool pointed out, even as he pushed Peter's pants down over his bare ass - it was impossible to wear underwear in his suit, the fabric was too revealing already and underwear lines just looked dumb. Deadpool palmed a cheek in each hand, pulling Peter forward and lifting him up to his toes before letting him fall back to his feet. "I even brought lube-" Deadpool cut off suddenly as his fingers dipped between Peter's crack, and Peter ground his teeth together when he remembered what was there.

"What's with the plug, baby boy?" Deadpool asked, voice suddenly even lower than it had been a moment ago. It was an octave he only seemed to fall to when he was fucking Peter, and even though that had only happened a few times before, it made Peter shiver to hear, to remember.

Peter turned his head away, refusing to make eye contact even through their masks as he just waited for the encounter to be over already. "It was too inconvenient having to have you stretch me every time." And it had been painful too, that first and second time, with Deadpool eager to get in him and Peter eager for it all to be over. So before a third time could happen, Peter had taken to wearing a plug, something to keep himself a little open so that any future encounters could be completed quicker and less painfully. And his instinct had proven correct when Deadpool had caught him the third time, right before he'd left on this job, and Peter had found that removing the need to be prepared cut their interaction time in half.

"Makes sense," Deadpool agreed in a good-natured sort of voice that put Peter on edge. Then he started to tug on the plug's base, slowly pulling it out of Peter's body and Peter's fingers clamped down on Deadpool's biceps, not to push him away, but to ground himself against the sting. Despite the slow burn, he could already feel himself getting hard, could already anticipate the hatefully satisfying orgasm he knew he was about to get. "But I haven't even been around for a month. You letting someone else in back here, baby boy?"

"No," Peter ground out, fingers tightening as the fattest part of the plug stretched him wide before it popped out. "It was just a habit. I didn't think about it." And that was one of the aspects of their… 'relationship' that troubled Peter the most. Why was it that any time Deadpool got near him, Peter seemed to leave his mind and his ideals at the door? Why couldn't Peter escape his gross, perverted gravity?

"Caution: Deadpool may be habit-forming so make sure to only consume in small amounts," Deadpool said as he ducked down and hooked his arms under Peter's knees and lifted him up, the spandex of Peter's suit's back sliding him easily up the wall. The sudden change in altitude had Peter grabbing at the back of Deadpool's head, clinging to the other man's mask.


"There is no 'small amount' of you," Peter muttered. Deadpool was like a tornado, sucking up everything in his path and spitting it back out shattered to pieces. He was larger than life in the worst way, and the same aspect took form in his body too.

"Aw, you say the sweetest things, baby boy," Deadpool said as he shrugged one of Peter's ankles up onto his shoulder and reached down.

The sound of a zipper made Peter shiver and he tilted his head back so he wouldn't have to look at Deadpool. He already knew he wouldn't be allowed to remain that way, but he'd take it when he could get it. A moment later, he could hear the slick sounds of Deadpool lubing himself up, and suddenly, the sound of the party down the hallway seemed extra loud. He knew, logically, that the Avengers hadn't gotten any louder, that Deadpool hadn't moved them any closer, but rather it was Peter who'd become hyper aware of how out in the open they were. It would be so so easy for any one of his coworkers, men and women he respected and admired, to just walk down the hallway and find him getting fucked by a man he hated, a man they all hated.

"Deadpool- hnnnngh!" His belated protest came too late and died a quick death on his lips when Deadpool pushed into him without warning, not stopping until Peter was completely impaled on the whole of him. He wished he could say it was the position that made it feel like the mercenary was stuffing him fuller than it felt like he could take, but Peter knew well and good that it was all just Deadpool. The man had a monster of a cock, both thick and long, the kind of cock that porn stars had and size queens drooled over and porn stores sold dildos of.

"Yeah, baby boy?" Both of Deadpool's hands wrapped around Peter's waist and pulled down as Deadpool ground his hips up, like he was trying to force more of himself in even while Peter could feel that he was already all the way in. He could also feel ribbed texture of Deadpool's cock from the scars in stark clarity. Deadpool was so massive that every shift brushed scars against Peter's prostate and sent tingles of arousal up his spine.

It took a second to pull his words together, the protest he'd started dead and gone. There was no point now, but that didn't mean there wasn't something else that needed addressing. "First of all, are you not wearing a condom?"

"'Course not," Deadpool replied, too chipper for Peter's taste. His voice stayed that way even as he lifted Peter almost off his cock and then dropped him back down as he thrust up. "We can't catch anything from each other, silly baby boy."

"It's not even about that, you idiot," Peter hissed, almost biting his tongue when one of Deadpool's thrusts jarred his jaw. "Are you planning on pulling out? Because you're not going to come in me and leave me to deal with it."

"Pfft. Hell nah, my adorable spitting spider. That's what your plug is for!"

Peter opened his mouth then closed it again. Opened, closed. "I. Hate. You," he said, feeling it through every fiber of his being for a one split, fiery second.

"I know, baby boy." Deadpool's voice had lost its cheer, which Peter didn't feel bad about one single bit, but his hips hadn't lost their rhythm or their strength, and Peter could already feel his orgasm building low in his belly. The burn flared every time the tip of Deadpool's cock rushed passed his prostate and he mentally urged his body to work faster.

"Second, stop calling me that," Peter said, finally remember that he actually had a second point. "I hate that name." He hated the fond, affectionate way Deadpool always said it and he hated the strange fluttering he always got in his belly when he heard it.

"Whatever you want, Petey."

Peter's heart lept into his throat and he froze with a sharp inhale through his nose. "Don't-" The words stuck in his throat alongside his breath and the world startled to fade around the edges.

"Bad boy. No freakouts," Deadpool chided and Peter realized the mercenary hadn't even stopped fucking him, Deadpool's hips still sure and steady.

"JARVIS-" he tried again, panic spiking his adrenaline when Deadpool interrupted him.


Peter's head started to spin and he suddenly felt very dizzy. "What?"

"Poof! Kaput! Cut-off!" Deadpool cheerfully punctuated each word with a hard thrust, shifting Peter so that each stroke was aimed near his prostate, turning the tingles in his spine to white-hot sparks. Despite the unexpected scare, none of Peter's rising pleasure had fallen, and his cock hadn't softened any where it was trapped inside his cup.

"You can't just… turn off JARVIS?" Peter told him, but it came out more like a question.

"Oh, but I did, baby boy. Just for this hallway, just for you," Deadpool replied as he moved Peter's other heel onto his other shoulder. It put Peter in a position of being bent clean in half and Deadpool's cock in a position of direct contact with his prostate, and the next stroke whited out his vision.

"HNG!" he grunted, grip turning white-knuckled on the back of Deadpool's head.

"Shhh," Deadpool whispered, reaching up to pull his own mask up to his nose, revealing the skin that still made Peter squeamish. "Gotta be sneaky-quiet, yeah?" And then he leaned forward and kissed Peter.

Deadpool kissed like he fucked: hard, fast, and all consuming. Combined with his hard thrusts, it left Peter dizzy and gasping for breath and spots in his eyes. Deadpool kissed like he didn't need to breathe, but maybe he was only able to do so because he was stealing all of Peter's. To top it all off, he tasted like death, like he always did, and like always, Peter wondered if it was his own death he was tasting. Deadpool was a mercenary and just because they were fuck buddies didn't mean he wouldn't one day end up on his hit list.

"Fuck, baby boy. If I could still dream, it'd be in the shape of your mouth," Deadpool muttered.

The words were odd enough to drag Peter from the kiss and he jerked his head back. Something about them sounded famili… "Did you just fucking quote a Fall Out Boy song while you're inside me?"

"They're our band, baby boy!" Deadpool said as he wormed his hand between them and into Peter's pants to pull out uncomfortably hard cock. Finally.. Just that little bit of sensation might have been enough to make him come if Deadpool hadn't promptly wrapped his hand tight around the base of Peter's cock, staving off his orgasm.

"Jesus christ, no they're not," Peter groaned. He didn't have the patience for this today. Then again, he rarely had it any day, at least where the unhinged mercenary was concerned.

"Oh man they totally are in like sooo many ways," Deadpool argued without stopping. Peter couldn't believe they were even talking about this, much less right at this exact moment. "See, you're an American beauty... I'm an un-American psycho… It totally lines up!"

"That's not-" Peter started to argue and then realized that he was actually about to correct his not-lover on song lyrics while he was getting pounded into a wall in the Avengers tower just down the hall from everyone he knew. "Goddamnit. Just shut up and hurry up," he said instead.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Deadpool barked then fucking saluted Peter with the hand not holding Peter's cock. God, Peter really hated him. If only the sex wasn't so mind blowingly-good.

Deadpool adjusted his grip on Peter's cock, returned his other hand to Peter's waist and began to drive up into him at a ferocious speed as he pulled Peter down. There was a brief flare of pain from his ribs, a protest from the muscles in his thighs from being stretched so odd for so long, and then the brutal way Deadpool was driving his cock into Peter's prostate obliterated his mind. Every hit was like a lightning bolt through his spine and fracturing outwards to the tips of his toes and fingers. The only thing keeping him from coming was the grip of leather around his cock.

"Let me come," he gasped out, eyes clenched shut against the sensation, as if blocking out the world would somehow minimize the immensity of what he was feeling.

"You know what to say, baby boy," Deadpool said and Peter's fingers convulsed at the back of Deadpool's head. He didn't want to say it. None of it.

"Just let me come," he demanded, voice harsh and snapping. It came out louder than he thought and he suddenly realized how loud the slap of Deadpool's balls hitting his ass really was. How had no one found them yet? How soon would they? What would they think when they inevitably stumbled on Peter's greatest shame?

"C'mon, baby boy. Let me hear what I wanna hear. I know you can do it," Deadpool wheedled. His hand at Peter's waist tightened and his pace somehow picked up, even though Peter hadn't thought it possible. Deadpool didn't actually have super strength or speed or anything else, but sometimes it seemed like he did, that he could do anything.

Peter rolled his head back and forth on the wall, a denial, but his orgasm was coiled in his groin, a demanding, burning need that he couldn't ignore much longer before he lost it. He hated this. He hated everything. He wished he could go back in time and stopped himself from letting this happen so that he would never know what it felt like to be fucked by Deadpool, what it felt like to need what he hated to want. "Please, let me come… Wade."


"Good boy," Deadpool rasped, and then eased the restrictive pressure on Peter's cock and began to jack him off in time to his thrusts.


It didn't take more than a handful of strokes of leather over his erection to make that pyre in his belly explode, and when it finally happened, he inhaled a ragged gasp and Deadpool kissed him, swallowing his scream before he could ruin the quiet and bring the Avengers running. The world disappeared for a moment, somehow white and black at the same time as he pulsed into Deadpool's waiting hand. He could feel his muscles spasming around the thickness of the cock in him, a cock that was grinding against into him and against his prostate nonstop as the other man came too.

For a moment, he thought he was going to pass out, but then Deadpool uncurled, and pulled Peter just enough up his cock to relieve the pressure against his prostate. Peter's breath was harsh in his own ears as he tried to pull his scattered mind back together, and when he shifted his legs off Deadpool's shoulders to relieve the stress on his hamstrings, his legs trembled wildly.

"Put me down," he managed to say, the words out of his mouth before he could be sure that he even had the strength to stand.

"Ooonnneee sec," Deadpool drawled, and then he was pulling his cock out achingly slow, creating an emptiness like a despicable void inside of Peter, one he simultaneously needed to be filled again and wanted to remain empty forever. As soon as his cock was free, something much less yielding, and colder, was being pushed into him, stoppering the come inside him from leaking out. It took Peter longer than he wanted to remember the plug Deadpool had taken out of him.

He was let down slowly and then propped on trembling limbs against the wall as Deadpool straightened his suit without a word. When fingers hooked in the bottom of his mask, he tilted his chin up to make it easier for it to be pulled down, and Deadpool kissed him again, this time slower, deeper. Peter had to wrap weak fingers around Deadpool's katana straps to keep himself upright as the mercenary devoured his mouth until he couldn't breathe, the larger man's heavier body pinning him soundly to the wall.

When Deadpool finally pulled back, Peter tried to follow his mouth without thinking and he could have punched himself for it if he'd had the capacity at the moment. But Deadpool only pulled back a few millimeters, enough to whisper into Peter's mouth while keeping their bodies in contact. Which was probably the only thing keeping Peter from crumbling to the floor.

"Thanks for the treat, Petey-pie," he grinned and dipped his head back in for a brief kiss. "Catch you around," he said, kissing Peter a third time that was somehow both too short and too long. When he pulled away again, he pulled Peter's mask back down his face and backed away, melting into the dark of the hallway that even Peter's eyes couldn't penetrate. Which was odd because all the lights in the building were motion-activated and-

The world shifted around him and it took a moment to realize that he was listing to the side as he slid down the wall, unable to support his own weight without Deadpool there to hold him up. He didn't realize why that wasn't a good idea until his ass hit the floor and the plug he'd forgotten about pressed against his abused prostate, making him hiss and jerk forward. So not only could he not stand without Deadpool, but he also no longer had anything to distract him from the terrible sensation of 'not full enough' in his ass.

Peter dropped his face into his hands and rubbed at his eyes and forehead through his mask as a headache bloomed in his skull.

"JESUS CHRIST SPIDEY WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?" The bellow echoing down the adjacent hallway made Peter jump and scramble to his feet as he realized it was getting closer. He almost fell over again when his still-weak legs nearly refused to hold him up, and he barely composed himself before Tony rounded the corner.

"What the hell kid, you fall asleep over here or something?" Tony asked, brow furrowing as he crossed his arms. And then uncrossed them before Peter could respond. "And why the hell aren't the lights triggering? JARVIS?"

The response came from the hallway Tony had just come down, rather than the one they were standing in. "Yes, sir?"

"Why aren't the lights on in this hallway? Or you, for that matter?"

There was a brief pause. "It appears I have been disabled in that particular hallway, sir. Would you like me to re-enable?"

"The fuck?" Tony muttered, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, do that. How the fuck were you disabled?"

"I do not know, sir."

"Gone!" - "Poof! Kaput! Cut-off!" - "Oh, but I did, baby boy. Just for this hallway, just for you." Christ, Deadpool had actually disabled JARVIS.

Peter started to edge around Tony to sneak back into the party, but Tony's glare just shifted to him. "You behind this, web-boy?" he accused.

Peter raised both hands. "I didn't do it."

Tony stared him down for a long minute until the hallway lights came on. Peter couldn't help but glance the direction Deadpool had gone, half convinced that he'd see the mercenary lurking in the sudden light, but the hallway was empty. There was no sign that anyone else had been there at all.

When he turned back around to face Tony, Tony's eyes narrowed further for a second before his expression switched to a grin as quick as flicking a switch. "Whatever, I can deal with it later. Now come on; we've been waiting. Well, most of us. Barton's been pouting and Romanoff's been taking victory laps. "The older man slung an arm around his shoulders and started walking him down the hallway, and with every step, Peter could feel the plug shifting in him like he hadn't been able to before Deadpool had accosted him. More than that, he could feel the lingering ache of being taken so roughly.

When he came back, there was a large cheer from mostly everyone, and even though Natasha was smiling, her eyes lingered on him for an uncomfortably long time. As he curled back up on the couch under Tony's arm, the feeling only intensified into a low burn at his lower back. His entire body felt hot but his cheeks burned, and as much as he wanted to chow down with everyone else, his stomach was roiling and he was terrified that, should he lift his mask, everyone would be able to see how red his cheeks were, and how well he'd been kissed. So instead of the relaxing night Peter had originally thought he was going to have, he spent the remainder of the movie in tense ball, shamefully half-hard from the thought that he was sitting amongst his highly respected coworkers with only a thin layer of spandex to hide the plug that was holding in a load of Deadpool's cum.

"Ooh, are we stalking someone?"

Peter hated Deadpool, and he hated that his Spidey-sense somehow did not alert him to Deadpool's presence. He had no clue how long the man had even been standing on the roof above him he spoke.

"She's pretty cute if you go in for that sort of thing. You have a much nicer ass than she does though."

Peter had already been clinging to the side of a building in the afternoon shade of an alleyway for half an hour, waiting, and he'd been content to wait for as long as he needed to until his suspect made the move, but now the thought of having to do it with Deadpool chattering on above him made the afternoon suddenly seem impossibly long.

"Not that it's any of your business, but she's the subject of an active investigation," Peter finally decided, hoping that a answer would stop Deadpool from continuing his chatter. He knew better.

"Ooh, Spidey sounds so professional~"

Peter sighed and resigned himself to a shitty day.

"She givin' you blue balls, Spidey? You go in for that sort of thing, right? I can help with that. I'll suck your dick so good you don't even know you'll love it."

"You- what?" Deadpool had always been a little pervy, hitting on Peter non-stop and complimenting his ass at every turn, but this was a new level and completely unexpected.

"I. Wanna suck. Your dick," Deadpool enunciated more clearly, and the sound seemed to echo through the alleyway, making Peter flinch.

"You know I hate you, right?" he asked, still not taking his eyes off the woman at the bistro across the street. He couldn't really take any of what Deadpool said seriously anyway. The man talked to himself for fuck's sake. Peter'd already heard more than he wanted to about 'the boxes' just from being unfortunate enough to be the focus of Deadpool's attention. "Like, that's not a joke. I legitimately hate you. And I'm annoyed every time you come around."

"Oh yeah, I totes know that but-" There was a strange sound, like the scratch of metal over stone, and then a dark shadow was dropping down in front of him on a grappling hook. Booted feet thudded against the stone on either side of Peter's hips, keeping the body in front of him propped away from the wall. "Hey, baby boy, how's it hanging?"

Deadpool was a solid mass of muscles, leather, and weapons, and he was easily twice Peter's size. Guys like him used to intimidate Peter in high school in their sheer size, had made him uncomfortable just being around them. Guys who were built like him used to bully Peter in high school, although, as annoying as Peter found him, Deadpool was about as far from being a bully as he could imagine. Not to mention that Peter easily had him beat now in the whole 'strength' department. And yet… Deadpool's bulk, especially when it was right next to him - or in front of him, in this case - made him feel odd, like if Deadpool somehow managed to pin him down, then Peter would be helpless.

"Well, first of all, you're blocking my view," Peter replied, trying to figure out how to get Deadpool to move away from him without actually touching him. He'd been clinging to the building by the tips of his fingers and the balls of his feet, which was prime for jumping off, but inopportune as as defensive position. "And second of all, I still don't understand why you keep hanging around me when I'm trying to be as blunt as I can that I don't like you?"

Deadpool's expression dropped and he placed a hand over his heart. "That hurt, baby boy."

"It was meant to," Peter said shortly, patience already fading fast.

"He said, he said, he said, 'Why don't you just drop dead?" Deadpool sang as he bent at the knee, bringing his body closer to Peter's and in between Peter's legs.

"He, in fact, did not say that," Peter replied, leaning back and away from Deadpool. Deadpool just kept moving in closer until Peter's back was pressed to the wall and Deadpool was just short of pressing fully against him. Still, Peter could easily feel the heat of him and his heart was starting to beat faster in his chest. "What would you even get out of it?"

Deadpool gave him an odd look. "I don't know what kind of sex life you've had, baby boy-"

"None," Peter muttered under his breath, but Deadpool's grin told him he'd heard it anyway.

"But sometimes it's nice to suck a little dick. Or a big dick. Medium dicks too." Peter rolled his eyes. "And even though you really don't like me, I really like you and I just wanna make you feel good. 'Specially if you don't have a sex life. I just wanna give you the best blowjob of your life, and then swallow your cum."

Peter, who had found himself leaning forward towards Deadpool like his words had been slowly reeling him in, suddenly recoiled at the unexpected vulgarity on the tail end of something that was more on the sweet end than he'd expected.

"You're disgusting," Peter snapped out, disgusted with himself for having fallen for Deadpool's words for a second. He leaned back against the brick, pressing his body as far into the wall and away from Deadpool as he could. It had the opposite effect though because Deadpool just bent his knees and moved closer until he was practically straddling Peter's waist.

"Yeah, I know, baby boy, but I promise to give you the best blowjob you've ever had and ever will have. Guaranteed." Peter was already shaking his head halfway through Deadpool's sentence. There was nothing that the man could say that would let him get Deadpool's mouth anywhere near his dick. "If you don't like it, somehow, how about I neeever bug you again?"

That gave Peter pause. "You're serious?" Deadpool nodded eagerly. "If I don't like your blowjob, you'll never bother me again? No more sneaking up on me, no more touching my ass, no more creepy comments?"

"Righty, Spidey!"

That… was almost worth it. No, that was actually worth it. Deadpool had been a rock in his shoe for the last few years. He came in handy in a fight if Peter could keep him from killing anyone, but other than that… he was just an annoyance that Peter had to deal with on a weekly basis. Even the little bit of relief Peter would get from not having Deadpool in his life any longer would be helpful.


Deadpool, who had kept rambling while Peter hadn't been listening, suddenly cut off. "Did he just say 'okay'? Or did I imagine that. Did you just say 'okay', Spidey?"

Trepidation had started to rise in his belly even as he agreed, but he didn't retract what he'd said. "Yeah, I did."

Deadpool stared at him for a long minute and then he startled Peter by grabbing him around the waist and pulling him over one shoulder, nearly jabbing him in the face with the handle of one of his katana.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he ground out as a hand came down on his ass, holding him in place. The tips of Deadpool's fingers were a little too close to the crack of his ass and seemed to be slowly working their way inwards.

"Weeellll," Deadpool drawled as they began to rise back up the side of the building, "I was pretty sure that you wouldn't let me blow you right there so I'm moving us to the roof!"

Peter rubbed at his eyes with one hand, already regretting his decision and already feeling a headache bloom behind his eyes. He ignored Deadpool as the man crawled over the roof's edge, eerily efficient at the movement even with Peter over his shoulder. Two large hands wrapped around his waist, and he hated the way the size and the strength of them made butterflies flutter through his stomach.

Deadpool plopped him down on the roof ledge and then immediately fell to his knees between Peter's legs, which caught Peter by surprise. "Woah woah woah what the fuck?" he stalled, putting both hands on Deadpool's shoulders even as Deadpool shuffled forward. His broad shoulders were spreading Peter's legs wide to accommodate them and it left him feeling vulnerable and his cheeks hot.

"Whatcha mean?" Deadpool asked, looking up at him, his fingers already hooked in the waistband of Peter's pants.

Peter opened his mouth to respond but he didn't really have anything to say. He pulled his hands away and turned his head to the side, feeling shame swamp him as his pants were pulled down just enough for gloved hands to wrap around his half-hard cock and pull it out.

"Oooh, Spidey! You're already hard~" Peter barely bit back the automatic response of 'And whose fault do you think that is?' before it slipped out his mouth and Deadpool was made aware of how much he was actually affecting Peter. "Mmm, so pretty too. Man, I could suck on you all day. I bet the other side of you is just as pretty."

The sensation of leather against his cock was an unfamiliar one, the material distinctive, and warm from Deadpool's body heat. It felt smooth and odd and made him shiver and grow just a little harder in Deadpool's loose grasp, and he curled his fingers around the ledge and held on tight. He hated that he was already any bit hard at all, and he hated it even more that he was hard because there was just something about Deadpool's body that did it for him.

In his peripheral vision, Deadpool was pulling the edge of his mask up over his nose, and Peter carefully did not look at him. He'd seen what Deadpool's skin looked like once before, when the mercenary had dropped in on him while he was eating and stole some of Peter's food, and he didn't think he'd be able to handle seeing it wrapped around his dick. Then Deadpool started to mutter under his breath, and it took a moment for Peter to register what he was saying.

"Thank you, O Lord for the gift I'm about to receive and-"

Peter's cheeks felt so hot it was like they'd caught on fire as he grit his teeth together. "If you're not going to take this seriously, I'm just going to-"

"Oh, baby boy," Deadpool interrupted, his voice a deep register Peter had never heard him speak in before and which instantly made Peter snap his mouth shut as a shiver rolled down his spine. Those large hands smoothed up his ribs and held there, solid and firm and unyielding, almost painful in their intensity as they pulled him forward until he was barely sitting on the ledge anymore. "I've never taken anything more seriously. I'm gonna make you bend and break and you're gonna love every second of it."

Even if Peter had been able to formulate a response to a promise like that, he wouldn't have time to say it. Deadpool sucked him down so fast that Peter's eyes rolled back in his head and his knees clamped tight around Deadpool's ribs as a choked sound cracked its way out of his throat. It wasn't that Peter was still a virgin anymore - no, he'd taken care of that a few months ago when he'd started college - it was that Deadpool was just so good. Just having that wet heat surrounding him so tightly nearly made him lose his mind.

It took almost no time for Peter to grow fully hard in Deadpool's mouth under the firm pressure of lips wrapped around him and suction against him. The man's tongue never stopped moving around the tip of him or the shaft, even when Deadpool took him so far in that Peter could feel the man's nose against his skin and his throat muscles working around him. The first time that Deadpool swallowed around him, Peter curled over the top of Deadpool's head and the stone ledge in his hands began to crumble beneath the pressure from his fingertips.

The hands at his ribs tightened further and pushed him backwards until he was laying on the ledge. A ledge that was shallow enough to leave Peter's head and shoulders hanging unsupported in the open air. Despite the fact that Peter hated Deadpool, and that he could see the stories of space between him and the ground, he knew that the other man would never let him fall, even if Peter hadn't had a death grip on the ledge with his fingers or around Deadpool's ribs with his knees. And wasn't that ironic: that he could trust a mercenary he hated not to kill him? He hated that a part of him even had that little bit of trust in Deadpool at all. He didn't even feel a thump of panic in his chest when one of the hands around his ribs disappeared and the other one slid to his center to anchor him.

A slick finger wormed its way into his ass, somewhere that had remained untouched until just now, but all Peter could do was gasp and inhale and try to push his hips down. The hand weighing down against his sternum refused to budge, even when the finger in him brushed against his prostate and the mouth around his cock sucked hard on his sensitive glans and made Peter writhe frantically on the harsh stone. His own breathing seemed harsh in his ears even as the sloppy sounds of Deadpool sucking at him seemed distant. He wanted to slap a hand over his mouth, but he couldn't bear to release the grounding edge digging into his palms, still slowly cracking from the pressure.

Suddenly, Deadpool upped the ante and began to fuck his mouth on Peter's cock as he rubbed insistently at Peter's prostate, and the world behind Peter's eyes turned white. He struggled against Deadpool's hand as the rapidly rising sensation of an impending orgasm raced through him, turning his body from an ember to a bonfire in such a short time that his head spun from it. It only took the firm press of a finger to his sensitive insides for Peter to come, the world whooshing in his ears. Deadpool didn't even release his dick, just kept swallowing around him every time it seemed like he was done coming, like he was trying to suck Peter's brain out through his cock.

Finally, it became too much and Peter tried to voice a protest, but it only came out as a pathetic whimper. Still, apparently that was all it took because Deadpool slowly slid off him, leaving his cock wet and soft in the soft breeze and making him shiver all over again in an odd mix of 'cold' and 'aroused'. The hand against his chest disappeared as another cradled the back of his head, pulling him into a sitting position before the missing arm wrapped around his waist and tugged him off the ledge and to the roof's floor. Deadpool's face swam in his vision and Peter blinked lazily, only half-heartedly trying to clear it.

"What'd I tell you?" Deadpool was saying, his mask already rolled back down and hiding his skin. "Best blowjob ever, right?"

Peter nodded dazedly. "Yeah." His brain was coming back online in bits and pieces, and he knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it, but he couldn't remember why.

"Wicked," Deadpool grinned. "I think you're the best blowjob I've ever given too. Like a match made in heaven. Testie besties." A beeping sound stopped Deadpool from continuing for which Peter was grateful because he had a hard enough time keeping up with Deadpool when he wasn't coming out of a sex-coma. "Well, I hate to fuck and run, Spidey, but I'm running late. Well, I was late when I stopped by to say 'hi' but so worth. We'll have to do this again soon!" he said rapid-fire cheerful as he stood, towering over Peter and blocking out the setting sun. "Next time, I'll eat you out 'till you scream, promise."

He was waving at Peter as he jogged backwards across the roof, and right before he reached the edge, he turned and dove off. Peter waited for the sound of Deadpool hitting the ground to reach his ears but it never did and eventually he gave up waiting for it. He just sat in the fading sunlight and let his body soak up the lingering warmth. It wasn't until it was nearly gone that he realized exactly what Deadpool had said.

"What fucking 'next time'?"

The worst part about patrolling was needing to take a leak and being nowhere near his apartment. Like any New Yorker, Peter hating stepping into the piss-scented alleyways that were home to the homeless, the rats, and the unfortunate drunks sleeping it off, but when the bladder called, it was a poor idea to ignore it. At least there was no shortage of dumpster-strewn alleys cast in shadow from dead or dying lights for him to choose from. He had only just finished his business when arms wrapped around his waist from behind.


If Peter could kill his Spidey-sense, he would; the shit was useless when it came to Deadpool. "I swear to fucking god. You show up the most inconvenient times in the most inconvenient places. You're like an STD."

"Free love on the streets but in the alley it ain't that cheap, now," Deadpool replied, nuzzling at Peter's neck.

"You really need to stop quoting Fall Out Boy lyrics at me, and you really need to not do this right over where I just pissed," Peter said, already feeling exasperation welling up. He tried to unlock Deadpool's arms from around his waist, and for a moment, it seemed he half succeeded when one pulled away. But then Deadpool just separated the bottom of his mask from his shirt collar and began to suck at his neck.

In the past, stimulation to his neck had felt nice, but it had never been anything special. But like always seemed to be the case, Deadpool was, once again, proving to be an exception. Because every time he put lips and teeth to Peter's neck, it made his legs weak and his belly tremble. When paired with a hand stroking up and down his stomach and the occasional brush over his groin, it paralyzed him, made him pliant. It made him hate himself as much as he hated Deadpool.

"I'll stop quoting them when they stop being relevant," Deadpool shot back, which Peter took to meant that he was never going to stop. "I'll leave 'em in the gutter with our love where I found you."

"Not only do I have the opposite feelings for you, now you're just forcing your references." Peter hated that he even recognized them. He hated that he'd added a lot more of their songs to his iPod since this had all started. He hated everything. And as usual, it was all Deadpool's fault. "I'm serious though, I don't want to do this right here."

"I didn't take you for squeamish, baby boy," Deadpool murmured in his ear. "You already made a mess, might as well add to it. Because I am going to make a mess out of you."


"C'mon, Petey. Make me," Deadpool growled in that same low, challenging tone that always made Peter think twice before speaking next. Then Deadpool pushed firmly between his shoulder blades, and Peter flung out his arms to keep his face from colliding with the brick wall. Behind him, Deadpool stepped closer, his combat boots bracketing Peter's feet which seemed practically bare in comparison and ridiculously smaller. "I know you can," he said as he pulled Peter's suit down to expose his bare ass. "You can kick my ass all up and down this alley." His gloves against Peter's bare skin as he pulled his ass cheeks apart made Peter press his forehead to the brick, eyes closing and fingers curling in the divots. "You could just web me to a wall and leave me here with my dick hanging out." Peter bit the inside of his cheek as his plug was pulled out, the same one he'd been using for months now, and the head of Deadpool's cock pressed inside him.

As the mercenary bottomed out, he draped himself over Peter's back, arms wrapping tight around his waist and keeping him immobile. It would have been comforting from anyone else, but still, Peter couldn't make his body move. "You don't even have to do anything," Deadpool murmured against his ear as he pulled out and pushed back in, pace agonizing slow and making Peter's rim burn where he hadn't really been prepped outside of using the plug. "I gave you a safeword, didn't I, Petey? Remind me what it is. C'mon, tell me."

Peter shook his head, rolling his forehead along the wall. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to acknowledge that he had one, that he could use it at any time, could have used it any time in the past. Saying it made what was happening real, made him complicit in this thing he didn't want to acknowledge existed, but for some reason, also didn't want to stop. Saying it made it real, saying it would mean acknowledging that he'd stopped looking for dates because he knew that Deadpool's cock had ruined him for everyone. Saying his safeword would mean that Deadpool would stop that slow roll of his hips that was pushing him in and out of Peter, would mean he'd drop his restrictive hold, would mean that he'd stop trying to bite a permanent bruise into the side of Peter's neck.

"You- you keep saying my name. In public," Peter managed to say instead, trying to pull his mind away from the tingles of pleasure brought about by the head of Deadpool's cock glancing over his prostate with every slow thrust and refocus it instead on the potential of his identity being discovered by Deadpool carelessness. "Someone could- could hear."

"I know you don't like me, baby boy," Deadpool said, keeping his mouth next to Peter's ear even as his hips moved away and back in a steady rhythm. "But you could at least have faith that I would never out another mask. Especially not you. You trusted me enough to give it to me, but you can't trust me enough to keep it safe?"

It was getting difficult to keep track of the conversation. Deadpool was an immovable object and an unstoppable force at the same time, both the rock in the ocean and the waves battering against it. Peter wasn't exactly sure where that left him except at Deadpool's mercy. "You tricked it from me," he said before he quite remembered what he'd even been asked.

"Oh? How'd I manage that, Petey?" Deadpool sounded amused and something in Peter's brain set off a blaring klaxon alarm.

He shook his head and refused to answer. Or rather, he wasn't exactly sure how to answer. Not with the way Deadpool's cock was obliterating his mind like every push of his hips was making room for his massive erection by pushing out his ability to think logically. The arms around him got tighter, making his ribs creak in protest as Deadpool closed in around him, surrounding him and filling him in equally impossible measures.

"Hm. We'll come back to that later then, k?" Peter couldn't help but nod in agreement. He'd probably agree to anything right now, if only Deadpool asked it of him. "But you still need to tell me your safeword." Except that. He couldn't give that, but why was that again? "If you're not going to tell me, I'm going to stop." Peter shook his head frantically and moved one hand to the arms around his waist, gripping tightly to a thick forearm to keep it in place as his other hand clawed at the wall. "Yup! Sorry, sweetheart, but bad boys don't get treats." He started to pull out again, and then he kept going, and there was a terrible moment of realization when Peter realized Deadpool was going to leave before he even pushed Peter over the edge he'd driven him to.

"No!" Peter choked out, reaching behind himself to grasp at Deadpool's utility belt and pull him back in. He couldn't be sure if he used his super strength or not, but Deadpool came back anyway, covering Peter's body and weighing down on him more firmly than before. A hand worked into his pants to wrap around his cock and he jerked into the touch, pulling himself just a little off Deadpool's cock before he was pushed back onto it.

"Safeword, baby boy. Now." It was that voice again, the one that made him want to obey. He couldn't say 'no' to it, not right now.

"P-pancakes," he stuttered out, the shape of it unfamiliar in his mouth in such a setting. As soon as he said it, Deadpool's other hand slid up his chest and wrapped around his throat, holding him firmly without cutting off his air.

"Good boy," Deadpool whispered, and Peter nearly sobbed as his cock twitched in the mercenary's restrictive hold.

Apparently, months of being told he was a good boy right before he was allowed to orgasm had left an imprint on his psyche, a conditioning in his body that rushed his orgasm to the tip of his cock before stopping under Deadpool's grasp. He choked on air and scrambled futilely for a solid hold on the wall his face was pressed to and on the utility belt still in his grasp. It sent a warmth into his belly in a confusing way that had nothing to do with his orgasm and yet everything to do with it all at once.

"You like that?" Deadpool asked, sounding surprised, his hips faltering against Peter's ass for a heart-stopping moment. "You like being called my 'good boy'?" Peter nodded and tightened his hold on Deadpool's belt, terrified Deadpool would just leave him like this: sobbing and painfully hard. "Well, good boys get treats," Deadpool said, the surprise morphing to a hunger Peter was all too familiar with. The hand around his cock started to stroke him slowly, the tightness of the grip never fading so it equally arousing and unfulfilling. "What kind of treat do you want?"

"To come," Peter gasped immediately. He was so hard he hurt and Deadpool's unusually slow pace had left him half crazed and needing something he couldn't put into words. Usually Deadpool took him hard and fast, but he'd this time he'd taken Peter with a slow intensity that was making Peter forget who he was and where he was at and why he hated who he was with.

"You know what you have to say then," Deadpool replied easily, sticking to his pace relentlessly, no matter how much Peter tried to squirm in his grasp to fuck himself on Deadpool's cock faster. "C'mon, Petey. Say it. Let me hear you say my name. You won't like it if I have to fuck it out of you."

Peter groaned and clenched tight around Deadpool's cock and tried to force his orgasm to hit him, but it was as fruitless an effort as it ever was. Sometimes, he didn't know why he even tried to fight it when he knew how it was always going to turn it out. Deadpool was a fucker for better or worse, and he was the best at it. Or maybe he was just best at fucking Peter.

"Please make me come, Wade," he groaned out, and it wasn't until after the words left his mouth that he realized he might have misspoke. Deadpool was never more literal than when they were fucking and it didn't always end well for Peter.

"'Make you'?" Deadpool echoed, the hand at Peter's throat tightening as his hips started to pick up speed, each thrust jarring Peter's teeth and his face along the brick until he had to release Deadpool's belt to brace his forehead against the back of his hand. "Yeah, I can do that, baby boy. I'm gonna make you wear me like a choker around your throat; you're gonna look so good in my blue."

Peter didn't have time ask what that even meant before the fingers on either side of his neck clamped down, pressing Deadpool's palm against his windpipe, pulling him into each one of Deadpool's almost-violent thrusts. It made every breath that much harder to inhale and exhale, it made the world around him start to spot white and black and the fire in him burn even hotter. Deadpool's other hand was still working Peter's cock in that infuriatingly tight grip and slow pace, a complete juxtaposition of how hard and quick his hips were slamming against Peter's ass. The bricks of the alley's walls echoed with it until it was ringing in Peter's ears. Or maybe that was just his lack of oxygen.

"Wade," he gasped out, clawing at the hand at his throat. "Wade."

"Hold on, baby boy," Deadpool grunted as he somehow began to fuck Peter harder, faster; his ass felt pink and hot like he'd been spanked, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his groin, coiled and waiting like a volcano about to erupt. "Almost there. Trust me," he said as his hand tightened and Peter's clawing began to grow weaker. "It'll be so good just wait a little longer and trust me."

He had said it in that voice again, and so Peter obeyed, hand falling away to hang between his body and the wall. He didn't have the energy to put it anywhere else. He felt equally electric in his own body as much as he was starting to feel distant from it, and he wondered if he was dying, even as he knew that Deadpool would never let that happen, no matter what else Peter thought about him.

"You ready, baby boy?" Deadpool asked him, the rapid pant of his breath almost cooling to Peter's overheated skin. "It's going to be so intense, you're going to love it."

Peter tried to speak, tried to say his name, tried to do something as his vision started to fade, but all he could let out was breathy wheeze, a ghost of the mercenary's name: "Wade."

"I know, Petey. Go on. Come," that voice demanded, and both hands on him, the one at his throat and the one still slowly working his cock, both loosened at the same time, sending the world rushing in through his ears and out his cock.

Everything was light and noise, like a flashbang and the woosh of a waterfall, sending him flying through space and time as every nerve ending in his body lit up with pleasure. For a long moment, he forgot who he was and who he was with and where they were. There was only his orgasm, and him, the living embodiment of it.

"Shhh, shhh, it's alright, Petey. You were such a good boy. You did so well. Breathe with me." The voice in his ear was a low, soothing rumble, and he followed its instructions automatically, his brain still running on autopilot.

It seemed like an eternity passed before the white started fading from his vision to reveal the deep red brick in front of him, poorly lit in the dark night. His chest and throat burned and he realized he was breathing like pre-powers him, the asthmatic him. The hand against his throat was still there, leather gloves stroking up and down his vulnerable adam's apple and windpipe, keeping his head tilted back on a hard shoulder. The hand around his cock had abandoned it, leaving it to pulse between his legs, and had wrapped back around his ribs, holding him tightly to the muscled body behind him. When he tried to shift, he realized that his walls were still fluttering around the cock in him, and that his feet weren't exactly touching the ground, leaving the arm around his waist to support all his weight.

"Deadpool," he croaked, and then was immediately shushed.

"No talking, Petey. Your throat needs to recover. Just breathe through your nose as much as you can, and when you get home, you're gonna wanna drink a looot of tea. With honey. Or something. That sounds about right." The hand at his throat pushed at his chin, enforcing the idea that he needed to keep his head back, and then it pulled away.

As much as Peter wanted to lift his head just so he could disobey Deadpool, he felt so tired that he didn't want to move at all, even spitefully. His orgasm had completely wiped him out, even more than was typical with Deadpool. And his orgasms with Deadpool were always exhausting. So exhausting… Fuck, how was he gonna get home after this? He didn't want to mo-

"Hngh!" The grunt was immediately regretted but entirely involuntary.

"Sh sh sh," Deadpool said immediately as he pulled his cock out of Peter and immediately put his plug back in. As usual, it left him feeling not full enough in that terribly distracting, needy way that Peter preferred not to acknowledge. "And done! See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Peter breathed steadily through his nose and, as the realization of what exactly Deadpool had just done to him without warning or permission, tried not to lose his shit.

"I hate you," he whispered, cringing at the strain on his throat but refusing to shut up, despite Deadpool's hushing as he was lowered to his feet. "You did… that without asking and you could have killed me. You-"

A hand slapped over his mouth, cutting him off before he could really build up speed, and Deadpool turned Peter's head to the side so their eyes could meet over his shoulder. "Bad boy," he said sternly, and there was a sick feeling of shame in Peter's belly at the words that had nothing to do with his usual shame in letting Deadpool touch him. "I said no talking, didn't I?" When the hand over his mouth didn't retract, Peter glared through his mask and nodded. "That's right. Now, I'm disappointed in you, Petey." That strange shame in his belly got thicker and started to rise in his throat and it left Peter feeling sick and confused and angry. "You think I'd reveal your secret identity? You think I'd let you die? Tsk tsk, " Deadpool tutted, his disappointment loud and clear. "Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all."

No, he really didn't. That had been the point. Peter hadn't wanted to get to know Deadpool. He thought he knew enough about the mercenary to form and keep an opinion and, in some ways, he still thought that, but Deadpool's words were starting to make him second-guess himself.

"I didn't think I had to, but I promise you, baby boy, that no one will ever find out your secret identity from me, and I will never hurt you. Capiche?" Peter, reluctantly, nodded. After all, hadn't he thought the same thing himself while Deadpool had been inside of him? Hadn't he already acknowledged the truth of his beliefs when he'd been at his most vulnerable? But he'd also been really out of it so… "Now, if you can be a good boy-" the shame became something warm and flared white-hot, and the odd turn of it made Peter start to suspect that he was developing a few kinks at Deadpool's hands that he really wished he hadn't "-I'll take my hand back. Can you do that?"

He nodded and there was a short pause before the hand pulled away slowly, leaving him to pant quietly through his sore throat. Deadpool turned him around and Peter didn't fight him when the mercenary lifted the bottoms of both their masks to press his lips to Peter's. The kiss was oddly soft, gentle, and Peter lost himself in it. And just for a moment, he let himself let Deadpool take his weight.

Deadpool pulled back in fits and starts, breaking the kiss only to start a new one, over and over and over until Peter was almost dizzy and his legs were trembling. It was only when a whimper scratched its way out of his throat that the larger man stood up straight and pulled their masks back down. Peter barely had the energy to stand on his own feet, and he definitely didn't have enough to stop his listless lean against Deadpool's chest. At this point, he just wanted to pass out.

"Awww… My little spider's all tired out," Deadpool cooed. Peter wished the sudden change in tone surprised him but he was honestly surprised it had taken this long. Or maybe he was just too tired. He was practically asleep on his feet. "Let's get you home."

