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I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You)

Chapter Text

“Wade!”

So, it’s not unheard of for someone to know his name, but more often than not they tend to call him Deadpool when he’s wearing the suit. He likes to think it’s a sign of respect.

[Or pant-shitting terror]

Wade looks up from the screen of his phone where he’s been destroying the shit out of the Imperius, and turns to find the source of his name. “Hey,” the guy says, giving a friendly wave, and puts on a little speed to catch up with him.

“Hey,” Wade says back cautiously.

The guy is really rocking the hot nerd look. Blue hoodie over a fitted t-shirt with a cartoonish representation of the periodic table proclaiming something about the element of surprise. Wavy brown hair that looks incredibly soft to the touch and flops across his forehead with a little curl. He’s got a perfectly even and white smile, and the kind of eyes a guy could get lost in, behind round-rimmed glasses.

He neatly cuts his way through the crowd on the path with his skateboard and skids to a stop when he reaches Wade. Taps his toe against the tail and neatly snaps the board up to his waiting hand, not missing a beat falling in stride with Wade’s gait.

Wade lets out a little whistle. “Sweet moves.”

[[Check out those sweet little cheeks!]]

“Right,” Wade agrees distractedly. There’s a pretty pink flush in the apple of the kid’s cheeks, whether from the exertion or unseasonable heat. And he’s taken by the impulse to lick them.

[Don’t do it.]

“Bet they taste like strawberry, mmm.”

[[I meant his other cheeks.]]

And oh, yes, Wade can now confirm it. “Oh sweet Sandra Dee, thanks for the skinny jeans,” he mutters. Skateboarding does a body good, apparently. On top of that sinfully adorable face, he’s got an ass to move Sir Mix-a-Lot to compose odes.

[Yeah so why is he talking to us?]

[[Maybe he’s got us confused with someone else?]]

It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought he was Spidey, but still, “He called us Wade.”

“Oh,” the kid’s cheeks darken at that. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Do you prefer Deadpool in public?” He looks so honestly contrite, chewing his pillowy bottom lip between his teeth in a way that should be fucking illegal, eyes cast at the ground.

So, points for not being deterred by Wade talking to himself. “Nah, kid, you can call me whatever the fuck you want.”

His shoulders sag in relief. “Sorry, I just--secret identities and all that. I didn’t want to out you or something.”

[[Oh shit! He’s adorable…]]

Wade laughs out loud. “I think that boat sailed a long goddamn time ago.” It isn’t like he’s ever tried very hard to hide. It wouldn’t take an intrepid reporter to follow the threads from his business page on Facebook and put two and two together..

“What are you doing down here on campus anyway?” the guy asks.

There’s a weird familiarity about his tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also sure he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new.

[[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]]

[Don’t make an ass of yourself.]

“Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point. He pats his belly. “Had a craving. There’s, ah, this little hole in the wall place down Bleeker that has chilaquiles to die for.”

The kid lets out this sound, and it’s not Wade’s fault there’s an answering stir in his groin. A saint wouldn’t be able but help to imagine that groan in a different context. Is this kid for fucking real?

“Medina’s?” he says. “Damn it, your craving is contagious. If I didn’t have an exam at two I’d totally join you.”

Wade laughs nervously, rubs at the back of his neck where the velcro of the mask digs into his skin. Civilians don’t usually come up and talk to him, let alone invite themselves along to lunch. They generally avert their eyes and give him a wide berth.

“Maybe next time,” he says, which is fucking stupid. The next time he stumbles upon the one implausibly hot New Yorker who actually instigates conversation with him.

Then the guy reaches out and snatches the phone right out of Wade’s fingers, board tucked under one arm, and taps add new contact. “It’s a date.”

[[Did he just--]]

[No fucking way.]

Wade hits himself upside the head. Maybe something got wired back the wrong way and he’s just hallucinating all this. “I think that Kree Sentry did more damage than I first realised…”

The guy pauses, brows pulled together and slight pout to his lips. He lays a hand on Wade’s arm. “I really wanted to thank you for that,” he says. “You saved all our asses, and I know The Avengers weren’t very gracious about it, but I really appreciate what you did.”

[Jesus, is this kid for real?]

There’s a curious prickling at the corner of Wade’s eyes, which is fucking ridiculous. It’s just...no one ever thanks Deadpool, whether it’s those holier-than-thou douchebags under Stark’s banner, or some rando getting the stick-up. Don’t they realise he’s not even getting paid for this shit?

“Uh. Thanks?”