Deadpool ducked down and swung Peter up into his arms as if he weighed nothing, or as if he was one the one with superpowers. Peter leaned his head against the padded katana strap and closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to reorient and re-find himself in wherever he'd been lost, but when he opened them again, just a moment later, it was to find himself alone in his own bed with the morning light streaming obnoxiously bright across his legs.

It took nearly half an hour for him to move, but when he did, he half expected to find himself naked with Deadpool in the other room and a breaking news story revealing the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man's trysts with a known mercenary and mad-man. What he found instead was his suit under his pillow, himself dressed in a pair of his own boxers and a t-shirt, an empty apartment which looked to be in the exact state he'd last left it, and news without any mention of either Spider-Man or Deadpool.

Last night could have been a dream for all he knew… except for the impression of teeth at the juncture of his neck, and the bruise in the shape of Deadpool's hand across the front of his throat. A collar of blues and purples for all the world to see.

"I'm gonna make you wear me like a choker around your throat; you're gonna look so good in my blue."

"Need any help, Spidey?" The shout came accompanied with a burst of gunfire and a loud crash, and Peter immediately felt his temper spike. First bank-robbing robots and now Deadpool. While he was sure that it was technically possible for his day to get worse at this point, he wasn't exactly sure how.

"No human casualties," was all he said as he sent out another spray of webbing into the horde of annoying, flying robots.

"Aye, aye, mon capitan!" Deadpool shouted from somewhere behind him.

For all that Peter hated the mercenary, he sure came in handy in situations like this where Spider-Man's opponent wasn't something living and he had nothing fatal to cut down the attacking forces with. It wasn't long after that he finally began to see a dent in the number of robots whizzing through the air, most of their brethren laying in pieces on the bank's now-pockmarked marble floor. It didn't take much time after that for all the forces to deplete entirely, leaving Peter standing still in a robot-graveyard with four human bankrobbers webbed safely behind a pillar and Deadpool approaching, whistling merrily and swinging his katana aimlessly through the air.

"I was thinking we should take our relationship to the next level," Deadpool said by way of a greeting as he approached and Peter took out his Spider-Man cell phone.

"We don't have a relationship," Peter replied automatically as he dialed the police to put in a report and have someone pick up the human perpetrators.

"We're totally fuck buddies!" Deadpool argued as clunked each of the bank robbers in the head with the handle of his sword and knocked them out. Thankfully. Peter didn't want anyone knowing there was any kind of a relationship between Spider-Man and Deadpool. Spider-Man had a bad enough of a rep in the first place. "Except we haven't done like actual fucking yet, which brings me back to my point: we should fuck!"

Peter stared at him. It was true, he'd let Deadpool blow him, which had been a mistake on multiple levels, such as the level of he was never going to get another blowjob as good from anyone not-Deadpool. And then there had been the rimjob which he couldn't actually remember how Deadpool had gotten him to agree to, but the mercenary had probably ruined those for him too. But that was it. One handjob, one rimjob, and nothing else. And Peter wanted to keep it that way. He didn't want Deadpool to ruin him for anyone else, and he certainly didn't want to want Deadpool for anything, much less his dick.

"No." Peter turned around and started walking away before he could get himself into anything else.

"Aw, come on, Spidey!" Deadpool called, jogging to catch up. "How 'bout just the tip?"

Peter stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at the other man. "Did you just try to prom-date me?!"

"That depends. Did it work?" Deadpool asked, smiling brightly. Peter stared at him and then shook his head.

"Unbelievable. I'm leaving." He threw out an arm and was a split second from sending out a web when a hand caught his hip and tugged him into the muscled front of the biggest pain in his ass he'd ever met.

"Don't be like that baby boy," Deadpool cajoled, holding him in a loose arm with a firm hand. "You've had my mouth twice, and if you weren't lying, it was the best mouthing you've ever had. I can guarantee my dick's the best you'll ever have."

That was how Deadpool got him before, that lure. But if Peter kept setting the bar at what Deadpool could do, then he was never going to find someone who could top him. And considering how much Peter hated Deadpool anyway, that was a dangerous situation on so many levels.

"And my ass is the best you'll never have," Peter retorted. And then immediately regretted it when Deadpool brightened. Fucking Fall Out Boy. Again. "Don't read into that."

"My baby boy's getting into our band!" It was almost unnatural to hear a man of Deadpool's size coo. Or squee. Or any of the other high school girl sounds he made.

"Shut up," Peter snapped, feeling his patience rapidly disappearing. "I'm leaving. And Deadpool?"

"Yeah, honeybuns?"

"You can have me when you catch me." And Deadpool would never catch him. Even without his Spidey-sense working on the mercenary, Peter knew the streets and the towers better than he knew his own body and he could move between them in ways even Tony Stark failed at.

The hand at his waist tightened and pulled his hip into Deadpool's pelvis and a hardness that had better be a cup. "That a promise, baby boy?" Deadpool asked, voice that strange, deep rumble he only seemed to fall into when he was just about to ruin Peter. Peter could feel his cheeks heat in response and he suddenly felt a lot smaller and a lot less sure in himself.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he muttered and then flung out a web. Deadpool didn't try to stop him from leaving this time and Peter flew into the sky, feeling eyes on his back until he was out of the bank's line of sight. It almost felt like he was leaving something behind, even as he knew that he'd made the right choice in rejecting Deadpool's offer.

He swung slowly through the streets, letting the breeze cool the heat across his skin, only keeping half an eye on potential crime. It was nearing dawn after a long night and he was tired and ready to catch a few hours of sleep before he had to make it to his morning classes. Feeling the hard grate of his fire escape under his feet had become, oddly enough, a comforting sensation despite the actual discomfort it caused, because it meant that he was home and he could rest. He hurriedly slid open his window, and then nearly had his heart burst out his chest when hands came at him from inside his apartment and dragged him through the window.

Adrenaline shot through him as he struggled against the arms that wrapped around him, feeling his heart in his throat. Why had his Spidey-sense failed? Why was he going to die here in his own apartment when he always thought he'd die in some battle? Why why why-

"Caught ya~"


"The one and only, baby boy!" The mercenary exclaimed, nuzzling the side of Peter's neck.

All the fight suddenly drained from Peter, along with the burst of adrenaline, and he sagged in Deadpool's arms, panting heavily and feeling his heart pounding a million miles a second in his chest. "Jesus fucking christ!" he exclaimed.

"Ooh, Spidey said a bad word!" Deadpool gasped, which Peter ignored.

"You gave me a heart attack! I thought I was going to die! How did you even… get… in…" he trailed off as the gravity of what was happening crashed over him. "My apartment. You're in my apartment."

"Yeeesss?" Deadpool said, voice confused even through the sudden ringing in Peter's ears.

"How did you know where my apartment was?" The question came out slowly across a tongue that felt wooden in his suddenly dry mouth. The world around him was shrinking and his chest grew tight. " How did you- oh my god. You know. Jesus fuck, you know. Oh my god my family-"

"Hey hey hey!" Deadpool said, but his voice came from far away as Peter tried to remember how to breath, as his life flashed before his eyes. "No no no, bad boy, no panic attacks. C'mon Spidey, come back to me."

Possibly the most dangerous mercenary in the world knew who he was now, knew where he lived. That meant Aunt May was in danger. That meant that his job was over, his schooling, his life…

"Breathe with me, Spidey, c'mon! If you keep panicking I'm going to start panicking and then where will we be? That's it, in, out, in… and out. Good boy. That's it, just keep breathing like that. Good Spidey."

His focus slowly narrowed again, bring him back to his apartment and the hard arms locking him in place, the harder chest against his back, breathing deeply, steadily, a metronome for his heart to resynchronize too.

"You back with me, baby boy?" The voice was soft and next to his ear and Peter closed his eyes, dropping his head back onto the shoulder behind him. He seemed to still be wearing his mask. And the rest of his suit too. Deadpool had him at his mercy, in his home, during a panic attack, and hadn't tried to do anything to him. It wasn't the first time Peter had been at his mercy, not with the blowjob and rimjob, but this was like a whole new level of mercy… and he'd done nothing.

"Yeah," he croaked, his throat feeling so dry he would have been willing to drink from the Hudson in that moment. He realized that, at some point during his freakout, Deadpool had relocated them to his couch and he was sitting in the mercenary's lap. Like a child. Ugh.

"Okay, before you freak out again, I technically knew where you lived because I'm actually good at my job and I do know how to do recon, but I've never been inside before. You should actually get a better lock 'cause I totally just picked it to get in. I miiight have accidentally picked one or two or seventeen of your neighbors locks too trying to find your apartment. Maybe. But that's neither here nor there. The point is that I don't know your face or your name - but I super want to - and I've never been in your apartment till now and also you and your family or whoever never has to worry 'bout me, pinky swear!"

Peter's head was spinning from the speed at which Deadpool spoke, and when one arm loosened to hold up a hand with an extended pinky, he linked his own pinky with it without really thinking about it. Which left him staring at their linked fingers and trying to figure out where the world went wrong in the last half an hour.

"Okay…" Peter said slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around the sudden shift in his life. "Just-" Fuck it, he'll deal with the ramifications later. "Why are you in my apartment?"

"Hm? Oh! Because it was the best place to catch you!" Deadpool exclaimed, too cheerfully for the situation. And if Peter wasn't mistaken, the hard lap under his ass was getting harder in a way he didn't want to think about.


"Geez, and I thought I was the one with bad memory, Spidey," Deadpool said admonishingly. He let go of Peter's pinky and set his palm to Peter's stomach, and the warmth of the contact did something strange to his belly, turned it all to heat that was slowly moving along his spine. "You said I could have you if I could catch you." Deadpool's chin landed on his shoulder, sending warm air across Peter's neck and making him shiver. The palm against his belly pushed against him, holding him to Deadpool's chest as Deadpool's other arm unwound and started working a hand into his pants. Just the barest brush of leather against his soft dick was enough to get his blood thumping, to make him harden. He hissed softly as Deadpool did it again, and then a third time, teasing him, making him crave full contact. "Well, I caught you. And now I get to have you." Deadpool lifted his head and murmured into Peter's ear, voice low and deep, "You promised."

Deadpool was moving them, sitting up and forward, and Peter didn't fight it. He knew he could, he knew he should... and yet, he didn't. Just like the last two times Deadpool had gotten to him, Peter just… let it happen. He hated the mercenary, but he still let him do things like this to him. And he didn't understand why. Why he let it happen, why Deadpool was doing it in the first place… none of it. "Why are you so obsessed with having sex with me?" he found himself asking before he'd even consciously decided to ask the question.

Suddenly, the world spun as he was flipped onto his back, and Deadpool shifted between his legs, spreading Peter's thighs around his hips. The position made him blush as the larger man, noticeably so at the moment, loomed over him, and even though they were both wearing masks, even though they probably weren't actually looking each other straight in the eye, it felt like that was what Deadpool was actually doing. Peter rolled his head to the side and stared at the blank screen of his TV, unable to repress the feeling that he just lost something by turning away first.

"I used to be obsessed with dying, baby boy, and it wasn't pretty." Peter knew that Deadpool was essentially immortal, that he could heal from everything, but he had never really thought about what that would be like, being unable to die. He'd never wanted to, and it seemed a bit unfair that Deadpool was choosing now to make him confront mortality. "Now I'm obsessed with you. You're everything I want to be and everything I want. You're pretty much my fave superhero and I just wanna make you feel good."

Peter's face felt like it was on fire. He was used to hearing praise and insults alike out on the street or in his college classes, and he was used to reading it in the newspapers- hell, he usually supplied the accompanying photos, but he'd never been praised directly to his face by someone he hadn't just saved. And Deadpool seemed so sincere about it too, which somehow made it even more unreal. "And it has nothing to do with you wanting to have sex with me?" he asked, trying to reshape the conversation to leave out any more embarrassing praise.

"Well, obviously I wanna have sex with you, you have like the best ass on the planet, but mostly it's the first thing." Deadpool rolled his hips down into Peter's, undulating against him, and suddenly Peter could see with a disturbing clarity exactly how Deadpool had sex. Specifically, how Deadpool would fuck him. "So, yeah, I wanna tear that ass up, I wanna feel you wrapped around me and the way you'll shake when I make you come."

Without even thinking about it, Peter's breath had shortened and his cock had started to throb in earnest. Deadpool normally sounded like an idiot who had no idea what he was doing, but right now he sounded like the world's leading expert, and with the two experiences Peter had already had with his sexual prowess, he wasn't disinclined to believe him. He had no doubt that sex with Deadpool would be the most satisfying sex he'd ever had; it was the possibility that it might be the most satisfying sex he'd ever have that had given him pause.

"So, you gonna let me make you feel good, Spidey?" Deadpool murmured, voice practically a growl, even as he played with Peter's waistband, exposing little bits of skin like a burlesque show.

Peter carefully didn't look at him when he said, "Make it fast."

In a flash, his pants were practically ripped from his body, leaving him naked from the waist down, and he instinctively slapped his hands over his half-hard cock. "Hey!" he cried indignantly, the heat in his face flaring bright and hot.

"Aw, you're shy," Deadpool cooed as he grabbed both of Peter's wrists in one large hand raised his arms above his head, pinning his hands to the arm of the couch. "That's so adorable. But you don't have to be shy in front of me, baby boy." He leaned down and pressed his broad chest against Peter's smaller one, voice dropping out of the playful tone and into one more… sinful. "I'm going to blow your mind."

"That- that's not the point," Peter stuttered, looking away again. "And stop calling me that."

"Aw, how come?" Deadpool asked as he sat up, taking his hand off Peter's wrists to pull something out of one of his pouches. Despite feeling incredibly exposed and vulnerable, Peter left his hands where they were, leaving himself open to the man he hated that he was going to let touch him an intimate manner for the third time in as many months.

"Because I said so," he retorted childishly, feeling his stomach turn. Because hearing Deadpool call him that, call him that name like he belonged to the mercenary, especially in that low voice of his, made it feel like he had butterflies in his belly, and Deadpool was the last person he wanted to give him that sensation.

"I'll call you by your name if you tell me it," Deadpool said as he steadily pressed a slick finger into Peter.

An inhale got in his chest and Peter arched off the couch, his hands turning to grasp the arm. This wasn't the first time he'd had something in him: he'd touched himself in the past, of course; then there was the blowjob from Deadpool where the man had surprised him with a finger he hadn't been expecting; and then there had been the rimjob, which had been all tongue, but Peter had never felt so open than after an hour under Deadpool's mouth. This though, this was straight up and sudden, just a lube-covered, thick finger inside him when he was still only half-hard and half-aroused.

A hand landed on his pelvis and pushed up his belly and sternum, and it wasn't until a shadow passed over his face that he realized Deadpool was pushing the top of his suit off him. Only he didn't, not quite. He left it tangled around Peter's wrists in such a way that he couldn't figure out how to escape from it. Peter didn't quite realize how naked he'd become until Deadpool bent over his chest and licked a nipple, making him gasp and arch into the smile pressed around the sensitive nub.

"God, you really are the prettiest thing, aren't you?" Deadpool murmured as he gently closed his teeth over Peter's nipple.

Peter squirmed against the touch which only brought his hips down on the finger inside of him, which was slowly pumping in and out, loosening him. Deadpool's free hand landed on his rib cage, the leather almost slipping on his slick skin from how worked up he was getting. Just when the mouth against him pulled back and he thought he was getting a moment to catch his breath, a second finger worked its way into him alongside the first and a thumb and forefinger pinched one nipple as teeth closed firmly around the other.

"Deadpool!" Peter gasped out, already starting to feel overwhelmed.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Deadpool exclaimed, sitting up suddenly and pulling his fingers out of Peter's ass. Peter cried out at the strange dizziness that hit him for a split second at the sudden loss. "Bad Deadpool, I almost forgot. Spidey needs a safeword."

"A- goddamnit," Peter cursed, falling back to the couch. He went to rub at his eyes only to remember his hands were tied together by his suit top when they hit him both hit him in the face. "Deadpool, I do not need a safew-"

"Stop!" Deadpool barked suddenly, making Peter recoil as if he'd been slapped. It felt like he had, in a weird way. In all the time Peter had known the mercenary, he'd never been spoken to in such a harsh tone and it made him want to cry, which only made him confused and angry at being confused. "Oh no no no, I'm sorry, baby boy," Deadpool said, falling back into one of his more typical, comforting voices. "I didn't mean to say it quite like that," he said, stroking his hands down Peter's torso like he was calming a frightened animal. "But I need to make sure you understand - with me, you're going to have a safeword, and you're going to use it if it ever gets too much, if you ever need me to stop, okay?"

Peter nodded slowly, still trying to reorient himself after the sudden shift in mood. Usually he was pretty good at keeping up with Deadpool, but something about the whole situation had him feeling off. Adrift. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but it was new and a little uncomfortable and made him feel… incredibly vulnerable.

Peter licked his lips and glanced up at Deadpool who, he was only now realizing, had rolled his mask up. The sight of his skin still bothered Peter, but it didn't shake him from the mood that had been set, or the one they seem to have fallen into. "Shouldn't I pick my safeword?" he asked quietly, wary of being snapped at again, but Deadpool only smiled.

"Maybe later, sweet-cheeks. I'm just gonna give you one now and your only job is to remember it. K? K. You ready?" Something about Deadpool's wording seemed odd, and Peter suddenly wondered if he was going to have to remember something ridiculously long or just plain ridiculous to discourage him using it, like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or backpfeifengesicht or something. Then as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. If Deadpool had shouted at him, him, Spider-Man, his 'favourite superhero', then it was undoubtedly going to be serious for once. "Pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Peter echoed, startled.

"Pancakes," Deadpool confirmed, nodding. "You say 'pancakes', and we'll slam that stop button, no hesitation. Full on red light, 60 to zero in a split second, like the gravity beam hit us. Can you remember that?"

Peter nodded slowly. Pancakes. His safeword was 'pancakes'. Leave it to Deadpool to give him such a weird one. He was half-surprised it wasn't something Mexican-food related instead. Literally every time Peter saw the mercenary, he was on his way to or from eating Mexican and goddamnit now he wanted Mexican.

"Get it? Got it? Good," Deadpool said with a clicking ennunciation and a twitch in his cheek that meant he'd probably just winked. Peter rolled his own eyes, not caring that Deadpool wouldn't be able to see it. "Now, prepare yourself for a phoenix-ing because I'm going to Fawkes you up and remix you, baby boy."

"What the f- UNGH!" Peter's initial exclamation of confusion was quickly cut off when Deadpool pushed two fingers into him without warning, making him arch off the couch, hips tilted down as if he could pull himself off Deadpool's hand.

"Aw yeah, that's it, you sexy thing," Deadpool murmured, steadily fucking Peter with his fingers. "Just relax and let Deadpool take care of you."

Really, that should have had the opposite effect on Peter, since he well knew that Deadpool couldn't take care of anything properly without it ending in someone or something's death, but Deadpool was using that deep voice of his, the commanding one that made Peter want to listen. So he tried to relax, tried to let his body lay flat and release all tension from his muscles, and suddenly it seemed like Deadpool's fingers were sliding in and out of him faster and faster.

The soreness from being penetrated by something so thick was something even Peter with his super-healing was not excused from, but it was fading fast. Still, he knew he could take more and he knew that it could get better if Deadpool could just reach his prostate. He planted his feet, one on the couch and the other on the floor, and started to ride the motion, tried to rotate his hips until he could feel that blaze of fire light up his groin, but either he kept missing it, or Deadpool's fingers couldn't reach it.

"More," he grunted out, gripping the arm of the couch tight. The muscles in his stomach were starting to burn from the effort of meeting each jab of Deadpool's hand, but he knew it was close and he wanted it.

"You got it!" Deadpool exclaimed, and the next push of his fingers brought a third digit that stretched Peter open almost painfully.

His jaw dropped open with his ragged inhale, and it almost sounded like Deadpool did the same thing. When he opened his eyes, it was to find Deadpool's head bowed and his own mouth open, apparently staring with great intensity at where his fingers were disappearing inside Peter's hole and reappearing in rapid order.

"I can't wait to be inside you, baby boy," Deadpool gasped. "You're so tight and pink and fuck you're hot. Holy shit." He sounded awed, like he was seeing one of the eight wonders of the world for the first time, and something about that made Peter's stomach twist.

"Then do it," he said. He wasn't close enough to being ready, not when Deadpool had only introduced a third finger a minute ago, but Peter was very suddenly anxious to get this experience over and done with. He wanted his orgasm and to kick Deadpool out, and he was prepared for it to happen in not necessarily that order.

"You're not ready, sweetheart," Deadpool murmured, even as his hand picked up its pace, making Peter's fingers clench tighter in the fabric of his couch and the suit top wrapped around his wrists. "Not bragging but I'm definitely a challenge for a size queen and there's no way you're loose enough. I'm not going to hurt you like that."

"I'm invoking the opposite of 'pancakes'," Peter ground out. He almost felt like a petulant teenager, pushing back against the rules set forth by the more knowledgeable adult, but he wanted Deadpool in and then out. He clenched tight around Deadpool's fingers, stilling them inside of him. In response, they started to wiggle back and forth and he squirmed at the weird, almost-ticklish sensation.


He raised his head and looked Deadpool in the mask-eye. "Fuck. Me." He made sure his voice was clear and his words enunciated, to be understood without question or protest.

Deadpool was silent for a moment, his fingers still moving about inside of Peter, loosening him even with the tension he was putting on his own muscles. "I will if you tell me your name," he finally said.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Peter sighed, exasperated beyond belief. He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling and wondered if it was really worth it after all.

Deadpool followed, settling his weight easily over Peter, the hard muscles of his stomach pressing down against Peter's cock which, by now, was fully hard against his stomach. Deadpool started rocking his hips in time with the thrusts of his hands and it almost felt like he was fucking Peter, and Peter fell into the rhythmic motion with his breath stuck in his throat. "Go ahead and tell me, baby boy," Deadpool murmured next to his ear. "You hate when I call you 'baby boy', and 'Spidey' is fun but not really in bed. I've got tons of other things I wanna call you that I know you'll hate, but it's your name I wanna say when I come in you, baby boy."

"Jesus fuck," Peter gasped. It wasn't fair that Deadpool could have such an effect on him when he didn't want him to. It wasn't fair that just a few words in the right octave could make his cock twitch and suffuse his spine with heat.

"Tell me, baby boy, and I'll keep it secret. I'll keep it safe. The One Ring in the Shire style. Tell me and I'll fuck you so good you'll think you dreamed it." Deadpool's sex voice hypnotic, the deep tone soft and cajoling, and Peter was falling into it before he could even figure out a way to safeguard against it.

"Peter," he choked out, his own name sounding foreign on his tongue. It sounded like a gift, like he was transferring ownership of it to Deadpool, and he didn't know how to stop it.

"Mmm, of course," Deadpool practically purred as he slowly sat up. Peter tried to stifle a sound of dissatisfaction in vain when the fingers in him pulled out, leaving him feeling irreparably empty. "My sweetie Petey-pie." There was the slick sound of Deadpool lubing himself up, and then the blunt head of his cock was resting against Peter's hole, feeling significantly larger than Deadpool's fingers had. "Keep loose and hold on tight, Peter." The 'r' of Peter's name seemed to rumble through Deadpool's chest like thunder and into Peter, making his shiver.

He went to respond, something witty and sarcastic and biting, but Deadpool was pressing inside and jesus fucking christ.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Deadpool was chanting under his breath, a sentiment that Peter was very much reciprocating, if only in his mind.

Because Deadpool was massive. He'd said he was a challenge for a size queen and Peter hadn't taken him seriously, but he was now, when it was far too late. Peter felt like he was being split in half as each inch slid into him, excruciatingly slowly. He forgot how to breath as Deadpool's cock kept coming and coming, and there seemed to be no end to end to its length. It seemed so long that Peter was half-sure that he could feel it if he just pressed on his stomach hard enough.

It took Peter a moment, or a long time, he wasn't really sure, to realize that he could feel Deadpool's pelvis pressed against his ass. He was all the way in.

Deadpool dropped his fists to the couch on either side of Peter's ribs and bent his head to press his forehead to Peter's shoulder. "God, Petey, you're so tight," Deadpool was murmuring, the muscles in his stomach rippling against Peter's erection. "You're so amazing, holy shit you feel amazing."

Peter felt like replying with some snappy comment about biology and how of course he was tight around a cock as massive as Deadpool's, but he couldn't actually remember how to speak. He felt full in a way that he'd never felt before and didn't think anyone else would ever be able to make him feel again. It was painful and terrible addicting.

"Oh fuck, I need to move, baby boy. Can I?" Deadpool was asking, his body trembling over Peter's and the press of his hips into Peter's ass just a bit too hard. Even as he asked, his hips were shifting, little twitches like he had to stop himself from just going to town. Peter opened his mouth and he didn't think he actually said anything, but he must have made some sort of encouraging sound because Deadpool heaved a heavy sigh across his neck. "Thank fuck. Oh, Petey, I'm the best worst thing that hasn't happened to you yet, but I'm about to. Oh yeah, I'm so about to happen to you."

The first time Deadpool withdrew, it pulled all the air from Peter's lungs and left a void in his center. Then it all came rushing back when he pushed back into Peter, filling him and forcing him to breathe. In the beginning, each thrust was slow, steady, but firm, just short of hard. It made Peter want to scream and cry and pull his hair out from an overload of sensations, but he did none of that. What he did was hold tight to the arm of his couch and stare blankly at the ceiling as he tried not to lose his mind. Then Deadpool grabbed his hips, tugging him into a new angle, and Peter was lost.

"Fucking shit!" he shouted, curling in on himself as fire blazed through his nerves. He already wanted to come, wanted to feel that white-out of pleasure, and it had nothing to do with kicking Deadpool out.

"Fuck yes, baby boy," Deadpool replied in a low hiss, hips starting to pick up speed. The naked hand remained at Peter's waist, fingers tightening against his skin and fingernails creating pinpricks of pain that did nothing to dull the arousal blazing through his body. The other one, still gloved in leather, wrapped around his dick, grip tight and unmoving, keeping him from coming. He choked out a sort of sob and writhed, trying to buck off the restrictive grip. "No no no, not yet. We just got started, Petey. Let it build, it'll be so much better in the end, promise."

Peter tugged at the fabric wrapped around his wrists but he couldn't figure out how to get out of it. His mind was hazy and the only thing he could really focus on was his need to come, was Deadpool around and in him. He whined and tried to fuck himself down on Deadpool's cock, tried to hurry it up, but the hand at his waist was too steady, pinning him surely in place to keep him the mercy of Deadpool's hard, fast thrusts.

"Okay, okay. Soon, alright?" Deadpool panted. Either Peter was losing his mind, or Deadpool was fucking him faster and harder, the kind of pace that didn't seem possible. "It won't take me long, just let me get there. I wanna feel you come around me, baby boy. Fuck, I wanna see your face when you come. Please let me see your face, Petey," he begged, voice desperate, pleading. "Please please please let me see your face. I have to see it, baby boy. Please."

Peter clawed at the top of his head, the fabric of his mask getting caught on his fingertips and he pulled, feeling weak sunlight on his skin, and cool air rush over his face and through his sweaty, matted hair.





"Holy fuck, you're beautiful. Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god, baby boy, you're gonna make me come," Deadpool gasped. "Ask me to let you come, and I'll let you. Holy shit I'll let you. Say my name, Petey."

Peter could hardly think at the moment, couldn't remember how to find his voice, and then there was a mouth against his, kissing him harshly, stealing his breath. He kissed back without a second thought, meeting the other tongue with his own, until it felt like he was going to suffocate and he had to turn his head away. The need to come was a fire that had spread through his whole body, restricted only by the a tight grasp of leather.

"C'mon, baby boy, say my name."

"Deadpool," he gasped, straining up against the body above him.

"Close but no cigar, sweetheart. Say my name," he demanded. It was that tone again, the one that said 'obey', the one Peter didn't want to disappoint.


"Fuck!" Deadpool's hips snapped forward, hitting Peter's prostate hard and making him arch off the couch, the wooden arm in his hands creaking in protest. "Yes, good boy. That's my good Spidey." There were tears in Peter's eyes from how badly he needed to come, how on the edge he was from Deadpool's brutal assault, the strange warmth in his belly at being told he was a 'good boy' just for calling the mercenary by his name.

"Say it again, Petey. Please. Ask me to come and say it again and I'll let you." Peter didn't know how to argue with that. More, he didn't want to.

"Please let me come, Wade!" he begged, head rolling back and forth, fingers tearing open his sofa arm. "Please Wade! Wade, Wade, Wade!"

"Yeah, that's it. Fuck that's it. Good boy," Deadpool murmured, his tight fist around Peter's cock starting to slide up and down his length. "Gonna make you come so hard."

The slight loosening of Deadpool's hand around his shaft and the electric stimulation of slick leather slipping over the damp tip of Peter's cock when combined with another harsh thrust of Deadpool's hips had Peter seeing stars. He was fairly certain Deadpool was saying something to him, but Peter couldn't hear much of anything over the rush in his ears as he came harder than he'd ever come in his life.

As it faded, he became aware of the ache in his shoulders and his abdomen, and of the soft kisses traded between heavy pants for breath. Deadpool's teeth were catching his lips with every exhale, and Deadpool's lips catching his with every inhale, until he was dizzy and boneless where he lay. He could still feel Deadpool inside him, a solid length of heat, keeping him full and open.

"Did you come?" he asked before he could stop himself. Sometimes his penchant for talking before thinking really got him in trouble, and he had a feeling it was going to happen a lot around Deadpool. As if he didn't have enough problems.

"Mmm," Deadpool hummed, mouth still apparently magnetically attracted to Peter's. There were fingers in his hair, alternatively combing through the damp strands and fisting them, keeping his head angled to Deadpool's preference. "So hard, Petey. Didn't wanna leave you yet though. Got hard again just watching you come. Fuck, you're so beautiful."

It was Peter's turn to hum and he closed his eyes and relaxed, let his body come back from the intense orgasm he'd just experienced, let himself just feel the way Deadpool was inside of him and how he was being petted. He still didn't like the man, could still feel the burn of his hatred in his chest, but he didn't want to move just yet. He was comfy and relaxed for the first time in years.

Wait. Petey. Hand in his hair. His eyes snapped open and he scrambled to touch his face but his wrists were still caught in his suit top.

"Get this off me now," he demanded, voice low and harsh as panic set in.

Deadpool seemed to frown behind his mask, but he did as instructed, freeing Peter's hand and sitting back on his heels, his cock still stuffing Peter's ass. Peter ignored that and ripped off his gloves, just to confirm, and could almost feel his heart explode in his chest in the realization that Deadpool had seen his face. Deadpool, legendary mercenary, self-proclaimed Merc with a Mouth, knew where Spider-Man lived, knew his name, knew his face.

"You took off my mask," he said hollowly, feeling the weight of the world crashing down around him.

"I asked you to take off your mask," Deadpool corrected, hands seemingly unnaturally still where they were resting on his thighs. "That was all you, Petey."

He'd done it? That was… Something niggled at his mind and he shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Don't-" he started and then stopped again. He pulled his hands from his face and glared up at Deadpool. The mercenary still seemed larger than life with his broad shoulders and excessive muscled and his weapons, and Peter was scared shitless of him, of the knowledge he held, and he hated him, for what he did, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.

"I swear to god," he said lowly, pointing a finger at Deadpool, because that's how someone knew you really meant what you were saying, "if you reveal my identity to anyone, I'll-"

A hand slapped over his mouth and he barely reigned in the temptation to bite it. He increased the force of his glare and poked Deadpool hard in the chest. Deadpool didn't react other than to use his other hand to uncurl Peter's fingers and then link their pinkies together.

"Spider-Man," Deadpool said, his voice unusually serious. "Peter-" and didn't Peter's heart thump faster from hearing his name on Deadpool's lips, "-baby boy. I already pinky promised you that you and your family didn't have anything to worry about from me. I don't know your last name and I didn't go snooping while I was here unsupervised. I don't care if some badass villain tries torturing me, they're never going to get anything from me. Not your name or the colour of your eyes," the hand on Peter's mouth shifted and the tip of a leather-clad finger traced under his eye, which also made Peter realize that the hand holding his was still gloveless, "or the way you sound when you come. I'll never give you up, no matter what."

Deadpool's mask was still rolled up to his nose too, revealing the mess that was his skin, the same mess covering the hand linked with his, and Deadpool's mouth was set in a firm line that seemed odd on him. Peter's heart was still pounding, he still hated Deadpool, and he was still terrified of his identity being revealed, but Deadpool's sincerity was almost convincing. Not that he could really do anything anyway. He didn't kill and Deadpool didn't die, and he couldn't go back in time to be more careful about who was following him home. He rolled his head to the side and watched the shadow of a cloud pass over the sun across his wood floors. The hand across his mouth fell away, sliding down to his throat, palming it, but he found that he wasn't afraid of what the mercenary would do next. And that scared him more than anything else.

"Fine," he finally said. "Now get out."

Deadpool stayed silent for a long moment, and then he ducked down and kissed Peter, long and slow. Peter allowed it, but he didn't exactly reciprocate, and Deadpool pulled back a moment later, hovering just above Peter's mouth so every exhale was a warm breeze over Peter's face. "Whatever you want, baby boy."

When he stood, his dick slipped out of Peter, along with a trickle of cum that made Peter realize the mercenary hadn't used a condom. As Deadpool tucked said dick away, Peter also realized that, while he'd been stripped, Deadpool was still fully dressed, weapons and all. Peter rolled over to face the back of his couch, showing Deadpool his back which, normally, would make him feel exposed if he'd shown anyone else his back. Somehow, just like with his Spidey-sense, no alarms went off and the tension slowly started easing from his muscles.

A gloved hand landed gently on his ribs, making him tense again, and slid down to his hip. It paused there for a few moments, and then continued down his leg until it fell away at his ankle. He didn't even hear the larger man move, but a moment later, Deadpool's voice drifted to him from near his front door.

"Catch you around, Petey."

The door closed, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts until he drifted off to sleep, naked on his couch, hole sore and stretched and leaking Deadpool's cum.

Chapter Text

"How are you feeling today, Mr Spider-Man?" The nurse's bubblegum attitude would have made Natasha lose any and all remaining patience if she was the one laying in the med ward's bed. But luckily, she wasn't, and Spider-Man seemed to have infinitely more patience than her anyway.

"A little squished," Spider-Man replied, which Nat personally thought was a bit of an understatement.

The younger superhero had had several full-size dinosaurs fall on him out of a wormhole, and had then later stopped several more from falling on not just her, but other Avengers and a few idiot civilians who hadn't taken cover when portals started opening in the sky. Tourists. His suit had been in shreds when he'd come in, and she was fairly certain his mask had been damaged during the fight too, but he'd replaced that before getting to the tower. Now he was a man in a hospitable gown and a mask. If Nat thought hard enough, she was fairly certain she remembered a flash of short, brown hair, but her memory of that moment was flawed and she couldn't be sure.

Bubblegum laughed, the sound bright and loud in the otherwise quiet room, but Spider-Man, and the rest of the Avengers lounging around, waiting for Spider-Man's diagnosis, just stared at her. More than assuring themselves that a teammate was alright, Spider-Man was the youngest of them and had taken most, if not all of the direct damage the entirety of the fight, and even with his accelerated healing, was the only one who'd needed medical attention when all was said and done.

"Well, here's the bad news," Bubblegum said, easily ignoring the room's atmosphere. Annoying as it was, it was also a mark of her professionalism. Some of the newer nurses in Stark Tower were still skittish around even the most gentle of their members. "Your right arm and legs are broken, in several pieces, so we're going to splint those so they heal properly - shouldn't be a problem with your healing factor. The ribs on your right side are cracked and the ones on the left are fractured so we're want to bind those too. Oh! And you have a concussion, so make sure you have someone who can make sure you stay awake for a few hours, to make sure you show no other symptoms. That also means you shouldn't go swinging around for at least a day, but because of your other injuries, I would say no swinging for a week, at least. I'll just wrap you up and then you're good to go!"

Spider-Man nodded in response and pulled out his cellphone, remaining silent but tense even as the nurse audibly reset the bones in his leg.

"So, Spidey, who's the lucky Avenger that gets to accompany you home?" Tony asked, voice sly as he leaned forward in his chair. Which he was already at the edge of and nearly falling off of anyway. She met Clint's eyes and grinned as her partner pulled out a baton.

"None of you are taking me home. I'm still not letting you see where I live, Tony," Spider-Man replied, painstakingly typing out a message on the ancient-looking flip phone in his one working hand.

"Spiiideyyyy," Tony whined and Nat rolled her eyes. She knew the feeling though. Her, Clint, and Stark had all tried to follow the masked hero home on multiple occasions but his sixth sense was impeccable and he had managed to evade every single one of them every time. It was a sore spot with the three of them and there was a rather large pool on who would find out where Spider-Man lived first. A pool she suspected would never be claimed. "You heard the cute nurse. No swinging! Someone not-you has to take you home."

"Someone is going to take me home," he said, finally closing his phone and setting it in his lap. His voice was oddly tense, uncomfortable, and it made her wonder who exactly he meant. Who did he trust to take him home that he disliked that much?


"You have got to be shitting me," Stark muttered incredulously, head whipping around to look through the glass walls to the end of the medical ward. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Deadpool was skipping down the hallway, stopping at each doorway before continuing, slowly getting closer to their room.

"I asked him to be," Spider-Man said, drawing Natasha's own disbelieving eyes. In her peripheral vision, she could see the rest of the Avengers staring with varied degrees of confusion at the young man in the hospital bed who was now getting his arm wrapped.

"But why?" Tony asked, a look of utter befuddlement on his face.

Natasha had to agree with him for once. Though she'd heard Deadpool wax poetic about Spider-Man's ass, she'd never really heard of them working together, and she'd certainly never seen them in the same space together before. She shot a look at Clint, but he looked equally lost. Steve's eyes were almost comically wide, Thor's looked more confused than the she'd ever seen him, the frown puckering the space between Banner's eyes was at an unprecedented deepness, and Stark looked like his brain had been turned off. Vision, the twins, Lang, and Sam hadn't been in the battle and hadn't been called to the Tower to keep Spider-Man company, and Natasha was a little surprised Barnes hadn't already departed, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else where he was leaning in the one non-glass corner, but he rarely left Rogers alone these days.

"Baby boy! There you are!" Deadpool swanned in, and by swanned, Natasha almost thought for a moment that he was actually wearing a period dress from the way he moved and the way he fell into the chair next to Spider-Man's bed. He seemed to ignore the nurse binding the half-naked man's ribs and gingerly picked up Spider-Man's uninjured hand. "Oh, darlin', you look rough."

"Then I look better than I feel," Spider-Man replied, taking his hand back. Natasha noticed his other hand, the one on his broken arm, was curled in the sheets at his side in a white-knuckled grip. She wondered if that was from having to deal with Wilson or from having to deal with the pain. She was an expert in reading body language, but everything about Spider-Man's was conflicting itself. "And I still look better than you."

"Mm, baby boy, I love the way you hurt me. It's irresistible," Wilson purred, apparently unfazed at the dig, leaning back in a sprawl in his chair.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. Why did that phrase sound familiar? … Wait…

"Shut up, Deadpool," Spider-Man snarled as the nurse finished up. She pushed him gently back down to the bed and Deadpool snapped upright with a sharp salute.

"You're wish is my command, dear heart," Deadpool chirped. He paused, hand still in position. "Er… What is your wish?"

"I can't swing home," he said, voice laden with meaning.

"Nope!" the nurse piped up, scribbling something on the chart at the end of Spider-Man's bed. "And no sleeping for a few hours, make sure you have someone to keep you up for a little while to keep an eye out on that concussion."

"Oooh, I can make sure you stay up for a looong ti-"

"Pancakes," Peter said suddenly and Deadpool suddenly sat up ramrod straight in his chair, shoulders back and presence suddenly seeming to fill the room. It set Natasha's instincts on edge, and apparently the others as well; the greenish tint to Banner's skin was slightly worrying. Tony, however, seemed to have no self-preservation instincts whatsoever, but that was hardly anything new.

"You want pancakes? I can have the kitchen whip you up some pancakes super fast. The fastest. You can stay here and eat all the pan-"

"Shut up, Stark," Deadpool said coldly. Natasha blinked in surprise. Wilson liked voices, to the point of extraneous annoyance, but that was one she'd never heard from him. For once, he sounded completely and utterly serious.

"Don't need no spark to ignite this lover's rage, Spidey," Wilson said as he pulled the thin hospital sheet up over Spider-Man's reclining form, Spider-Man holding his phone clear and putting it back in his lap over the sheet when it settled. "I'll get you out of this cage."

"I hate when you mix them up like that," Spider-Man muttered, pulling the remains of his suit from the side table and dropping it over his phone.

"Can't help it, Spidey. Piggyback or-"

Spider-Man was already shaking his head no, slowly. "Ribs," was all he said.

"Do I need to kill someone?" Deadpool asked in all seriousness, and Natasha suddenly realized they might have a problem: Deadpool was a weapon, pure and simple, one who usually just, essentially, fired randomly into a crowd, but Spider-Man had somehow gained the power to aim it. Similar to Rogers and Barnes, except Spider-Man didn't condone killing under any circumstance and Wilson was infinitely more unstable than Barnes.

"No," Spider-Man declined, raising his good arm gingerly to loop around the back of the mercenary's neck as Wilson bet to scoop the younger man into his arms. Spider-Man looked even younger, more vulnerable, cradled gently against the chest of the mercenary who was more than twice his size, and it made Natasha uneasy. "It was dinosaurs. And the one responsible for the dinosaurs has already been put in custody."

"Man, I missed dinosaurs?" Wilson muttered. "That's the worst thing that's happened to me this week!"

"I'm going to be the worst thing that's happened to you this month if you don't get me home in one piece," Spider-Man retorted sharply. His fierce reply was at odds with the way he was lying at complete ease in the merc's arms. He didn't shy away from Deadpool's touch, didn't lay stiffly, and seemed to be comfortably resting his head on Wilson's shoulder.

"Read you loud and clear, baby boy," Deadpool replied.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?" Spider-Man said, confirming the fact that they had actually teamed up together before. However, there was no heat to this protest, just a soft resignation.

"At least once more, Ms Swan, as always," Wilson said in terribly-accented British-English.

Spider-Man sighed and fell silent, which is precisely when Tony seemed to have found his voice again.

"Wait a second, you're going to let Deadpool take you home?" He shot to his feet and started walking towards them, only enforcing what Nat already knew: Tony had no preservation instincts whatsoever. "You're going to give an unstable mercenary your addre-eh-s'okay, backing up."

Between one blink and the next, as soon as Stark was one step away from being within arms reach of the injured superhero and the psychopath holding him, Wilson had pulled a gun and levelled it at Stark's forehead. Spider-Man was sitting, quiet and still, in the mercenary's free arm, unusually silent. Tony backed away slowly, arms raised, and Deadpool didn't look away from him as he bent his head closer to Spider-Man's.


"You still awake, baby cakes?" he asked in a low voice that was only just audible in the otherwise silent room.

"I just closed my eyes for a second," Spider-Man replied, voice now heavy with sleep and almost slurring. "And don't call me that either. It's worse than 'baby boy'."

"You heard the bubblegum nurse: no sleeping for a few hours," Wilson murmured, gun still levelled at Tony, even though Tony had moved all the way back to his chair.

"I'm just closing my eyes," Spider-Man said, voice sounding surprisingly young and petulant.

"Don't close your eyes, Spidey," Deadpool commanded, voice still soft and low, but in a lower register than his normal voice. It was unfamiliar and strange and made a shiver roll down Natasha's spine, and it seemed she wasn't the only one. Her teammates shifted around her and Spider-Man sat up straighter, shaking his head as if he could dispel the tiredness she knew would be plaguing him.

"Fine," Spider-Man said in a mixed tone of sleepy and snappish. "No murdering or Dobby-ing. I just want to get home and I don't want any of them to follow. Can you manage that?"

"Woah woah woah, Spidey! Hate me all you like but you can't diss the skills!" Deadpool protested as he spun his gun and slid it back in his holster. His words only confused Natasha more - if Spider-Man hated Deadpool, why was he letting Deadpool take care of him? If Deadpool knew Spider-Man hated him, why take care of him at all?

The mercenary pulled what looked like part of a metal belt and button out of a pouch and laid it on Spider-Man's stomach. "Got everything, baby boy?"

"Jesus, yes, can we go already?" Spider-Man said, clearly exasperated, the patience he'd displayed with the nurse mysteriously evaporated in Deadpool's presence. Another curiosity, that he could bare to spend any time with the mercenary and yet he couldn't at the same time? At least, not like how anyone else couldn't stand to be around him.

"Hold on tight!" Deadpool warned cheerfully, and before any of them could move, he slapped a hand down on the button and the two of them disappeared without a sound, as if they'd never been there.

There was a long moment of shocked silence before Clint inevitably broke it.

"Okay, that was super fucking weird, right?"

Peter had only a few seconds after they materialized to realize that they were on a rooftop only a few blocks over from the Avengers Tower before his stomach rebelled and he twisted in Deadpool's arms to throw up. He almost didn't get his mask out of the way in time, which was the kind of situation he never wanted to have to deal with, now or ever.

"Oh shit, sorry baby boy. I forgot how rough teleportation might be for newbies. Here."

There was a soft crack and then a water bottle sans lid was being shoved into his uninjured hand. He took a mouthful, swished it around, and spat it back out before taking a hearty gulp, feeling his stomach roiling uncomfortably. The sun was almost blinding after having spent so much time indoors, and it made his eyes water as he blinked rapidly to adjust to it.

"Why are we here?" he rasped, now feeling fully awake from the utterly bizarre experience of being teleported. If it were any other time and if Deadpool was any other person, Peter might have been out of his mind with scientific excitement, but it was now when everything hurt, even breathing, and it was Deadpool.

"I figured you'd wanna get checked for any tracking bugs or something," Deadpool said with a shrug. "Since you were all helpless damsel in distress and at their dastardly mercy and all."

Peter blinked slowly, trying to wrap his mind around Deadpool's words. It wasn't that he didn't disagree with the mercenary, he just hadn't even thought of it this time, he was so out of it. Normally he'd avoid the med ward at any cost, and keep an eagle eye on everything the few times he'd been forced to go, but his concussion and other pains were so bad that someone could have tattooed his back and he probably wouldn't have noticed.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed after a moment.

There was a three-walled lean-to next to the stairwell that had probably been built as a smoking spot during bad weather, furnished with three rickety crates. Deadpool set him down on one, every motion painstakingly careful in a way he'd never been with Peter during sex. Or ever, really. Peter's ruined suit and battered cellphone didn't receive the same treatment though and were dropped onto the third crate, along with the hospital sheet he'd inadvertently stolen. It wasn't until Deadpool was pulling at the tie at the back of his neck and pulling the hospital gown to his lap that Peter remembered he was actually naked under the flimsy gown, and he raised his hands automatically, stopping the fabric's fall with arms crossing over his chest.


"Shhh, Petey," Deadpool interrupted, pushing a finger against his lips. Peter frowned through his mask in annoyance. "I told you if you ever pancaked that I'd stop. You pancaked and I'm not gonna get frisky with you tonight." Peter couldn't help but notice the qualifier that Deadpool had tacked on. "Do you trust me?"

"No," Peter replied immediately and Deadpool smiled.

"Good boy." It wasn't his sex voice, that special voice, but it was close enough to make Peter flush and look away. "Now, I'm not gonna get frisky, but I am gonna frisk ya. K?"

"Whatever. Just hurry up so we can go home."

"Sure." Deadpool nodded, and it wasn't until his broad hands and gentle fingers were carefully prodding around Peter's still-masked head that he realized what he'd said.

'We'. 'Home'. Implying that he wanted Deadpool there, that he wanted him to stay. He opened his mouth to correct himself but Deadpool spoke up first.

"I'm not magic, Petey, hold your horses. I'll be done in a second."

That wasn't at all what Peter had been about to say, but if Deadpool hadn't noticed his slip-up, then he wasn't going to draw attention to it.

Deadpool's hands were sure and firm, but gentle, as they traced over his head, dipped under the edges of his mask, felt along his bound, injured limbs. An unfortunate side effect was that feeling that familiar leather sliding over his bare skin, even in a completely non-sexual manner, only made Peter's body remember every other time those gloves had touched him, which had all been sexual times. It made his skin prickle with heat and, embarrassingly, he could feel himself get hard under where his hands were laced together in his lap. Deadpool didn't seem to notice, not even when his fingers passed across the sensitive flesh on the inside of Peter's uninjured thigh and he jumped.

When Deadpool moved to spread Peter's legs, Peter squeaked out, "No one touched me there it's all good we can go now."

"You sure?" Deadpool asked, and then his gaze fell on Peter's white-knuckled grip on his own hands, the way they were pressed hard to his lap.

Peter half expected Deadpool to make some joke, some lewd come on, or even to just start touching him like he normally did, but he simply said "Alright, Petey," and tied the hospital gown back around Peter's neck. It was almost like a hug, Deadpool's heavily muscled arms surrounding his head, blotting out the sun, and Peter found himself tempted to lean into the warmth the other man radiated. He felt sick, cold and hot at the same time as his body tried to heal him as fast as it could. And he was hungry. Now that the nausea from the teleportation had dissipated, he was starving and his tummy rumbled just as Deadpool dropped the bundle of sheet-suit-phone-teleportation device back into his lap. The mercenary paused for only a moment before scooping Peter into his arms.

"Home and then food," he declared, shifting Peter's weight back into the cradle of one arm as if Peter weighed nothing. It was both comforting and a little disheartening, as it always was, that someone without strength-related superpowers could pick him up and maneuver him so easily. "You ready to go again?"

Peter nodded and wrapped his fingers in the katana strap across Deadpool's chest out of sheer paranoia of somehow being separated in wherever they were between here and there. Apparently he now needed to add teleportation to his ever growing list of scientific interests.

The second trip was easier to handle, though he appreciated that Deadpool teleported them into his bathroom because the strange sensation of moving through space still made his stomach roil. Deadpool set Peter on the edge of his tub, popped open the toilet seat, and pulled off Peter's mask in a series of quick motions that almost left Peter as dizzy as the teleportation had. And then he was leaning over and throwing up again. When he finally came up for air, there were two bottles of water waiting for him and no Deadpool.

"Deadpool?" There was no answering crash or call from outside his bathroom, and he frowned in confusion. Then he noticed the note stuck to the bottom of the second bottle of water.

Don't move, I'll be right back with food~ <3 <3 <3

Peter stared at it. Deadpool had actually written 'less than three'. Not actual hearts. Idiot. He rolled his eyes and chucked the note in the wastebasket, and then downed the rest of the bottle. It wasn't until he dropped his hands back down to his lap that he realized he was still half hard. From what, though? Deadpool had touched him, sure, but it had been nothing but professional ever since Peter had… 'safeworded'. Was he really so used to sex with Deadpool that his body expected it whenever the man was near now?

"Lucyyy~ I'm hooOOoome~" Deadpool's call came accompanied with the smell of food, hot and fresh, and Peter's stomach rumbled again. He was always hungry, ever since the spiderbite shot his metabolism through the roof, but he could never afford to eat his fill at every meal, or really, at any meal. His inability to feed himself properly probably hindered his healing ability, and he was always glad when Deadpool brought him food, even if he wasn't glad to see the mercenary himself.

Deadpool skipped into the doorway and stopped, staring at Peter. "Aw, my adorable little cripple. Let's go eat."

Just as carefully as before, he lifted Peter up and walked him to the living room, settling him on the couch with a lot more patience than Peter ever thought Deadpool could possess. He was carefully positioned with his back to the arm of his couch, his legs stretched out, and his good arm in reach of his coffee table which was nearly groaning under the weight of fast food containers piled on top of it. Deadpool sat at the other end as Peter reached for a carton that smelled like pot stickers and he instinctively curled his toes against the heat of Deadpool's thigh. He almost moaned when he took the first bite, and then practically inhaled the rest. He reached for a takeout container of curry and then paused when he realized Deadpool was staring at him.

"What?" he asked uncomfortably.

Deadpool smiled and pulled a bag of tacos into his lap. "Nothing. Just like watching you eat, that's all."

Peter scowled and put the curry back in his lap. "That's weird. Why are you being weird about it?"

Deadpool put a hand on Peter's unbandaged ankle and Peter had to resist the urge to lash out to break the nonrestrictive hold. "I told you the first time you let me touch you, baby boy: I like making you feel good. Aaand every time we fuck I can feel your ribs in the not-sexy way which means my growing boy isn't getting the nutrition he needs. Eating enough makes you happy which makes me happy. See? Not weird."

Peter blinked and turned away, fingers playing with the edges of the takeout container. "No that's… still weird." It was both weird and it made Peter feel weird. It was that same odd feeling he got in his stomach every time Deadpool said something that could be construed as 'sweet'. That strange warmth and butterflies. He didn't like it. He didn't want to feel it when Deadpool said something nice about him. He didn't want Deadpool to cause it at all.

"If you say so, baby boy," Deadpool replied with a small smile. "Now hurry up and eat so I can kick your ass in Mario Kart. I call Princess Peach!"

Peter wasn't sure how it happened, but as the afternoon turned into evening and then night, he found himself slowly moving along the couch, closer and closer to Deadpool, until he ended up curled underneath the heavy weight of the mercenary's arm. The events of the day had left him beyond exhausted, not just having to fight off dinosaurs and the crazy wizard who'd summoned them, but having to deal with the Avengers as well as Deadpool too. His exhaustion paired with the rare contentment of a full stomach made him want to sleep for a week, but every time he started to nod off, Deadpool prodded him awake. It wasn't until night had fallen and the city outside his window had started to quiet that Deadpool finally let him pass out against the warm weight of his side.

He woke alone the next morning, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, tucked into bed. He knew immediately that the apartment was empty, but the spot next to him was still warm. He rolled into it, smelling Deadpool on the pillow, and fell back asleep.

Peter was incredibly thankful that the attack happened on a Friday afternoon. It meant that he was able to sleep all of Saturday and Sunday without having to miss any more classes. He only got out of bed to microwave leftovers, get water, or go to the bathroom. By Monday morning, all the food was gone and he was feeling only slightly better than death warmed over, but that quickly deteriorated after a full day of having his arm in a sling and limping around with a crutch. A crutch that barely did any good when the hand he needed to hold it with for maximum help was the one in the sling. It left him cranky and irritable, and because his healing factor was still in overdrive, he was exhausted all day long, fighting to keep his eyes open during all of his lectures, and starving all the while to boot.

When he finally got home that night, he was exhausted, hungry, and angry, his healing ribs and limbs ached, and he had a massive headache. His hand was sore from holding his crutch all day and he dropped his keys three times trying to open his front door. When he finally got in, he let his bag and crutch fall to the floor with a respective thunk and clatter, and leaned heavily against his door with a deep sigh. And he had to do it all again tomorrow. Why couldn't he just sleep for three years and everything would just take care of itself?

It took a few minutes for him to realize he was smelling fresh, hot food, but when it finally clicked, he pulled himself up from his slouch and limped through his apartment in search of the origin. It wasn't in the living room or the kitchen, and he frowned and hobbled his way over to his bedroom door. His already sour mood plummeted when he spotted Deadpool, in full gear as he always was, mask down and lying on his side against the wall with a line of food cartons laid out next to him.

"If that leaks you're washing my sheets and buying me a new mattress," he said as he shucked off his shoes and sweater. He paused with his fingers tangled in the hemline of his shirt. Everything hurt and he didn't really want to have to deal with Deadpool's particular form of rough sex right now, nor did he want to deal with Deadpool trying to strip him with his arm and leg bound up, but at the same time…

Before he could come to a decision, Deadpool patted the bed on the other side of the line of food. "Come lay down and eat, baby boy," he said in that strange, particular voice of his. And like every time Deadpool used it, Peter found himself obeying, gingerly crawling up onto his mattress and laying down on his good side. Well, better side. It wasn't until he was settled that he'd realized he'd handicapped himself by laying on his good side, but just as he came to that realization, Deadpool was already opening a carton and pulling out a piece of chicken with a pair of chopsticks.

"Open up, baby boy."

Peter was coming to hate that voice, in a weird sort of way that was different than his normal hatred for everything else that Deadpool did and was. He hated that he was starting to associate that tone, that octave, with 'comfort'. With the knowledge that, if he just put himself in Deadpool's hands, he would be taken care of in ways even he didn't realize he needed. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and a moment later, that piece of chicken was placed on his tongue.

Deadpool didn't say anything else, didn't start chattering away like he so typically did, but Peter could feel the weight of his focus as he chewed and swallowed his food. He could feel it like a laser as he opened his mouth and was fed another piece. "I like making you feel good." he'd said. But why? Why was he so fixated on making Peter happy when Peter had tried everything he could to push him away? Peter wasn't even a good person, not really, even without using Deadpool like he had been for the last year. Because that's what he had been doing. Even though Deadpool was always the one to instigate an encounter, Peter was using him for sex, for food, for a partner in battles. He was using him to keep the loneliness at bay, to keep his secrets, to keep him company both in and out of the mask when he didn't know anyone else who could fill that role.

He opened his mouth to ask Why? but he was met with the taste of broccoli instead and he began chewing the new bite instinctively. When that was finished, he tried again and again and again until he finally clamped his jaw shut, frowned, and huffed out his nose. He didn't open his eyes though. For some reason, the thought of doing so at the moment was completely inconceivable, like opening his eyes would ruin the soft dark and comfort of the moment.

"No talking, baby boy," Deadpool murmured into the space between them. Peter suddenly remembered that the only thing separating them was a foot-wide demilitarized zone of takeout cartons. "Just eating. Finish your greens and then you can talk if you want." Deadpool being reasonable was almost unthinkable, and yet here Peter was was, hearing it first.

Peter let out another deep sigh through his nose and then unclenched his jaw and opened his mouth.

"Good boy," Deadpool whispered, and Peter could feel his cheeks heat and his dick start to go hard in his jeans. If Deadpool noticed, and he always did, he didn't comment on it, just set more food on Peter's tongue.

The room fell back into silence except for the sound of Peter eating, and with Deadpool so close, radiating body heat as he lay next to Peter in Peter's bed, feeding him, it felt almost unbearably intimate. More so than any of the times they'd had sex. It made Peter's skin prickle, made him feel hyper aware of all his senses, from the smell of food so close to the taste of every piece crossing over his tongue, the sound of leather-gloved fingers shifting against one another and the feeling of his own clothes and bandages shifting over his skin. Even the darkness over his eyes seemed hyper sharp, and he wondered if it would be better or worse to open his eyes. In the end, he kept them closed.

He didn't know how long it took until he felt full, but not once did the feeling of eyes on him waver, not once did Deadpool hesitate to pass something through his lips. When he felt like he couldn't eat any more, he swallowed his final bite and kept his mouth closed.

"You full, baby boy?" There was a huskiness to Deadpool's voice, the kind that meant that he was heavily aroused, and Peter felt his heart rate tick up. Was the mercenary turned on just by watching him eat?

Peter didn't trust his own voice so he just nodded.

"Good." The mass settled across from him shifted, making the bed dip, and then it moved again, creating a heftier dip that Peter almost rolled into. Although he couldn't hear Deadpool walking, because the man was eerily silent when he moved despite the heavy boots he wore, he could feel it when the intense heat he gave off got close to his back and then leaned over him. "Phwew, looks like none of the food leaked. I hate doing laundry. One sec, don't move."

The heat drifted away, taking the intense scent of the food with it, and Peter let himself sink back into his earlier thoughts. Only, now that he could ask, he found that he was afraid to. He was afraid of the answers he might get.

Fingers slid under him, lifting him and moving him into Deadpool's still-warm spot. "Hm?" They pulled away and then one came back, lingering over where he'd been half-hard all meal, just like when Deadpool first brought him home two days ago.

"You falling asleep on me, baby boy?" Deadpool sounded amused, and the hand over the button and zip on his jeans moved, undoing them and slowly dragging his jeans down his ass.

"No," Peter replied, which was mostly true. He felt a strange mix of exhausted-sleepy and hyper-aware, body utterly relaxed but mind fixated on every of Deadpool's movements. His ass cheeks were pulled apart and leather dragged over the pucker in the middle.

"No plug today?" The fingers left and then came back, gloveless and slick, one pressing into him without a fight. He was already loose and languid from exhaustion and the rare feeling of being full only exacerbated the feeling.

"Didn't want to deal with it on top of everything else," he mumbled back. As much as he was aware of the finger in him, the heat of Deadpool's finger as it slowly stretched him, he didn't have any energy to move. Not his body, his mouth, his hands.

"Mmm, okay, I'll forgive you just this once," Deadpool said as he pressed another slow finger into Peter. A low hum reverberated Peter's throat at the stretch and Deadpool settled down behind him, his other arm coming to rest on the pillow above Peter's head. "Lift your head, Petey." Peter groaned in annoyance but did as he was told, and Deadpool shifted closer as he slid his arm under Peter's head until Peter's head was resting on the mercenary's shoulder. A gloved hand landed on his chest, a warm, undemanding presence, as solid as the man behind him.

It wasn't until he'd been stretched enough for a third finger that he really realized what Deadpool had said. "Forgive me for what?" he asked. He wasn't exactly sure his words had been clear; sleep had wrapped him up and was trying to pull him away from the world, and it was only Deadpool's fingers in him keeping him awake.

"Oh yeah, I never mentioned but it's totally a rule that you have to wear your plug at all times." Deadpool said, voice light like he wasn't forcing the world back into Peter's brain by bringing up 'rules', their not-arrangement, or just in general talking.

"The plug was my idea in the first place," Peter replied, frowning. "To make things easier on me. You can't just loot iiiiit." His words became a groan as Deadpool pulled his fingers out and pushed his cock in, his wet hand curled around Peter's bare hip to help pull him back onto it.

"Oh baby boy," Deadpool murmured in his ear, sending shivers down his spine with his low tone and hot breath. "I can take anything from you. But I give quite... a lot... back," he drawled as he slowly pushed himself into Peter, one agonizing inch at a time. "Don't you think?"

"Hnnng," Peter groaned in response, squeezing his closed eyes tighter and tangling his fingers in his duvet. The wet hand at his hip trailed down to his cock, wrapping around him and dragging scarred skin along the sensitive length.

"Mmm, that pretty pout when I bottom out, Petey," Deadpool purred as his hips pressed against Peter's ass. Maybe it was because he hadn't been wearing his plug for a few days, or maybe because Deadpool hadn't fucked him in a couple of weeks, or maybe it was just the position, but Deadpool had never seemed to fill him up so much before. "I love how good you look when I'm in you."


Deadpool's teeth scraped over the side of his neck and Peter let his head roll to the side. Lips followed after, pressing soft kisses up to the space behind his ear, and then along his jawline. He turned his head into it until Deadpool's lips fell against his, kissing him slow and deep. Glacially slow, Deadpool started to rock his hips back and forth in a steady metronome, and his hand wrapped around Peter's cock matched it, sliding up when he pulled out - so Peter was caught between which sensation to chase, and sliding down when he slid back in - so Peter was stuck between the two sensation and unable to escape.

"Did you realize this is the first time we've fucked in your bed, Petey?" Deadpool whispered into his ear, voice low even, like he wasn't pulling Peter apart. "The first time we fucked, I wanted to do it in your bed, wanted to make it really good for you, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't pull myself away from you long enough. I had to fuck you right there on your couch."

"Oh," Peter whispered back, unable to think of any kind of response. His skin felt hot and his body like it was on fire, every slide of Deadpool's fist over him and cock in him sparking new waves of arousal. It wasn't hard and fast like he was used to from the mercenary, it was soft in a way Peter hadn't thought Deadpool capable of, but it was still… good. It was almost like...

"I guess I did a pretty good job of it though," Deadpool continued, never slowing or speeding up. Just the same pace that brushed the head of his cock over Peter's prostate and making Peter's orgasm build slowly in his belly like lava. "Since you let me fuck you again. Did you think I did a good job, Petey? Did you like the way I made you feel when I fucked you on your couch?"

The answer was 'yes', a very clear 'yes', but for some reason, he knew he couldn't say that. He was supposed to say 'no', but at the moment, as he lay, exhausted and sleepy and full in Deadpool's warm embrace, he couldn't remember exactly why. So he said nothing.

"Answer me, baby boy," Deadpool commanded softly in the voice that Peter wasn't allowed to ignore. "Does my cock make you feel good?"

"Yeah," Peter breathed, and he was immediately rewarded with a shift in Deadpool's hips that sent white across the dark behind his closed eyes and made his breathing pick up.

"Good. Good boy," Deadpool said, and something in Peter's chest glowed at the praise. "That makes me happy. I just want you to feel good. I wanted to make you feel good the other day too, wanted to suck you off on your couch, but I had to improvise, and you actually let me take care of you for once. I wanted to do it again. Wanted to feed and fuck you, just like this. Wanted to make you feel good, get rested, just like this. Wish I could do this everyday - be waiting for you when you got home, feed you then fuck you. But you don't want that, do you, Petey?"

The answer was 'no', a very clear 'no', but for some reason, he knew he couldn't say that. He was supposed to say 'yes', but at the moment, pressed against Deadpool's chest, so close to coming on Deadpool's cock and over his fingers, he couldn't remember exactly why. So he said nothing.

"You're terrible, baby boy. So, so terrible sometimes," he murmured, and something caught in Peter's chest. His inhale stuck in his throat and he suddenly felt cold all over. "Hm? Oh shit, no, no not like that, sweetheart. Bad timing," Deadpool said hastily, peppering kisses along Peter's jaw. "You're a good boy, I promise. So good. Literally the best boy. You're so good for me, letting me take care of you, letting me inside, letting yourself feel good with me inside you."

The cold was slow to fade, that stuck feeling in his chest slow to dissipate, and by the time they passed, Peter felt like crying though he couldn't understand why. He had been pulled from his zone and knocked around, left concussed and confused, and Deadpool's comforting words were a salve, soothing him and smoothing him back out until all he could feel once again was the fire and the coil of tension in his belly.

"Sorry about that, Petey, didn't mean to pull you out of your 'space like that," Deadpool murmured, his words as quick as his hips were slow. And confusing. Always confusing. Space? What space? He hadn't been moved since Deadpool had crawled onto the bed and pushed inside him. "You wanna come?"

It felt like a change in topic somehow, but that phrase made everything in Peter's body surge forward, attentive and eager, even as his mind was slipping back into that edge right before sleep. "Please."

"Please what?" Deadpool pressed with a kiss to Peter's throat.

For reasons he didn't want to examine, the words had never been easier to force out his mouth. "Please let me come, Wade."

"Fuck yeah, Petey," Deadpool hissed. "I wanna feel you come around me, baby boy. Come."

Like a dog leashed, waiting for its master's command, Peter's orgasm washed over him like a soft wave, so different than the punch to the gut he was so used to with Deadpool. It set him adrift on the world, floating outside himself, anchored only by the cock in him, like a boat tied to a dock. He didn't know how long he stayed like that till the warm hand around his soft cock pulled away, and a noise of protest squeaked through his throat.

"One sec, baby boy," the voice at his ear promised. Peter huffed a breath out his nose and shifted, making him realize the cock inside him was still rock hard. Before his tired mind could formulate a query, the warm hand returned, cupping his cock and keeping his ass flush to the hips behind him. The warmth on his chest lifted and landed in bits on his jaw, turning his head into a pair of waiting lips. He sighed into the kiss, let himself relax back into Deadpool and around the dick in him.

"Deadpool," he whispered between unending kisses. He felt warm and safe and good and he never wanted this feeling to end, but he was sleepy and he wanted to sleep, secure in the knowledge that there was someone watching over him that would keep him safe.

"I hate the way you say my name like it's a secret," Deadpool murmured against his mouth. "Even when you're desperate. I like this you more, this soft you that lets me love you."

Peter stirred, Deadpool's words catching his attention. "You love me?" His own words came out slurred, his exhaustion making him lax.

"Oh baby boy," Deadpool sounded sad and it made something in Peter's chest hurt. "I want to break your legs and keep you all locked up, Misery-style."

Peter's Spidey-sense didn't so much as tickle. "But you won't, will you?"

A kiss was pressed to his temple and a low chuckle tickled his hair. "Nah, I won't hurt you, Petey." Peter hummed, unconcerned, and wiggled his head until he was nestled into the perfect angle of Deadpool's shoulder. "You wanna go to sleep?"

"Yeah." He was already halfway there, and all it would take was a long moment of uninterrupted silence and Deadpool's approval.

"I'm gonna stay in you while you sleep, k?"

"Mmmk," Peter acquiesced without hesitation. Deadpool staying in him meant a solid, safe sleep, a long night of rest that would further his healing. That the warmth around him wouldn't leave.

"Good boy. Go ahead and sleep now, Petey. I'll be here."

Even though he didn't need Deadpool's permission to sleep, just having it made him feel better. "K. Night."

"Night night, Petey."

His dreams that night were filled with clouds that wrapped around him like they were made of steel and filled him like they were made of lava. It left him drowsy when he woke, alone and wrapped tightly in his sheets like he'd been bundled into them by someone else. He could feel a pressure across his dick from being wrapped so tightly, the heavy thump of his heartbeat in his hardness. He rolled onto his back and felt his plug shift in him, brushing his prostate and let out a soft sigh as a pulse of arousal moved through him.

He wormed his hand through his bindings, working it from his hip and across his pelvis to his cock, wrapping his hand around himself. He let out a soft hum as he rocked his hips, feeling the plug in him brush across his prostate again and his hand slide over his dick. He did it again and again, letting his orgasm build slowly in the warm light of the morning sun through his window and the warmer cocoon of his sheets. In the quiet stillness of his empty room, Peter let himself…



The young man froze with half of two folded slices of pizza already in his mouth, and then slowly turned to look at her. Natasha suppressed a smile. The kid seemed to have an appetite as big as Steve and Thor's combined, and whenever there was food at the Tower for the team, he ate like he would never eat again. Unfortunately, all that told her was that the kid couldn't afford to feed himself which meant that he was near, or even in, the deep end of poverty and 'poor' wasn't much of a filter in her unending quest to discover his identity.

"Uh huh?" he asked around his food as he bit off the massive bite and began to chew it rapid-pace.

"I wanted to speak with you in private. Would you mind?"

He swallowed and stared at her. "That depends," he said slowly. "Is that how you lure teammates into death traps?"

"Not usually," she replied with a smile. He huffed a laugh and took another large bite as he rose to follow her. "Besides, wouldn't your Spidey-sense alert you to danger, even a teammate?" And wasn't that odd, that he would refer to them as 'teammates' and not 'friends'. Did he really think that way or was that how he thought that she thought of him?

"Yeah well… Apparently it doesn't work on everyone," he replied, the tension in his jaw clearly visible as he consumed the last of his food.

She wanted to ask more but Spider-Man was sharp and tricky and private, and she wasn't going to get anything more out of him than he wanted to give her, unless she resorted to tactics that would, at the very least, ruin their friendship. She didn't speak again until they were locked in Tony's workroom. Spider-Man had already rolled his mask back down and hopped up onto a table and she tossed him a water bottle before jumping up with one of her own.

The entire topic she wanted to bring up was a volatile one and she didn't want Spider-Man to freak and leave her without answers, so she started with something that would hopefully be construed as friendly. "We were worried about you," she said, cracking open the bottle and taking a sip. Spider-Man turned to look at her.

"Why?" He sounded more confused than he should have. "I didn't even get hurt like the dinosaur thing last month. I mean, it was just Loki. I'm pretty he's just doing it to get Thor's attention at this point. It's almost like he's… flirting? That can't just be me who gets that impression, right? Incest was pretty common in historical nobles after all and Thor and Loki are practically alien historical nobility so it's possible, I just wanted to see if anyone else had the same theory."

Spider-Man finally took a breath and stared at her expectantly and Natasha couldn't help but chuckle. Spider-Man was a lot more like Deadpool than he probably wanted to be, although it was cuter coming from him than it was from Wilson. "No, I was actually referring to the dinosaur incident," she corrected with a soft chuckle. Like most men, Spider-Man responded well to her when she smiled or laughed, but she suspected that had less to do with her looks and more to do with their relationship.

"Oh yeah well, you know me. Healed," he shrugged. "It was a really shitty week though." He paused, and then quietly, almost under his breath, sounding a bit confused, "For the most part."

"And Wilson?" she asked, and he immediately went tense. Enough so that she thought for a second that he might vault off the table and sprint from the room. He did tend towards dramatic exits when cornered with personal questions.

"What about him?" he ground out, through a clenched shut jaw it sounded like.

"Like I said," she said carefully, slowly, wary of potential escape attempts. "We were worried. He's not a stable man, he's a mercenary with questionable morals, and apparently a teleportation device who, it seems, has your address, and disappeared with you when you weren't in much of a position to defend yourself. And if I remember correctly, you have expressed disdain bordering on hatred on numerous occasions."

"He didn't hurt me and he took me home. End of story."

That was clearly not the end of the story.

"It makes me curious. You say you hate him, and yet, you clearly have some trust in him," she said, taking care to keep her voice even, non-judgemental, contemplative. "If you were worried about him knowing your address, you could have had us lock him up long enough to move someplace new. But you didn't. Which means you must trust him on some level. So, my question is, why do you dislike him so much when he has a level of your trust that none of us have?"

She half expected her question to jump-start the sudden departure she'd been expecting, but instead, he lapsed into tense silence. She let him mull it over and started picking the label on her water bottle; she didn't like to fidget but her stillness typically disoriented people.

"I guess…" He started softly and then trailed off. It took a long moment before he started again. "I guess it's because he… scares me."

She turned sharply towards him. "Is he threatening you? Blackmailing you? Hurting you?"

He laughed suddenly, the sound somehow both sarcastic and despairing all in one. "No, he's not doing any of that. He's already promised he won't reveal my secrets to anyone and I believe him. And he wouldn't hurt me. He'd probably teleport into the sun or something before he did that."

She relaxed, feeling relief swamp through her. Spider-Man was a superhero just like the rest of them, and his instincts were better than any of them, but he was young. He'd seen a lot but she suspected she still hadn't seen the worst the world had to offer. Just like the other Avengers, she often felt protective of him. Besides, she felt a special kinship, one spider to another.

"Good," was all she said instead, and took a drink of her water.

"Unless you count the rough sex," he added as an afterthought, and it was so unexpected that she choked on her drink.

"The what?" She hadn't thought she could be surprised any more, but apparently it was still possible.

He turned to her and though she couldn't see through his mask, she got the idea that he was surprised.

"You… didn't know?" He sounded legitimately startled and she had no idea why.

"I literally had no suspicions that anything sexual was happening between you two at all," she said, the words sounding dry and hollow in her own mouth. She hoped she didn't sound as gobsmacked as she felt. "How long exactly has it been happening?"

"Oh. Ummm… I don't know. A year, I think?"

A year? Spider-Man had been having sex with Deadpool for a year and none of them had noticed? How was that even possible?

He turned away from her and looked down at the water bottle in his own hands, and she felt like she should look away from him but she couldn't tear her eyes away. She was stilling coming to terms with the fact that Spider-Man and Deadpool were having sex. And apparently rough sex at that.

"Did you…" She had to phrase this carefully. "Did you want us to know?"

There was a brief pause before he slowly shook his head. "No. I just thought… I kinda figured he'd been bragging about it or something, I guess."

"Well, he does talk about your butt a lot," she conceded, "but that's hardly new. Although… that does lend some context as to why he hasn't stopped singing lyrics from the same band for the last year." He glanced sideways at her and she shrugged. "I looked it up once, and I believe they're all from the same band, but I'm not familiar with much music. I believe the band was something like… Rise Up Girl?"

For a second, he didn't respond, and then he flinched. "You mean Fall Out Boy?"

"Probably," she said, shrugging again. She had a lot of talents and a fantastic memory for many things, but pop culture was not one of them.

He turned back to the bottle in his hands, peeling off the labels in little pieces and letting them fall to the floor. "Does he team up with you often?"

"Mm, often enough," she said with a one-shoulder shrug. "He always refused to work with us if he heard you were involved though and saying that out loud, I'm realizing there might have been a lot more signs pointing to something odd between you too than I realized." Her jobs was literally to notice things. How had literally all of this completely escaped her attention?

"Would you like me to tell them?" she asked after he didn't speak for several minutes.

He shook his head. "No. I didn't know that he wasn't talking about it but… I'm glad. I think."

He sounded conflicted, but she didn't press. "Then I won't mention it to anyone. If you ever want to tell anyone though, and you'd like me to be there, I will."

He didn't turn back to her, but his shoulders sagged. "Thanks, Natasha." His words were weighted and she knew it wasn't just being his secret keeper that was garnering his thanks.

"You're welcome, Spider-Man." She tried to get the past few minutes of the conversation to fit in her mind, but it was going to need a lot more time than she had right now. Compartmentalization was a wonderful thing. "So, why does he scare you then?" she asked instead, remembering that her question had never been answered.

Like every other question he'd been asked, he was quiet for a long time before he answered. "You are what you love, not who loves you," he murmured quietly, so quiet that she barely picked up on it. "But…" He trailed off, his body falling still in that zoned-out sort of way.

Natasha watched him for a few minutes, waiting for him to continue, but nothing else came.

"I gotta get going," he said suddenly, sliding from the workbench. "I'll see you around."

He took his water with him as he left the room - he was always so careful not to leave a trace of himself behind and it made her wonder how exactly Wilson had discovered his address. It also raised other questions, like if Wilson had seen him unmasked, if he knew Spider-Man's identity.

The hair at back of her neck stood on end and she whipped around, her heart skipping a beat and then accelerating into a rapid gallop when she found Wilson on the workbench next to her, staring at her intently. He was fully costumed and fully armed, and even though it had been years since their first encounter, she still had no idea how he managed to move so silently. Not just because of his mouth, though that was part of it, but because of what he wore, how he was always armed, and how large of a person he was. It almost defied reality.

"I'm so confused now. Who's supposed to give who the shovel talk?" He stared expectantly at her, but she usually needed a translator for what he said, and her best one just walked out the door. She knew the timing was on purpose though; for some reason, Wilson just didn't want to be anywhere near Spider-Man when Spider-Man was near the Avengers. She just wasn't sure if that was for Wilson, or for Spider-Man.

"Shovel talk?" she asked, trying to lower her heart rate again. Maybe she was getting old if she could be surprised twice in one day.

"Yeah, you know, the thing where the prom queen's family threatens the bad boy with injury and/or death if said bad boy breaks said prom queen's heart," he explained in a rapid-fire cadence that was almost difficult to keep up with. "Spidey's the prom queen of the Avenger super family and I'm the dangerous transfer student with the bad reputation, kick ass skills, and a heart of gold," Deadpool whispered.

Natasha might have been starting to catch up but one could never be sure with Deadpool.. "And why are you confused?" she asked.

"Well, there's the family shovel talk and then there's the devoted boyfriend shovel talk where I make sure you understand what I'll do to you if you ever reveal Spidey's secret," Deadpool explained cheerfully, but his words and his aura were dark enough to make Natasha suddenly start cataloguing the contents of the room for possible weapons. Decapitations or brain removals usually kept him dead the longest, and she only needed so much time to get out of the room and alert the rest of the team of the threat.

"The only secret I know about Spider-Man is that he's in a relationship… of sorts, with you," Natasha said evenly, not daring to shift into a more offensive or defensive position in case Deadpool took it as a challenge. "He asked that I not mention it to anyone else and I won't. You have my word on that."

"And what's Black Widow's word worth?" he asked, voice a dangerous sort of soft.

"For Spider-Man? Everything."

Deadpool stared at her for a long moment before he jumped up with a clap of his hands that made her tense up. "Congratulations! You passed the test!" he cheered, throwing his hands into the air. Natasha almost didn't dare breathe, but she had to be assured of Wilson just as Wilson had to be assured about her.

"And what about your word?" she asked.

"Little old me? You don't have to worry about me," he proclaimed solidly, and oddly enough, Natasha believed him too. "I'm very Sirius Black about being my baby boy's Secret Keeper. And I take Peter Pettigrews very seriously. You feel me?"

As usual, she did not. Pop culture wasn't her thing and she didn't want it to be her thing. But trying to get Deadpool to remember that was like trying to fill up a colander with water and she'd stopped trying to correct him years ago. "Let's just say I get the gist. What I don't understand is why. You like him a hell of a lot more than he likes you." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "It hardly seems fair."

Even with his mask on, she could see the grin. "To who?"

She didn't know how to answer that, not without asking a lot more questions and getting a lot more answers about the nature of their relationship. Questions she wasn't sure were safe to ask and answers she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Now, if madam would pardon my leave," he dipped into a curtsy that included lifting imaginary skirts, and then his voice turned dark the strange way it had a month ago in the med bay, "I have a spider to catch~"

Deadpool skipped out the door in the direction Spider-Man had gone, but Natasha didn't relax for several minutes afterwards. It wasn't until she saw Clint through the glass wall, walking down the hallway towards her, looking confused and annoyed, that she finally let herself relax and slide from the workbench.

"What the hell is Deadpool doing in the Tower?" he asked as he walked in. "Isn't JARVIS supposed to be keeping him out?"

"You should try it sometime, Mr Barton," JARVIS commented dryly from the ceiling.

It took Natasha a moment to realize what exactly that meant. That JARVIS had been there the entire time. Listening.

"And he gave me this note," Clint continued without bothering to pursue his original line of questioning. "I'm pretty sure it's not code but you can never really tell with that guy."

Are you single?
▢ Yes
▢ No
▢ Busy mind-whammying the Pettigrew in the sky.

Natasha sighed. "Not exactly. JARVIS, erase the last hour from this room."

"Yes, Miss Romanoff."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy," she said, folding the note back up and putting it in her pocket. "Sirius Black style apparently. ...Whatever that means."

Chapter Text

Oh man, Wade was so excited to see Petey. Petey probably wasn't gonna be excited to see him at all, but that was okay. Wade had more than enough excitement for the both of them. What he wasn't excited for was watching some big, bald, fugly jamoke that wasn't Wade stripping his baby boy out of his civies, shoving him onto his hands and knees, and fucking him while Wade watched through the grimy window from the fire escape.

Petey had been more than vocal about how much he hated Wade, and Wade had come to terms with that, but his baby boy had never gotten with anyone else while they were 'together' and Wade had… started to hope. Which was a really dumb thing to do when he'd been shit on his entire life and things starting to go well with Petey sure as hell wasn't going to change that. Still, it took every gram of Wade's non-existent self-control to not just bust in swinging. Because apparently he was a possessive motherfucker, which was new. He'd been fine with Vanessa's prostituting, but for some reason, the thought of sharing Petey made him go wild. Maybe it was because he knew Vanessa loved him and would always come back to him, whereas his baby boy hated him and only tolerated his presence 'cuz the sex was just that good.

Thank fuck the sex with the jamoke wasn't very long, and Petey crawled into bed alone afterwards while the jamoke got dressed again. Then he kissed Petey, the long slow kind that made Wade's teeth grind, before he walked out the door. When he appeared on the street below and started walking away, Wade had to find that self-control again to keep himself from not following him and doing something extreme. Like force-feeding him twenty foot-long hotdogs. Wade didn't let himself unlock his limbs until after hotdog-bait was too far away for even Deadpool's sniper scope. He could probably still hit it, but he came here to hit Petey and that was one plan he planned on sticking too.

The window opened without a sound from years of his Spidey sneaking out to do good, and Petey didn't so much as twitch, his breathing slow and steady from sleep. It had been a minute since he'd seen his baby boy, and for a moment, he was arrested and breathless just looking at him, his small, pale body as sinewy and perfect as always. His hole was still stretched and and glistening, and Wade licked his lips. The jamoke had used a condom, so as far as Wade was concerned, Petey was still untainted, but he probably didn't smell like Wade anymore. It was time to change that.

He crawled up onto Petey's bed and his boy didn't even stir. Wade pulled his dick out and lubed it up, and then wrapped a hand around one slim ankle and pulled gently. He tugged until Petey's free leg slid between his legs and he was straddling one hard thigh, the other pressed to his stomach and a small heel hooked over his shoulder. God, Petey was tiny. He loved it.

"Mark?" Petey murmured sleepily.

"Guess again, baby boy," Wade murmured back as he pushed inside.

"Deadpool?" Petey came awake with gasping inhale as Wade bottomed out, groaning as the familiar feel of that tight, hot passage rippled around him. It had been too long.

"Yeah, it's me. God, I fucking missed you," he said as he pulled out and pushed back in slowly, relishing the sensation of Petey's hole opening around him, pulling him in.

"What the fuuuu-" Petey cut off as Wade slid his hand up one soft thigh and over a half-hard cock and a surprisingly dry belly.

"What this?" he asked, startled. "Didn't you come when your golem fucked you?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no," Petey snapped, glaring at him. Glaring, and hands curled into fists, but not pushing Wade away, as usual. Petey liked to spit a lot but he didn't bite. He preferred to be bitten.

"Oh baby boy, you're always my business," Wade corrected as he snapped his hips forward. The cock under his palm hardened with the movement and he smiled.

"Correction: I've never been your business." Petey was practically snarling now, like a little kitten. Even his soft hair was sticking up on end. "And I think you lost the right to even talk to me when you fucking left for a year."

"Sorry, sweetie," Wade apologized, rolling the bottom of his mask up to press a kiss to a knobby ankle. Petey was fully hard now and Wade started stroking him slowly. He smiled at the way that pale chest arched out at his touch, pink nipples hard and tempting. "Time gets weird when you take off-planet missions. Will you forgive me if I promise it wasn't on purpose? That I thought of you every day?"

"Go fuck yourself," Petey spat.

"Been there, done that," Wade replied cheerfully, wrapping an arm around Petey's leg so he could fuck him harder. "Did a lot of that while I was away. Fucked myself every day thinking about fucking you, baby boy," he purred.

"You know who I'd rather have fucking me?" Petey asked, fingers wrapped so tightly in his sheets that Wade could see the fabric start to tear. "Mark."

Fury raced through Wade and he shot his hand from Petey's cock to this throat, gripping tight and pinning him down to the bed.

"Say his name and mine in the same breath and tell me they taste the fucking same, Petey," Wade growled, fingers tightening around that pretty throat. Not tight enough to hurt, never that, but enough to make his feelings clear on the matter. Also, as leverage to pull Petey down onto every slow thrust.

"Are you still fucking quoting Fall Out Boy?" Petey asked incredulously, staring up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. But he didn't so much as move to remove Wade's hand.

Wade leaned forward, forcing Petey into a split and pushing his knee right up against his nipple. "I was watching you two from the fire escape, wishing I could be the friction in your jeans." Peter groaned and rolled his eyes. The adorable thing hated when he adopted the lyrics for his own use, but where was all the fun in not doing that? "Wanting to be a notch in your bedpost."

"You're already a notch in my bedpost," Petey said, the anger starting to fade from his voice to be replaced with the more familiar resignation. Wade loved that tone; it meant Petey was ready to let himself start feeling good. "You're too many notches. How many more will it take before you're satisfied?"