The guy hip-checks him and rolls his eyes up at Wade from under impossibly long lashes. “You’re supposed to say you’re welcome,” he says, singing the last bit, voice dropped into a lower register that still comes nowhere close to Dwayne Johnson.

He turns his attention back to the phone, and Wade notices that he’s hesitating over the field for his name. Finally, after several seconds, he types out Peter and gives Wade a smile that’s trying to be a lot braver than it actually is. Wade’s fingers are nerveless when Peter hands the phone back over, and he fumbles not to drop it.

“So, uh…” Peter reaches up to tug at the straps of the bookbag on his shoulder. “Text me, maybe?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, like he wants to be flirty but has no idea how to go about it.

Wade has to remind himself that gaping open-mouthed, even in the mask, is not an attractive look. He closes his mouth with a sharp click and gives a nod. Neither he nor the boxes trust him to speak at the moment.

Peter drops his board to the ground and climbs on with a graceful shift of balance that sends him off the path. “See ya later, ‘Pool!” he calls, with another little wave in parting.

He’s already gone before Wade can get his body to cooperate and wave back.

Chapter Text

It’s sort of difficult to appreciate fine Mexican cuisine when the voices in your head won’t shut the fuck up. Don’t get it wrong, he’s still gonna down all twenty of the waiting chilaquiles, because he didn’t come all the fuck the way across town to let a little situational indigestion to stop him in his quest to stuff his face.

But damn, he can’t get that kid out of his mind.

[[Peter]] White purrs helpfully.

Yeah, and the whole thanking him for his services like he was a card carrying superhero or some shit.

[[It was kinda nice for a change.]]

And that isn’t really up for debate, but it is definitely fucking with him. A more paranoid man might think someone was setting him up.

[More paranoid than us?]

[[It could happen.]] Whitey sounds sort of dubious about that.

“Bet ya Wolvie woulda run him through before he managed to get a word in edgewise.” The image makes Wade snort in amusement, but that quickly sours.

The real problem, of course, is being reminded of the whole mess with the Kree and the Avengers. It’s been almost a week, and since Wade was summarily kicked out by Tony Dickweed without so much as a thanks for the memories, he hasn’t seen Spidey once. And thinking about Spidey just makes him feel a little guilty for ogling Peter.

[Well, it’s not like Spider-Man’s going to be batting his pretty little lashes at you like. Ever.]

“Also true,” Wade says under his breath. He takes a giant chunk out of a chilaquile just to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth.

The battle had been rough on the Avengers, all things considered. Wade’s estimation of such things probably isn’t the most reliable, given that no situation is ever going to be dire for him. But by the time he’d shown up to the party with guns blazing, Scarlet Witch was already out of commission, Vision hovering over her like an overprotective dad--something to do with some Kree device that had rendered her powers useless and knocked her out. Stark was on his second suit of the battle, and it was covered in silvery gouges across the red and gold.

‘Course Widow and Spider-Man somehow always managed to keep going and make it look effortless, even when the rest were showing signs of fatigue. Each off in their own little world with the Kree. Black Widow all lethal grace poured into black leather wringing one Kree neck with her thighs while catching another right between the eyes with a bullet, and Spider-Man cracking wise as he swung neatly through the grasping hands and death-rays with the greatest of ease, rounding them up with his webs.

It had been easy for Deadpool to jump right into the rhythm they’d established. As much as he’d preferred fighting on his own in the past, some situations called for a team up. The more often he spent with Spidey at his side slinging quips as fast as he slung webs, the less fun it was without him.

They’d made a pretty sizeable dent, with Spider-Man routing the Kree and Sentry down the path towards Black Widow and Deadpool while they picked them off. Bullets worked well enough against the Kree themselves, but they weren’t leaving a mark on the Sentry, who’d gotten in more than one blow, sending Deadpool flying into the nearby skyscraper with enough force to crack the façade.

“Might be time to call in the big guy,” Natasha muttered under her breath, when they’d fallen back, yet again giving more ground. The street was littered in blue bodies and streaks of red.

Deadpool couldn’t see why they wouldn’t have called The Hulk in to begin with, but these goodie goodies and their misplaced ideas about minimal collateral damage. He shrugged. “Fine by me--less bullets to waste.”

Spider-Man flipped over to them, and that was just far too distracting to be allowed mid-battle. He gave them both a look that was unreadable under the mask, but Wade couldn’t help but feel it was probably disapproving. “There’s an access panel on it’s back. I read about it on the S.W.O.R.D. database--I think I can hack it, if you guys can distract it for a minute.”