"Baby boy," Wade murmured, leaning down to speak against Petey's lips. "I won't be satisfied until I've whittled aware your whole fuckin' bedframe and the only thing keeping me from pounding your ass into the floor is your mattress."

He kissed him then, the slow way the jamoke had, but better, trying to write over memory of it and replace it with a new one. He fucked him slow and deep and kissed him the same way, until Petey was panting for breath and his muscles were fluttering around Wade's cock, but Wade was the one to pull away.

"You're such a dick," Petey said, rolling his head away as if not looking at Wade could make him forget who was inside him. But Wade knew he wouldn't forget - Petey would never forget him, no matter how much he might want to.

"A-dick-ted to you, baby boy," Wade smiled as he sat back on his heels and released Petey's neck and slid his hand back down to Petey's cock, wrapping his fingers around it tightly. Peter groaned at the touch, or maybe at Wade's use of another lyric, but his back arched anyway.

Wade started to snap his hips forward, tugging Petey just a little closer in a search for the right angle. It didn't usually take him long and-


Hole in one. "Fuck yeah, baby boy," he groaned as Petey convulsed around him and the dick in his hand throbbed. "Let me hear you. Let me hear how much you like the way I fuck you."

"I don't like it," Petey protested, but it was ruined by the fact that it was said in a sexy little breathy moan.

"C'mon Petey, I don't lie to you," Wade replied, unoffended. Petey had been dissing him for years before they even got together, and nothing had changed after. Petey was loud, but his actions were louder. "Let me hear you."

"No." For an adult, Petey could be more childish than him sometimes.

"Guess I'll just have to make you," Wade said with a shrug. "You know how I love making you scream and there's no excuses keeping you quiet now. So, Petey," he dropped into his Dom voice, the one his baby boy didn't seem to realize what it was but responded beautifully to anyway, "make some noise for me."

He started fucking into his sweetie's tight heat, making their skin slap together, and baby boy let out a surprised moan before he slapped his hand over his mouth. Wade growled and those pretty wide eyes shot to him before darting away again, and the hand fell away. Wade rewarded him with a swipe of his thumb over the wet tip of Petey's dick and his baby boy convulsed around him as he moaned again, eyes squeezing shut. It was a fantastic noise, the best noise, second only to they way Petey said his name when he came, and Wade didn't hear it enough. Which was mostly his fault 'cause he typically only caught Petey when his Spidey was out saving the day, but for the most part, he tried to be a good Deadpool and keep out of Petey's apartment.

The cock in the tight ring of his fingers was positively throbbing now, and Wade's own orgasm was sitting low in his belly, his balls drawn up tight and ready for release. He just needed to hear his baby boy beg for it. God, he loved when Petey begged for it. He always had to fight for it, but it was so worth it.

"God baby boy, I really missed you," Wade confessed, though it wasn't exactly a hardship; unlike Petey, he had no problem being vocal about his feelings. "I missed being inside you, missed that pretty voice of yours and this sweet ass. I already can't wait to see you again. I wanna be inside you forever, you know."

"God, just shut up," baby boy snapped, but his already flushed cheeks got darker. Wade smiled. Petey could tell him to shut up as much as he wanted, but his body always told Wade how much he secretly liked the Wade spoke to him. Even if that was a secret to himself.

"Best way to get me to shut up is to make me come, baby boy. You remember how to do that?" Wade knew he did, but he also knew it was going to take a little fight first, as always.

"No," Petey grit out, even as he started to writhe from his own need to come that Wade's fingers were preventing. Sometimes Wade wondered if 'denial' was one of Spidey's superpowers.

"Yeah you do. Baby boy," he dropped into his Dom voice again, and then said the same words he always had to, the phrase that was practically a ritual at this point: "Tell me what I wanna hear, Petey."

"Nngh," Petey groaned, his jaw clenching. Resisting Wade's command.

Wade frowned and moved his free hand to Petey's ankle, gripping it tightly. "Tell me," he growled.

"Let me come, Wade!" baby boy demanded. Demanded. Oh, that just wouldn't do.

"Try again, sweetie," he sang. "You forgot the magic word!"

"Please, Wade!" Petey cried, and yes, that was the begging he was looking for Fucking music to his ears, the way his baby boy practically sobbed his name when he was desperate.

"Good boy," Wade purred, releasing the tension from his fingers.

It only took one slide of his hand to the top of Petey's dick and back down before Petey was coming all over his fingers, the walls of his sweet little asshole rippling hard around Wade's own dick and pulling his orgasm right out his nutsack. He groaned and curled over his baby boy's body and kissed him hard, swallowing his moans as he came. And god, their orgasms. Wade had been jacking off constantly for the last year, but it didn't compare to coming in Petey, and Petey was coming like he hadn't come in a year. It left even Wade's limbs shaking, to the point that he couldn't really hold himself up. So he stopped trying.

He carefully settled his weight on top of the smaller form under him, feeling baby boy's chest heaving as the leg pressed to his chest trembled wildly. It almost felt he was still coming and he started to rock his hips slowly, feeling Petey's come-slick walls sliding around him. The cock in his hand was slowly softening, but Wade was still as hard as if he hadn't come at all, so he lengthened his strokes, pulling out until only the head of his dick was inside Petey before pushing back in again.

"Wha'?" Petey croaked.

"I gotta come again, baby boy," Wade whispered. "Gonna fill you up until my come is leaking out your pretty little hole."

"No," baby boy whispered back without even shifting to dislodge Wade.

"Make me stop," Wade challenged softly before he ducked in for a kiss.

He kept it short, breaking away after only a moment, but then he kissed Petey again. And again and again and again, until baby boy was panting for breath, chest heaving under Wade. But as he started rocking his hips a little faster, Petey started to chase after his lips every time he broke away to let his baby boy breath. It was a small victory, but one nonetheless. Wade constantly had to battle Petey's consciousness when it came to sex, and this was the first time he'd gotten Petey to kiss him instead of the other way around.

Wade didn't bother trying to force a quick orgasm, it wasn't like he wanted to pull out anyway, but he was still sensitive and it wasn't going to take long. Surprisingly, Petey started getting hard again in Wade's loose hold, and he decided against cock-ringing him again. He'd already commanded it once, and the fact that Petey hadn't stopped seeking his endless kisses meant that he could have a little reward.

"Petey," he whispered, feeling the heat rising in his skin, that tell-tale sensation.

"Wade, please," Petey whispered back, startling Wade enough that he almost lost his rhythm.

He wasn't restricting his baby boy's orgasm, wasn't demanding that he ask for it, and yet… Maybe Petey had fallen into subspace? It had only happened maybe twice before, and both times only after Wade had had to resort to his Dom voice to get Petey to listen, but it was the only thing to explain his stubborn baby boy's pliancy. Maybe Petey had actually missed him, more than either of them realized.

"Yeah, my good baby boy," he said, starting to slide the loose ring of his fingers up and down Petey's cock, barely providing any true friction. "Yeah, you can come."

Petey sobbed as he came again, and Wade devoured his mouth as his own orgasm washed over him. It was a softer feeling than the first one, almost comforting, the waves of pleasure sending gentle tingles through his limbs to the tips of his fingers and toes. He didn't pull away from Petey's mouth until after it passed, and by then, his sweet little baby boy was wheezing for breath, head rolling to the side so he could breathe and chest inhaling and deflating rapidly against Wade's own. Besides his fight for air, Petey's body was completely lax under and around him, and if Wade was a cat, he'd be purring in contentment.

Wade pressed a kiss to Petey's temple and sat up slowly, reaching for the plug in his pouch before remembering that he hadn't pulled one out of his baby boy in the first place. And then he remembered that the jamoke hadn't pulled it either. Which meant that Petey had stopped wearing it. If they weren't in post-orgam mode, and Petey was slowly emerging from subspace, he would have expressed his disappointment and settled on a punishment. But Wade could still remember the last time Petey almost went into drop and he would do anything to avoid that happening again.

"Where's your plug, baby boy?" he asked softly, ignoring the way the slick, tight heat around him was making him hard again; he really could fuck him forever, but Spidey's healing capabilities weren't exactly up to par with his and he knew that if he kept going, Petey was going to end up feeling more pain than pleasure. The bad kind.

"Mm?" Petey hummed, eyes still closed and mouth slack.

Wade leaned forward with a roll of his hips, sliding his palm up baby boy's throat to grip his jaw with the tips of his fingers. Petey's eyes fluttered back open with a soft gasp as Wade turned his head to meet his gaze.

"Plug, sweetheart," he said again.

Petey's eyes flickered to the side and his arm started to move, dragging over his side and flopping in the direction of his night stand. Wade carefully leaned forward and pulled open the drawer and let a slow breath out his nose at the sight of the familiar black silicone shape shoved in the back of the drawer.

"How long did it take you before you stopped wearing this?" he asked as he sat back on his heels. He lubed up the plug, pulled out quickly, and pushed the plug in before any of his come could start leaking out. The whole thing only took a few seconds, but it still made Petey arch and his dick twitch. Wade hurriedly stuffed his own away before he got tempted to ring in a third round. "How long, Petey-pie? How long did it take you to give up on me?"

"Six months," baby boy slurred, and the answer honestly surprised Wade. Yeah, baby boy would never say it outright, as usual, that he had missed Wade, and so, as usual, the actions he took and had taken were more honest than the words falling from his pretty mouth.

"I want you to start wearing it again, baby boy," Wade told him, watching his own fingers as he pushed lightly on the base and Petey's dick twitched again. "I won't leave you for so long again."

"...No," Petey said slowly, and when Wade raised his gaze to Petey's face, he found a frown furrowing the skin between his brows.

"No?" Wade echoed, not in his Dom voice but with warning all the same.

His baby boy was starting to surface from his 'space, but he was coming up too quickly and was apparently set on putting them both in a bad mood. He was struggling to sit up and to plant his hands on the bed, but his arms were shaking. Shit, Petey's whole body was still trembling, and it was anyone's guess if it was the aftermath of his orgasms or from his impending drop. "You can't do this again," he said, voice as shaky as his body. "I have a boyfriend now, Deadpool."

Aaannnd they were back to the blasphemous 'Deadpool'. What a way to ruin a reunion.

"Not my fucking problem," Wade said, perhaps a little harshly, judging by the way Petey flinched. "You know exactly how to get me to stop. You know how I feel about you and I'm sure as hell not gonna call it quits just 'cause you decided to pick up a side ho. You remember how to get me to stop, don't you baby boy?"

Petey's gaze had flickered away, his chin down and his shoulders up, defensive. He didn't answer, and even though Wade had been gone for a year, he knew his bright little spider wouldn't have forgotten that he wasn't allowed to avoid answering a direct question. Wade's hand snapped out to wrap around that slim throat and push the shivering form back down to the bed, letting his full weight rest against the smaller chest.

"You know better than that, Petey," he rumbled in his Dom voice, to make sure his boy understood. "Answer me."

"I remember," Petey whispered, swallowing hard against Wade's palm and still refusing to meet Wade's eyes.

"Then remind me: what's your safeword?" It might have been a little cruel, to punctuate his question with a roll of his hips, dragging the leather of his suit against Petey's still-sensitive cock, but it made those wide eyes finally snap to his, if only for a second before they dropped again.

"Pancakes," Petey whispered, so quietly that Wade almost couldn't hear him. But he did hear him all the same.

"Good boy," he whispered back, ducking in for a kiss that Petey didn't fight. "You want me to stop? You make me stop."

"I want you to leave," baby boy said quietly, still refusing to look at him. It hurt, being rejected, being kicked out, but Petey wasn't safewording, he wasn't pulling out his plug, and he wasn't anything but relaxed under Wade.

"Okay," Wade agreed simply before dropping back into his Dom tone. "But when you go into drop, don't you dare call your side piece back to take of it, do you understand?"

Petey closed his eyes and nodded, lips firmly sealed, and although Wade would have preferred a verbal confirmation, this would do for now. "Good. Then I'll go, but first," he leaned down to nuzzle against a sweaty temple, breathing in the long absent scent of his sweetie, "it's good to be home, baby boy. Catch you around."

He left the way he came, climbing out through the window to the fire escape. As he shut the window again, he saw Petey watching him from the bed, still lying how Wade had left him. Wade rolled his mask back down and teleported to the roof across the street. As much as he wanted to trust Petey to follow his instructions, he wasn't quite sure if his accidental year-long absence had ruined them entirely. True, his little spider hadn't been all spitfire like when they'd first started getting together, he was still that softened version of himself Wade had left him as, but that didn't necessarily mean much. So Wade watched. He kept an eye on both Petey's windows and the street-level door of his apartment building, but Petey didn't leave and his jamoke didn't show up.

Only a couple of hours after the sun had risen, Petey walked out of the building, looking like he hadn't slept through the scope of Wade's rifle. He looked pale except for the dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair looked like an absolute mess. But most importantly, as he walked down the street, away from Wade's post, his hand kept straying to his back pocket, like he was checking for his wallet, but Wade knew what he was really checking for. Baby boy had started wearing his plug again after all.

"Where'd you get these bruises from?" Mark asked curiously, fingertips tracing several spots on the back of Peter's naked thighs.

"Come on baby boy, let me in," accompanying a soft tapping on Mark's bedroom window. And then later, again, "Let me in, baby boy" as Deadpool slid his hands up the inside of Peter's thighs, pushing his legs apart to make room for Deadpool's body. "Leeet. Meee. Iiin," as Deadpool pushed into of him.

"What bruises?" Peter asked back, rolling his hips in a lazy move to pull Mark's dick back into him, even though he already knew exactly what bruises and where they came from.

"Gonna leave bruises on your thighs with my fingerprints, Petey." A promise whispered hot and heavy against Peter's ear as large, hard, strong hands tightened around his thighs and a long, thick dick drove him slowly into the wall.

"They kinda look like someone grabbed you?" Mark answered, finally moving his hands to Peter's waist and taking over the thrusting. It was quick and hard, but still didn't match up to what Deadpool could do, how Deadpool filled him up, and Peter had already resigned himself to faking another orgasm. Just like every other time he'd had sex with Mark. And the few men and women he'd tried out before settling on Mark.

"Oh yeah. Some perv on the subway got handsy on the morning commute," Peter lied smoothly. It wasn't that it was getting easy, it wasn't, Peter felt sick every time he did, but he'd had too much practice over the last couple of months.

Ever since Deadpool had come back two months ago, he seemed to constantly have an eye on Peter because every time Peter came back from Mark's, Deadpool showed up and fucked him until he couldn't stand. If Peter was going to stay the night at Mark's, then Deadpool showed up and fucked him before he went out on his date, so hard that he almost couldn't stand afterwards. The only exception to the latter had been two nights ago when Peter had gone out with Mark and stayed the night at his place without a sign of Deadpool all day. Then, the next morning, after Mark had left for work, Deadpool had knocked on the window singing "Come on, come on and let me in."

He'd sung the same thing only a few minutes later when he was fucking Peter against the wall, gripping Peter's thighs hard enough to bruise even him and promising to leave fingerprints. He'd done the same thing in Mark's bed and in Mark's shower. Then on Mark's couch and against the fridge in the kitchen. He'd ended up leaving Peter fucked out and nearly unconscious in Mark's bed, so full of Deadpool's come that he actually worried that it would leak past the plug. Then, when he finally made it home, Deadpool was already there and fucked him twice more in his own bed before Peter passed out.

When he woke the next morning, this morning, he thought that he'd never been so sore in his life, and that he wasn't going to have any sex for at least a week. But then he'd gone out with Mark and ended up in Mark's apartment again and since Peter was already a cheating asshole, there wasn't any reason not to be a cheating asshole who didn't put out.

It wasn't until Peter was on his hands and knees on Mark's bed, his plug sitting next to his hand, and Mark was pushing his condomed cock into Peter's ass that he realized that Mark was fucking him in the same position and the same spot that Deadpool had only yesterday, and that the 'lube' he was sliding through was actually Deadpool's come. Though Peter hardly got aroused any more unless it was at Deadpool's doing, the thought that his boyfriend was fucking him with his fuck buddy's cum, with Deadpool cum, made his cock throb between his legs.

Peter ignored it and folded his arms under his head, settling his weight on his shoulders. His plug rolled towards him, and though he'd never tasted Deadpool's cum, he could smell it easily on the silicone. For a split second, he imaged it was Deadpool inside him, rocking into him slowly, making him feel it.

"Fuck, Petey!"

It was the wrong voice and the wrong tone and just wrong wrong wrong and Peter snapped from his fantasy, body going tense as he cranked his head over his shoulder. Mark had stopped as soon as he said it, his face red in embarrassment.

"I told you never to call me that," Peter said, his words feeling cold in his own mouth. He couldn't explain why he couldn't stand to hear anyone else call him by that name now, but he knew it was Deadpool's fault. Just like he couldn't stand to be called any variation of 'babe' by anyone else now either. Deadpool had ruined him in more ways than one and Peter didn't know what to do about it anymore. He never really did.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, expression earnestly sincere. "I know it brings up bad memories of your ex, I just… I got ahead of myself. Forgive me?"

Peter inhaled a long, slow breath and then let it out, pressing his forehead to his forearms. He'd gone soft, and the only thing centering him right now was the scent of that plug. "Just… don't do it again," he said eventually.

He could hear Mark open and close his mouth several times, as if he was going to say something, but Peter suddenly wasn't in the mood to even be there. He rolled his spine to restart the sex, which Mark seemed to fall back into with a sound of relief, but as soon as Mark had finished, Peter put his plug back in, got dressed and left, throwing an "I'll text you later" over his shoulder as he walked out the door. The really shitty part was that he was so numb that he didn't even feel bad about the crestfallen look on Mark's face. He didn't feel anything.

He didn't even head home for his suit first, just headed right for the bridge, broke in through the security door, and climbed to the top where the air seemed only marginally more clear but infinitely windier. He sat on the edge, dangling his legs, and let the air blow all the thoughts out of his head, let the sun shine warm his skin, and let himself just be.

The reprieve from his own mind didn't last long. Just a shift of his weight brought his attention back to his plug, to his issues, to his self-loathing. Because he was the lowest of the low, fucking a guy he didn't want to date and dating a guy he didn't want to fuck. Using Deadpool the way he'd been had never been fair to the mercenary, but said mercenary hardly seemed to care about being used as long as he got to fuck Peter. And poor Mark had to compete with Peter's memories of Deadpool at every turn, to the point that it wasn't just about sex anymore. Mark wasn't as good in bed, but he also wasn't as funny, didn't get Peter as well, didn't seem to care about him as deeply. None of it was fair, but especially the last one, when he'd been the focus of Deadpool's obsessions for years and Mark could hardly be expected to feel the same, much less in such a short amount of time.

Peter had hated himself for years before Deadpool came along, but it was only afterwards that it all seemed to compound. He hated himself for even liking the way Deadpool fucked him, he hated liking Deadpool's humour, he hated liking the way Deadpool treated him, he hated tolerating Deadpool at all. He hated that Deadpool still scared him and he hated that his Spidey-sense refused to work on the mercenary. He hated that he couldn't bring himself to safeword out of an encounter every time Deadpool caught him, that he couldn't kick Deadpool out of his life, that he didn't know how, that part of him didn't want to. He hated that part of him had missed Deadpool when he'd disappeared, and that the same part of him had been glad when Deadpool had come back.

He hated that he was lonely enough to keep Mark around even when nothing the man did seemed to satisfy him. He hated that Mark had never been enough when Deadpool haunted every gesture, every word, every motion. He hated that he couldn't just break up with Mark so that what he was doing with Deadpool would cease to be 'cheating'. He hated that he was cheating on a good man who didn't deserve it. He hated that the thought of breaking up with Mark was easier than the one of telling Deadpool to just stop.

He hated that he couldn't talk to anyone about it. He couldn't go to Aunt May; just picturing her disappointed face made his stomach twist. He couldn't talk to Natasha about it; the fact that she knew at all made his throat thick with shame, and the idea of telling her that he was still letting Deadpool fuck him after his year long disappearance and while Peter was dating someone else just made him want to either throw up or just jump off the bridge. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell any of the other Avengers that he was having sex with Deadpool, and he didn't have any other friends anymore. If he thought he'd felt isolated with his secrets before, it was nothing to how he felt now.

On the tower of the bridge, Peter laid back to watch the clouds pass overhead, to watch the sun turn to stars. He laid there and felt an emptiness in his chest that he didn't know how to fix. He laid there and hated himself and his inability to be the man his aunt and uncle had always thought he was. Instead of doing something, he laid on the cold metal, away from the world, and did nothing. Alone with his thoughts, Peter felt himself die just a little more inside.

Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd had a slow day. He didn't have classwork, he'd already submitted some photos to Jameson, all was quiet on the criminal front, Deadpool hadn't bothered him in a few days, and he couldn't think of a single thing to do. He'd already found himself staring off into space more times than he could count today, and he was considering doing it again when a loud burst of music startled him into wakefulness.

♪ B-B-B-Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark♪

It sounded like a ringtone but he knew for a fact that he hadn't downloaded any since he bought the thing. The thing that was… nowhere in sight.

♪ Can't be sure when they've hit their mark ♪

And he certainly wouldn't have downloaded any Fall Out Boy songs if he had. Especially on a POS that had decided to play hide-and-seek in his apartment.

♪ And besides in the mean, mean time ♪

Where the hell was his phone?

♪ I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart ♪

Peter finally found it in a drawer in the kitchen, which didn't seem exactly right, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd come home almost brain dead from a long day and/or patrol and dumped his stuff anywhere and everywhere. Mark's picture was flashing above the word 'jamoke' and Peter sighed and dropped his face into his hand as he leaned a hip against the cupboards of the little island separating his tiny living room from his tinier kitchen. Deadpool. Of course.

"Hello?" he said as he finally answered the phone, trying to inject his voice with more happiness than he felt. For some reason, just the thought of interacting with Mark was draining, and it had only become more and more exhausting since Deadpool's return six months ago.

"Happy anniversary!" Mark was infinitely more cheerful than Peter, and louder, to the point that the phone line crackled in protest. Peter winced and lowered the volume a notch, and then what Mark said finally registered.

"Wait, what?" Anniversary? What anniversary?

"I kinda figured you'd forget," Mark laughed, apparently unoffended. "Sometimes I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders." Peter hated that phrase. "We starting dating a year ago today!"

"But that's not till…." Peter paused, wracking his brain. When was that again? "August 18th."

"Peter, today is August 18th," Mark said, still laughing.

"No way," Peter argued, pulling his phone from his ear to check the date in the corner. August 18 stared back at him. "Shit, I am so sorry. I thought it was still last week. I didn't even buy you a present yet."

Hands slid around his waist and Peter jumped and spun, his heart in his throat. Deadpool was standing in front of him, dressed in his leathers and mask rolled down. He flipped the mercenary off and mouthed Fuck you as his body tried to remember what a normal heart rate was. Deadpool rolled up the bottom of his mask, and for a moment, Peter was struck by an odd realization: he'd never seen Deadpool's whole face before.

Before Deadpool had started everything, he'd never been anything less than fully masked in front of Peter, except to eat, but even then it never got rolled past his nose, and he'd never been anything less than fully dressed. In the overall year and a half since they'd started fucking, the only thing that changed was Deadpool had started to remove his gloves on occasion, but that was it. How was it that a mercenary knew everything about Spider-Man's secret identity and Peter knew nothing about Deadpool's not-secret identity? …Oh right. He hadn't wanted to know…

Fuck me Deadpool mouthed back and Peter glared.

Go away Peter mouthed in response before turning his back back to Deadpool, hoping he would just leave. He knew better, but he still hoped.

"...ter? Peter?" Oh shit he was still on the phone with Mark.

"I'm here! I'm here," he said quickly. "Sorry, a pest ran through my kitchen and scared the shit out of me." He threw a glare over his shoulder and found Deadpool standing just a bit closer than he had been a moment ago, a shit-eating grin on his face. Peter took a step forward, away from Deadpool, and leaned his weight back against the cupboards. "What were you saying?"

"I was saying our anniversary was why I was calling actually," Mark explained, more patiently than Peter deserved. "I had originally planned on taking you out tonight, but my work woke me up before dawn and shipped me to Dubai for an emergency meeting with one of our clients. I was pretty much rushed right from my bed to the plane and I actually only just now got to my hotel room and I forget to even let you know until now. I'm really sorry, will you forgive me?"

"Wait, you're in Dubai? Right now?" Peter asked, caught off guard. First it was their anniversary and now he was being left alone on their anniversary, and Deadpool was in his apartment, trying to make a nuisance of himself.

"Yeah. And I was thinking… as a way to make it up to you at least a little right now, how about some phone sex?"

Peter choked and stepped away from Deadpool's reaching hands, walking quickly around the island to put it between him and the mercenary. "I've uh… I've never had phone sex," he admitted, feeling his face heat. Across from him, Deadpool's face lit up.

"No?" Mark's voice was huskier now, aroused, and yet, Peter felt nothing. He got more tingles from the little brushes of Deadpool's fingertips as the man followed him around the island like the world's slowest chase and Peter slipped out of his hands at the last second, gloves slipping over his shirt against his ribs. His heart was racing in his chest and his breath was already shortening, but to let Deadpool catch him would be... "I'll walk you through it then. Do you have a dildo and lube?"

"Lube yes, a dildo…" Deadpool froze, only only for a second, then he put on a burst of speed and snagged one of Peter's belt loops, tugging Peter backwards and into his chest. "Not sure. I can check," Peter said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I can be your dildo, Petey," Deadpool whispered in his ear, one large hand palming his belly and the other sliding into his jeans to palm his half-hard cock. Half-hard not because of Mark, but because of Deadpool.

Peter pulled his phone away from his face and covered the speaker with his hand. "This is between me and my boyfriend," he hissed. "On our anniversary. Go away!"

The hand in his pants pulled away and he breathed a shallow sigh, relieved and also, frustratingly, disappointed. Then fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head, fisted at his crown, and yanked, pulling his head back to expose his neck and making him gasp at the pulse of arousal that flashed through him.

"Make me go away, baby boy," Deadpool murmured before moving down to Peter's neck, pressing soft kisses along the sensitive skin and making him shiver. "But if you're not, then tell your boyfriend that you have a dildo. Go on."

The possibility of safewording didn't even enter his mind as he raised his phone back to his ear with a hand that shook. "Yeah, I have a dildo." His words sounded shaky to his own ears but Mark didn't comment on it.

"Good," Mark purred over the line, but it didn't stand a chance against the "Good boy" rumbled against his throat. "Where are you now?"

"In my kitchen, leaning against the island," Peter said. But even as he spoke, he was being turned, the hand in his hair pushing him slowly, inexorably, down to the cheap formica countertop, forcing his cheek to the cool surface. "Bent over my island," he corrected shakily.

"Perfect," Mark purred, almost like the way Deadpool often did, the way that made Peter listen and obey, only, he didn't feel that same urge. Mark was giving the commands, but it was Deadpool who was in control. Always Deadpool. "Put your phone on speakerphone and put it on the countertop. You're going to want to use both hands."

Peter tried to pull his phone away from his face and dropped it, his fingers already trembling. The hand on his belly slid down and started undoing his fly as Peter managed to find the Speakerphone button without lifting his head. He technically could fight the hand in his hair, he was the stronger of the two of them, but as always, he just couldn't.

His jeans and boxer briefs were being pulled down in a slow slide that felt electric against his skin, but then they stopped at his knees, hobbling him. The hand in his hair tightened, making him gasp, and pushed, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him understand that he wasn't to move. After he gave a small nod, as much as he was able to under the pressure, it pulled away, then his wrists were encircled by the familiar sensation of leather gloves, and his arms were pulled behind his back, forcing his hands to grasp his elbows. The position stretched his shoulders but it also made his breath shorten and his heart pound faster: he knew he could move, but he also knew that he'd be punished if he did.

"You still there, Peter?" Mark asked, voice almost sounding distant in a way that had nothing to do with being on Speakerphone.

"Yeah, sorry, my hands are shaking a little," Peter breathed. A gloved hand dipped into his line of sight and moved the phone several inches away before disappearing again.

"Already?" Mark asked, his voice low and dark. But not as low and dark as Deadpool could get. Deadpool whose now-ungloved hands were pushing his shirt up as far as it would go before sliding back down his spine with trailing fingertips. Hips rocked against his ass, Deadpool's still-clothed dick pushing against Peter's plug.

"Yeah, I'm uh…" He trailed off as Deadpool rocked harder against him, making his plug brush his prostate. "Pushing. On my plug," he finally managed.

"I want you to take it out." Oddly enough, Mark had never questioned Peter's sudden use of it, the way he was always wearing it when Mark saw him or the way he always put it back in after sex. And he never tried to touch it after the first time, when Peter felt small, smooth hands trying to pull the silicone free, instead of leather-gloved or scarred hands, and had freaked, tenshing and shutting down, clenching down, until Mark stopped trying.

"Oh- okay," Peter stuttered, squeezing his eyes shut as Deadpool backed away and his hands, both of them, left Peter's skin for a moment. It left him feeling oddly alone and his eyes snapped back open and he tried to look behind him without lifting his head, the memory of that fist in his hair still fresh.

There was the faint sound of shushing from behind him, so faint that it couldn't be heard over the speakerphone, and then Deadpool's fingers curled around the plug's base. He tugged a little and Peter's body fought the action, trying to keep the plug inside, and then let go, letting it sink back into Peter. Then he did it again, a little firmer, Peter's body fighting harder to keep it, before letting go again.

"It- it- ummm," Peter tried, unable to escape the sensation of his body trying to hold the plug in.

"It's okay, take your time," Mark said, voice almost gracious, but Peter's attention was all fixated on his asshole flaring around the wide part of the plug before it finally slid out. He felt empty now, and it was such a terrible feeling, it was always a terrible feeling these days, after wearing his plug night and day, 24/7, but the thought that he was going to be filled again soon with something much more satisfying helped to ground him.

"It's out," he panted as he watched the plug get set down on its base on the far side of his phone. Right where he could see it, right where he didn't have any other choice but to watch it, and only it.

"Good." Peter was terribly thankful that he hadn't said 'good boy'. He didn't know what he would have done. Or Deadpool. As it was, it hit too close to home, and Deadpool grabbed his hips, squeezing tight enough to bruise, tight enough to make Peter's dick throb, before letting go. Suddenly, he realized he wasn't going to leave this encounter without marks. A lot of them. Good thing they usually healed in only a few days and Mark wouldn't be back for a week.

"I want you to finger yourself. Are you loose enough for two fingers?" Even before he'd finished his sentence, two slick, thick fingers were pushing into him, slow and firm, all the way to the knuckle.

"Hnngh!" Peter groaned, clutching at his elbows so tight that he might have bruised himself.

"That sounded like a yes." Mark sounded amused and Deadpool… Deadpool was unusually silent, the fingers in Peter still, but a wet thumb was tracing the rim clenched around them, making Peter shudder with each swipe.

"I-I've got two fingers i-in me," Peter confirmed, trembling against his counter. Heat reared over his back and a kiss landed on his spine, making his chest arch into the unforgiving surface and forcing his ass out and somehow deeper onto the fingers he thought couldn't get any further into him. His inhale shuddered through his chest but silently through his throat as Deadpool licked a line from the base of his spine up to where his arms were crossed over themselves.

"Fantastic. I want you to fuck yourself with those fingers, loosen yourself up. Let me know when you think you're ready for a third," Mark said and Peter nodded before remembering that the person giving him the instructions wasn't there, that he couldn't see him.

"I will," he said, and then the fingers in him pulled out and pushed back in, tilting at the last second to force Deadpool's knuckles past his rim. He whimpered at the stretch, but when the fingers pulled out, he tried to follow them, only to be stopped by a hand against the base of his spine, showing his hips forward into the counters ledge. His cock, painfully hard and fully erect, bounced, hitting the cupboard and making him wince.

He already felt ready to come, but at the same time, he didn't. He was insanely aroused and yet incomplete without a dick inside him. Coming now would just be an empty sensation and would probably leave him feeling empty.

A third fingertip pushed at his rim, but there was resistance that Deadpool didn't try to force, just kept fucking Peter with his two fingers. But on every push in, that third finger tested him, tested his looseness by trying to push inside until at last, it did, up to the first knuckle, where it and the other two fingers stopped. Peter almost choked out a sob at the stillness, barely stopping himself in time. It was getting hard to remember it wasn't just him and Deadpool like it usually was, that Mark was on the line on the phone only inches from his face. It was a good thing Peter didn't often shout his partner's name during sex.

"I think- I think I'm ready for another finger," he managed to say, though his mouth was dry and his throat was slightly sore.

"You sound like it," Mark said, making Peter frown in confusion. "Do you have any idea how you sound right now? You must really be enjoying this." It wasn't accusatory, thankfully, more like awed. "Go ahead, put a third finger in. But do you think you can hold your phone by your ass, so I can hear the way you sound when you fuck your own fingers?"

Peter could barely move, but a scarred hand, the one not already in him, entered his vision and hovered over his phone. He could remember a time when the sight of that skin made him nauseous, but now the only thing it made him was hard; since Deadpool never stripped any part of his suit off when he was working with Spider-Man, the only time Peter saw his skin was when they fucked and now Peter couldn't help but associate the mind-blowing sex with those scars. "I'm really wet," he found himself saying. An excuse? A tease? A statement of fact? He couldn't have said.

Mark moaned. "Let me hear it, Peter," Mark demanded, and Deadpool's hand picked up his phone, lifting it out of sight.

Even though he'd said he was wet, he hadn't really noticed it. Now though, as Deadpool quickly pushed three fingers into him, he could hear the squelch of the lube as his body opened around the digits, could hear it louder when Deadpool tried to pull out and his body protested. He could hear the tinny sounds of Mark moaning through the phone, but even more clearly, he could hear Deadpool's deep, measured breaths. They were a metronome, almost keeping him centered… except, something about them was off and it was shifting him slightly off center, like he was tilting to the side. Only, he knew he wasn't because his chest was flat to his counter, but the sensation persisted. It made the orgasm building low in his belly fade just a little, made his hardness deflate just a little.

The phone was suddenly being placed in front of him again, and this close, he could hear the slick slide of flesh over flesh only this time it wasn't coming from him. Then Mark started talking. "Peter, I wish I was there right now. You sound amazing. Are you imagining my fingers in you? Because I am."

No. "Yeah," he lied, heart beating sickly in his chest. He needed something, needed to be centered somehow, but he didn't know how. Just having fingers in him, and no other contact was strange, made him feel adrift, and when he closed his eyes, even though he could feel Deadpool's scars, it was almost like Mark was the one fingering him in his kitchen. He needed more of Deadpool in him, needed a way to separate the two men, to stabilize himself in the here and now. "I- I think I'm ready. I want my dildo," he managed to say.

The fingers in him continued, but there was a split-second hesitation that told him Deadpool knew he wasn't loose enough, and then they slowed just a little. Not much, but noticeable enough.

"You've really haven't been using three fingers for long," Mark said slowly, his own hesitation clear in his voice. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"Please," Peter begged, and he couldn't have said to whom he was making his plea. The fingers in him hesitated for a split-second again, but Deadpool was just as silent as he'd been since he'd first gotten into Peter.

Mark chuckled. "What the hell, it's our anniversary. Yeah, you can you stick it to a wall or something, to fuck yourself on it?"

"Yes, yes!" His hips jerked in anticipation and he rolled them back, taking Deadpool's fingers into himself but already eager for the mercenary's cock. Just the thought of having that huge cock in him, filling him, stretching him almost beyond belief, was enough to make him fully hard again, though his orgasm remained a separated feeling, high and tight but like it was sitting on the other side of a wall.

"Eager, aren't you?" Mark laughed. "Okay, go ahead."

Peter held his breath and counted to 30, the fingers in him easing in their speed until they stilled entirely. He suddenly realized how hard he was breathing and tried to calm his frantic heart, but that off feeling was still there and he couldn't figure out how to relax. "Done. Can I please-?"

"You're really into this, Peter," Mark said, but once again, he sounded more amazed than accusatory. "Go ahead. I don't think I'll last long."

"Me either," Peter replied reflexively, even though he was nowhere close to coming, and for some reason, couldn't even remember in that moment what having an orgasm even felt like.

The fingers in him pulled out slowly, and then there was the slick head of a cock against his hole, pausing only for a moment before it breached him, pushing in so slowly and yet so satisfyingly, stretching him in a way he hadn't let the fingers do. He squeezed his eyes shut and let himself moan, the sound vibrating his throat as he was split in two.

"Oh jesus, Peter," Mark moaned over the phone, but Deadpool behind him remained silent. "What kind of dildo do you have that makes you sound like that?"

"Ah- ah- a really big one," Peter panted as a pelvis came to rest against his ass and stayed there. "It's massive. Biggest I've ever had"

"Where did you get it, Peter? Are you secretly a size queen?" Peter could hear Mark slowly jacking himself off, could feel the too-fast beat of his own heart around where he was wrapped around Deadpool, could feel his own dick pulse weakly, still only half-hard.

"It- it was a- a gift," he managed to say. Deadpool still hadn't moved yet, and Peter's body was slowly adjusting to the over-large intrusion. He really should have prepped with three fingers for longer, but he hadn't been able to wait. At least now the size and feel of the cock in him was unmistakable, breaking him open and brushing his prostate with scars on every breath. "I was a… a bottom virgin the first time I had it. It made me a size queen." It wasn't until after the words left his mouth that he realized he'd never told Deadpool that he'd been Peter's first, but Deadpool didn't react. It was as if he wasn't even there.

"Shit, Peter, that's so hot," Mark groaned. Peter tentatively rolled his hips and undulated his spine, and he slid halfway off Deadpool's cock then pushed back on. "I wish I could see it. I wish I could watch you open around a huge dick, watch the way you move when take it into you."

Deadpool was as still as a statue as Peter started to fuck himself on his dick, and it was almost like he really was just fucking himself on a dildo stuck to his wall. His skin was overly hot and he could feel sweat on his forehead and against his back, and the brush of leather against the back of his thighs and his ass every time he pushed back was almost irritating to his skin. He still felt off, especially without the familiar feel of large hands holding him bruisingly tight as the mercenary fucked him, but at least Peter could tell who was inside him, who was with him. And yet… every roll of his hips, every brush against his prostate, failed to send that pulse through his cock, failed to make him hard, just seemed to cool his insides as his skin burst into flames.

"I wanna fuck you with it, Peter," Mark was saying, voice oddly distant again, and yet, starkly clear over Peter's pants of exertion. For a moment, he wished Mark would just shut up and Deadpool would grab him and fuck him the way he always did. "I want to fuck you with your dildo. I wish I was standing in your kitchen right now, standing right behind you." Peter moaned, but not in pleasure. As soon as Mark said that, his world tilted and Mark was right behind him. "I'd fuck you with that cock like it was mine. Can you imagine it? Me, standing behind you right now, doing nothing but watching you work yourself on my cock. You look so good right now, Peter. I love the way you move, it's amazing. Like a snake."

Peter's hips faltered as confusion swamped him, throwing him out of his rhythm. Who was in him right now? It was Deadpool, wasn't it? But if it was Deadpool, he'd be holding Peter down. But Peter was already down, his cheek to his counter, his arms tied behind his ba… ck… No, no they weren't. He was holding them there. No one was pushing him down, no one was making him hold himself, Mark wasn't into that, but he couldn't figure out how to stand up. His hips stuttered again as his mind glitched, shifting and swapping the two men in his life until they were an amalgamation of one another, Deadpool's cock on Mark's body, Mark's voice in the air, Peter torn between them like thin paper.

"Shit, Peter, are you close? I'm so close. I want to come in you, you look so good. You're so tight and so hot, you make me want to come so hard."

Peter stuttered to a stop, breathing hard, his mind spinning and his body paralyzed, but his mouth opened and words fell out like someone else was controlling him. "I'm so close, I'm so ready to come. I need to come."

"Hng goood, yeah, come Peter, I wanna feel you come!"

He moaned mechanically, like he was coming, but he felt empty and cold and disconnected. He could barely feel the counter under his face or the floor under his feet. The cock in him was hard and still, but it was disconnected too: in him but unattached to anything, making him feel nothing. There was a long, drawn out "Fuuuck" but he didn't feel the dick in him move or pulse, didn't feel it soften.

"Shit, I made such a mess," Mark laughed, sounding breathless.

"Same. I need to clean my kitchen again," Peter replied, but the words felt dead in his mouth. He didn't remember thinking them, or even saying them. They just… were.

"Mmm, that was so good. I'm glad we gave that a try."

"Me too."

"But now I need to go shower and ask for some new sheets, I think. Also I should probably head to bed. Jet lag, you know?"

The laugh that left Peter's throat was so dry it almost made him cough.

"Happy anniversary, Peter. I'll call you later."

"You too. Bye."

There was a sudden silence that made Peter's head ache, that made him want to cry. Something was terribly wrong, but he was alone and adrift and he didn't know what to do. He didn't remember how to stand up anymore, couldn't remember how to do anything.

"That would have been hot if it had been me. Also if it wasn't hella fake. It was almost embarrassing. Do you really fool him with shit like that every time you have sex?"

The voice came from behind him, low and familiar and not Mark, but when Peter opened his mouth, nothing came out.

"How do you feel, baby boy?" Something about the world was shifting, but his vision was out of focus and he couldn't see. He couldn't tell if his eyes were even open.

"Sick," he replied automatically. It was the closest word to how he felt but still wasn't right. Nothing was right. He felt empty and his stomach volatile and his eyes wet and his body cold and he needed warmth and grounding but he had no words to ask for them.

"Well, you made your bed and now you're lying in it. Sorry if it doesn't suit your pretty little moral bedsheets." He knew that voice, but it wasn't Mark. It was another man, one he knew intimately, one he trusted, who always took care of him.


A sigh. "Yeah?"

"I feel sick."

A pause. "Yeah, you said…"

"I feel sick."


"I feel…"

"Fucking shit I'm so fucking stupid fuck!"


"Petey, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

He was supposed to listen to that voice… If he couldn't listen to anything else, he could listen to that. "Yeah…"

"Good boy." Something about those words chased away some of the chill, just for a moment, bit when it came back, it didn't feel so overwhelming as before. "Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?"

He couldn't see anything. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open. But he didn't want to disappoint the voice.

"Tell me the truth, no matter what, okay? Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?"


"That's okay. That's fine," the voice comforted. "Can you remember my name?"

Name… The voice's name… "Deadpool."

"Good, that's good. But can you remember my name?"

The other name meant something though, meant something that didn't fit in here.

"Say my name, Petey." But if he wanted it said, then Peter would say it.

"...Wade." Just saying it made the warmth sweep back through him again, this time strong enough that the chill didn't immediately follow on its heels.

"Good boy. Yes, that's- Oh. Oh? Hm… that's interesting." The cold was slowly fading, like ice in the face of a fire, but Peter still felt blind, adrift, untethered. "Tell me baby boy, when did you start feeling sick?"

It was hard to remembered when his anchor was severed, but the voice wanted to know and all Peter had to do was tell it the truth. That was all he ever had to do, and it would take care of everything. "You were in me but… But you weren't. You weren't touching me. He was in me too but you… You weren't touching me."

Something moved again but Peter didn't know if it was the world or himself or the voice. "I am the stupidest fucking motherfucker," it cursed. "God, I'm fucking sorry, Petey, we won't ever do that again. I'll make this better, I promise."

Of course it would, it always did. "'K."

"Do you trust me?"

Of course he did. It was the only voice he trusted with everything. "Yes."

"Good boy." More warmth, warmth that was actually staying, that was establishing itself on its own merit instead of just obliterating the chill. "Then I need you to try to focus for me. I'm going to tell you what's going on, and I want you to try and focus on those things. And all I want you to say is my name, can you do that for me sweetheart?"

It took a minute for the command to process. Then: "Wade."

"That's my good boy. You're doing fucking perfect, Petey," the voice complimented, and if Peter could smile, then he would have. There was something warm and solid against his cheek and he leaned into it. "God, you've got a constellation of tears on your lashes and you're gonna set fire to the ashes of everything you love, and you're the only one one holding the matches, baby boy."

Peter twitched at the words. There was something about them... Something… Familiar… Annoying.

"You recognize that? Then let's get you out of these clothes and back into your mind." Peter frowned but the voice continued. "Focus, Petey. You're undressed and you're lying on the floor in your kitchen. The tile is cold and hard against your back. Can you feel it?"

He tried to focus. There was a pressure against his shoulder blades, unforgiving and chilling against his overheated skin the length of his back, and it was slowly spreading across the rest of his skin. Smears of colour seemed to be filtering back into his vision but no shapes, not yet. But the voice hadn't asked about colours, it had asked about the floor, and Peter had to answer. "Wade."

"Good, that's good, Petey. Now, I want you to see if you can feel my hands on you. Can you feel my hand around your throat? Can you feel my hand around your wrists?"

There was… a soft pressure against his throat, tight, but not heavy, not restricting. It wasn't dangerous but rather comforting, keeping him still. And his arms… his arms were cold too, his shoulders stretched. There was another pressure at his wrists, this one harder, firmer, bruising, keeping his arms pinned. Between the two weights, Peter felt immobilized, but not in a way that screamed danger. More like he was being cradled, comforted. He tilted his head back and pulled on his wrists, and the pressures increased, forcing him back into stillness and he almost felt like purring. "Wade."

"Shit, baby boy, even coming out of 'drop you're still perfect. Can you feel me inside you? Because I am. I've got my dick all the way inside that pretty ass of yours and you tighten around me every time you say my name. Try to feel me, feel the way you're stretched around me, try to feel how hot I am in you. C'mon, Petey, you can do it."

The abstract smears of colours were starting to form shapes as Peter's mind and eyes started to clear, a blob of red slashed through with black over indistinct peach streaked with silver, but that still wasn't supposed to be his focus. His focus was supposed to be on the thickness in him, on the way he was being split in half and stroked from the inside out. On the fire in his belly, his own hardness between his legs. On the hardness pulling away and pushing back in, a steady rhythm, a metronome his heart could calm to and find pace with. He strained against the weight on his wrists again, arching off the cold, hard ground, trying to keep that thick heat in him. "Wade."

"Fuck yeah, baby boy. That's good, that's so good. I want you to try to focus on my face now. Connect my voice and my name with my face. Connect them with me being inside you, with me fucking you."

Peter's eyes felt dry suddenly and he blinked slowly, trying to ease the strain on them. The red above him was coalescing into the familiar sight of Deadpool's mask, rolled up to his nose, and the pink and silver took the shape of Deadpool's scarred chin and cheeks. The world was slowly starting to make sense again, the pieces starting to come together. It was like a connect-the-dots, colour-by-numbers book, the sensations against and around and in him clearing and forming a picture. And that picture was Deadpool, pinning him down with bare hands at his throat and wrists, forcing Peter's thighs wide with his hips as he slowly fucked Peter into his dirty kitchen floor. Slowly, the phone call with Mark, the phone sex, the illness, came back to him, but it still didn't really explain how he'd ended up here, or what that odd sick feeling had been.

The hand at his throat shifted, Deadpool's thumb sweeping across his jawline. His face got closer but Peter didn't have anywhere to go to avoid it, just like he had nowhere to go to avoid the cock fucking him slowly. He wasn't sure he wanted to. "Come back, baby boy. You were so close, don't slip away from me again." His voice was a soft whisper, cajoling, against Peter's mouth, and a soft kiss followed, one that Peter returned, even though his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, like he was half asleep. "You still with me?"

He nodded slowly. "What-"

The hand at his throat tightened, silencing him. "Shhh," Deadpool said, voice low and dark, warningly. "Did I say you could talk?"

Peter nodded his head because technically yes, but he could only say one thing so he shook his head, and then he frowned, unsure how to answer. Deadpool smiled and shifted his hand, raising the heel of his palm up just enough to brush his thumb over Peter's bottom lip. Peter's mouth fell open at the touch and Deadpool's smile darkened as his thumb dipped inside, the pad pushing against his tongue. Peter's lips closed around the scarred flesh of Deadpool's thumb, the familiar taste of death and sweat heavy on his tongue, oddly comfortable.

"What did I say you could say?" Deadpool asked as he pulled his thumb free, scraping his nail over Peter's lip, making the flesh sting.

"Wade," Peter answered, feeling breathless.

"Good boy," Deadpool practically growled as he closed the distance between them.

His mouth was hot and heavy, his tongue slow and thick. He always kissed like he fucked: if he was fucking Peter hard and fast, he kissed peter that way, but if he was fucking Peter slowly, like he was now, he kissed the same way. It was long and slow, mind-obliteratingly so, but not in the unanchored way before, each inhale snatched between few and far between breaks. It got harder to breath when Deadpool shifted just a little further into the cradle of Peter's knees, shifting the angle of his dick to brush over Peter's prostate with each thrust, sending waves of electricity through each limb with every touch.

He closed his eyes to lose himself in the sensation, to remember what his own body felt like and how Deadpool made it feel, but as soon as he did, the hand at his neck tightened and the kisses stopped although the hips pushing the thick line of heavy heat into him didn't. He whimpered as he opened his eyes, straining against the holds on his neck and wrists, trying to get that mouth to come back to him, but Deadpool just watched him silently for a long moment until Peter settled again, limbs trembling in a combination of effort and arousal.

"I want you to do one more thing for me, Petey," Deadpool murmured, voice soft and almost vibrating in the space between them. "I want you to keep your eyes open. Even when you come. I want you to keep your eyes on me while I fuck you. I think you can do that for me. Do you think you can do that for me, baby boy?"

Keeping his eyes open while he came was going to be difficult, but if Deadpool thought he could do it, if Deadpool wanted him to do it, then he would. He nodded and opened his mouth, only remembering at the last second the restrictions on his speech. "Wade."

Deadpool's hips hitched, a sharp forward movement that sent white spots across Peter's vision as he gasped. "Good boy," Deadpool panted, his thrusts returning to the forcibly slow and steady pace from before.

Staring into the white eyes of Deadpool's mask was strangely intimate, even in the face of what they were doing, what they had done. He couldn't see the other man's eyes, had no idea what colour they even were, but he knew they were fixed on his, like they were having some strange staring match. With Deadpool breathing against his mouth, with his pelvis slowly rocking against Peter, pushing his cock in with every thrust, with hands pinning his throat and wrists down, with arms blocking his view to the rest of the kitchen, it was almost like the world had disappeared behind their soft pants and the slick sound of Peter's hole getting fucked by an oversized cock.

It made him want to close his eyes and hide. It made him want to keep his eyes open and never leave.

He was fully hard, his own cock sandwiched between their bellies, Peter's bare and Deadpool's covered in familiar leather. it was a strange grind-and-slide, keeping him hard and caught as the slow brushes against his prostate made his core spiral tighter and tighter until he felt like the slightest touch would unspool him. But it couldn't. The only thing that could was Deadpool's allowance to do so. He just had to ask for it.

"Wade," he said, trying to inject his plea into the single symbol, hoping that Deadpool would understand what he needed.

"You ready to come, Petey?" Deadpool really did know him better than anyone else and wasn't that a thought that needed more time, another time.

He nodded and kept his mouth closed, not trusting himself not to break the rules the mercenary had set for him by breaking into more verbose begging like he normally had to do. In return, he got a smile and a soft kiss.

"If you can say my name while you come, then you can come whenever you want, baby boy."

Oh, that was easy. Peter had been doing that for so long now that he was almost surprised he hadn't come from saying it already. "Wade," he moaned, letting the warmth in his belly finally fall apart. It was hard to keep his eyes open, but he tried. "Wade, Wade, Wade," he chanted as his orgasm spread through his limbs, chasing away the chill and lighting up every nerve end with soft light.

"Yeah, baby boy. That's it. Fuck, that's it," Deadpool murmured rapidly against his mouth, his fingers tightening around Peter's throat and wrists. "You feel so good around me when you say my name. You make me come so hard, so much, I'm gonna fill you up, Petey." His hips pushed hard against Peter's ass for a slow moment before sliding back and easing forward again, several times, each time with that hard pause at the end. "Just like that, baby boy," Deadpool whispered as he took Peter's mouth again.

It was a little while before Peter's brain came fully back online, before he started slipping out of that strange, soft, floaty headspace he'd been in. Deadpool had kept him distracted with little kisses, with strokes of scarred fingers over the soreness in Peter's throat and wrists, with his weight keeping Peter pinned to the kitchen floor. But with the return of his conscious mind came all the little aches of their position and their location, from the press of the tile against his bones to the stretch in his shoulders.

It wasn't until Peter started to shift in discomfort that Deadpool finally unwrapped his hands from Peter's neck and wrists and sat back without pulling out. As Peter tried to relieve the soreness in his shoulders, Deadpool reached for something on the counter before he rocked back on his heels, his cock dragging across Peter's sensitive walls on the way out, making him shudder. He shuddered again a second later when the familiar feel of his now-cold plug was pushed into him. Deadpool's fingers lingered, tracing the muscle wrapped around the base of the plug, and Peter started to shake in earnest. Which was when he remembered that he'd been laying naked on the freezing floor of his kitchen for at least half an hour and he should probably get dressed.

"I know you prefer to kick me out after I fuck you," Deadpool said suddenly as Peter was pulling his jeans back on, surprising him into stillness; he'd been so focused on getting warm that he hadn't even given any thought to the after. "But before you do, I want you to think back on when I first came back from that super-long mission. Do you remember how you felt the next few days or so?"

How could Peter forget? It was the first time he'd felt acute depression in his life, or that's what it seemed like he'd gone through when he'd Googled the symptoms after they passed three days later. He hadn't had the energy to get out of bed, or the will. He'd been cold and empty and had ignored every phone call and knock on his door, just stayed wrapped up in his all his blankets, hugging his pillows, until biology forced him to go to the bathroom. He hadn't eaten or drank anything the entire time either because he hadn't been hungry or thirsty. For those few days, he hadn't been anything.

Originally he'd thought that it might have been guilt, for letting Deadpool come back and fuck him like he'd never left, like Peter wasn't being a giant bag of dicks by cheating on his boyfriend who'd been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding. But then time passed, and Deadpool kept coming back, and Peter kept letting him, and he kept feeling guilty, but that strange depression had never returned.

"Yeah," was all he said instead. Just remembering those days was like summoning a ghost to haunt him with a phantom presence of that awful sensation. He pulled his shirt back on, keeping the long sleeves over his fingers and wishing for a sweater.

"Let me stay for a little and you won't have to feel that again." There was a warmth around his ankles and Peter looked down to find Deadpool's hands, gloved once again, wrapped around the delicate looking bones, two firm cuffs like anchors. "Promise."

He never wanted to feel that terrible loneliness again, and if enduring Deadpool's presence for a little while longer was all it took to stave it off, then endure he would. He was already feeling something, maybe not that depression of before, but almost. It took the form of a need he felt to his core to be wrapped up in a crushing hug, to be rendered immobile by warm arms and maybe, just maybe, just once, he could allow himself to accept Deadpool's freely-given affection without fighting both the mercenary and himself tooth and nail.


Peter mostly expected Deadpool to get sexual again; it wasn't uncommon for him to take Peter several times in a row thanks to his unnatural stamina, and it was probably only because of Peter's enhancements that he was even able to keep up. And Deadpool did get handsy, but it was the least sexual it had ever been. Instead, Deadpool treated him like he had when Peter'd been injured: he settled on the couch with Peter cradled between his legs and leaning against his chest, put on a movie on which he kept a low commentary going in Peter's ear, and plied Peter with water and granola bars that Peter was only half sure came from one of Deadpool's pouches.

Even while Deadpool fed him, he kept one hand on Peter at all times, either on his chest or in his hair, and after, when Peter couldn't take any more, he kept one hand on Peter's chest and the other in Peter's hair. He petted and stroked Peter, luring him into a drowsy state with his soft, comforting touches and his low voice and his furnace-like body heat, the grounding comfort of hard muscles surrounding him, ones that Peter knew without a doubt would be used to protect him at all costs. It was a knowledge that he felt down to his bones, even though he didn't understand it.

Halfway through the movie, or so Peter guessed, his phone rang from the island counter on the other side of the room. It took him a moment to place the ringtone, but it was the same song from earlier, the one Deadpool had chosen for Mark: ♪ B-B-B-Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark

"It's your boyfriend," Deadpool whispered, as if Mark could hear them. It was their one year anniversary, but Mark was in Dubai and Deadpool was here.

"Mhm," he agreed as he turned his head and tilted his chin up to take a kiss. He kissed Deadpool until his phone stopped ringing. And then he kissed him some more, until the movie ended and the credits faded into silence. After that, time lost all meaning as he fell into the rabbit hole of Deadpool's soft kisses and warm hands. Until a faint buzzing penetrated the haze in Peter's mind and he emerged feeling dazed.

Deadpool pulled away with an annoyed growl and a small shift, the hand in Peter's hair disappearing. He pulled out a flip phone from an out-of-sight pouch and answered it in snappy not-English that Peter didn't have enough brain power to try to identify. The hand on his chest slid up to cup his throat as Deadpool continued to talk to his caller in the same foreign language, the mercenary's thumb caressing the tendon in his neck between ear and collarbone. Finally, the phone snapped shut and Peter closed his eyes, prepared to return to the silence of before, but instead, Deadpool sat up with an irritated sigh.

"I'm sorry, baby boy, but I gotta go," Deadpool said, sounding apologetic as he slid out from behind Peter, lowering him gently into the warm spot he'd just vacated.

"You're leaving me too?" Peter grumbled, peeved. Mark was in Dubai and now Deadpool was abandoning him to wherever.

Deadpool crouched next to Peter's head and ran his black-gloved fingers through his hair. "Sorry, sweetheart. Gotta make a little money. But-!" he paused and pulled a vaguely familiar button on part of a broken metal belt out of a pouch and held it up. "I'm only a call or text and a teleport away."

But that would mean that Peter would have to initiate contact and that… that he just couldn't do. He rolled his head away, breaking eye contact to stare up at his ceiling. "I'm never going to call or text you," he said.

"I know, baby boy. I know." Deadpool ruffled his hair and pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead, and then his mouth, before standing up, his bulky form towering over Peter. He looked powerful. Intimidating.


Peter blinked away the unwanted thought and then closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind. He opened them again at the sound of his living room window sliding open, a question already on his lips.

"Why are you so nice to me when I'm never nice to you?"

Deadpool paused with one leg already out the window and his hand raised to pull his mask back down.


"Baby boy," he said with a soft little smile that made Peter want to look away, "it takes as much effort to love you as it does to hate myself."


That… made no sense. "How much is that?" he asked, more curious than he wanted to be.

"A hell of a lot less than it takes for you to hate me," Deadpool said as he pulled his mask back down. It felt like he was closing himself away from Peter, like there was a separation from the Deadpool he knew and the Deadpool everyone else did, and his was disappearing beneath the red leather.

Peter frowned. "it doesn't take any effort to hate you," he argued.

Deadpool ducked out the window and crouched on the other side, masked face cast in shadow. As he closed the window, a whispered accusation floated inside, filling the room and suffocating Peter with its weight:



Mark was so excited to see Peter. He was usually happy to see his boyfriend, but today was special. Peter might not be excited to see him at his door, after all, he was a private person and rarely invited Mark over, preferring to be at Mark's, but Mark hoped that that would change after he revealed his surprise. Because he really liked Peter and the last year and a half with him had been some of the best months in Mark's life. Hopefully he'd get a lot more of that happiness in the years to come.

He paused in front of Peter's door and straightened himself up from the ridiculous climb up the stairs since Peter's apartment building didn't have an elevator, but hopefully that would change soon too. After he was settled, he carefully tested the doorknob, hoping to find it unlocked like it always was, and breathed a sigh of both relief and annoyance when he found it just so; Peter never seemed to take his own safety seriously, which was bad enough in a neighborhood like this, and he always refused to lock his door.

The hinges were thankfully silent when Mark pushed slowly on the knob and he carefully slipped inside Peter's apartment. It was shadowy inside, no lights on despite the setting sun, and quiet. It took him a moment to adjust to the darkness, but when it did, he looked to the couch first, but there was no one there. He didn't move as he scanned the open space of the studio, wary of making a noise on the wood floors, but then he saw someone in the kitchen. He opened his mouth to greet his boyfriend and then he realized something crucial: the figure at the sink wasn't Peter.

There was a Mask in Peter's apartment, someone dressed in red and black with what looked like two swords strapped to his back. His heart started pounding immediately, adrenaline shooting through his system. He wanted to ask what the stranger had done to and/or with his boyfriend, but he was starkly aware of the danger he might have found himself in and he was terrified. Not just for himself, but for Peter, his short, underweight, college student boyfriend who probably couldn't fight off a fly. Then the mask moved and Mark was frozen for a different reason.

Because Peter was there, standing with his back pressed to the stranger's chest, a soapy dish in his hands. The mask was wrapped around his boyfriend, an arm around Peter's shoulder and the other… The mask's other hand was around his boyfriend's cock. Peter's jeans were pushed down below his ass, and when the stranger rocked back, Mark could see the his dick appear and then disappear between Peter's cheeks.

His boyfriend of a year and a half was getting fucked by another man. While he was washing a plate.

"Last one, baby boy, then you can ask," a deep voice murmured, carrying across the apartment to Mark, who wished he hadn't heard it, who wished that he could just leave, but he was frozen, rooted in place.

"Deadpool," his boyfriend murmured back, and didn't that send a new streak of terror through Mark. Because he knew that name. Anyone who watched the news knew that name. Deadpool was a mercenary, an assassin for hire, and immortal. And he had Mark's boyfriend in his arms and on his cock. Was what Mark walked in on what he thought it was? Was Peter cheating on him or was he being forced into whatever was going on?

"Go on, Petey, one last dish." 'Petey'? Peter hated that name. He always freaked when Mark used it - too many memories of... his… ex… "You're so close. I'm so close. Finish up so we can come, yeah?"

Even from his spot near the front door, Mark could see the way Peter's hands trembled as Deadpool stroked an audibly slick hand over his cock, making him curl over the sink. It took two more strokes and another slow thrust from the mercenary before Peter raised the plate and a sponge, and Mark suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. But he couldn't move.

"Where is your boy tonight anyway, sweetheart?" Deadpool asked, his low, quiet voice almost blending with the silence of the room. And why did that question sound familiar?

"He's- he's uh- busy," Peter panted, the shake in his hands increasing so much that it was a wonder he could even hold the plate at all. It was a wonder Mark was even here, witnessing this.

"Does he know you're the last good thing in this part of town?" That- Jesus christ, Mark was never going to be able to listen to Fall Out Boy again.

"You-" Peter started and then cut off as Deadpool rocked into him hard, making him bend all over the sink so far that he was almost in it.

"Uh-uh, concentrate, baby boy. Or do you not wanna come tonight?" 'Tonight'. So it wasn't forced. Mark felt sick. How long had this been going on? How long had Peter been cheating on him? How long had his soft, kind Peter been allowing a man who killed for money to fuck him? Behind Mark's back?

"No! Please-" Christ, Peter sounded desperate. In a way that he had never with Mark, not once. Was this man the reason why Peter never seemed interested in sex? Had Mark not been good enough? Had he not cared enough?

"Okay, okay, it's alright. Shhh," Deadpool hushed, the arm around Peter's shoulders shifting as he smoothed his hand up Peter's chest to wrap around his throat. And even though it was clearly not by force that Peter was letting the mercenary fuck him, the move still scared Mark, made him scared for Peter. "Finish up and you can come, I promise."

Peter's hand almost blurred as it scrubbed over the plate, like he couldn't wait to let go of it. It slipped out of his hand and splashed into the sink. Deadpool let a disappointed "Petey…" and Peter snarled, snatched the dish out of the water, and flung it at the floor where it shattered on impact.

"Jesus fucking christ are you happy now will you just-" Peter stopped suddenly as the hand around his neck visibly tightened, cutting off his words and his air. Mark wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but he had nothing to fight with. Unless Deadpool was allergic to roses. And even if he did have something to fight with, there was no way that this was a fight that he could win. He was a big guy, he liked to work out, but he didn't know how to fight, and Deadpool was still bigger than him.

"Tsk tsk," Deadpool tutted, softly, dangerously. It was a tone that sent shivers down Mark's spine. "You know better than that. If you can't be a good boy, you don't get treats."

Mark had tried to say the same thing to Peter once before, after the amazing phone sex they'd had on their anniversary six months ago, but Peter had reacted just as badly as when Mark had called him 'Petey'. Now he knew why. Had Peter ever been Mark's? Or had he been Deadpool's their entire relationship? If Peter had Deadpool, why did he even get involved with Mark in the first place? He closed his eyes, unwilling to watch any further. He couldn't move, was still terrified to drawing the attention of a mercenary like Deadpool, but he didn't have to watch his relationship falling to pieces in front of his eyes. But then Peter whimpered and Mark's eyes snapped open.

Deadpool's hand was still wrapped around Peter's throat, and his other around Peter's cock, stroking it in time with his slow thrusts, but Peter had released the sink with one hand to raise it up and behind himself, fingers gripping the back of Deadpool's neck to anchor the mercenary in a kiss. An obscene kiss, sloppy-sounding and interspersed with pants and grunts and more little whimpers.

"Please let me come, Wade," Peter begged between the annoying smack and slurp of their lips separating and coming together again. Apparently he was on a first name basis with the dangerous assassin he was letting fuck him, which really shouldn't surprise Mark at this point. He was letting Deadpool fuck him, why wouldn't he know and use the man's name?

"Idunno, baby boy," Apparently-Wade replied, voice slow and teasing. Did he always have a southern accent? "That was pretty cheat-y of you. I told you all you had to do was wash one more and then you'd get to come. But you didn't wash it, did you? You broke it. Should I punish you instead? I could teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way. After all, I don't have to fuck you, do I?"

"N-no no!" Peter stuttered, like the words couldn't leave his mouth fast enough. "Please! Please fuck me! Please make me come, Wade!" He sounded frantic, desperate, like not getting to come would be the end of him. It sent a wave of shame through Mark, a feeling of inadequacy from his inability to make Peter sound like that, even though he logically knew that none of this was his fault, whether he was a satisfying partner in bed or not. "You feel so good, please don't pull out. Please…" Peter trailed off when the hand at his throat tightened again, easing him back into silence.

"If you can tell me how good I feel, I'll let you come, Petey, but this is your last chance, okay?" Deadpool murmured, pressing kisses to the side of Peter's face.

"Okay. I can do that," Peter panted. "Okay."

"Tell me how much better my dick feels inside you than your boyfriend's." Mark barely suppressed the sensation of his stomach rebelling and acid rising in his throat. Just having to bear witness to this had been unbearable, but now, it was torture. He blinked for a long moment, and then, with a heart-stopping jolt of fear, he realized Deadpool's head had turned and he was staring at Mark, something Mark could just tell, even through the mask he wore. Staring at Mark as he fucked Mark's boyfriend, staring and grinning, a terrifyingly sharp thing like a predator had just spotted prey. And his skin… what the hell was wrong with his skin? "I don't wanna be the footnote to your happiness baby boy, I wanna be the fucking headliner. So, tell me how much better I fill you up, baby boy," Deadpool said without breaking eye contact, like he was laying his claim on the man they'd both been involved with. Peter is mine and always will be. "Tell me how much better I fuck you."

The "Fuck you, Deadpool," from Peter surprised Mark, especially the vehemency of his tone. Apparently, it surprised Deadpool too, or made him feel something, because he broke his white-eyed-masked gaze from Mark and turned back to Peter, tucking his face against Peter's neck. Deadpool must have done or said something because Peter's back suddenly arched and he let out a small cry before he collapsed back against Deadpool's chest, trembling.

"You always know how to fuck me better than anyone else," Peter said, voice shaking as he undulated against Deadpool, as if he was trying to fuck himself on the dick still moving in and out of him, steady as a metronome. "You've always fucked me better than anyone else. Kissed me better. Everything-ed me better." It sounded like a grudging confession, pulled out like a rotten tooth. The fact that it was grudging didn't make it any easier to bear, though: shit was still shit, no matter what it was packaged in. "Every time you fuck me, I feel empty for days afterwards and my plug never helps." Peter's voice dropped, almost disappearing amongst the sounds of slick skin sliding against one another. "I hate it."

"As much as you hate me, baby boy?" Deadpool asked, stunning Mark. Deadpool had sounded completely serious, as if Peter did actually hate him and he was used to it, but that… made no sense? Why would Peter let a man he hated fuck him? Why would he throw away a relationship of a year and a half on someone he hated? Mark wanted answers, needed them, but apparently Deadpool didn't because he didn't wait for one, instead turning Peter's head away from Mark to kiss him again.

Maybe he kissed Peter because he knew an answer wasn't coming. Because when they separated, Peter acted as if Deadpool hadn't asked him anything in the first place. He just repeated his earlier request in that hoarse, quiet voice of his: "Please let me come, Wade."

"Mmm…. I suppose you've earned a treat," Deadpool hummed, hooking his chin over Peter's shoulder, like he was trying to watch his hand around Peter's cock. "Yeah, I wanna feel you come on my cock and I wanna see you come in my hand. C'mon, baby boy, give me what I want."

Peter let out a sound that seemed half-moan, half-sigh and went first rigid and then boneless in Deadpool's arms, sinking against the mercenary as Deadpool continued to stroke him, continued to fuck him. He didn't stop until Peter was trembling and whimpering, the fingers curled around the back of Deadpool's neck and around the edge of the sink trembling so wildly that they kept slipping from their purchases.

"God, you were fuckin' perfect, Petey," Deadpool whispered as he kissed Peter again. It took Mark a second to realize that he should have left while they were fucking because now that they were done, he couldn't get out quietly. Or without a confrontation. But maybe that was for the best. As long as Deadpool left Peter alone so Mark could talk to him, or rather, yell at him, scream and cry at him, without a witness that might be inclined to behead him at any time. "You're always fuckin' perfect."

Deadpool kept kissing Peter for a bit longer, until Peter had calmed, then he pulled something out of a pouch on his utility belt before leaning back far enough for his cock to slip free. Mark could see a bit of white in Peter's hole before something black was pushed in; a familiar plug to stopper the flood of come. When the mercenary shifted, Mark could see his massive cock hanging in the v of his unzipped pants, and it was the kind of behemoth cock that would wreck someone of Peter's size. Had, in fact, or so it seemed. It was wrecking Mark too, but not in the fun way. Because so many things that had confused Mark about Peter since they started dating were starting to come together, and it was altogether forming a picture that Mark didn't like. Not one bit.

There was the stark image of Peter freaking when Mark called him 'Petey' contrasting with the way Peter had moaned when Deadpool had said it; Mark could only conclude that Deadpool was Peter's ex, but it still left him confused as to if they'd been broken up the entire time or if they'd gotten back together later. Was all this just a game to them? Was Mark just a game to them? Because then there was the memory of how well Peter had responded to Mark's attempt at Dominance during their anniversary's phone sex versus how poorly he'd responded when Mark had tried it again when he'd gotten back, and how well he'd responded just now to Deadpool doing the same thing. Peter had said that he'd had a dildo, a 'massive' one, but he hadn't talked about it or brought it out to play since that phone call, and one glimpse of Deadpool's cock definitely confirmed it as 'massive'. Had Deadpool been here when Mark had called? Had he fucked Peter in Mark's place? Had he been the one pulling Peter's plug out to fuck him before putting it back in? And jesus christ the plug. Peter had said that he "just liked the way it felt", but apparently it was there because Deadpool didn't like to wear condoms - thank fuck Peter always made Mark wear one. But even so, how often had Peter come over, already slick, like he'd lubed up, and Mark had fucked him? How many times had Mark fucked Peter while he was still full of Deadpool's come?

Mark's stomach rebelled again and he almost threw up where he stood.

"Do you feel empty right now, baby boy?" Deadpool was murmuring as he pulled Peter's jeans back up, tucking Peter's cock away and hiding the base of the black plug behind a screen of denim. "Maybe we should get you something bigger, something that will fill you like I do so you never have to feel alone."

Peter shook his head, though from where he was leaning against Deadpool, it was more like he rolled his head back and forth across the mercenary's chest. "I can't. I can't handle anything bigger while I'm Sp-"

"Uh-oh, baby boy," Deadpool interrupted suddenly, cutting Peter off. "Looks like you've got company."

Deadpool wasn't looking at Mark, but Mark could feel the assassin's attention on him, dark and heavy. Peter, however, seemed to remain oblivious. "I didn't hear anyone knock."

"Petey, I'd be surprised if you could hear anything with the sounds you make when I'm in you-" And wasn't that just salt in the wound, that Deadpool could make Peter sound like that while Mark had always just thought that Peter was quiet in bed "-but I don't think he knocked."

Peter stiffened, standing straight up in Deadpool's arms before his head turned towards Mark. He took in Mark's appearance: his suit and the bouquet of roses clutched in one hand, and blinked a long, slow blink, like he had recognized the end was here but wished it was still a far-off dream. He pulled away from the mercenary but didn't go far, just walked around the corner of the little island that separated his kitchen and his living room. The same island he'd said he was bent over during their one phone sex session, the same island that Deadpool had probably fucked him into while Mark was oblivious on speakerphone. Deadpool bent over to prop his elbows on the island counter and his chin in his hands, watching curiously, but Peter just put his hands in his pockets, gaze aimed at the floor somewhere between himself and Mark.

"How long were you standing there?" Peter asked, his quiet voice weary and resigned and so soft that it hardly even disturbed the quiet that had fallen over the apartment.

Mark opened his mouth to reply, but he didn't know exactly what to say. Nor did he know how to fix the sudden dryness in his mouth and throat, making even swallowing a difficult task.

"Mmm… I think he got in right before you got Greek with your plate, baby boy," Deadpool said after a minute, and both Mark and Peter turned their heads towards him.

"You knew he was here?" Peter asked, voiced a strange mix of incredulous and dangerous. Deadpool shrugged, and a moment later, Peter went tense again. "Is that why you tried to one-up him while you were fucking me? Because you wanted him to hear what you wanted me to say? That was cruel, Deadpool." For a second, Mark thought it was odd that Peter had gone back to calling the mercenary 'Deadpool', and then he remembered that he didn't care and he had no desire to find out or know why.

Deadpool straightened and pointed a finger at Peter. "Cruel is practically my middle name, baby boy. But if anyone here is cruel, it's you. Stringing me and the jamoke along so that you can have the best of both of us? Now that's cruel, Petey. You can't have honestly expected that this wouldn't all catch up with you at some point, could you have? You're smarter than that. You were just waiting. "

Mark hated that he even agreed with what Deadpool was saying. Especially since Deadpool knew that Peter was dating him and hadn't cared anyway. He felt like a fool, the last to know that there was a love triangle in place that he didn't belong in. Not that he wanted to belong in one. He had only wanted Peter, but apparently Peter had come as a part of a packaged deal and Mark just hadn't seen the other half until now.

"I can just kill him, Petey." Mark's heart stopped again and the nausea returned with a vengeance. "I know I've been wanting to for a while. He-"

"No," Peter cut in curtly, dismissing the mercenary by turning back to face Mark. He took a step forward and Deadpool snapped a hand around, gloved fingers wrapping around Peter's wrist and making Peter's body go rigid and his face hard. "Pancakes."

Mark frowned in confusion but Deadpool released Peter immediately and stood up straight.

"Let me stay, at least" Deadpool said, voice soft, almost pleading.

"I don't want you within sniper's distance of my apartment," Peter took another step forward, away from Deadpool and closer to Mark, but Mark was paralyzed at the word 'sniper'. "I don't want to see you again today."

Deadpool was stock still for a moment, his face hidden by his mask, and Mark could only hope he wasn't about to bolt around the island and pin Mark to the door with the swords on his back. Or maim him in any other way. At last, he bit out a sharp "Fine" and strode away from Peter, and Mark, and ducked out a window. After it closed, he crouched there for an uncomfortably long time, during which Mark couldn't remember how to breath, knowing that the mercenary's sight was probably on him, and then the red and black form turned away and disappeared over the railing of the fire escape.

Peter walked over to the windows and drew the curtains, throwing the apartment into darkness that he thwarted a moment later with a click of the lamp next to the couch. He looked up at Mark and then down at the piece of furniture, and then back up at Mark. "It's safe," he said, voice confident, sure. Mark was, grudgingly, inclined to believe him, if only because he had walked right up to the windows and was still standing next to them. "Do you want to talk?"

"Oh, I want to do more than talk," Mark found himself saying, his anger at Peter's betrayal starting to surface. He was still trembling with fear, his heart was still broken, but he forced his fury to heat up, to block out everything else. He strode over to the couch and sat on the far end and waited until Peter sat down on the other side before he pointed at him. "You first," he demanded, dropping the roses on the coffee table. "Tell me everything."

Hours after Mark had left, Peter's ears were still ringing from their fallout. And it had been a fallout. Well, half of a fallout. A one-sided fallout. Because Mark had been angry and sad and everything inbetween, Peter had been… numb. So: Mark had quickly escalated from sitting on the couch, talking with Peter, to yelling and crying as he paced. Peter, however, didn't move, just sat curled in the opposite corner of the couch, quietly answering every question Mark had, as long as it didn't connect him to Spider-Man. Peter stayed there while Mark stormed out and for a long while afterwards, until the chill in his chest seemed to spread to his limbs and he had to get up for a sweater. But then he just ended up standing at his dresser, staring into space. In his hoodie.

Fingers under his chin made him blink in surprise as his head was turned and tilted, and he found himself under a too-close Deadpool's scrutiny. Or rather, his cheek. Peter winced. He'd forgotten about that. He hadn't actually expected Deadpool to come back tonight either, or else he would have taken care of it. If he'd remembered.

"I was only half-joking before but now I really am going to kill him," Deadpool snarled, the harsh anger in his voice at odds with the gentle thumb tracing the outline of the bruise on Peter's cheek where Mark had taken a swing at him and Peter had let it happen.

Peter sighed and felt his body start to wake up from the stationary pose he'd accidentally taken up for who knew how long. "No, you're not," he corrected, stepping away from Deadpool's touch and around the man himself, intent on getting away from the bed, just in case. He didn't think he could deal tonight and since Deadpool came back, he wasn't sure if his safewording still applied to the day in the unstable mercenary's mind. "I deserved it." And he did. He deserved a lot worse than one hit, but that's where Mark had stopped, and Peter hadn't pushed him to continue; just because he deserved it didn't mean he wanted to go through with a beatdown, even from a non-powered human.

Deadpool's footsteps as he followed Peter into his kitchen were silent, even if the man wasn't. "Petey, listen. I keep my jealousy close 'cause it's all mine, just like I wish you were-" Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes at yet another FOB lyric but didn't bother to tell Deadpool to stop - he'd given up at this point, "-but even if I didn't, I'd sure as fuck would never hit you."

Peter filled a glass with water and drained in a second, ignoring Deadpool. The dead feeling in his chest was starting to fade and his emotions were starting to wake, like a dragon from hibernation, angry and fiery. He slammed the glass into the sink so hard that it probably cracked, but he was already rounding on Deadpool. "You don't get a fucking say in this, Deadpool. What happened with Mark and me is between Mark and me. If I said I deserved it, then I fucking deserved it. Did you want him to hit you instead? Mark was a nice, sweet guy who wouldn't have stood a chance against you, and you fucking know it. Now shut up and get out. I told you I didn't want to see you again today."

Peter took a breath, and suddenly realized that Deadpool was in civies. He still wore his mask and gloves and katana, but he was in a hoodie and jeans. It was the first time Peter had ever seen him without his suit. It was… strange. And he still managed to look massive within the baggy clothes. "What the fuck?" he breathed under his breath. And then louder, "What the hell are you wearing?"

"You like?" Deadpool asked, straightening from his loom over Peter. He moved to pick something off his thigh and pull it out to the side and moved like he was dipping into a curtsy, and then stopped and stood up straight again. "Wait, I'm not wearing a dress. It's just civies?" he ventured, sounding as confused as Peter felt.

"I've only ever seen you in your suit." Why was this so weird? It was just a hoodie and jeans, but they made Deadpool seem… Well, Peter wasn't sure. They just made him feel… odd.

"Oh!" Deadpool brightened. "Probably because I always come to see you right before a mission so I can see you before I go. Or right after, 'cause I missed you." That made Peter feel weird too and he didn't know why. "But you made me go to my room so I got clean and put on my outside clothes and went for a walk. But then I found myself by your place and I wanted to check on you."

The sentiment was sweet, but it set Peter on edge and just made him angry again, for reasons he couldn't explain. "I told you I didn't want to see you again today," he snapped, turning away and walking back towards the living room. He hadn't cleaned up after Mark left, and the roses and the… other thing were still sitting on his coffee table.

"But it's not today anymore!" Deadpool protested. Peter frowned. Was it already past midnight? He checked his watch and then glared at the 10:30 staring back at him. "It's tonight!" Peter whirled and glared, ready to snap, but Deadpool's attention wasn't on him. It was on his coffee table. Or rather, probably what was on it.

Before he could say anything, Deadpool was pushing past him and striding over to the table. The black box was dwarfed by his hand, and when he snapped it open, the gold ring inside gleamed in the lamplight from its bed of black velvet. "What the fuck is this?"

Peter darted forward and snatched the ring box from Deadpool's hand, snapping it closed and throwing it through his open bedroom door. "It's none of your fucking business," he snarled, temper flaring to life like a roaring flame in his chest. He turned away again, determined to slam his bedroom door in Deadpool's face, but a hand at his wrist grabbed tight and yanked him back around. "Let go of me, Deadpool," he warned.

"Tell me what the fuck that was," Deadpool repeated, voice just as low, just as threatening. It was that voice, the one that usually made Peter listen, but there was a tint to his vision and a roar in his ears and he didn't want to obey. He wanted to scream and scratch, he wanted to punch, he wanted to hurt.

"You know exactly what it fucking was," Peter snapped, yanking his wrist free. He shoved at Deadpool and he must have caught the mercenary by surprise because he stumbled backwards even though Peter hadn't used any of his super-strength. "Mark was a nice guy. He was going to propose to me. And then you-" he shoved Deadpool again, and Deadpool stumbled another step backwards "-you had to fuck it up. You always fuck up everything!" In the deepest part of himself, Peter knew that wasn't true, that it could never be strictly just Deadpool's fault, but he didn't want to listen to that part of himself. He wanted to grieve. He wanted to punish.

He shoved Deadpool again, this time putting enough of his strength behind it to send the mercenary sprawling to the floor. "You wanted to make me feel good. You wanted to catch me. You wanted to take me. Well then here, fucking have me." He bent over and ripped Deadpool's jeans open, the sound of denim tearing a harsh sound to accompany his harsher breathing. Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, Deadpool was already hard, and Peter spat in his hand, slicking his fist down the thick cock. Deadpool sucked in a breath and and his hips arched up into Peter's touch, and Peter shoved them angrily back down.

"Don't fucking move," he warned as he pulled away to strip off his jeans and yank out his plug. The silicone landed on the hardwood next to his foot and bounced and rolled away as Peter kneeled over Deadpool's waist and sat on his dick, taking the whole length into himself faster than he ever had before. It hurt, being stretched that quickly, being filled that full that fast, but he gritted his teeth and took it.

"Holy shit, baby boy," Deadpool gasped, gloved hands sliding up Peter's thighs to his ass and then his waist. "This was a red mask song but now you're puttin' all your anger on. You wear it so fucking sexy too."

Peter growled, grabbed Deadpool's hands, and pinned them to the floor above the mercenary's head with one of his own. "First of all, I fucking told you to stay still," he said as he pulled on one of the katana's hilts until it cleared the sheath. "But since you can't fucking listen, I guess I'll have to make you." As he raised the sword, he had a split-second vision of crucifying Deadpool to his floor, but even with the amount and strength of hate he felt towards the man under him, he couldn't cause that kind of harm to anyone, not even Deadpool. So it went through the ends of both of Deadpool's hoodie's sleeves instead, keeping his arms pinned in place above his head.

"Second, you want to attribute Fall Out Boy lyrics to our relationship so bad? How about this one?" He bent down and put his face so close to Deadpool's masked one that their noses brushed when they breathed. He stared at the white eyes of the mask and hoped that Deadpool was looking back at him, that he could see the rage in Peter's eyes. The hate. "Your love-" he spat the word out, mocking it "-filled me up with novocaine and now I'm just numb. I don't feel a fucking thing for you."

He glared as he sat back up and planted his hands on Deadpool's chest so that Peter could start to ride his cock.. "Third," he ground out as his body tried to adjust to the size of the penetration he was forcing himself to take in again and again, "shut. the fuck. up." Peter rocked back on his heels and lifted himself into a crouch, and then he started to fuck himself on Deadpool's cock.

He could feel the burn in his thighs almost immediately from how far he had to pull himself up and off the monstrous length in him, but it was nothing compared to the burn in his chest. No one had ever made him feel anything like what Deadpool could, both physically and emotionally. He'd never felt such pleasure at anyone else's hands, and no one else had ever made him so angry. Deadpool was a double-edged sword that Peter couldn't stop picking up and playing with, even as he knew it would cut him the moment he touched it. He was like a drug, pushing Peter higher than he thought he could ever fly and making him crasher harder than he ever thought he could fall. And every time Peter thought he'd pulled free, he relapsed as fast as if he'd never recovered in the first place.

Deadpool had remained miraculously quiet while Peter worked himself into a frenzy, fucking himself until he was just as hard as Deadpool and his skin was dripping with sweat. He was silent, but staring, the white eyes fixed on Peter making him self-conscious, making his anger skip beats like a scratched CD. Peter hated the way those eyes watched him, always watching him, always while he was falling apart. Because even though he'd started this, he was falling to pieces while Deadpool seemed to be as put-together as he always was. Peter hated it, being the sole focus of the mercenary's attention. Even after nearly three years, he still couldn't get comfortable with the obsession Deadpool seemed to have for him.

"I wish there was a way I could fuck you with your face in the floor," he said instead. "I don't want to look at it anymore." He knew the words were harsh when he said them, but the burning in his chest was crawling up his throat and he needed to let it out before he self-combusted.

"You can fuck me, if you want," Deadpool said suddenly, startling Peter and ruining his rhythm. He stuttered to a stop, sitting on Deadpool's pelvis. "Roll me over and top me. Just spit-lube up and push in me, Petey. I might bleed a little but ignore that; I'll heal."

Peter... top... Deadpool? The thought had never occurred to Peter. Not once. The thought didn't appeal to him either. It should, he should want to ruin Deadpool the way Deadpool had ruined him, but Peter couldn't even picture being inside the mercenary, he could only picture Deadpool being in him.

"I thought I told you to shut up," Peter said, as if Deadpool hadn't just offered him a chance to switch places for once, for Peter to take full control.

He yanked his hoodie off, lifted the bottom of Deadpool's mask just enough to shove the end of his sleeve in Deadpool's mouth, and then draped the rest of his hoodie over Deadpool's face, hiding him from view. Without Deadpool's suit, Peter could almost imagine that he was fucking someone else. Almost. The thick, heavy length in him was hard to ignore, and the scars rubbing at his prostate, even harder.

Insults were stuck in his throat. He wanted to tell Deadpool that he hated him, words that had come so easily to him in the early days of their… whatever it was they had. Words that had come so easily earlier that same day.

"Do you love him?" The storm had passed, all the screaming and yelling and throwing things, and Mark was standing in Peter's doorway, his hand on the knob. The ring he'd bought and the roses he'd brought were still on the table, left like a reminder of what they'd both lost.

"Deadpool? Are you asking if I love Deadpool?" Peter asked incredulously, the first real emotion he'd felt in hours. "I've never hated anyone more."

Mark turned back around to look at him and a thin thread of guilt strung through Peter, though he knew it wasn't as strong as it should have been if he were a better person. But if he were a better person, he wouldn't have cheated on Mark in the first place.

"I think you need to ask yourself why you were willing to throw our relationship away for someone you 'hate'," Mark said as he stepped out the door and began to close it. "No sex is that good." Mark may as well have hit Peter again because his parting words had felt like a slap in the face.

Peter looked down at the body spread out below him, the massive, thickly-muscled body he was so well acquainted with and yet barely knew. He knew the shape of muscles under his fingers and against his back. He knew the shape and weight of those large hands against every part of himself. He'd never seen Deadpool's face or any part of his skin except what showed when he rolled the bottom of his mask up. He'd felt the touch of Deadpool's bare hands on his skin, but he'd rarely actually seen them. And as intimately as Peter knew the feel of Deadpool's dick in him, when he'd lubed him with his spit only a short bit ago was the only time he'd touched it, and he'd never really looked at it either. By design, Peter knew more about Deadpool the Mercenary than he did Deadpool the Man, and the absence of knowledge was making itself known like an ache in his chest. An ache that was suspiciously close to the way he'd felt months ago on his anniversary, when Deadpool had fucked him in person as Mark 'fucked' him over the phone.

"No," he snarled under his breath. "No!" He didn't want to think right now. Not about Mark or Deadpool or him and Deadpool or why Deadpool's silence and lack of touch were somehow getting louder. His ears were ringing from the silence and his skin felt strangely vulnerable without Deadpool's touch to weigh him down. The orgasm in his belly felt empty and far away and Peter wrapped a hand around himself, jerking his cock in desperation as his eyes prickled.

Deadpool's hips shifted as he spread his legs and planted his feet behind Peter, and Peter snapped. He shoved Deadpool's legs back to the floor and moved his knees back on the hard floors to hook his feet on the inside of the mercenary's rock-hard thighs and pull, spreading Deadpool's legs and leaving him immobile. "Fuck you, Deadpool," Peter spat, shoving at Deadpool's shoulder. "I told you not to move. But you don't like to listen, do you?" The desperate slide of his fist around his dick almost hurt with how hard he was trying to force his orgasm, but he could feel it building again, albeit almost grudgingly. "Fuck you," he gritted out. "Fuck you, Wade."

Finally, it punched through him, but it hurt. It made the muscles in his stomach cramp and it felt empty, it made Peter feel empty. It passed as quickly as it had hit him without so much as the lingering sensation of pleasure that he normally got from orgasms during sex with Deadpool. But then again, that hadn't really been sex with Deadpool; Peter had used him like a dildo, like he was less than a person, an object for his gratification. It was so much worse than what they'd done during the phone sex with Mark. That at least had been consensual play.

Consensual. Jesus christ. Peter was going to be sick.

He stood up on shaky legs and Deadpool slid out of him, still hard. Nothing else slid out though, which meant he hadn't even come. Deadpool always came. Peter's legs buckled as he wobbled away, and he almost tripped over something on the floor. He picked it up blindly and stumbled his way into his bathroom on auto-pilot, turning the water to the hottest it would go with fingers that shook. He didn't want to think, didn't want to think about that day or what he'd just done, so he didn't. He turned his mind off as he got in the shower and let the water scald his skin away.

Halfway through his shower, when the heat had started to fade from the water but Peter's skin was still pink and burning, Peter realized he wasn't wearing his plug and his heart plummeted, panic jolting through him like lightning and jump-starting him into action. He nearly ripped his bathroom apart in search of it, desperation driving every move as he tossed towels and upended his wastebasket. He was just about to rip his medicine cabinet from the wall when he realized he was holding his plug. He'd been holding it the entire time. He had a vague recollection of picking something off the floor, from next to- His mind shied away from the thought and Peter started to laugh at the absurdity of everything. But once he started to laugh, he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop the laughter from turning into sobs either, and he collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor, his plug cradled against his chest.

By the time he'd cried himself hoarse and empty, the water droplets ricocheting off the tile and through his still-open shower door were freezing. It felt like he used all of his strength to lever himself back up to his feet. His fingers hurt from being curled around his plug for so long, and it took him three tries to turn the shower knob to OFF. Getting his plug lubed up and back into him took seven, mostly because he kept dropping it and had to wash it off and start over.

He knew that he should feel anxious about the possibility of Deadpool still being in his apartment, of having to confront what he'd done, of what had happened that day, but instead, he just felt dead inside and half-dead on the outside. His legs felt weak, and it was slow work, just trying to get from his bathroom to his living room, but when he made it to his bedroom doorway, part of him was relieved to find his apartment empty.

His jeans and hoodie were where he left them, not far from a pockmark in the floor from Deadpool's katana, but it wasn't until after he put them on that he realized that the hoodie wasn't his. Even if it hadn't been fit for someone twice his size, there was a comforting scent about it and there were two straight holes in the ends of the sleeves. Deadpool's hoodie, not his. He glanced around for his, and instead found his coffee table groaning under the weight of fresh takeout. When Peter made it over, he found a note on top in familiar handwriting:

Don't forget to drink lotsa water and eat lotsa food! <3 <3 <3

Peter sunk down onto his couch, and eyes that he thought were all cried out started prickling again.

"You can't just take care of me like this after I treat you like that," he whispered miserably, the note crinkling in his fist. His chest juddered as he fought, and failed, to catch his breath, and when he couldn't stop himself from convulsing with fresh sobs, he curled into a ball, pressed the sleeves of Deadpool's hoodie to his face, and broke down.



Chapter Text

It had been six months since Petey broke up with his boyfriend and Wade was worried about him. Petey, not the jamoke. Wade tried not to think about the jamoke in general because thinking about him made Wade want to kill him and Petey said that wasn't allowed so he just didn't do that. But ever since that night, Petey had been strangely quiet and withdrawn, and yet, more open to Wade's advances, and just softer with Wade in general. It was almost like when he'd been injured and had been pliant to Wade's touch, nonverbally needy and clingy. Wade loved Petey like that, but he also loved spicy Spidey, and though his baby boy was still plenty spicy when he was in costume, the second Wade got his hands on him, Petey was like dough in Wade's hands, complacent to Wade's molding. So yeah, Wade was worried.

"Wilson! You mind getting your fucking head in the game?!" Tin Can's voice snapped as the man in the can himself zipped past Wade's post on the ground floor. Well, street floor. Street corner. "I don't wanna die because you're stuck in fantasy land! This nightmare is bad enough as it is!"

"Nightmare? It's arcade night, Stark! Have a little fun!" Wade called back, chopping another zombie's head off as it ambled by.

Apparently whoever that had dropped dinos on Petey however long ago had gotten out and had decided to get Resident Evil with NYC. Literally. They'd hologrammed a giant Red Queen in the sky and megaphoned "You're all going to die down there" through PA systems or something, and then had gone necromonger on their asses. Er, necrophiliac. No wait! Necromancer! That was it. Although, Wade didn't trust the mad scientist, or whoever was doing all this, not to have gone through the other two necro-careers first. Super bonus, Wade apparently registered as dead to the dead so he didn't have to worry about fighting hordes as he mowed his way through them. He'd run out of bullets fast though and had to resort to the Twins, and he knew he was gonna have to sharpen them up after all this fun.

"Altar boys, altered boys; We're the things that love destroys!" he sung as he beheaded left and right in perfect rhythm with the song in his head. "You, me, us, them; We're just resurrection men!" There went grandma and grandpa and mom and dad and little Billy and Mandy too! "Us, we were only meant; To make you live again!"

"Okay, maybe we can not sing over the comms?" the more feather-inclined super-spy shouted over through Wade's earpiece. "Some of us need to concentrate!"

"Some of us need to concentrate," Wade mocked to the zombie staring blankly at him, and then he unheaded her.

"Maybe turn off your microphone before you mock me next time, Wilson?" Barton snapped and Wade turned to the zombie on the other side of him to mock Barton again. "If you need something else to do, go help Spider-Man."

Wade perked up. "Baby boy's here?" he asked, his heart picking up in anticipation. He loved spending time with Petey everywhere and anywhere and it had been a minute since he'd seen his sweetie's body in crime-fighting action. But if Spidey was here… "Oh dear heavens! Look at the time! Will I ever make it home before my glass slippers turn into pumpkins?"

There was a clamour of voices over the comms but it was the shrill shriek of the Bird Man that rose above. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, you better not be!"

"No Avengers co-op when my baby boy's around!" Wade confirmed cheerfully.

"What the hell, Wilson?!" came Stark's voice next, rising above the other protests flooding the line. "All hands on deck means ALL HANDS. You can't just-" Wade disconnected the comm, but before he could work the little device out of his ear and down through to the neck of his mask, four points of pressure landed on his shoulders, a solid weight settling over him as he was turned into a perch. He looked up and found a familiar Spidey mask staring back down at him.


"Baby boy!" Wade cried gleefully. The sun was just behind Spidey's mask, giving him a halo that looked honestly fantastic. Shame Petey was still wearing his mask though - that halo of fire always looked good behind that mess of hair of his. "I was just leaving, promise!"

Petey was quiet for a moment and then shook his head. "No," he said, his voice quiet in the air between them and almost lost amongst the screeching of zombies and headshots since he wasn't using his comms to talk to Wade.

Wade redirected his already raised hand and carefully wrapped his fingers around one of Petey's ankles, a heavy weight probably, but he hoped it was comforting. The balls of Spidey's feet and the tips of his fingers were perfectly situated across Wade's shoulders, and his sexy hyper-balance kept him steady with every breath Wade took, and Wade's grasp didn't seem to phase him one bit. "You sure, baby boy?" he asked back, just as softly. "We're in the lightning round now and it's unaliving mode from here on out." The silence that followed felt distinctly annoyed and it made Wade smile.

"I'm not in The Walking Dead levels of denial here, Deadpool," Petey snapped, his sass sparking back to life before Wade's very admiring eyes. "I know there's no saving any of these people, I just- I can't-"

Wade squeezed, stemming Petey's words. "Can you herd 'em my way?" he asked softly. He didn't exactly agree with the direction of his baby boy's moral compass, especially when it clashed with Wade's, but he wasn't gonna try to change Petey's true north either.

There was a pressure against his ear as his Spidey reactivated his comm line, sending a fresh wave of chatter into Wade's ear. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Petey retorted sharply, though it was ruined when tentative fingers brushed along the length of Wade's forearm. Fingers that had never once initiated contact before. Ever.

Startled at the touch, Wade's grip went lax and his baby boy sprung into the air and shot out a web. As much as Wade liked to watch Petey swing away, he couldn't stop staring at his arm as if that barely-there touch had branded him. Besides that time months ago when his baby boy had been in a bad mood post-breakup and had shoved him then fucked him - a super hot memory that Wade constantly rubbed one out to, and besides rare moments in the heat of the battle when Spidey moved him out of the way via hand, foot, or web, Petey didn't initiate contact with Wade. He just didn't. Even during sex, he almost never touched Wade unless Wade told him to.

This though… this had been entirely voluntary. Entirely unnecessary. If he'd wanted Wade to let go, all his super-powered spider babe had to do was kick out hard enough to break his grip, or tell Wade to let go. But he hadn't done any of that. Petey had touched Wade. He wondered if it was all part of his baby boy's recent pliancy, and if it was, what did that mean for their future? What would come next? Would he finally get Petey to-

"Deadpool! Pay attention!" lady spider-babe snapped over the comms. Wade blinked and looked up and found a horizontal, red laser beam headed straight for him. He bent his knees and leaned back, falling to the ground and watching the red zzzrrrm pass above him.

"Whew, that was close," he muttered as he popped back up. "That woulda suuucked."

"Deadpool!" That call came from not-the-comms, from his spider-babe. He looked up to find Petey swinging down the block towards him and then looked back to find that annoying-ass red laser beam sweeping back towards him.

"Stay back, baby boy!" he hollered as he started to run, using decomposing shoulders and abandoned cars as spring boards to clear mini-hordes.

"I'm trying to pinpoint the starting location of the laser now," came Stark's oh so unhelpful comment as Wade tried tossing a zombie into the buzzing red line.

Surprisingly, after cutting said zombie in half, the line stopped and then faded away. Wade slowed to a stop and stared at the empty space. "That is so cool," he whispered, dazzled by the possibilities of a laser weapon. Especially a mobile one. "How do I get me one of those?"

"Found it! It's still active!" Stark shouted right before the red line bloomed into diamonds and began to zoom its way towards Wade again.

Wade shrieked. "It's just like Resident Evil!" he yelped as he sprang back into a run. He tried to throw another walking corpse into the laser's path but it just cut through the body and kept going. "Divide me down to the smallest I can be~" he sang as he dove through an open car door and out the other side. Parkour!

"Hurry up, Stark," came Petey's voice over the comms and Wade glanced up to find Spidey's familiar silhouette perched on the rooftop corner two buildings ahead. He was just glad his baby boy listened and stayed back - Wade could heal from being sushi-fied, Petey couldn't. "It's speeding up." He didn't sound exactly worried, but Wade knew him well enough to hear the tension in his voice anyway. Awww! Was he worried about little ol' Wade?

He risked a glance behind himself and found the laser grid was in fact speeding up, and it was cutting through swaths of zombies and the cars in its way in its apparently single-minded goal to cut Wade into tiny pieces. Which was a little weird. He couldn't remember the last time he pissed off a machine. Or mad scientists with machines. Or… Hm. Didn't he threaten a few Rick Sanchez looking motherfuckers after the dinos almost crushed his itsy bitsy spider? …. He might have…

"Tony…" Petey said again, voice low in warning.

"I almost have it!" Stark snapped back, and Wade sighed. It wasn't like he wouldn't survive his imminent slap-chopping, but growing all his pieces back together again was reeeaaallyyy gonna suck and he just knew his baby boy was going to peace out before he'd reverse Humpty Dumpty-ed and put himself back together again. And Wade had thought today was a good day.

Wade let himself slow down as he prepared to just get the whole death thing over with. This was definitely gonna make his top ten lists of worst regenerations ever, he just knew it. One could say that he almost had a sixth sense about this sort of thing. One would also be wrong because by now, there wasn't a type of death Wade hadn't gone through, or even done to himself.

The "Got it!" came over his comms right before searing, cutting heat hit his skin, and he could feel the laser slow as it worked through bone and muscle. Right before it hit his brain, or maybe his ears, a panicked cry of "Wade!" from a familiar voice split his heart in two.

Normally, Spider-Man was really good at keeping out of the med bay at the Tower; he seemed to prefer to doctor himself on the field and avoid the potential vulnerability of someone else laying their hands on him. Possibly placing a tracker on him. Not that Natasha would stoop that low… But for the second time in about as many years, he was there. Only this time, he was sitting next to the hospital bed instead of in it.

Natasha paused in the doorway to examine Spider-Man's body language, which seemed more open and less conflicted than the last time she'd seen him with Deadpool. Last time, he'd been uncomfortable, closed off and yet reaching for Deadpool. This time, he was seated in the chair next to Deadpool's bed, his hands clasped together between his knees, his shoulders hunched, and his head bowed, and it spoke loudly to a deep weariness that she wasn't sure she could fully empathize with. It was a bit at odds with the way he'd screamed when the laser grid had hit Wilson and diced him into a hundred bloody pieces, and with the way he'd just stood there afterwards, stock-still and silent, like he'd just turned off, as Wanda had used her powers to push all the pieces of Deadpool into a trash bag.

A trash bag that someone had emptied onto a bed in the med bay in a vaguely humanoid shape that was still mostly chunks of meat. The sheets were stained a deep, wet red, and Natasha knew that Tony was going to have to end up throwing out the whole mattress; there was no coming back from that mess. The pieces were slowly moving back together in little tendrils, skin and muscle and nerve endings healing together in a way that, for all that Natasha had scene in the world during her life, was stomach-turning. If it was hard for her to see, she wondered how hard it was for the kid, the only one among them who didn't kill.

"He'll heal, you know," she said softly, pushing off from the doorway and walking slowly towards Spider-Man. He looked up, first to the bed, and then to her with a quick jerk of his head.

He didn't respond for a long moment, and then she heard him swallow. "I know," he said quietly. "I just… I've never seen him die before. Injured, yeah, but never…"

Natasha pulled the second chair closer and sat down, feeling a strange urge to reach out and lay a comforting hand on the young man. Comforting wasn't really her style and she wasn't sure Spider-Man would be open to it, even if she was. She suspected that the only person who could really comfort him the way he needed was laying on the bed, healing from an excessive dismemberment and on his way back from death. So she decided to sate her curiosity instead. But first:

"JARVIS, turn off all recordings in this room and erase all data from the point Spider-Man entered," she said, prompting Spider-Man to turn and look at her. She could only imagine the look he was giving her.

"Why…?" he asked her slowly, sounding almost reluctantly puzzled.

"Because I'm a Sirius Black secret keeper," she said with a smile. She still didn't know what that really meant and she hadn't bothered to look it up. She didn't care that much.

"...You know Harry Potter?" He sounded more aware now, and more puzzled.

"No, not really," she admitted. "But you can ask Wilson about it later."

Spider-Man turned towards the bed and then immediately turned away. She wondered if he had forgotten for a second why he was there.

"So… You didn't actually say why you had JARVIS turn off," he said after a minute.

"I wanted to ask you something that I didn't think you'd want anyone else to know," she said, and then paused, trying to word it in a way that wouldn't put all that familiar tension back in his loose frame. He tilted his head but remained silent and she pushed onward. "Are you two still…?" she trailed off, unsure how to phrase it. She still remembered his confession in Tony's workroom, when he'd managed to startle her with the little fact that they'd been fucking, but he hadn't confessed to anything else and she wasn't sure what their actual relationship was.

He was quiet for a long time, staring at his hands. So quiet, in fact, that Natasha could actually hear the sound of Wilson healing, of his insides growing back together. There were definitely some sounds she could have gone her entire life without hearing.


"Do you remember when Deadpool went missing for a year?" he asked her suddenly, his voice soft.

"How could I forget?" she asked with a little chuckle. "It was a relief not to have him around messing everything up, but at the same time, it was like waiting for a prank you were sure was coming but you didn't know from when or where." She didn't laugh for long, or with any true feeling, and he didn't laugh with her, but he didn't tense up either.

"I waited for him for months, but when he didn't come back, I got a boyfriend. He was nice, kind and sweet, and nothing like Deadpool. I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing." He stopped, but she could tell that that wasn't the end of it, so she waited. "When Deadpool came back, I…" He swallowed again, the sound thick, and she wondered how hard it was for him to confess whatever sins he'd been hiding inside. Or what he thought were sins, anyway. She doubted they compared to her own, but she probably shouldn't mock the impact they had on him. He was the epitome of innocence and goodness in a way not even Steve Rogers was. Steve Rogers was the American Dream, but Spider-Man was the Boy Next Door. And Deadpool was the bad boy riding up on the motorcycle, the corrupting force.

When he didn't continue after a few minutes, she ventured a guess. "You picked up where you left off?"

He nodded, slowly. "Yeah," he whispered. "Except, I didn't break up with my boyfriend first." Ahhh. That was a particular kind of guilt she wasn't personally familiar with, but she knew how it could infect a person and eat away at their insides. "I was with both of them for a year and a half before Mark walked in on me and Deadpool." It figured that when Spider-Man slipped up with a personal fact, it would be an incredibly vague one that would be of no use to Natasha in her ongoing search to find Spider-Man's true identity. What kind of a name was 'Mark' anyway? "He had come over to propose to me and found me getting fucked by someone else instead."

"Ouch," Natasha murmured, and this time Spider-Man did laugh, a quiet, empty thing. Again, she couldn't empathize, but she could sympathize. "How did that go?"

"I didn't even fight it. I didn't try to defend myself. Or what I'd done. I let him leave and I didn't chase him. I let Deadpool come back. I always let him come back…" Spider-Man trailed off and he didn't start again. There was only the sound of Wilson healing.

"You told me once that you were scared of him," Natasha said slowly, trying to remember the exact and odd wording Spider-Man had used at the time. "And you gave me an answer, but you didn't really answer me. Do you remember what you said?"

Spider-Man was still staring at his hands, and at first, she thought he wouldn't answer. And then he exhaled and answer emerged like a breeze. "Yeah."

She hoped he would volunteer the information himself, but as always, every answer with him was a hard-fought one. "And what was it that you said?"

"You are what you love, not who loves you," he whispered, and Natasha was a little surprised he didn't lie.

"Can you explain what that means?" she asked. "Or rather, what that means to you? In relation to him?" It had been a question that had driven her up the wall since Spider-Man had first spoken those words to her. She'd found out that they were lyrics, of the same band that Deadpool was always singing, but that didn't really answer anything. Everything about their relationship confused her: the physical aspects as well as the emotional, the psychological.

"I could have been Deadpool," he said, startling her, and she shifted in her seat to give him her full attention because this felt like something. "Not long after I got my powers, the man who raised me was killed by a criminal I let go for… petty reasons." Not 'father', but 'man who raised me'. Step-father? Adopted father? Some other family member? Spider-Man was a wealth of information today. "I didn't sleep until I found that criminal again, and when I did find him, I almost killed him." Natasha blinked. So Spider-Man did have abit of a dark side after all. "I wanted to. Sometimes I still do. If it hadn't been for my- the man who raised me, something he said to me, I think I would have gone through with it."

"And how does that relate to Deadpool?" Natasha asked, although, she was starting to get an idea where this was all going. Everyone, from the media to other heros, commented on the likeness between Spider-Man and Deadpool: not just their costumes, but the way they fought and their sense of humour. Apparently it was even deeper than that.

"What scares me most about Deadpool... " He paused and then took a deep breath. She glanced down and saw his fingers shaking until he gripped his own hands tighter, like he was clawing at himself. "What scares me about him is how much he loves me. What he would do for me. That's not what scares me the most though. What scares me the most is how much I could love him, if I let myself. What scares me most isn't what he would do for me, but what I would do for him."

Natasha suddenly recalled that she had had a similar thought, back when Spider-Man and Deadpool's spots had been reversed. She remembered thinking how dangerous Deadpool could be, in the hands of someone else. But now… now she could remember how… balanced Deadpool had become the last few years. He seemed more focused, less prone to fits of murder. He seemed healthier, and Natasha suspected that that balance was all because of Spider-Man. As much as she wasn't a fan of helping Wade Wilson, in this case, she thought she could make an exception. Especially if it helped Spider-Man too.

"How long has it been since you and Deadpool… started?" she asked, and her sudden question and brisk tone must have surprised him because he jerked and his head snapped towards her. Or maybe it was the question itself.

"Ummm… Three? Three years? I think?" He sounded unsure, but she had no doubt that, deep inside, he knew exactly how long it had been. "Well, I guess two if you leave out that year he was gone."

"Okay…" she said slowly, more for him than herself. "And in that time, have you at any time felt like you wanted to kill someone?"

"No!" It was the loudest and most vehement he'd been all conversation, and the bark of noise was sudden enough to make her tense. He seemed just as surprised, his hands having moved from themselves to the arms of the chair he was in, like he was ready to leap up at any second. "No," he said again, quieter, as he folded back into himself, hands returning to their clasped spot between his knees.

"Then has Deadpool tried to persuade you to kill anyone? Or even harm them excessively?" Natasha asked, equally sure and curious about Spider-Man's answer.

"Of course not! He would never…" Spider-Man trailed off again, and she could almost hear the epiphany in his silence. "Deadpool would never…" he whispered.

"I don't think he would either," Natasha said softly. "I can imagine that he'd ask you to look the other way as he killed someone, but I don't think he would ever let you do it yourself." If Natasha was a honest, she didn't think any of the Avengers or anyone else would let Spider-Man kill someone. He was the only one of them who didn't have blood on their hands, and it would be nice if it stayed that way, for as long as possible. "So what are you scared of?"

"You are what you love, not who loves you," he said again. "I love helping people, saving people, and that's what I am. I am Spider-Man, and I love being Spider-Man... Deadpool loves me, and I'm scared of becoming Deadpool, but... I think what scares me is that I'll love him so much that I'll forget to love myself."

The silence in the room after Spider-Man fell quiet was almost excruciating. The sound of Wilson healing had quieted too, and when Natasha glanced at the pile of meat on the bed, she'd found that it had realigned into more or less the correct shape, all the pieces in their places and slowly growing back together.

"You said… that Deadpool would never try to get you to kill anyone," she said slowly.

"Yeah," he replied with a slow nod.

"Are you sure about that?" Natasha pressed.

"Yes," he said more firmly.

"Then, do you think that, maybe, you can trust him to make sure that you don't let yourself change?" Natasha almost had an out-of-body experience just asking. Personally, she couldn't imagine trusting Deadpool with anything, but she couldn't really imagine interacting with him for longer than a few seconds, or letting him touch her either. To each their own.

Spider-Man didn't answer her for a long time. Well, he didn't really answer her at all. He didn't move and he didn't speak until all the little bits of Wilson looked just about stable, and even then, he just started rooting around the cabinet next to the bed. Natasha watched curiously as Spider-Man pulled out a sheet, laid it out on the floor, picked Deadpool up and put him on the sheet, and then started wrapping him up like he was wrapping a corpse. When he stood up with the massive form over one shoulder, Natasha could really only stare; she knew that Spider-Man was incredibly strong, stronger possibly than Cap or Thor, but it wasn't often apparent, especially when his displays of strength were usually relegated to battle, and even then primarily using something's momentum in partnership with his webs.

"I think I'm going to take him home," he said, chin tilted down like he was staring at his feet. "It would… probably be nice for him to wake up in his own bed."

She nodded, even if he couldn't see her. "Do you need the address?"

"No. I know where it is." His voice quiet, almost distant, as if his thoughts were focused elsewhere. She could only imagine what was going through his mind right now. "I thought it was safer to know but I never got close."

"I've only been inside once. It's not going to be pretty," she warned him, and even as he nodded, she knew Spider-Man could never truly be prepared for what Natasha was sure was waiting for him at Deadpool's apartment. She hoped it at least smelled better than when she scoped it out, but she highly doubted it.

"Thanks, Natasha," Spider-Man said as he walked over to the window and threw it open. He made an odd picture, a small guy with a white log of questionable content twice his size over one shoulder. The red of his sleeve was as stark against the white sheet as Deadpool's blood had been.

Natasha shrugged. "If I'd wished someone had warned me about that apartment before I went in, then you definitely-"

"Ah, no, sorry," Spider-Man interrupted with what sounded like an embarrassed cough. "Well, yeah, I guess, for the warning too but I meant- Thanks for everything."

She blinked. She didn't really do things worthy of heartfelt thanks, and to receive one was… an odd feeling. "Anytime," she replied, and Spider-Man nodded, lifting a foot to the window, and she realized she needed to elaborate, just a little. "I mean it, Spider-Man," she said, and his head tilted towards her just a little. "I may not have ever slept with Deadpool, but I've slept with worse. I've done a lot worse in my life than what he's done, and I've done it for worse reasons. I may not like him, none of us may like him, but what matters is if you do. You could have done a lot worse than Deadpool, but you couldn't have done any better than someone who would do literally anything for you."

"When I tell everyone…" he trailed off, but Natasha's mind was stuck on the 'when'. 'When' he told the others, not 'if'. Spider-Man had made his choice and the outcome was only an inevitability. Perhaps it was always going to lead to the same place, from the very moment that Spider-Man made the decision to let Deadpool get close to him. "When I tell everyone, Tony and Clint aren't going to let us live in peace, are they?"

Natasha snorted. "Not a chance." They were going to hound that poor kid until he died, and Deadpool until they died.

Spider-Man sighed. "Ugh," he said eloquently, and jumped out the window.

Natasha had said that she'd wished someone had warned her before she'd laid eyes on Deadpool's apartment, but Peter hadn't been expecting… this. A dumpster barge would be envious of the chaos spread out like the remnants of a tornado in front of Peter's eyes. Just trying to get to the bedroom ended up being a harrowing experience when Peter kept tripping over weapons at every step. The heart-pounding seconds after he accidentally kicked a grenade forced him to reevaluate his path and he took to the walls and ceiling instead which were disgustingly dirty but, more importantly, free of obstacles.

The bed was, thankfully, empty of anything other than a mess of pillows and sheets, and when Peter finally lowered himself and Deadpool's still silent and unmoving body to it, he left the bundle as it was and took a moment to try to lower his heart rate. He'd never expected crossing an apartment could be one of the most dangerous things he'd ever done, but as always, Deadpool was the exception.


Peter glanced at the man all wrapped up in a hospital sheet, eyes skittering over the pattern of blood staining the fabric. It might have been pretty, the geometric spread of red over the soft white, if Peter didn't know the cause, but he did and so it wasn't. He debated for a long time if he should leave Deadpool wrapped up as he healed, and then realized how terrible it would be to wake up from death only to find oneself wrapped up like a mummy.

He carefully unwrapped the sheet, but once he did, he realized he couldn't look at the man in front of him. It had less to do with Deadpool's preference to stay masked in front of Peter and more to do with the fact that Peter couldn't really stand to look at the open slashes of flesh still peppering the immortal's skin, bits of muscle and even bone still peeking through in places. The scars… Peter had stopped minding those a long time ago. So he retreated to the living room and took one look at the couch only to realize that he couldn't bear to sit still right now. His limbs were buzzing with nervous energy and his fingers were shaking because he was only a healing process away from fully confronting what he'd been running away from for three years.

It had been closing in on him ever since Mark had broken up with him six months ago. Peter had been able to feel it in every interaction with Deadpool, sexual or otherwise. Because the mercenary was a force of nature with his own type of gravity and Peter had been orbiting him for as long as they'd known each other, resisting the magnetism that threatened to ground him. And ever since he'd been slapped in the face with the fact that, intentionally or not, he'd picked Deadpool over even his own boyfriend, he'd been trying to prepare himself for the crash landing he wasn't sure he was going to survive. Yesterday, when he'd witnessed Deadpool's death for the first time, when he'd felt Deadpool's name - his actual name - rip itself from Peter's throat, he'd seen the ground finally come up to meet him. For the first time in years, he was grounded… but he wasn't anchored; the crash site still had the potential to blow up and take him with it.

After half an hour of nervous pacing on the sofa, the only safe surface in the apartment, and in desperate need of an output for all the anxious energy building under Peter's skin, he finally grabbed some of the cash piled on Deadpool's nightstand, glanced at the still-healing mercenary, and left. He was back an hour later in his own clothes and with cleaning supplies because if he was going to be in this apartment while he waited, he might as well clean it.

With his earbuds pumping the soothing beat of familiar music into his ears, Peter waged war on Deadpool's apartment. He filled up trash bag after trash bag, dumped web-bundled weapons into the second bedroom, and scrubbed at surfaces until his arms ached, until the bedrooms, bathroom, and kitchen looked like new. Or what would pass as new in this part of town anyway. Peter had saved the living room for last, working his way outward from the epicenter that was Deadpool, and it contained the only piece of furniture, really the only piece of anything, he'd been unwilling to touch: a la-z-boy with the frighteningly red and crusted stain on the headrest that gave Peter the heebie-jeebies. He didn't even want to contemplate what kind of criminal activities were perpetrated in that chair and he didn't want to touch it; at least all the weapons had looked clean and he'd just webbed them all together anyway. The armchair required a more personal touch that Peter was unwilling to give, not unlike the feeling Peter had had towards its owner for the last several years.

It wasn't until he was almost done that he found the enormous handgun under a pile of trash on the table next to the chair. His skin crawled when he gingerly picked it up and he couldn't help but stare at it, puzzled. It was the only weapon that seemed to have a spot in the whole apartment; everything else appeared to have been tossed wherever, but this weapon was here, within arm's reach of what looked like a well-lived-in chair. Peter's eyes fell on the stain again and in a flash of recall, he remembered allusions to Deadpool being suicidal, allusions he'd mostly ignored because he knew Deadpool couldn't die and because he hadn't wanted to care. He couldn't ignore them now, not with the sick feeling rising in his stomach at the idea that the criminal activities Deadpool might have been perpetrating in his chair he'd been doing to himself.

Was Deadpool actually suicidal? Is that why he was so careless when he fought? Why was he suicidal? Had-

Something hit the weapon in his hand and both Peter and his heart jumped as he dropped it, the gun thudding to the floor alongside the dagger that had come out of nowhere, and Peter thudding against the ceiling. He hated being surprised exactly for this reason, because he always ended up disoriented on the ceiling with his heart in his throat. Usually his spidey sense warned him of incoming projectiles, but it hadn't gone off at all, which could only mean-

"Oh shit, baby boy! Don't you know better than to sneak up on a merc, especially in their own apartment? You okay?"

"You're the one who snuck up on me!" Peter snapped back as he released his grip on the ceiling and fell back to the floor, tugging his earbuds from his ears. However, any further rebuttals and/or snappy comments dried up and died in his throat when he set eyes on Deadpool. A dripping-wet, naked Deadpool. As in fully naked. 100%. No mask, no suit, no gloves, no boots. Peter suddenly became aware of the sound of a shower running in the master bedroom and of the sound of water droplets sliding down Deadpool's body to the hardwood floor.

The scars that Peter saw every time Deadpool rolled up the bottom of his mask weren't just spread across the mercenary's jaw, but covered the entirety of his body. There didn't look to be any bit of skin that wasn't scarred to hell and back, and Peter wondered if it was the scars that made Deadpool hide his skin away 24/7. Although, considering his own initial disgust the first time he'd seen Deadpool's skin all those years ago, it wasn't exactly surprising, but apparently Peter was so used to it now that it almost seemed ridiculous, that Deadpool had never stripped in front of Peter because of something that seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of… of them.

There was a textured warmth against his cheek and he blinked, bright blue eyes coming back into focus beneath a furrowed brow. It was strange to finally see the facial expressions to go with the emotions he was so familiar with by now. "Are you alright, baby boy? I didn't hit you, did I?" Deadpool released Peter's cheek and picked up both of Peter's hands in his own, inspecting them for damage.

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Peter pulled his fingers free and finally tore his gaze away. "Your hands are wet," he muttered, tucking his hands in the hoodie's pocket and lacing his fingers together. His heart was still beating oddly in his chest, though that probably had less to do with the jump scare and more to do with the realization that The Moment was coming and he was scared as fuck about it.

"Petey-" Deadpool said, voice low before he suddenly cut himself off.

"No, you didn't hit hit me," Peter said before Deadpool could start back up again, annoyed in spite of himself for reasons he didn't quite understand. He opened his mouth, trying to force the words that were burning through his chest out his throat, but a hand shot past his shoulder and harshly tugged his hood over his head, so quickly that it almost made Peter lose his balance. "What the hell, Deadpool?"

Peter reached a hand up to dislodge the one wrapped in his hood and it was knocked away at the same time Deadpool tugged harder, forcing Peter's head to bow and touching his chin to his chest. Through the shadows created by the hood, Peter could see Deadpool's bare feet stepping out of sight. "What. The. Fuck," Peter growled, feeling his temper spike like it had been doused with gasoline and a lit match had been dropped on it. It heated his skin and sent his pulse pounding in his ears, and he let it. If he didn't, the foreign sensation, at least where Deadpool was concerned, of absolute rejection, would take over and it would suffocate him. "Let. Go."

"Sorry, can't do that, baby boy," Deadpool said, his voice shaky and… sad? "You weren't supposed to see. You weren't supposed to- to-" His voice stuttered off with a hitch in his voice, and it almost sounded like he was going to cry. All Peter could hear was the sound of deep breaths rattling through Deadpool's throat on every exhale.

Frowning, Peter reached out a hand again. "Deadpool-" This time, the smack that knocked his hand astray actually stung, both physically and emotionally, and Peter snatched his hand back, holding it to his chest. It didn't actually hurt, nothing Deadpool did to him would ever really hurt him. Not physically, anyway. He was as sure of that fact as he'd been back when Natasha had asked him if Deadpool was hurting him. Emotionally…

Peter used to be so sure of his hatred towards Deadpool. It had seemed so strong, so enduring, that the possibility that he would care enough about the mercenary one day for Deadpool to inflict emotional damage had never once crossed his mind. Now… now his hatred was twisted and reformed, resurrected into something new and different, a phoenix of feelings, just as Deadpool had promised back when it all started. With its rebirth, Deadpool had gained the power to hurt Peter in an even deeper, more lasting way, but it was a power Peter had never thought that he'd use. He wasn't even sure if Deadpool knew he had it, but he knew as well as any other mutate that you could use power you didn't know you had just as easily as using what you knew you had.

"Don't, Petey," Deadpool growled out in the voice that said 'obey', but it was somehow darker, more stern, than it had ever been before. It was almost as if it was promising punishment.

"Don't what?" Peter growled back, mocking him. His heart was still out of control and his stomach was queasy and his anger was still bright and hot, but the candles that burn the brightest are also the first to go out. He just hoped that the fire in his veins stayed alive long enough to get them through to the other side of whatever was happening now.

The hand in his hood shook him harshly, like he was a dog that had peed on the carpet. "Close your fucking eyes right now and you keep them fucking closed. Don't fucking look at me, Peter."

Deadpool had called Peter 'Peter' exactly once, and that had been the very first time he'd learned Peter's name. Every time after that, it had only been 'Petey'. And apparently, as much as he couldn't stand the sound of 'Petey' on anyone else's lips except Deadpool's, hearing Deadpool say 'Peter' was like a slap to the face, a stab to the heart. It made Peter's breath catch in his throat and his body recoil, not that he got far with the unrelenting grip in his hoodie, and, frustratingly enough, he could feel tears prick at his eyes. There was a growing feeling in his chest, slowly eclipsing his anger: that terrible emptiness that had consumed him after Deadpool's return. Peter fisted the fabric over his heart and concentrated on his breathing, his anger, his determination to get everything out in the open, trying to stave off that feeling he never wanted to experience again.

The shadowy cave within his hood was filled with the sound of his even breaths, but beyond that, Peter could hear Deadpool's own breathing, slow and deep and rhythmic. Almost too steady, like he was fighting for it. Peter tried to tug on the string of thoughts in his own mind, the thread connecting 'skin condition' and 'suicidal' and "Don't look." Was Deadpool really so ashamed of his skin that he couldn't bear to let Peter see it? It was a horrible thought, but it made so much sense, and Peter was probably a really terrible person for being glad that at least they're both struggling together right here and right now. It felt like he was standing on a ledge overlooking a vast darkness with nothing but bodiless promises against his ear that safety was just beyond his sight, if only he had a little faith and jumped. He took a few deep breaths, tried to swallow against the lump in his throat, and leaped.

"If this is about your scars, I don't care," he said quietly, and the hand fisted in the fabric of his hood jerked in a surprised sort of way before the air between them suddenly went dead silent and electric with tension. He had in the beginning, he could remember not wanting to look at Deadpool's skin when the other man had been on his knees between Peter's legs, but after that, Peter hadn't even noticed. He never flinched at the touch of scarred hands on his skin, and his only hesitation in kissing Deadpool had had nothing to do with the scars.

"Well, I do Petey," Deadpool replied, voice tense. The quick and unexpected flash of relief Peter felt at Deadpool not calling him 'Peter' again was almost immediately washed away in a flood of frustration and annoyance, and he scowled at the floor.

"You realize I've already seen it, right?" he asked exasperated. "Like when you walked out here? And even if I hadn't, I see it every time you roll your mask up. I feel it every time you kiss me and touch me and fuck me." He hadn't meant to be so blunt but the words had spilled out of him before he'd really thought about them, and he could feel his cheeks heating in response.

"The trailer and the movie are two different things, baby boy," Deadpool replied, voice even and dark. "Sorry, but I can't let you look."

"That's not even- guh!" he started and then stopped with a grunt when a bare arm flashed through his vision, a hand planting against his chest and shoving hard enough to send him stumbling backwards into the la-z-boy. The arm of the chair hit his thighs and tipped him into a sprawl across the seat, his head hitting the other arm with a painless thunk.

"Sorry, Petey!" Deadpool called out to the sound of bare feet slap-thudding away from Peter and back towards the running shower. Crashing sounds followed after, like he was a hurricane whirling through his bedroom.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Peter growled under breath, glaring at the ceiling. He was finally trying to do right by Deadpool and somehow the chase had been reversed. Somehow he'd found himself in an alternate reality where Deadpool was pushing him away. He took several steadying breaths, trying to get the sudden surge of his temper under control, and then floundered his way back to his feet as he hollered "Deadpool!"

He hadn't taken more than two steps before a gun appeared at the edge of the doorway, sending Peter's heart into a sporadic rhythm even as his Spidey sense lay quiet. "I'm serious, Petey. You keep your butt down in that chair and don't make a sound 'cuz there's nothing in your head, pocket, throat or wallet that's gonna change how this is gonna go down."

Pre-Decision Peter would have backed off instantly. He wouldn't have even gotten this far. He wouldn't have ever come to Deadpool's apartment or watched over him as he healed or felt that sickness in his heart watching the mercenary get cut to pieces. But Peter wasn't Pre-Decision Peter anymore, he was Post-Decision Peter and he needed to stick with that version of himself. And Post-Decision Peter doubted that the lyrics Deadpool quoted were entirely accurate because they sparked a sudden inspiration on how to get Deadpool to just stop and listen.

"Wade," he said quietly, and the crashing noises came to a stuttering halt as the gun jerked, the barrel wavering in its stare down for just a moment before it clacked back into place against the door frame. Peter's heart stuttered in his chest, but it had less to do with the weapon pointed at him and more to do with the taste of a name on his tongue that he only ever said when he was coming. Despite the chaotic mess of emotions swirling under Peter's skin, his dick throbbed behind the zipper of his jeans. It was a hardwired reaction, a cause and effect built over the last three years: if Peter said Deadpool's name, he got to come. This was the first time he could ever remember saying it of his own volition, with the exception of yesterday, when he'd had to watch Deadpool die that gruesome death.

"What did you just say?" Deadpool's voice was solid but quiet, and came from the other side of the wall. Peter opened his mouth to say it again, but his body seemed to reject the concept and his throat closed on him. Now that he had the other man's attention, he couldn't bring himself to use his actual name again.

Peter cleared his throat and said clearly: "Deadpool."

The gun disappeared and Deadpool stepped into the doorway, dressed in jeans and a hoodie that looked like an exact match to the one Peter was wearing and a fresh mask in place, but both his hands and his feet were still bare. The hands disappeared into the hoodie's pocket, but the toes remained bare and in sight and Peter couldn't help but stare at them. They were just normal toes, but they were Deadpool's toes, toes Peter had never seen because they were always encased in sturdy combat boots.

"No, that's not what you said, baby boy," Deadpool said slowly, lingering in his doorway. Peter suddenly felt a flash of hate for the mercenary's masks, that otherwise innocuous red and black fabric hiding away bright blue eyes and the twitches of muscle that denoted emotion.

The heat in his face increased, spread to the tips of his ears and down his neck. "Shut up," he muttered, averting his eyes. Deadpool took a step forward and Peter instinctively took one backwards, holding up his hand. As if that could actually stop Deadpool if Deadpool really wanted to get closer to him, but thankfully the mercenary didn't move any closer.

The words that Peter had decided to say next were stuck on his tongue, drying his mouth and making his throat stick. Deadpool didn't try to speak again and Peter shuffled nervously as he tried to force them out. "I have troubled thoughts and a self-esteem to match," he started, but was immediately interrupted with a long, high-pitched gasp that got higher as it went on.

"Baby boy, did you just-"

"I said shut up!" Peter snapped. His face felt like it was burning in his embarrassment. He'd been telling Deadpool to stop quoting Fall Out Boy lyrics ever since he'd started, and Peter had never quoted them back on purpose, despite, or probably in spite of, Deadpool claiming that it was "their band". "I have something I wanted to tell you, but first, I wanted to apologize." This was the first hurdle, and he still wasn't sure if the one that followed was going to be harder. Deadpool tilted his head curiously but didn't say anything, and Peter had to swallow hard, trying to find the words and the courage, but he knew he needed to get this out.

"I never apologized for… for… for raping you," he confessed quietly, unable to lift his gaze from the floor. After that night, the night Mark had broken up with him and Peter had… gone too far, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. Even though everything between Deadpool and him had returned to its regularly scheduled program as if nothing had happened, Peter's actions that night had haunted his every waking moment the last six months. He'd fretted over and over, until he'd thrown up, until he'd cried, and still, he hadn't been able to acknowledge what he'd done or apologize for it to Deadpool. It had eaten away at him-

Thick arms wrapped tightly around him, lifting him off the floor and crushing him against a broad chest, his face smushed against the side of a red spandex covered neck and his hands trapped in his hoodie's pocket between their bodies. He was still trying to orient himself after the sudden spacial shift when Deadpool started talking.

"Jesus fucking christ, baby boy, no," he said, voice incredulous in a way Peter didn't understand. There was a large hand sliding up his back, pausing to grip the back of his neck firmly for a moment before it moved into his hair. Peter's feet weren't even touching the floor, but the other arm around his waist was holding him so tightly that it was almost comfortable, hanging there against Deadpool. "Is that what you thought happened? Is that why you've been so sweet to me the last few months?"

Peter wanted to say that that was half of it, that the other was just being conflicted about… everything. Instead, all that came out was "I'm sorry." His eyes were burning again, his chest tight with all the things he didn't usually allow himself to feel, all the things he normally buried deep, but with the familiar smell of Deadpool in his nose and the familiar feel of Deadpool wrapped around him and the familiar pressure of Deadpool's large, warm hand in his hair, he couldn't remember how to stash it all away again. "I'm sorry," he whispered through a suddenly-tight throat. He wasn't sure if it was just that night he was apologizing for anymore either.

"Oh no, sweetheart, don't cry," Deadpool murmured, fingers stroking through Peter's hair, down his neck and back until it curved around one ass cheek to grip his thigh and hitch his leg up. Deadpool started to move and then he was dipping down to the couch, and Peter pulled up his other leg so he was splayed across Deadpool's waist and leaning against his chest. The arm around his waist kept him pinned so tightly that he couldn't sit up, could only force himself to concentrate on steady, even breaths puffing out across Deadpool's neck. "Please don't cry, Petey, it's okay, I promise. It wasn't rape and you don't have to cry so please don't." His voice was soft and pleading, the stroke of his fingers across the top of Peter's head and down to his neck steady, rhythmic.

"I pinned you down and forced you after I safeworded," Peter argued back, trying to stop the tears he could feel building before they could fall. It wasn't as bad as it had been that night, none of his breakdowns had as bad as that first one, but he couldn't seem to stop; couldn't stop feeling like shit for what he'd done, couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop breaking down over the kind of person he'd become.

The arm at his waist loosened and then fell away and Peter closed his eyes tight, prepared to accept whatever punishment Deadpool felt he deserved for his violation, but all that happened was the hand in his hair clenched against his crown and pulled his head back. He followed the tug until he was sitting upright in Deadpool's lap, eyes focusing on a spot near Deadpool's navel. The fist in his hair relaxed and Peter wavered, feeling like his leash had been cut, and then there were two hands cupping his cheeks, tilting his face up and forcing him to meet the white eyes of Deadpool's mask.

"You listen to me now and you listen to me good, Petey," Deadpool said in that voice. "You. Did not. Rape me," he said, each word enunciated clearly and firmly. Peter tried to shake his head in denial but the hands on his cheeks slid clamped down and forced him into stillness. "Baby boy, if I say it wasn't rape, then it wasn't rape. Why are you pushing back on this?"

"Because I don't think you'd tell me if it was," Peter replied, dropping his eyes since he couldn't drop his chin. He still didn't quite understand Deadpool's feelings for him, and he didn't think he was aware of full scope of them or their depth, but he felt certain of that.

"You don't think I could have stopped you?" Deadpool asked, voice curious, hands still holding Peter's face in place.

"I pushed you down-"

"And I let you."

"I pinned your arms-"

"You pinned my katana through my sleeves, not my arms."

"I didn't ask before I touched you!"

"Baby boy, I never ask!"

Peter stumbled for a moment, caught off guard. It was true, that Deadpool never asked, but Peter had never doubted for a moment that if he'd well and truly wanted Deadpool to stop, then he would have. Without question.

"I have super strength!" he sputtered, reaching for something, anything, to uphold the burden he'd been carrying for the last six months whose very foundations were starting to crumble.

"And not only did you not use any, but it's not like I need to fight you to get away from you," Deadpool returned just as calmly and quickly as he'd shot down everything else Peter had said. "Even if I had to fight you, it's not like I can't get away anyway." Peter opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but he couldn't think of anything else to prove his wrongdoing to the man watching him and cradling his face. So he slumped in Deadpool's hold and in his lap and stared back helplessly.

"I don't…" Peter started miserably and then trailed off, out of words and fingers twisting around one another in the confines of the hoodie's pocket. For so long, he'd kept himself together during their 'relationship', first with the force of his hatred, and then the force of his guilt, and now he had nothing… valid to fall back on. His hatred was so misshapen that it could hardly claim the name any longer, and his guilt was being denied entirely. The whole conversation was taking a harder emotional toll on him than he'd anticipated, but it wasn't like he was known for good planning either. If he was, he probably wouldn't be in the situation he was now.

The hands at his cheeks slid down to his neck, wrapping around him like a thick, warm collar, and two thumbs pressed at the underside of his jaw, tilting his head up and forcing him to raise his eyes back to Deadpool's. Or rather, Deadpool's mask's.

"Do you trust me, Petey?" Deadpool asked softly.

Peter's eyes darted away, an instinctual reaction built up over the last three years of stark rejection to any potential attempt to form a connection with the mercenary. Thumbs swept across his cheeks to press at his bottom lip and his tongue darted out without a thought, a slight brush against the scar-textured skin, and his breath hitched at the contact. The thumbs slid back to their previous positions at the hinge of his jaw, and Peter sucked in a slow breath. "Yes," he whispered.

Deadpool hummed like Peter's answer pleased him, a short sound that rumbled through his chest, and his hips shifted, tilting Peter further into the unyielding heat of his body. It was only now that Peter was slowly being pulled from the depths of his emotional distress that he was starting to realize the position they were in, how he was splayed around Deadpool's waist, sitting in his lap. They'd never fucked like this before, but it was easy to imagine how it would go, and his skin was starting to heat, his body already up to speed where Peter's brain was lagging behind.

He shouldn't even be thinking about sex right now, not after the conversation they'd had, a conversation that wasn't even over yet, but with the exception of the time he'd had dinosaurs dropped on him, and of course, patrolling, Peter hadn't spent this much time with Deadpool without a dick up his ass. He shouldn't want it, he'd always told himself that, and the same was no less true now, but the reason behind that thought was not the same. Still, he'd come to associate getting fucked by Deadpool, and just Deadpool himself, as a form of comfort, and he felt like he almost needed the penetration right now to keep him grounded. Deadpool's hands on his cheeks, the heat of him between Peter's legs was helping, but it was a fraying tether.

"Then, if you trust me, can you trust me when I say that it wasn't rape? That how you're remembering it isn't how it happened?" Deadpool asked gently, nudging at Peter's chin to prompt the return of his gaze to meet Deadpool's.

Peter was only able to tolerate it for a few moments, a few moments in which he tried to answer, tried to say 'yes', but his view of the incident was a stain on the memory. As nice as it would have been for Deadpool's words and assurance to wipe that memory clean, it was going to take time for Peter to come to terms with Deadpool's truth when he was still so sure of his own. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, eyes falling away. His fingers were starting to ache with how hard he'd been clenching them together and he forced them apart, only to bring them back together when he didn't know what else to do with them.

"Oh, my poor little martyr," Deadpool murmured, sympathetic but not simpering nor condescending. He tilted Peter's head down as he tilted his chin up, and he pressed a masked kiss to Peter's forehead. He lingered there and Peter let his eyes close, finally pulling his hands from the pocket of his hoodie, but only so he could curl them in the fabric of Deadpool's hoodie where it lay against his chest. When Deadpool pulled away, Peter wavered as he started to follow after and then stopped himself, only for Deadpool to guide Peter's head to rest on his shoulder, looping his arms around Peter's waist. "I love your heroism, I really do, but I think you take on too much that you don't have to. Maybe one day you'll let me Samwise your Frodo and I'll help you carry more than just this ring of power." One hand smoothed down his ass cheek, thumb and forefinger pressing between his cheeks to pinch at his asshole.

That startled a hysterical little giggle out of Peter, the sound closer to a hiccup than a laugh, but it was genuine all the same. He could feel Deadpool's mask move against where his nose was pressed to the mercenary's neck, and he imagined Deadpool was smiling. "I know you only wanted fun then you got all fucked up on loving me," Peter said before he'd really thought about speaking. Maybe Deadpool really was onto something with his whole FOB lyrics thing; it was the second one Peter had used tonight.

Under him, Deadpool went tense and Peter found himself holding his breath until Deadpool relaxed again. When the body under him lost its tension, the hand on his ass shifted, sweeping a hand up his spine and then back down, palm coming to a rest at the base of his spine. "Baby boy, I wanted fun 'cuz I already loved you. Like I said, I just wanna make you feel good. It's all i ever wanted and it's all I still want."

If Peter remembered right, that was the third time Deadpool had said he loved him in three years. He used the word a lot, said he loved Peter's body a lot, the way he felt, the way he sounded, but Peter himself? Only three times: after the dinosaurs, after the incident on his and Mark's anniversary, and now. Peter closed his eyes.

"Will you fuck me?" he asked quietly, a mumble into Deadpool's neck. But Deadpool heard him anyway, his body going tense and his cock twitching in his pants. He'd never asked for it before. He'd just let Deadpool fuck him when Deadpool tried. He complained about it, told Deadpool to stop, but he'd never actually made a movie to because for all his denial, he always wanted it.

"I don't think that's a good idea, baby boy," Deadpool said slowly, surprising Peter. He'd never thought Deadpool would turn him down, but at the same time, he understood why. Still, it wasn't a solid 'no', and Peter needed it.

"Please?" he tried again, and then added, "Wade."

"That's low, Petey," Deadpool replied, but his hands moved to Peter's waist. "But yeah, if you're sure."

"Please," Peter said again.

"Okay," he agreed, voice soft. "Come on, up," he said, pulling Peter up.

Peter knelt up off Deadpool's legs, but when Deadpool tried to get him to stand up, Peter's fingers tightened in Deadpool's sweater and he refused to let go. For some reason, the thought of separating from Deadpool right now was unbearable.

Deadpool paused, and for a moment, Peter was worried he would say 'no' for real. But after a few heavy beats of his heart, Deadpool released Peter's waist and moved his hands to the front of Peter's jeans. The brush of scars against the bare skin of Peter's hip bones made him sigh as his pants were pushed to his thighs, and the hesitant wrap of a hand around his half-hard dick made him hum softly. Deadpool paused again, and Peter bowed his head to press his forehead to Deadpool's. "Wade," he breathed, and the hand wrapped around him spasmed, making him gasp and jerk forward.

"Baby boy," Deadpool growled, releasing Peter's dick to slide his hands around to Peter's ass, gripping hard and pulling Peter's hips forward into his chest. His fingers inched forward until they were pushing at Peter's plug and Peter found himself rocking with the motion, back into the press of the plug inside him and forward to slide his dick against the softness of Deadpool's hoodie. By the time Deadpool finally pulled away, taking Peter's plug with him, to unzip his own pants, Peter was panting and fully hard.

As Deadpool's hands moved under Peter's ass, every brush of his scars against Peter's skin making his flesh tingle, Peter unclenched his hands and slid them up Deadpool's chest to the edge of his mask. He froze when Deadpool did, and opened his eyes to meet the mercenary's under the mask, or so he guessed. "I want to kiss you," he whispered, slowly starting to roll up the bottom of the mask, even as he didn't dare to breathe for fear of rejection.

Deadpool didn't answer for a heartstopping moment, and then he held up a cupped hand. "Gimme some spit first, Petey," he whispered back. peter licked his lips and nodded, and then pulled back to spit into Deadpool's hand.

While Deadpool slicked up his cock, Peter rolled the spandex up to the mercenary's nose, resisting the urge to pull it all the way off. He'd respect Deadpool's wishes, but he resolved to get Deadpool to try and change his mind. Now that he'd finally seen the other man's face, he was hungry for it. Peter wrapped his arms around Deadpool's neck, leaned forward, and took Deadpool's mouth as he was breached, the thick head of Deadpool's cock spreading him, the shaft splitting him in half as hands on his waist pulled him down until he was fully impaled. Deadpool's kiss was slow, tongue against Peter's languorous, and it left Peter as breathless as the fullness of being stuffed by such a thick cock did.

"Wade," Peter breathed into the man's mouth, the sound almost a moan. Normally he wouldn't say it until he was made to, so he could come, but this wasn't a normal occasion. The hips under him jerked as the hands at his waist tightened to a bruising pressure that made him feel weak in the best ways.

"You wanna ride me, baby boy?" Deadpool asked and Peter nodded.

"Yeah." He'd only done it the once before, when he took Deadpool, something he wasn't going to forget anytime soon, but this time he had the reassuring strength of the man holding on to him, keeping him tied to the current moment.

The drop in Deadpool's voice, the familiar tone of command, made Peter shudder: "Ride me, Petey."

Peter kissed Deadpool again as he rose, his arms tight around the man's neck keeping them together as the thick erection filled him up with his slow fall back down. Each thrust was almost painfully slow as they kissed until Peter was dizzy from lack of air, the brushes against his prostate sparking electricity through each of his nerves making him lightheaded. Deadpool's hands at his waist never loosened with his movements, but he didn't help, didn't push or pull, just let Peter set the pace and keep it.

They didn't speak as they fucked, and the lack of the usual grip tight around the base of Peter's cock made the build of heat in his belly achingly slow. This had to have been the longest they ever spent fucking, the quietest they'd ever been, but Peter was, for some reason, loathe to break the silence, and uninterested in speeding up to reach his orgasm faster. He was enjoying the slow burn, the slow kisses, and the slow increase of pressure at his waist until it hurt in the sweetest way. He thought that he might be able to come as soon as the heat reached boiling point, but when he got there, the sensation stuck, pressure built up with nowhere to go. He wondered why, even as he realized he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Please let me come, Wade," he implored, staring into white eyes, arms tightening around Deadpool's neck to keep them close.

"Are you my good boy?" Deadpool asked against Peter's mouth.

"Yeah," Peter breathed back. His next words didn't so much as falter on their way out his mouth, but then again, the truth had always been easier to admit when Deadpool was inside him. "I'm yours."

The fingers at his waist and the mouth against his and the body under his went lax at his admittance, and then they all tightened again, hard. Deadpool devoured his mouth and his hands tightened hard enough to make Peter whimper so that he could pull Peter down into his hard upward thrust, one that made Peter's vision go temporarily white. He didn't stop after that first thrust though, just kept fucking up into Peter hard and fast, leaving Peter to cling helplessly to his shoulders and pant into his mouth.

"Say it again, Petey," Deadpool practically growled in his 'obey me' voice. "Say it again and you can come."

"I'm yours, Wade," Peter rasped, and it might have been the truest thing he'd ever said to Deadpool. He hoped Deadpool didn't think Peter was just leading him on and he hoped that he had the courage to reaffirm his confession when they were done because it was a simple truth that had existed ever since their first time together, and Peter had denied it, even to himself, for far too long. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours."

Deadpool growled out a sound that could have been "Fuck" or it could have been Peter's name or any other word in any other language. Peter's body was already hot and tight, his dick throbbing, and that sound only made his waiting orgasm more insistent in its need to get out, and Peter moaned as he kissed Deadpool again. "Please, Wade, please let me come," he begged.

"Fuck yeah, baby boy, I want you to come for me. You're such a good boy, my good boy, and I want my good boy to come." Deadpool might have continued speaking, but the soft rumble of his words, his praise, his permission, hit Peter like lightning, sending his vision and every nerve white like fuzz on an old tv.

Peter's body seized as his orgasm rushed through it; the slow burn of the slow-build orgasm Peter had been stroking like a fire as he'd ridden Deadpool had been turning into a blazing pyre when the mercenary had taken control. The feeling of it ripping through him, turning his every limb into white light, made Peter cling tight to Deadpool's neck, afraid to let go or else he'd spiral away into nothingness. Deadpool kept fucking into him, hard thrusts grazing his prostate and making it seems like the light would never fade before he finally slowed and then fell still. Peter settled, trembling, in Deadpool's lap as his orgasm finally started to fade.

The room was silent in the aftermath except for the harsh sound of Peter's breaths in his own ears as he slowly lowered his head back to Deadpool's shoulder and Deadpool released his waist to wrap his arms around Peter nice and tight. He might have been worried that Deadpool wasn't hard of breath or even chatting if it wasn't a normal occurrence after a round of great sex. Peter could feel the cock in him start to soften and he shifted with a soft hiss, aiming to keep it inside him. It wasn't uncommon for Deadpool to just stay in him until he got hard again, fuck one, two, three more times, and right now, Peter needed that. He needed for this connection to remain as it was.

Deadpool didn't speak until he'd started to get hard again, his thickness expanding and filling Peter once more, turning his breathing unsteady and making him shift in Deadpool's lap. "You wanna move somewhere more comfortable, baby boy?" Deadpool asked quietly, shifting in place.

Peter shook his head. "'m comfortable right here," he mumbled. "I don't want you to pull out yet." The arms binding him tight loosened and he made a noise of discontent as they pulled away, but there were hands on his shoulders a moment later, pushing him to sit back on Deadpool's thighs so Deadpool could look him in the face. The shift pushed Deadpool's cock deeper into him and Peter's eyes fluttered for a moment at how deep it felt like the other man was reaching in him, at how it felt like he was being filled up and remade. Deadpool had said in the beginning that he was going to 'phoenix' Peter and it seemed to finally be happening. Or rather, it had been happening all along, Peter was just only seeing it now.

"Are you sure you're alright, baby boy?" Deadpool asked gently, hands smoothing up Peter's shoulders and neck to cup his jaw. As always, those massive hands were warm and solid and Peter let his eyes close as he sunk into the touch. "I'm not exactly one to look a gift whore in the mouth when it comes to what you'll let me do to you, but you're not usually this sweet on me, not even recently. Like, you've been sample candy sweet the last few months, but this is like candy store gift card sweet. I'd actually be worried that you're not you if you hadn't already Spidey-leaped onto my ceiling. if this is about the not-rape, you know you don't have to make it up to me, right? You don't have to let me do anything to you that you don't want me to just to make up for it you know. Actually, strike that, rephrase: please don't let me do things to you that you don't want me to. 'K, baby boy?"

Peter opened his mouth to answer, to assure Deadpool of his intentions, his reasons, but the words stuck in his throat and he couldn't dislodge them for anything. He dropped his eyes and his arms, letting his hands trail down Deadpool's chest to rest against his hard stomach, fingers playing with the edges of the hoodie's pocket. The hoodie. Peter raised his eyes again and, hopefully, met Deadpool's through the mask. "Do you recognize my hoodie, Deadpool?" he asked, startling Deadpool with his question if the way the mercenary jerked was any indication.

Deadpool's head dipped down, as if he was studying the fabric intensely. It wasn't anything special, just a plain hoodie with no symbols, but Peter's thumbs were threaded through the straight, unsewn holes at the hems. "Is that my hoodie?" he eventually asked, lips pursed like he was frowning.

"Yeah, you left it at my place after the-" The word 'rape' stopped in his mouth at the slight increase of pressure from the hands on his jaw, and Peter swallowed hard. He couldn't see it as not-that, not yet, but maybe he'll get there one day. "You left it at my place and took my hoodie instead, that one day you wore civies to my place." And there had only been one time. Every time without fail, Deadpool had worn his suit when he saw Peter, except for that once. "I've… I've worn your hoodie every night when I went to sleep. Because…" This was hard to say, but it was easier than the words he couldn't even think yet. "Because it… it smells like you," he admitted quietly, dropping his eyes.

"Baby boy…" Deadpool murmured, thumbs stroking along Peter's cheekbones. "I smell terrible."

Peter snorted. "Like death," he agreed. "And old food." He paused and licked his lips. "But it still smelled like you. It was like you were there with me even when you weren't. It doesn't smell right anymore though." He plucked at the hoodie Deadpool was wearing, hoping that Deadpool could extrapolate from what Peter could say and what he couldn't. Not yet, anyway. "Its… I haven't worn any other hoodie since…"

"Petey…" Deadpool whispered, and then surprised Peter by yanking him forward into a kiss. It was hard and messy and hungry and it got Peter hard and desperate until he was clutching at the fabric over Deadpool's chest and grinding down on his cock. "Sweetheart, I'm not leaving you for hours," he promised, and Peter could have cried again.

"Please don't, Deadpool," he begged as the hands on his face fell away and grabbed at his waist again, pulling him down as Deadpool started fucking up.

"Back to Deadpool again, baby boy?" Deadpool asked, even as his fingers tightened on the bruises Peter could already feel forming like an ache under his skin.

"Just please don't leave me," was all Peter said, clinging to Deadpool with their foreheads touching, his eyes squeezed closed and mouths close enough that every inhale and exhale from both of them was one.

"Don't you worry about a thing, baby boy," Deadpool replied, each word punctuated with a hard thrust that had Peter seeing stars behind his closed eyes. "I'm never going to let you go. You're all mine now and I'm keeping you like an oath, Petey, and not even Death'll do us part. She can keep her pretty little bony fingers off of you because you're all mine. Aren't you, baby boy?"

Peter moaned and nodded his agreement as he slid his hands back up Deadpool's chest to wrap his arms around Deadpool's neck again. He tightened the press of knees against Deadpool's ribs and then, with a shift of his weight, a little bit of strength, and a twist of his spine, Peter manage to topple them sideways and backwards without dislodging the dick in him. He landed on his back lengthwise on the sofa with Deadpool spread out over him, the mercenary's heavy weight crushing him down into the cushions. It made him feel protected and safe, to have Deadpool caging him in like he was. When Deadpool moved to pull away, Peter's annoyance emerged from his throat like a half-hum, half-growl, and he tightened the wrap of his arms and legs to keep the man where he was.

Deadpool stopped moving immediately, hovering just above Peter so that none of his weight was pinning him down and resisting Peter's insistent tugs. "I don't wanna squish my itsy bitsy spider," Deadpool said, and despite the cutesy words, his voice was low and quiet.

Peter blinked his eyes back open, the sunlight streaming in through the windows surprising him and making his eyes water, but the familiar sight of the red and black mask came into focus a second later. As usual, he couldn't see Deadpool's expression, but he could see the evidence of a frown in the slight downturn of lips. "You won't," Peter promised, loosening his arms and dropping them to the sofa above his head, which only made his cheeks feel warm from the way it made him feel vulnerable with his ribs exposed, clothed or not.. He wasn't even sure himself if the way they fell, with his wrists crossed, was intentional or not, but he half-hoped Deadpool would take the invitation anyway, pin Peter down at the wrists with one of his hands. "It feels good," he admitted quietly, unable to make eye contact.

The silence that followed dragged on, for so long that his heart started to pound from his nerves and his feet fell back to the cushions, releasing the death-grip his thighs had on Deadpool's waist. And then, thankfully, finally, Deadpool was lowering himself back down until he was blanketing Peter, a solid, heavy, immovable weight. Peter sighed in relief and his eyes fell closed, and he hummed at the kiss pressed to his neck. "Thank you," he whispered, feeling brave enough to say it as long as he didn't have to look Deadpool in the face.

Deadpool shifted over him, and then fingers wrapped around his wrists, exerting enough weight to make him feel it. A hand palmed the curve of his ass a moment later, lifting his hips so Deadpool could adjust the angle of his cock inside Peter. That one shift was all it took to push the head of Deadpool's cock against Peter's prostate and Peter arched into the immovable hardness of Deadpool's chest, mouth opening in a gasp as his arousal reawoke like sparklers going off in his nervous system.

"You're welcome, Petey," Deadpool murmured against his mouth, hips rolling against Peter's, pulling his cock out and pushing it back in a slow glide, taking Peter apart as easy as breathing. "Anything you want, anywhere, anyhow; I live to serve, baby boy," he said as he continued, promising obedience at the same time his words were leashing Peter to him. "I've been yours since the beginning." Just as Peter had been Deadpool's.

It had just taken Peter three years and a stint as someone else's shitty boyfriend to see it.



If Wade had been a lesser man, his dick would have fallen off hours ago.

When he'd woken that morning from a reanimation to a bizarrely clean bedroom, an alarm clock he didn't know he owned on his nightstand, and the sounds of an intruder in his living room, he hadn't expected to find Petey standing next to Wade's own little suicide booth with his D-Eagle in his baby boy's innocent little hand. He hadn't really expected the love confession that followed either, not that it was explicitly stated as such and in fact used too many words and none of them a synonym for that particular emotion, but Deadpool had been getting good at reading between the lines of Petey's words and actions and Petey's words about his actions pretty much added up to his greatest wish coming true.

Which was why Wade had thought he was dreaming through the double-stuffing of his vanilla oreo on the couch, the single-stuffing against the living room wall, and another double-stuff in his bed. It wasn't until Petey had started to wince from the soreness of marathon-sex that Wade had come to terms with the fact that no, this was actually happening and he was actually hurting his baby boy. Except, when he tried to stop, when he pulled out and tried to put Petey's plug back in, Petey had just said "Please, Wade" (his kryptonite) and looked at Wade with those sad brown eyes until Wade pushed back into his swollen hole.

Wade didn't dare to use his Dom voice on Petey, not
in the state he was in. Even though his stubborn little spider had pulled himself from subspace before, there was no telling how he'd react to going under in his current mindset. There was no way of knowing if it would take or how well it would if it did or if he could pull Petey out afterwards. He had no idea if Petey was even capable of safewording. So no Domming, and therefore no other kinks either. He kept it as vanilla as he could, and tried to convince Petey after each orgasm for it to be the last, but his baby boy didn't let Wade pull out even when every slow thrust started to make him go tight from pain and he didn't let Wade stop even after Petey's balls had been wrung dry and he was forcing himself through dry orgasm after dry orgasm. Wade had no idea how long his baby boy would have pushed himself, pushed both of them, if he hadn't passed out somewhere around midnight.

By that point, his sweetie's hole was a complete mess, the come from Wade's countless orgasms spread across the backs of Petey's legs and all over the sheets, and pretty much soaking through the front of Wade's hoodie and jeans from belly to thigh. Christ, the sheets. If someone tried to shine a blacklight on them, they'd probably get blinded. He would have preferred not putting the plug back into his baby boy's stretched-out hole, but with how greedy Petey had been for his dick, for Wade coming inside him, there was a good chance Petey'd be cranky if he woke up empty. He winced when he pushed the black silicone home but his baby boy didn't so much as stir.

Wade's legs were so weak that he almost crumpled several times between redressing the bed, giving his baby boy a cloth bath, his own quick shower, and throwing on some old-ass sweats and a clean hoodie. It was almost a shame that he couldn't die because 'sexathon with the bombest ass' would be the COD to top all CODs. The owner of Earth's bombest ass hadn't so much as moved except to breathe while Wade had pulled cleanup duty, and that didn't change when Wade crawled back into bed and pulled his baby boy in close and tight. He had originally planned on some aftercare, try to ease the pains of tomorrow before they got there, but he was fucking out the second his head touched the pillow.

When the insistent rays of the sun dragged Wade back into the world of the waking, he'd managed to catch a solid twelve hours of Zs, which was a first for him without dying first. He half expected to find his morning wood, well, afternoon wood, fully submerged in the Atlantis of Petey's ass, and was a little grateful to find that it was just pressed against his Sleeping Beauty's ass. Now, Wade would never say 'no' to sex with his baby boy, but he felt like one of them needed to adult long enough to have a talk about Petey's sorta-breakdown, and he had a feeling that that was going to need to be him. Maybe pancakes would ease the pain of having to Talk.

Wade was just ladeling more batter onto his griddle when there was a loud crash from his bedroom, and he was already reaching for a weapon he wasn't actually carrying when Petey appeared in the doorway. His eyes were wide, his mouth open and chest heaving as he panted, despite only having to go a few feet from bed to door, or possibly floor to door, judging by that sound, he was back in yesterday's jeans and hoodie, and his fluffy hair was an adorable mess that Wade really wanted to touch. But more than that, he wanted to gauge where exactly his sweetie was in regards to his temperament concerning Wade.

"Morning, baby boy!" he chirped, giving a little wave with his spatula before he flipped pancakes 4a through 4d. "Sleep well?"

Petey stared at him for a moment longer before his head dropped and his hand rose to meet it. His hair was short enough that it didn't block Wade's view of Petey's fingers rubbing over his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. Hm. Was his regular Petey back or was he going to have to sweet-talk breakdown Petey?

"Yeah, I slept okay," Peter replied, voice low but not the sad kind of low and desperate from yesterday as he started to move towards the kitchen, every step almost excruciatingly slow like he was still in pain. Considering how hard and long Wade had wrecked that ass, he wasn't surprised. "Just… really sore," he admitted in an even quieter voice, cheeks stained pink. Oh yeah, that was definitely regular Petey; breakdown Petey had been hungry as hell and unashamed of it. "I can't remember the last time I slept that long," he said as he slowly hefted himself onto a stool and dropped his head onto his crossed arms.

"Growing baby boys need their rest," Wade said wisely, flipping his pancakes with an expert flick of his wrist and sending them flopping one-two-three-four onto the growing stack on the plate.

"Don't-" came the immediate, muffled retort, but it stopped and didn't continue. Wade wondered if Petey had been about to reprimand him for calling him 'baby boy' again.

"'Don't' what, honey buns?" he asked, pushing the pile of pancakes towards Petey along with a fork, butter, and the only kind of maple syrup a born-and-raised Canadian should have in their home.

"Nothing," Petey grumbled, the sound almost lost to the hiss of more batter being added to the griddle.

"Whatever you say, Petey," Wade replied with a smile. So, yesterday wasn't a fluke after all. They really had hit a turning point of their Them and it looked like they might actually, finally, be making their way to a legitimate Them. "Head up, time to eat."

Petey groaned but lifted his head anyway, and his eyes went wide at the leaning tower of pancakes. "You can cook?" he asked in a cute little amazed tone as he reached for the butter and syrup.

"Baby boy, I've got skills you've never seen," Wade leered, but it was probably lost with his mask in the way. "I'm going to blow your mind, just you wait and see," he promised as he watched Petey take a bite. To his surprise, and Petey's too apparently, his baby boy moaned when he took his first bite, and his cheeks turned bright red as Wade leered harder at him, though the effect was still lost with the mask still in the way. "Good?" he asked, amused. Petey carefully did not make eye contact as he nodded and cut another bite from the pile. "Good. Eat as many as you want, I'm making a shit-ton."

As much as they needed to have a conversation about yesterday's conversation, and god didn't it suck that Wade had to adult, he knew from years of experience what his Spidey's metabolism was like, and he knew that he didn't get as much food as he needed. Even though Wade did most of the work yesterday, he was fairly certain that his baby boy needed filling up after all that emotion-having and dick-taking and orgasming. The food kind of filling up, not the dick-and-cum kind of filling up, although…. How wet was Petey after yesterday? How easy would it be to slip back inside him? How-


Wade jerked and turned towards Petey with an eloquent "Huh? What?"

"Your pancakes are burning," Petey said, gesturing towards the griddle with his fork. Wade noticed that his plate was empty and then his baby boy's words registered and he gasped and went to the rescue. They came out slightly singed but otherwise edible, and Wade plopped them on a clean plate with a relieved sigh. When he turned back around, Petey was staring down at his empty plate, creating disappearing patterns in the leftover syrup with the tines of his fork.

"Still hungry?" Wade asked, scraping the last of the batter onto the griddle before dumping more mix into the empty bowl.

"N-" Petey started and then stopped. His head was bowed, but Wade could see the flicker of eyes dart his way and he wondered if Petey was remembering his rule about lying. "Yeah," he admitted quietly a moment later, and Wade felt his lips curl in a satisfied smile.

"Good boy," he praised, and delighted in watching his baby boy's limbs go tense. "C'mere," he said, leaning back against the counter.

Across from him on the far side of the breakfast bar, Petey shifted on his stool and then winced. "No," he said petulantly. Wade shrugged, but then his baby boy surprised him. "It hurts to move. You come here."

Wade waited for a beat, and then stalked around the bar, arousal a low pulse in his system, pleasant but ignorable. Petey wasn't looking at him, had his fingers curled together in his lap again, and his body was tense, but he didn't retract his statement or try to move away. But he didn't try to welcome Wade into his space either. Contradictory to the end, his itsy bitsy spider. It was good to have his usual Petey back, but it'd be just as nice if recent Petey and usual Petey could fusion-ha and join forces.

When he reached his baby boy, he stopped close, Petey's elbow just barely brushing his own hoodie. Wade put a slow, careful hand against Petey's chest and slid it up, fingers spread wide so that they nearly spanned his whole chest. He kept going up to that tempting neck, the one that had never looked so good than when it had been ringed in bruises from Wade's hand, and stopped with his hand pressed against the underside of Petey's jaw, exerting enough force to push his baby boy's head back. Petey went agreeably, if slowly, and his eyes were closed, as if he could ostrich his way out of this situation - if he couldn't see it happen, then it wasn't happening. He should know better by now.

Wade lifted his mask and bent his head for a slow kiss. He knew his breath probably tasted terrible because he hadn't gotten around to brushing his teeth, but Petey tasted sweet, like maple syrup. He half-hoped Petey's hands would wrap in his hoodie like they had the day before, but that hope was equalized with the knowledge that yesterday was a special event that wouldn't be likely to recur again any time soon. Sure enough, those deceptively strong little fingers stayed wrapped up in each other, but Petey actually kissed him back,. Which wasn't unexpected but it was still nice and calming all the same, to feel those lips and that tongue moving languorously against his. When he pulled away, he was graced with the sight of lightly-flushed cheeks and glazed, half-lidded brown eyes, and Wade stood straight again, smiling.

"Good boy," Wade said again, and the flush darkened before his very blessed eyes before he returned to the griddle to do more flippage before there was more burnage. "I'm going to continue pancake-olypse over here, and then once we're so full we're going to have to roll each other Violet Beauregarde style back into the living room for a talk."

When he turned to load a fresh stack of 'cakes onto Petey's plate, he found his baby boy scowling at him. "We just talked yesterday," he argued as he buttered and syrupped his food.

"And we need to talk about that talk, baby boy," Wade replied, griddling more batter. He knew Petey was younger than him, he wasn't sure by how much, and he was clearly inexperienced in the finer points of lovin', but Wade had hoped that after yesterday's sorta-confessions that his prickly little porcupine would be more open to adulting. At least, adult relationshipping. Adulting for anything else was just boring.

"You never wanna talk," Petey shot back petulantly, complete with pout, as he took a bite from his new stack.

"Correction: you never wanna talk," Wade corrected with a pointed wave-poke of his spatula. Petey blinked at him and Wade sighed before leaning his hip against the bar counter. "Let me set the scene, Petey: you're in love with someone who not only wouldn't give you the time of day, but actively hates everything about you." Petey opened his mouth and Wade stopped him with a short "Eh! Nope, hush. It's daddy's turn now." His innocent little baby boy wrinkled his nose at the term but closed his mouth. "Good boy," Wade praised for reinforcement, and to see that cute little blush, and then continued. "Now, you know this crush of yours doesn't have the best time of things, but you also know something they don't. You've got a magic dick that could make their day. So you use all the best tricks in your book to get that person to let you use your magic dick on them, but they kick you out as soon as you're out because they love that dick but they still can't stand the sight of you. And that's the setup, baby boy."

Wade paused long enough to take care of the current batch of pancakes and then returned to his spot against the counter. He found Petey's head bowed and his fork turning in his fingers, the tines scraping against the plate. Wade's lips twitched and he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the counter and tilting his head just right to meet Petey's pretty brown eyes. "Baby boy, I wanna date the shit out of you, if you'd let me. I wanna take you out and wine and dine you and Netflix and chill with you. I want you to rant about your nerdy shit and I want to be there waiting for you when you come home after a bad day and I want you to be there waiting for me when I get back from a mission and I want us to collab on the streets together. Like, hell yeah, I wanna fuck the shit out of you all the time and I got mad-love for that body of yours, but I do actually love you, you know."

As he talked Petey's blush deepened and deepened until his whole face was an adorable, bright red and he'd ducked his head so far to get away from Wade's eyes that his chin was pretty much pressed to his chest. "You don't even know me," came the quiet, mumbled retort that Wade had to crane to hear.

"I might not know as many specifications as I want," Wade conceded, "but I know who you are here." He poked Petey's chest with the end of the spatula's handle. "The rest is just icing." He waited for a moment, but when it seemed like no response was incoming, he turned away again to take off the 'cakes and add more batter.

"I want you to take off your mask."

Wade choked on air and nearly knocked the griddle, mixing bowl, and spatula straight onto his gross-ass floor. "No," he said emphatically. He spared a brief glance behind him and found Petey still staring down at his hands, but in that same moment, he saw Petey take a deep breath and raise his head, chin tilted up almost defiantly, and he turned to face his baby boy fully.

"Please, Wade," Petey said firmly without hesitation or any sign of the desperation and hunger he'd displayed the day before.

Wade's jaw dropped in surprise, and then he jabbed an accusatory finger at Petey in the air between them. "That's fucking cheating, Petey," he accused with an emphasising second jab of his finger.

"Yeah well so is not triggering my Spidey sense!" Petey shot right back, startling Wade all over again.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"What?" Peter echoed right back, face scrunched up.

"Baby boy… Are you saying that I - me - Wade Wilson - Deadpool - Merc with a Mouth-"

"Oh my god just continue-"

"- do not activate your stranger danger alert?" Wade finished, ignoring the interruption like it hadn't happened.

Petey shook his head, gaze dropped down once again. "I thought you knew but… no. It's never gone off around you. It never tells me when you're close or even like yesterday when you threw that knife at me or when you pointed your gun at me." Petey paused but Wade could only gape at him with the smell of burning pancakes in his nose. "It's one of the reasons that you… that you scare me."

Wade started out of his daze and hurriedly saved the pancakes. "Now that I did know." At the confused look from Petey, Wade clarified, "I knew that I scared you."

"You did?" Petey asked, looking surprised.

"Duh." Wade valley-girled. "I'm not, like, an idiot, baby boy." The singed pancakes went off to the side for him to eat later; just the thought of serving them to Petey, his princess, was sacrilege.

Petey snorted. "I know you're not. You're probably one of the smartest people I know. Which is why I almost didn't notice that you're trying to distract me from telling you to take off your mask."

Wade cursed under his breath. And put more batter on the griddle, keeping his back to Petey.

"Deadpool…" Petey said voice low and somewhere between cajoling and threatening.

"Petey.." Wade said right back. When he threw a glance over his shoulder, he found himself the object of an intense glare and crossed arms, and he turned around with a huff.

"You're going to lose you breakfast," Wade tried instead.

"I didn't throw up the first time I saw your face and I'm not going to throw up now," Petey shot back. "Stop stalling. You've known my face for years and this isn't going to be any different." Wade opened his mouth to argue that this was, in fact, very different, and then Petey hit him with the ultimate whammy. "Can't you trust me back?"

'Back.' Implying he had Petey's trust in the first place…

Wade had Petey's trust.

"Can I have a kiss first?" Wade wheedled, and Petey scowled something ferocious. Adorable, but ferocious. Like a particularly incensed Pomeranian.

"You can have a kiss after," Petey said firmly. And damn if his baby boy directly addressing what he hadn't wanted to acknowledge for the last few years didn't get Wade all fired up. If only he would just let go of the mask thing. "I'm not letting go of this mask thing. Take it off, Deadpool." Damnit. "The only reason I haven't taken it off already is because you technically let me take mine off, even if your method was incredibly underhanded and completely not fair."

"Would it help if I said it wasn't planned?" Wade tried, voice a bit weak with a slight shrug. "If I just really wanted to see your feelings on your face then?" Petey's expression went positively thunderous. "Baby boy-"

"Deadpool-" Petey tried to interrupt but Wade steamrolled right over him as if he hadn't spoken.

"I don't want to lose you when i just got you!" His own shout caught him by surprise but apparently did no such thing for Petey.

"You won't!" his baby boy shouted back, eyes full of fiery determination that only lit a pyre of fear and fear of loss in Wade.

"I WILL!" he roared, slamming a fist on the counter as he leaned hard into his baby boy's space like a guard dog warning off trespassers lest they feel his bite. But Wade would never harm Petey, not even now when terror, panic, and anxiety were screeching through his veins.

"YOU ARE NOT A DECISION I MADE LIGHT LIGHTLY, WADE!" Petey roared back with his own forward lurch, getting right in Wade's face. Both the shout and the move startled Wade enough that he jerked back, staring at his normally-quiet baby boy with wide eyes. Wade had no idea how much time passed before Petey sat back down on his stool, his unfamiliar, intense expression melting into a more recognizable frustration. "God damnit, Deadpool," Petey said, voice exasperated as he ran a hand through his hair and then over his face.

"Petey…" Wade started and then trailed off, for once at a loss for words.

"I told you earlier that you scare me, but that wasn't quite right. You fucking terrify me." The way Petey said it made it sound like a confession and Wade didn't doubt his baby boy's words or his tone for a second. "It's not just you not triggering my Spidey sense. You-" Petey cut off and turned his head to the side, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment. In the silence, Wade didn't dare to breathe. "You feel so intensely for me that I don't know what to do. I know exactly what you'd do for me, but I don't know how far I'd go for you. If I let myself fall, how far will I fall? What's the line I'd draw for you? How many of my lines would I redraw for you?"

For a moment, Wade thought he would keep going, but his baby boy just stared at him with wide eyes, the frustration turned sour with helplessness. Wade scrubbed his own hands down his face and then turned to walk around the breakfast bar. He didn't stop until he was standing so close that he could feel Petey's heat through his sweatshirt and his baby boy had to tilt his head far back to meet Wade's eyes. Well, the mask's.

"Do you trust me, Petey?" Wade asked softly, resisting the urge to touch. He wanted to wrap his baby boy in his arms, hold him so tightly that it hurt to breathe, but that was a bad idea. If they touched each other before the conversation was over, Wade had no doubt that it would devolve into a good hard fuck on the floor. Not that there was anything wrong with that, normally, but they would keep having problems and insecurities until they actually resolved them in their completeness, not just half-assed it and fell into each other again.

"You know I do," Petey replied, more confident in his word choice and tone than Wade had really expected him to be.

"Then trust that I love you just the way you are," he said softly, encouragingly. "Trust that I won't let you go to the dark side. Just because I try to make you look the other way while I kill a guy or twenty on occasion doesn't mean I want you to out there killing pervs. I don't have a problem with killing, I enjoy it, but I know you and I know what it would do to you if you ever killed someone, and I won't ever let you do that to yourself. I'd rather you hate me for killing someone you couldn't than hate yourself for killing someone you had to." Petey's head dropped, his gaze pulling away from Wade's, and Wade let him have it. "I may be bad behavior but I do it in the best way, baby boy, and I expect you to be good behaviour in the best way. Trust that I'll be the watcher of your eternal flame, that I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams."

There was a beat of silence and then Petey was raising his head, brow just furrowed. "Did you seriously just-"

"No conversation would be complete without it!" Wade protested.

"While we're discussing our future, you're seriously going to reference at me right now?"

Wade opened his mouth and then stopped dead. "Our future?" he echoed.

Instead of answering him, Petey just glared. Wade really had missed spicy Spidey but he was kinda missing soft serve Spidey right now, the one who didn't contest everything he said and wasn't trying to strip his last form of protection from him.

"Right." For a minute, Wade, didn't know what to do, but Petey just kept staring at him and it clicked. In an ominous slow thunk kind of way. "Let me guess: we won't have much of a future if I won't take off my mask?"

Petey shifted uncomfortably. "No, I'm not saying that but… Deadpool." He paused and cleared his throat, his cheeks darkening. "Wade. I trusted you even when I didn't want to. I gave you my name and let you see my face, and even though I still feel like you sorta tricked me into that, it was my choice to let you keep it. I could have had the Avengers do something about you but I didn't tell them. Now it's your turn. I've seen your face already and I didn't run. And I know your name, even if it's hard for me to say it." Despite the sinking feeling in his chest at the inevitable future Wade could see coming like a falling piano, he couldn't stop feeling amused at how dark his baby boy's face could get when he was getting embarrassed. "I didn't use it at first because it would have made what we were doing more real than I wanted it to be, and now it's hard to use because I'm so used to only saying it when you're in m- when I'm com- It's just difficult, okay?" his baby boy spat out in a rush and Wade tried not to laugh. How many times had he fucked his sweetie and Petey still couldn't say it? "The point I'm trying to make is that I'll try using it more often because it's probably another cruel thing I'm doing to you that I only call you 'Deadpool', but I want you to try taking your mask off around me. Your mask is nice but if we're going to be- if you're going to be- to be… mine, I want to see you. All of you."

His baby boy was panting by the end of his little speech and Wade felt amused and touched and totally balls-deep in love and nauseous to the bottom of his stomach in one dense little ball. "Petey, I want you to understand…" Wade swallowed hard. He hadn't really talked about his past with Petey before, or anyone, and the betrayal he didn't want to think about still cut him deep, still shadowed him and tainted his interactions with his baby boy, who might love even more than he did Vanessa. "The last person who loved me loved the pre-Deadpool me and she couldn't handle post-Deadpool me. She… The first time she saw my face she threw up and refused to talk to me and left and I never saw her again. Shitty thing was I couldn't even take myself out afterwards because I couldn't die. Baby boy, I think I love you more than I loved her, and if you do the same thing… I don't know what I'll do. It's been hard enough living with your hate already, but I don't think I could live with your disgust."

Petey was quiet but there was anger brewing on his face, and Wade wasn't sure who for or at exactly. "I saw your chin before we ever got together, when you'd eat with me on missions, and yeah, I won't lie, I couldn't look at it." Wade flinched but Petey pressed on. "I couldn't look at it when you gave me that first blowjob. But I haven't really noticed it since. It's not… something weird or gross, it's just part of you. It doesn't look unnatural or freakish or disgusting. It's just… you. Wade, in the end, I'd do it all again because… because…" Petey's face went red and his eyes dropped down as his voice dropped into a low whisper. "I think you're my best friend."

Wade didn't know what to glow over: Petey calling him 'Wade', Petey referencing their band, or Petey calling him his best friend. So he glowed over all three. His body felt warm all over and his heart felt like it was swelling like a balloon, filling his chest until it seemed like he'd have to scream to let it all out. He thought that that might come across wrong though, so instead he just swept his baby boy up into a bear hug, pulling him from his stool and probably leaving his feet dangling a foot above the floor. There was a short, alarmed squawk from Petey as he did so before the sound was muffled by his shoulder, and a moment later, Wade could feel Petey's arms wrapping around him in turn, which only made him glow and squeeze harder.

There was a muffled sound, like an attempt at words, and he loosened his arms enough to let Petey pull his head back. "What's that, baby boy?"

"Pancakes!" Petey wheezed out and Wade immediately let go, letting him fall to the floor and feeling his heart and stomach fall with his baby boy.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he said quickly, trying to ignore the stomped-in feeling in his chest. "I didn't mean- Are you hurt? I'm sor-"

"No, damnit," Petey cut into his babbling, gesturing behind Wade. "Not safeword pancakes, food pancakes. They're on fire."

Wade whipped around and sure enough, there were four little mini-campfires rising from four black little discs on his griddle. He shrieked, rushing back around the breakfast bar to put out the flames before they infected the rest of his kitchen. Not that this would be the first apartment that he'd accidentally burned down, but considering Petey was with him right now, it wouldn't be the best idea. It wouldn't do to have his baby boy be mad at him for property damage right when they'd gotten together on a mutual basis. He flipped them into the sink with the spatula, turned on the cold water, and put new, less-on-fire batter down. When he turned back around, he found that Petey had moved into the kitchen and and was standing across from him, hip propped on a counter and arms crossed.

"So," Petey said.

"So," Wade said too, going to put his hand on the counter and almost planting his palm on the griddle. His bare palm. He stopped and stared at it. Had he really forgotten to wear gloves this entire time?

He startled when fingers not his own curled around the hand he was staring at, cupping his hand in both of Petey's, and then Petey nearly made him jump out of his own skin when a kiss was pressed to the pad of his index finger. He tried to pull his hand free, but Petey only super-power-tightened his grip, keeping Wade's limb trapped as he pressed a kiss to the pad of Wade's index finger next. Then his ring, and then his pinky, then his thumb. When he finished, he looked up at Wade through those stupidly long lashes and Wade was torn between crippling fear at Petey touching his scars and crippling arousal from those lips and those eyes.

"I want a kiss," Petey said quietly but firmly. Wade nodded jerkily, leaning forward, but Petey pulled back. "Do you remember what I said?" Wade couldn't remember how to breathe at the moment so he just stared. "I said you could have a kiss after you take off your mask."

Once again, Petey's tight grip on his hand kept Wade from pulling away, even when he shook his arm. "Peeeteeeyyyy," he whined.

"Waaade," Petey whine-mocked back at him. Then he sighed, an exasperated sound, and stepped in close. "Please, trust me."

Wade sighed explosively and dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling like he was praying for… well, anything to happen. Anything to stop this moment and it's inevitable end. "Fine," he said shortly, and then ripped off his mask like he was ripping off a bandaid. He kept his eyes squeezed shut as fresh air brushed over the rarely-exposed skin of his face and scalp, so he wouldn't have to see the look on Petey's face when he was finally faced with what Wade really looked like beneath all his sexy spandex and leather.

The touch of hands on his cheeks and soft lips on his scarred lips made him jerk backwards away from the unexpected contact and open his eyes again, heart beating in his throat. Petery was standing there with his hands still raised, blinking at where Wade's head had just been. Slowly, the hands went down and Petey's gaze shifted to meet Wade's, soft confusion morphing into an even steeliness.


"Am I not allowed to kiss you now?" Petey asked, as if Wade was being unreasonable, as if Wade had been the one that just turned their relationship on its head.

"Why would you want to?" Wade asked in return, mask gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles ached from it. "Why would you wanna touch this-" he gestured at his face "-at all?"

"Because there's nothing wrong with it," Petey replied quickly. "There's nothing wrong with you. Your scars don't bother me. And I want a kiss." He paused for a second and then gave a little shake of his head and roll of his eyes. "Aaand I said you could have a kiss after you took off your mask. So get back here and take it from me."

Wade couldn't help but groan at his baby boy's lewd phrasing, even as he fought to get his heart rate under control. Petey was as perfect as perfect could be, he was the Mary Poppins of Wade's life, but this acceptance had him approaching sainthood.

When he took a step forward, Petey took a step back, and Wade faltered, but Petey just curled his fingers, beckoning Wade to keep coming. So Wade took another step forward and Petey took another step back, and again, and again, until Wade had backed Petey up against the counter and they were pressed together belly to knee. There was something hard pressed against Wade's thigh and he knew for a fact that there was nothing in Petey's pockets. He looked down and his baby boy looked up and then tilted his head.

"Well?" Petey said expectantly.

Wade licked his lips and then slowly ducked his head for a kiss, keeping his eyes open the whole way and fixed on Petey's, searching for any signs of disgust. By the time his lips met Petey's, his gaze had gone cross-eyed and Petey's had closed as his baby boy leaned into the kiss. There was no difference in it than any other kiss, and soon, Wade could feel Petey's hands on his chest, sliding up until there were arms curled around the back of his head, keeping him close. It was that touch that finally let Wade close his eyes, let him sink into the kiss, because Petey wasn't one for comforting Wade, and he sure as hell wasn't one for reaching for Wade first. Just like always, Petey's body spoke volumes of truth when Wade couldn't be sure of the words on his lips, and his body was saying "Yes".


The kiss started slowly, tentatively, at least on Wade's half, but soon, he couldn't stop, couldn't stop from wanting more. He could never stop from wanting more of his Spidey. It ended up like all of their kisses, with Wade rocking his hard-on into Petey's belly as he devoured his baby boy's mouth, breathing Petey's air like Wade needed it to survive. Every time he pulled away, if only for a second, it was to see Petey's half-lidded gaze blinking dazedly back at him, pupils blown wide and pink lips stained from Wade's kisses and parted to send little puffs of air in the shape of pants across Wade's face. Once, when he pulled back for three heartbeats too long, Petey whimpered and pulled him back in.

"I wanna fuck you so bad right now, baby boy," Wade whispered against Petey's mouth, unable to keep from rolling his hips to feel that friction of his jeans rubbing against his cock. It was just the wrong side of pained pleasure, but absolutely worth it when it was the only option available.

"Please, Wade," Petey panted right back, and the hardness pressed to Wade's thigh twitched. Jesus fuck, how hot it was that his name could make Petey's cock react like that, that his name alone could make Petey come. Jesus fuck, he was so tempted, but-

Wade groaned, beyond tempted, but there's no way Petey's asshole had recovered from yesterday. "You're not healed yet. It's just going to hurt," he ground out against his greater desire for the opposite.

"Don't care," Petey said, slamming a hammer into the fragile bonds of Wade's restraint. "I want you in me. Now."

"Fuck, baby boy," Wade groaned, his fingers tightening at Petey's waist until Petey flinched and Wade remembered the bruises his hands had left there yesterday.

"Don't stop, Deadpool," his baby boy pleaded, and Wade suddenly craved the sound of his actual name on his sweetheart's lips again.

"Fucking hell, Petey," Wade growled, giving in and hoisting Petey onto the counter.

As soon as he did, Petey was stripping off his sweater before Wade's disbelieving eyes to reveal his bare chest, decorated with souvenirs from Wade's mouth and hands from the day before. When his fingers moved to the zip on his jeans, Wade snapped into action, knocking Petey's hands away to strip off his baby boy's jeans himself, leaving Petey naked on his counter. He'd just stepped into the spread cradle of Petey's legs when he felt fingers slip under his hoodie and palms pressing to the bare skin of his belly and he froze at the touch. Petey froze too, turning nearly-black eyes up to meet Wade's.

"I want to feel you," his devious little spider whispered into the space between them. "Please, Wade." Manipulative little shit.

"I'm pretty sure you know what that does to me and you're evil for it, Petey," Wade said. Petey didn't answer, but the corners of his lips curled like he was holding back a secret that he both wanted to reveal and keep hidden.

It was tempting, to give Petey what he wanted, because Wade always wanted to give his baby boy what he wanted. But it was just as terrifying, the thought of revealing even more of his skin. And yet… Petey hadn't had any kind of negative reaction to seeing Wade's face, had pulled him in for affection, something that he never did, yesterday excluded.

"You're going to be the death of me, baby boy," Wade groaned, and this time Petey did smile. Wade heaved out a sigh and then heaved in a breath, holding it as he pulled off his hoodie and regretting that he hadn't at least worn a t-shirt under it. He closed his eyes as the fabric smothered his face for a minute and he didn't open them as he dropped the clothing to the floor.

Petey's "Holy shit" made him flinch, but before he could abort the whole mission, there were tentative fingers tracing the visible edge of the muscles of his stomach. The lure of peaking was too great and he slitted one eye open to sneak a peak of Petey's face. Which was displaying a surprising amount of what looked like awe, and Wade had to open his other eye to be sure. Yup. Awe. Petey looked down at his own stomach and then back at Wade's, and then up to Wade's face, a pout emphasising those pretty pillow lips.

"Why the hell can you get a six pack and I can't?" Petey pouted. "And christ, I thought your suit revealed too much but you're like… Fuck Deadpool, you are fucking cut."

Wade blinked. And then he preened. "It takes a lot of hard work to keep this bod in top-notch sexathon shape, baby boy," he purred, his insecurity falling under the heavy weight of approval and lust heating his baby boy's expression. "This body ain't just for killing after all. Gotta be in top form to keep my baby boy satisfied."

Petey licked his lips and his eyes darted down to Wade's waist before returning to Wade's face. Slowly, Petey reached out to Wade's jeans, and his insecurity flared, but he forced it down and forced his body into a rigid stillness, eyes fixed to a point above Petey's head. "Go ahead."


"Holy fucking shit you've been fucking me with that?" Petey gasped. Not in disgust, but sheer disbelief. "No wonder it's hard to walk when you're done with me." Wade glanced down and nearly found himself with a face full of fluffy brown hair. A shift of his weight onto his heels gave him a sightline down his bare body, a rare sight already, and then he got a front row seat to watching his baby boy's small fingers wrapping around his cock for the first time. His thumb and his forefinger couldn't touch. "Oh my god," Petey whispered, and Wade had to agree, but for a slightly different reason. He still wasn't comfortable in his skin, not anymore, but maybe, with Petey looking at him the way he was, maybe he could be again in time.

"You still sure you want that in you when you're still feeling it from yesterday?" Wade asked. Yeah, sure, he was all ready to go, but when it came to his baby boy, he was always ready to go, but he was also always ready not to go the second Petey gave him the no-go. Not to mention he was more used to taking a few days between treating himself to that sweet ass than having it two days in a row.

Petey looked up at him. "Fuck. Me," he said, each word crystal clear without room for misinterpretation or doubt.

"Your wish is my command, baby boy," Wade said with a slight bow of his head to hide his trepidation. This was going to hurt, Petey more than him. Well, just Petey. Wade's dick might have been ready to fall off last night, but that full twelve hours of sleep had put him back in peak condition and he could fuck all day again if he had to. For once, he didn't really want to though, not with Petey feeling as sore as he was, but he could let his baby boy get away with a single round. He'd put a stop to a second one, if it came up. With his Dom voice if he had to.

As he predicted, Petey winced when Wade pulled the plug out, but he still wrapped his legs around Wade's waist and his arms around Wade's shoulders and pulled him in all the same. Wade held up his hand in front of Petey's mouth, but Petey just looked at it then up at Wade's face. Wade frowned. He knew Petey knew what he wanted, but why was he waiting for Wade to- Oh. Oooh. Okay, yeah, Wade could definitely work with this. Fuck yeah, he could work with this.

"Spit," he commanded in the deep timbre of his Dom voice. Petey's eyes fluttered and his body shuddered, and Wade's dick pulsed in responsive arousal. Fuck, it was so hot how receptive his baby boy was to being Dommed, even if Wade still hadn't quite told him what it was yet. Later, he could do it later. Petey spit in his hand and Wade gifted him with a growling "Good boy" that had his baby shuddering again.

When Wade slicked up and put the tip of his dick against Petey's still wet hole, he kept his eyes glued to his baby boy's face for any signs of pain. As he pushed in, he hated to see them, the wince in the jaw, the tension at the eyes, and he would have stopped if there weren't heels at the base of his spine pushing him deeper. By the time his balls pressed up against the world's best ass, Petey was a panting mess, his arms and legs trembling, his teeth gritted together… and his dick wet between their stomachs.

"How do you want it?" Wade asked, smoothing his hands up Petey's thighs and hips to where his handprints were bruised into his baby boy's waist. He didn't want to hurt him any more that way either, but apparently his itsy bitsy spider liked the marks Wade left on him more than he'd ever let on.

"Fuck me like you mean it," Petey said, voice soft despite his words.

"As you wish," Wade whispered as he pulled out slowly, and then he slammed back in.

Petey shouted and his nails clawed painfully into Wade's scars, but it only made Wade grin. He hated that his baby boy had to touch his disgusting skin only slightly more than he loved finally getting to feel his sweetheart's skin against his own in such wide swaths. His previous contact of chin and hands didn't quite count or cut it. So he fucked Petey hard and fast, relishing in the pain of his baby boy hanging on for his life.

Despite the rollercoaster of emotions they'd gone through that morning, Wade's normal arousal for Petey had apparently gone unaffected because he was ready to come in what seemed like almost no time. It was tempting, to come and to keep fucking through the shocks of his orgasm, but he wanted to stay on the edge for just a bit longer, to wait until he could feel Petey's walls rippling around him, to wait until he could come with his name on his baby boy's lips.

"Deadpool," Petey panted in his ear, lips brushing Wade's lobe leaving a sensation that was half-arousing/half-ticklish. "Deadpool, Deadpool, Deadpool." it felt like their regular routine all over again, but there was nothing wrong with that. Wade could live with it easily before as long as he got to touch Petey, and he could live with it even longer now, knowing that his feelings were, at least in part, returned.

"Yeah, baby boy?" he panted back, gripping harder and fucking faster. There was a corresponding clawing between his shoulder blades and a whimper in his ear as he drove his cock into Petey's tight hole, full strokes that he knew were ending against the prostate.

"I wanna come." The words came out like a plea, like Petey was begging for it, just like old times. It was hard to say if they were now, somehow or for some reason, roleplaying the way they'd fucked for the last three years, but Wade went with it.

"Tell me what I want to hear, baby boy," he Dom-said. It felt a little odd in his mouth, almost stale, but that could be because Petey had just been asking for it the last six months or so, without waiting for Wade to command him to do it. As much as Wade loved every bit of Petey, he'd kinda missed this Petey, the one that fought himself for the ability to demand what he wanted from Wade, no matter how much he told himself he didn't want it.

"Please let me come," Petey said like rote.

Wade growled and snapped his hips forward before he moved his hand to Petey's cock, wrapping tight around the base, and his ears were blessed with the sweetest of cries. Which made him realize that Petey could have come already, but he didn't. After all this time, after everything they'd gone through, his baby boy was still waiting for Wade's permission to come. Wade really had trained him well and he loved him all the more for it. Loved even more that, even if it wasn't consciously, some part of Petey knew what the conditioning was and defaulted to it unquestionably. Maybe Wade would get the try some more hardcore BDSM stuff with his baby boy after all. "Ask properly," Wade demanded.

"Please let me come, Wade!" Petey cried out and Wade leaned in to suck a bruise into his jaw, a mark for all to see that Petey wouldn't be able to hide.

"Good boy," he praised, and then started to jack Petey off. "Such a good boy. Come for me, my good baby boy."

"Wade, Wade, Wade!" Petey panted with each stroke of Wade's bare palm over the crown of his cock. And then he was coming all over Wade's fist, his body seizing into stillness on Wade's cock, even as his walls fluttered wildly with his orgasm, pushing Wade over the edge that he'd been lingering on practically since they started.

All in all, it had probably been one of the quickest fucks they'd ever had, but it was the first time that a fuck had ended with Petey draped, panting against Wade's bare chest, arms wrapped willingly around Wade's shoulders and Wade's hands stroking up and down his baby boy's knobbly spine. He let the quiet fill the room again as their breathing slowly came back under their control, but he didn't relinquish his hold. Even though they were now sweaty as hell and Wade was overheated as fuck from standing in his hot little kitchen, the contact was it's own kind of relief.

"I love you, Petey," Wade whispered suddenly into Petey's hair. The feeling had been building in his chest, building up like an expanding balloon until it had burst and the words had forced themselves out his mouth.

"I-" Petey started and then stopped. "I-" he tried again before his words seemed to fail him. "I'm sorry."

As much as Wade wanted to hear it back, he was fairly certain that yesterday's, and to an extent, today's, confessions were as close as he was going to get for a while. And that was so okay. He could wait to hear those three words from Petey's mouth for years if he had to. "It's okay, baby boy. If you feel it, then say it when you're ready, k?"

Petey was silent for a long time before he spoke again. "After my break-up, when I ra-" He stopped himself before Wade could correct him again, because Wade hadn't been lying: it hadn't been rape, and he would repeat that as long as Petey needed to hear it to be convinced of it. "A few months ago," he started again, "I quoted a song to you. I told you I felt nothing for you, that you made me numb." He stopped for a long moment, a long moment that Wade didn't dare breathe during. "That wasn't true," he finally confessed.

"I know, Petey," Wade said, pressing a kiss to the top of Petey fluffy head. Something in Petey seemed to relax at that and he went boneless against Wade. Wade started humming as he kept petting Petey, his soft cock getting hard again in the wet heat around it, and even though Petey winced, he made no move to pull out of Wade's embrace so Wade didn't bother to disengage either.

After a while, Petey spoke again, voice soft in a cute, sleepy sort of way. "Deadpool?"

"Yeah, baby boy?" he murmured back, turning his mouth into Petey's hair.

"Your pancakes are on fire again."


Chapter Text

Natasha had seen a lot of strange things ever since the aliens first ripped open a portal above New York, but the living plants that had taken over Central Park might have to top the list. It had taken nearly a full two days to get everything back in order, and the only reason there was any green still left was because the grass hadn't animated.It had gone on so long that they'd had to take shifts, little catnaps one at a time, just so they could try to get a little rest.

At least Spider-Man and Lang seemed to have fun. They kept calling the moving trees 'Treebeard'. Another reference she was sure she didn't get. It made her wonder where Deadpool was - this wasn't the kind of thing he usually missed. Unless he was on a mission… Which might make it the perfect time to finally ask Spider-Man about his relationship with Deadpool. It had been a year since their conversation and she hadn't been able to get him alone since. She hefted up a pile of burned wood and turned, but Spider-Man was facing away from her, his phone up to his ear. By the time she'd dumped the wood in the burn pile, he was already jogging towards the nearest tallest building.

"I'll meet you guys back at the tower!" he called as he ran away.

She cursed under her breath and joined the others in cleaning up.

It took nearly an hour before cleanup was complete, and by the time they were boarding the private jet on the way back to the Tower, they were all dead exhausted. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, they'd all gotten their second wind. Or their twentieth. It was hard to tell. And by the time they were disembarking, they had all started to get giddy on their own exhaustion.

"And it's my turn to pick the movie!" Lang shouted with a little jump and fist pump.

No. No way in hell. The movies Lang picked weren't the kind of bad that circled around to good again, they were just plain bad. If they were going to watch a bad movie, it was going to be the kind that was actually entertaining to watch.

The Avengers were all slow-moving, still walking towards the ramp, and Natasha subtlely sped up to be the first one off. As soon as she rounded the plane, she started to sprint. No one seemed to realize until she was already on the elevator.

"Damnit, Natasha!" Clint shouted, barrelling towards the elevator. But the doors were already closing and Nat just smiled as they dinged close.

"JARVIS, please slow the return of the elevator to the roof as much as possible, and its descent back down," she asked the empty elevator.

"Yes, Miss Romanoff," JARVIS replied.

Natasha smiled at the air as the elevator doors opened on the Avengers living room. She took one step inside and stopped dead. Well, that answered the question of where Spider-Man was off to in such a hurry. And how his relationship with Deadpool was doing.

"Why'd you stop?" Spider-Man asked sleepily from the couch furthest from the door. He was sideways on the couch, back pressed to the sofa arm. Deadpool was sitting the right way, one arm behind Spider-Man's body and the other flung out over the back over the back of the sofa. His legs were spread wide and Spider-Man's were draped across them, and they looked far too comfy. It was almost making Natasha sleepy again. And this time, she realized, there was no conflict to Spider-Man's body language, or his words.

"Lady You is here," Deadpool replied. His gaze, though masked, as always, seemed to be fixed on Natasha.

She could feel it like a heavy weight, the focus of his attention. His gaze, and his posture, reminded her of a bear protecting its cub. Spider-Man being the cub, of course. Then again, the last time she'd seem them awake together, when Deadpool had picked up Spider-Man from the med ward a couple years back, he'd been the same way. She used to think that Deadpool didn't care about anyone, but it was clear that he cared about Spider-Man. It reminded her of the thought she'd had even before that, when Spider-Man had accidentally revealed he was sleeping with Deadpool in the first place, how much more dangerous their relationship could make Deadpool.

"Hm?" Spider-Man hummed, stirring. His head, resting against Deadpool's shoulder, rolled her way. "Oh, hey Natasha."



"Hello… Spider-Man… " Natasha replied slowly before trailing off, staring at them a bit aghast at the thought that she was about to have to deal with Deadpool, whether she wanted to or not. She didn't want to deal with Deadpool right now. Not that she ever did, but she especially didn't want to deal with him after two solid days of fighting. And if Spider-Man wasn't going anywhere, and she knew he wasn't, not with that body language, then she knew Deadpool wasn't going anywhere either. "Deadpool. What are you doing here?"

"Been out of town while my Spidey's been kicking ass. I wanted to welcome him home with a little… private time." She could hear the leer in his voice. "Good thing you guys took so long getting here. I need a long time getting… reacquainted."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "There had better be a clean place to sit. I just spent the last forty-eight hours fighting."

"Oh, don't worry, everywhere else is clean," Deadpool said, and Natasha narrowed her eyes further at where the pair were sitting.

"It had better be," she warned. "We're about to have a movie night." As much as she was dying to sit down, she didn't dare move. The memory of a protective Deadpool pulling a gun on Stark years back kept her by the elevators. The elevators that everyone was about to head down. "The others will be down in about forty-five seconds," she warned. She also clearly remembered being sworn to secrecy under threat of a 'shovel talk'.

"Want me to clear out, baby boy?" Deadpool asked quietly, his attention still focused on Natasha, but it seemed to lessen when he spoke to Spider-Man. Still, she knew he wasn't inattentive enough to lose a fight if it came down to one. She fervently hoped it didn't; she didn't nearly have enough energy to go toe-to-toe with Deadpool, physically or mentally, at the moment.

There was a long pause from Spider-Man, and then he shook his head, rolling it back against Deadpool's shoulder. "No," he eventually said.

That seemed to give Deadpool pause. "You sure, sweetie?" Somehow, that term of endearment from Deadpool was both expected and… extremely strange to hear. "I got no problem being your best kept secret and your biggest mistake."


"Alrighty, baby boy. As you wish."

Deadpool's focus returned in full to Natasha and she waited. He made her wait for a long moment, and then he nodded. She nodded back and strode forward to snatch up the remotes. She was already turning on the TV and searching for The Room by the time she sat down. She was just hitting pause when she realized that Spider-Man was breathing odd. Slow, even, heavy breaths. It was… unnatural, and it made her sneak a look out of the corner of her eye. Deadpool was staring down at Spider-Man and Spider-Man… was squirming where he sat. Natasha suddenly got more suspicious than she really wanted to be about where exactly Deadpool's arm was, and by extension, what the hand behind Spider-Man's body was doing. Something she intensely didn't want to know but couldn't help knowing anyway. Or at least, unconsciously calculating a very unwanted guess. She very intensely ignored what sounded like extra-loud breathing in her ear, waiting for the others to join them. She didn't have to wait long.

When the elevator doors opened, the raucous sounds of the Avengers spilled out and then went quiet. A moment later, Stark burst through the door.

"Deadpool, what the hell are you doing in my Tower?" he shouted, striding in. " Again?" Natasha questioned his self-preservation instincts again until he came to a stop at the far end of the coffee table, keeping it between him and Deadpool. "How many times do I have to kick you out?" The other Avengers ambled in after him, lingering to a stop on their way to the kitchen.

"I invited him here," Spider-Man surprised her by speaking up. There was a waver to his voice that, again, she did not want to think about.

Stark gaped at him with a drama queen-sized look of betrayal. "I thought I could trust you, Webs?" he asked dramatically.

"Well, my boyfriend has been out for a month, I missed him."

"That's sweet and all but that's no reason to let Deadpool what the fuck did you just say?"

Natasha could see the exact moment Spider-Man's words, and his label of Deadpool, registered with the others. She could feel it in herself. Boyfriend? So they'd progressed from… whatever they'd had before that Spider-Man hadn't been able to talk about to an actual relationship. She was both happy for them and wary of their relationship, as she'd always been. Deadpool was dangerous enough when his feelings were unrequited, but now?

"I said Deadpool's been away for a month and I wanted to see him," Spider-Man replied, and his revision was not subtle.

"I'm pretty sure he said 'boyfriend'," Clint said, sounding a bit faint.

"He said 'boyfriend'," both Lang and Sam replied in unison, sounding equally faint. Natasha was starting to find the whole thing hilarious. She'd already gone through this years ago and it was a lot more amusing watching it from the other side.

"That's because he is," Spider-Man said, sounding defensive.

Stark just stared at him, mouth opening and closing silently on repeat. Rogers took a look at him and stepped forward.

"I'm sorry for Tony's insensitivity," Rogers said with a pointed look at Stark who didn't even seem to notice. "We just hadn't been aware that you two were together." He paused and the look on his face was conflicted. However steady his words, he was still clearly coming to terms with the new information. "How long have you been together?"

"A year," Deadpool said cheerfully at the same time Spider-Man said "Four years."

"Really, baby boy?" Deadpool gasped and Spider-Man jumped at the same time he made a strange little gasping sound that he poorly disguised as a cough.

"D-don't-" he stuttered and Natasha fervently wished she'd picked anywhere else to sit. Not that it would have been safer for anyone else to sit on the same couch with Deadpool, but that would have been their problem. Instead, it was her burden to bear, those noises she didn't want to hear and the knowledge she didn't want.

"You know the magic word, baby boy," Deadpool murmured, quiet enough that Natasha was sure she was the only one who heard.

"I know, Wade," Spider-Man whispered back.

"Okay, what the fuck?" Stark asked, finally having gotten his voice back. "You two better not have fucked on my couches."

"Nah," Deadpool said with a shrug and a wave of his hand. The tension in stark's shoulders eased and Natasha felt herself relax too. "We didn't fuck on the couches."

"Thank fuck," Stark muttered, and then he seemed to realize that Deadpool had very clearly specified the couches. "You fuck-"

"I'm going to go get the food!" Wanda interrupted said suddenly with a little clap of her hands.

"What a wonderful idea, Miss Maximoff," Vision said brightly as they walked quickly towards the kitchen, Pietro, Lang, and Sam in tow.

"Try to find a cake!" Deadpool called after them, tilting his head to follow their departure. "We gotta celebrate my baby boy graduating!"

Stark had dropped his face into his hand, but at Deadpool's words, his fingers froze in the process of rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Slowly, he raised his head and behind him, Rogers, Barnes, Banner, and Clint turned their heads to face Deadpool.

Stark dropped his hand far enough to jab an accusatory finger at Deadpool. "I swear to god if Spider-Man's underage and you've been-"

"College!" Spider-Man suddenly yelped. "I graduated college!"

"Yeah you are," Deadpool purred in a way that started out proud and got a little creepy a little too fast. "My little genius spider aced all his finals, didn't you, baby boy?" he said, and this time, his proud tone stayed proud.

"Yeah, thanks to you," Spider-Man replied with his own little bit of pride. "Deadpool always made sure I studied even when I didn't want to."

"I always rewarded you pretty well though, didn't I, Spidey?" That time, there was no pride, only creep.

Stark looked a little like he was going green, half-way between throwing up and fainting.

"Food's ready!" Wanda cried out as she walked back in, bowls and plates floating in front of her under the influence of her red magic as the others followed afterwards with more balanced on their hands and arms.

"Let's sit down and watch a movie, Tony," Banner suggested gently, stepping forward and taking Stark's arm like he was escorting a fair maiden. Banner led the two of them to the seats furthest from Deadpool and the other's settled in, stuffing themselves into the remaining seats as Wanda and the others laid out the food.

"And we found some cupcakes…" Wanda said, waving a plate of them at Spider-Man.

"I'll um-" He cut off into a little uncomfortable cough. "I'll grab one in a bit, thanks."

The room went still again, and then everyone carefully averted their eyes and settled uncomfortably. No one picked up any food and after a moment, when the silence had started to become oppressive, Natasha hit PLAY, even though she didn't think anyone would be able to appreciate her film choice tonight.

"Ooh! The Room!" Deadpool cheered. "I love this movie!"

Next to him, Spider-Man let out a groan that was less aggravated and more aroused. Natasha turned up the volume.

Natasha came awake slowly, feeling groggy. The room around her was dark and filled with the sound of sleeping people. After several slow blinks, the room started to come into focus and she took stock of her body. She was still on the couch in the Avengers living room, passed out against the arm. The others all looked to still be there, passed out against one another across the couches.

She should have expected this, that they'd all crash so soon after the battle. There was the remnants of food spread out across the table, and she could remember eating, could remember them all eating, but she barely remembered the second half of the movie. It was unusual for them all to pass out like this, but they hadn't fought so hard for so long in a long time and they weren't exactly young anymore.


"Yeah, baby boy?"

Damnit, not this again. She was pretty sure they'd finished during the movie, because she remembered Spider-Man getting up on shaky legs to grab his cupcake. She also remembered, against her will, seeing Deadpool's hand emerging from the back of Spider-Man's pants, a sight she wasn't likely to forget soon, no matter how hard she attempted to compartmentalize it.


"You know what to say, baby boy."

"Please let me come, Wade."

Hell no. Hell. No. This was not happening.

"Good boy."

Soft gasps - Spider-Man - filled the air accompanied with a low groan - Deadpool - followed by the sounds of softer kissing. Natasha was going to murder them. Both of them. Slowly. Painfully.

There was a few blessed few moments of silence before the kissing sounds started again. Natasha repressed the urge to groan.

"God, I love you so fucking much, baby boy." Deadpool sounded positively smitten. Natasha couldn't actually remember the last time she'd heard that tone from someone who wasn't talking about their sadistic tendencies. But he seriously needed to stop saying 'baby boy'.

"I know. I love you too, Wade." Spider-Man's words were quieter, softer, but no less genuine. Which also answered the question of how far they'd actually progressed in their relationship. Good for them. They had literally an entire Tower to do it in, why did they have to that here.

"Oh fuck, you know what that does to me." Stop moaning. If Natasha had to listen to any more of this, she was going to try out praying. "Say it again."

"I love you, Wade."

Another moan, and a slick sliding sound that officially topped the list of things she never wanted to hear again.


"I love you, Wade."

"Baby boy." The slick sliding got quicker, accompanied with a slight squelching.

"I love you, Wade. I love you, Wade. I love you, Wade."

"Oh, Petey, you're going to be the death of me."

No, Natasha was going to be the death of him. She didn't care how long it took. And then she was going to figure out 'Petey's' real, full name and she was going to be the death of him too.

"Baby boy."

Slow, painful death.

"As you're drifting off to sleep, remember: all those dirty thoughts of us aren't yours to keep."

"Wade? Who- who are referencing at?"

Natasha knew exactly who he was referencing at and the fact that he knew she was awake and was still going made her determined to compete for the world record of longest torture session. Maybe she'd go a little less hard on Spider-Man, or rather, Petey, since he was still unaware. But for Deadpool, she was going to set the record for slow.

"No one, baby boy. C'mon, show me how good you can ride me." Deadpool's voice had dropped into that dark tone again, the one Natasha had thankfully only heard a few times before. The one that was starting to make Natasha think that their relationship wasn't as vanilla as she would have expected from Spider-Man. A line of thought she immediately regretted. She was half tempted to enact her torture fantasy right now, but she was still dead tired, which was the only reason she hadn't moved yet. Still, she could dream of how painful she was going to make it, long it was going to take her.

"Y-yes, W-Wa-A-de."

Excruciatingly. Slow.


Chapter Text

Song Reference Master List

  • Part One
    1. "You make me sick." -P!nk ~ You Make Me Sick
    2. To top it all off, he tasted like death, like he always did, and like always, Peter wondered if it was his own death he was tasting. -MSMR ~ Bones
    3. "If I could still dream, it'd be in the shape of your mouth" / "See, you're an American beauty... I'm an un-American psycho… It totally lines up!" -Fall Out Boy ~ American Beauty / American Psycho
    4. "That hurt, baby boy." / "It was meant to." / "He said, he said, he said, 'Why don't you just drop dead?" -Fall Out Boy ~ A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me"
    5. "I'm gonna make you bend and break and you're gonna love every second of it." -Fall Out Boy ~ Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
    6. "Free love on the streets but in the alley it ain't that cheap, now." -Fall Out Boy ~ I Don't Care
    7. "I'll leave 'em in the gutter with our love where I found you." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Mighty Fall
    8. "I'm gonna make you wear me like a choker around your throat; you're gonna look so good in my blue." -Fall Out Boy ~ Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner
    9. "And my ass is the best you'll never have." -Fall Out Boy ~ Miss Missing You
    10. "I used to be obsessed with dying, baby boy, and it wasn't pretty. Now I'm obsessed with you." -Fall Out Boy ~ Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows)
    11. "Now, prepare yourself for a phoenix-ing because I'm going to Fawkes you up and remix you, baby boy." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Phoenix
    12. "Oh, Petey, I'm the best worst thing that has happened to you yet, but I'm about to. Oh yeah, I'm so about to happen to you." -Fall Out Boy ~ American Beauty / American Psycho
  • Part Two
    1. "Mm, baby boy, I love the way you hurt me. It's irresistible." -Fall Out Boy ~ Irresistible
    2. "Don't need no spark to ignite this lover's rage, Spidey. I'll get you out of this cage." -Fall Out Boy ~ My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark
    3. "Mmm, that pretty pout when I bottom out, Petey." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Mighty Fall
    4. "I hate the way you say my name like it's a secret." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Pros and Cons of Breathing
    5. "You are what you love, not who loves you." -Fall Out Boy ~ Save Rock and Roll
  • Part Three
    1. "Say his name and mine in the same breath and tell me they taste the fucking same, Petey." -Fall Out Boy ~ I Don't Care
    2. "I was watching you two from the fire escape, wishing I could be the friction in your jeans." / "I wanna be a notch in your bedpost." -Fall Out Boy ~ Sugar, We're Goin' Down
    3. "You're such a dick." / "A-dick-ted to you, baby boy." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Mighty Fall
    4. "Come on baby boy, let me in." / "Gonna leave bruises on your thighs with my fingerprints, Petey." -Fall Out Boy ~ Centuries
    5. ♪ B-B-B-Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark♪ / ♪ Can't be sure when they've hit their mark ♪ /♪ And besides in the mean, mean time ♪ / ♪ I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart ♪ / "God, you've got a constellation of tears on your lashes and you're gonna set fire to the ashes of everything you love, and you're the only one one holding the matches, baby boy." -Fall Out Boy ~ My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark
    6. "Then let's get you out of these clothes and back into your mind." -Fall Out Boy ~ Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
    7. "Baby boy, it takes as much effort to love you as it does to hate myself." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Pros and Cons of Breathing
    8. "Where is your boy tonight anyway, sweetheart?" / "Does he know you're the last good thing in this part of town?" -Fall Out Boy ~ Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy
    9. "I could teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way." -Fall Out Boy ~ Just One Yesterday
    10. "I don't wanna be the footnote to your happiness baby boy, I wanna be the fucking headliner." -Fall Out Boy ~ Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet
    11. "Petey, listen. I keep my jealousy close 'cause it's all mine, just like I wish you were, but even if I didn't, I'd sure as fuck would never hit you." -Fall Out Boy ~ Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner
    12. "This was a red mask song but now you're puttin' all your anger on. You wear it so fucking sexy too." / "Your love-" he spat the word out, mocking it "-filled me up with novocaine and now I'm just numb. I don't feel a fucking thing for you." -Fall Out Boy ~ Novocaine
    13. He was like a drug, pushing Peter higher than he thought he could ever fly and making him crasher harder than he ever thought he could fall. And every time Peter thought he'd pulled free, he relapsed as fast as if he'd never recovered in the first place. -Fall Out Boy ~ It's Hard To Say "I Do"
  • Part Four
    1. "Alter boys, altered boys; We're the things that love destroys!" / "You, me, us, them; We're just resurrection men!" / "Us, we were only meant; To make you live again!" -Fall Out Boy ~~ American Beauty / American Psycho
    2. "Divide me down to the smallest I can be~" -Fall Out Boy ~ Uma Thurman
    3. "You are what you love, not who loves you." -Fall Out Boy ~ Save Rock and Roll
    4. "I'm serious, Petey. You keep your butt down in that chair and don't make a sound 'cuz there's nothing in your head, pocket, throat or wallet that's gonna change how this is gonna go down." -Fall Out Boy ~ It's Hard To Say "I Do", When I Don't
    5. "I have troubled thoughts and a self-esteem to match." -Fall Out Boy ~ What A Catch, Donnie
    6. "I know you only wanted fun then you got all fucked up on loving me." -Fall Out Boy ~ Where Did The Party Go
    7. "You're all mine now and I'm keeping you like an oath, Petey, and not even Death'll do us part." -Fall Out Boy ~ Uma Thurman
    8. "I may bad behavior but I do it in the best way, baby boy, and I expect you to be good behaviour in the best way. Trust that I'll be the watcher of your eternal flame, that I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams." -Fall Out Boy ~ Immortals
    9. "Wade, in the end, I'd do it all again because… because… I think you're my best friend." -Fall Out Boy ~ The Kids Aren't Alright
  • Epilogue
    1. "I got no problem being your best kept secret and your biggest mistake." -Fall Out Boy ~ Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner
    2. "As you're drifting off to sleep, remember: all those dirty thoughts of us aren't yours to keep." -Fall Out Boy ~ American Beauty / American Psycho

Easter Eggs Masterlist

  • Epilogue
    1. The Room is collectively considered one of the worst movies of all time, to the point that the Pineapple Express crew is making a movie parodying its making (The Disaster Artist)

Considered But Unused Lyrics

  • Fall Out Boy ~ Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy, Fall Out Boy
    • When I wake up, / I'm willing to take my chances on / the hope I forget / that you hate him more than you notice / I wrote this for you (for you, so...]) // You need him? / I could be him / I could be an accident but I'm still trying. / That's more than I can say for him.
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
    • One night and one more time / Thanks for the memories / Even though they weren't so great / "He tastes like you only sweeter."
  • Fall Out Boy ~ It's Hard To Say "I Do", When I Don't
    • You're appealing to emotions that I simply do not have."
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet
    • But I will never end up like him / Behind my back I already am
    • Does he / Does he know the way I worship / Our love?
  • Fall Out Boy ~ My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark
    • I'm in the de-details with the devil / So now the world can never get me on my level
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Where Did The Party Go
    • I don't believe a word you say but I can't stop listening
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Just One Yesterday
    • Anything you say can and will be held against you / So only say my name
  • Fall Out Boy ~ The Mighty Fall
    • Yeah, I know you said not to call unless I'm dying
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Miss Missing You
    • I miss missing you now and then / Sometimes before it gets better / The darkness gets bigger / The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Irresistible
    • I just followed your scent, you can just follow my smile
  • Fall Out Boy ~ Uma Thurman
    • Bury me 'til I confess
    • And I can’t get you out of my head
    • The stench, the stench of summer sex
    • Put your, put your v-v-venom in me
    • And I slept in last night’s clothes and tomorrow’s dreams / But they’re not quite what they seem

Art Master List
Part One - a

Part One - d

Part Two - a

Part Two - c

Part Three - c

Part Three - d

Part Four - a

Part Four - b

Part Four - d

Part Epilogue