Black Widow gave him a shrewd look. “Just casually browsing the S.W.O.R.D. database.” And Deadpool didn’t like that note of insinuation in her tone, maligning his boy.

“You know, just stumbled over it,” Spider-Man said airily, wiggling his fingers. Probably to indicate, who the fuck knew--hacking or some shit? But that was giving Deadpool a whole different sort of idea of where those fingers could be wiggling.

[[Focus, Deadpool!]]

“Whatcha need from us, Baby Boy?”

“First, stop calling me that,” Spider-Man said. It was a totally perfunctory dismissal that’d become more habit than actual annoyance, and Wade smiled goofily.

[Yeah, it’s fucking heart-warming. God you’re pathetic.]

“Second, just do whatever it takes to keep the Sentry’s attention on you guys until I’m done.”

It was a sign of his trust that Spidey swung off before he got confirmation from them.

[[At least, trust in Black Widow.]]

Well then, let’s show him he can trust us, too, Deadpool growled back in his mind, and leapt into action with Black Widow.

Distracting the Sentry was child’s play. The exterior might have been damn near impenetrable, but for all that strength, the Kree didn’t give it a very advanced artificial intelligence. And the thing was bulky and unwieldy as hell. All they had to do was get in close to lay down blows to hold its attention, and dodge the laser beams.

A burst of gunfire caught Black Widow’s attention, and then something must have come over her earpiece, because she nodded and said, “Can you handle this?”

“Are you joshing?” Deadpool asked, dodging the metal fist that came down where he’d just been standing. “This is small potatoes, babe.”

Black Widow rolled her eyes, but didn’t hesitate a second longer before hurrying down the street where Iron Man was surrounded by a group of Kree on space scooters or some shit.

Everything went fine for the first couple minutes, but then there was the sound of sizzling electricity and Spider-Man let out a yelp of surprise. It made Deadpool’s hair stand on end, and he was already on the move towards Spider-Man’s position without having to think about it.

“Fine! I’m fine!” That was a different voice than Wade was used to, higher-pitched and much younger. something must’ve got damaged in Spidey’s mask. Spry little fucker did a backflip off the Sentry’s back and stuck the landing. “Self-destruct sequence has a short fuse--get down!”

Spider-Man had all these noble ideas, which was adorable but also just plain fucking stupid because his healing factor had nothing on Deadpool’s. They made it a couple yards away, Deadpool putting himself between Spidey and the Sentry, before the thing went off in an explosion of fire and steel. The force of it carried them forward and they landed hard with Deadpool flattening Spidey to the ground.

After a couple seconds of trying to draw a breath and being unable, the darkness receded a bit and Deadpool pushed himself up on hands and knees. Singed around the edges and it felt like maybe a broken rib or two, but those would heal within minutes. Deadpool might have taken the brunt of the fire, but Spider-Man had taken the impact of the fall. He scrambled to roll Spidey onto his back.

[[Maybe we should do mouth to mouth]]

[He’s breathing already.]

Yeah, there was a little rise and fall to Spidey’s chest and Wade felt out his pulse, just under the edge of his mask. Not as strong as he’d like. The fabric of the mask was black from whatever shorted wire Spidey had struck, looked like it had melted in places across his face and hair. The skin beneath was red from heat but it didn't look badly burnt. Wade peeled it away carefully just enough to bare Spider-Man’s nose and mouth.

There, maybe he’ll breath a little easier that way.

“Get your hands off him, Wilson.” Stark’s voice rang out cold in the silence after the explosion.

“Cool your shit, Kylo Ren,” Wade snapped back. "Just trying to help."

Widow came rolling out from under a nearby SUV where she'd taken cover. “He did come in handy in the fight, Stark,” she said. The last of the Kree were a smoking pile of alien blood and technology on the pavement just behind. Wade could appreciate a woman just as deadly and efficient as himself.

“Yeah, well, thanks but no thanks,” Stark said. “We didn’t need your help with the Kree and Spider-Man doesn’t need your brand of help now, either.” He landed hard and strode over, mask sliding back to reveal a stern scowl.

“Jesus.” Wade gritted his teeth as he got to shaky legs--oh yeah, there was the broken femur still slotting the shattered pieces back together. He held up his hands and took a step back, “Thanks for reminding me why I don’t bat for your team.”

“As if we’d have you,” Stark said under his breath, but he was kneeling at Spider-Man’s side, and that was where the majority of his attention was. Black Widow was talking to someone on the other end of her earbud about a medical team, and Vision floated down from the building he’d stood upon, not so subtly angling his way between Deadpool and Spider-Man while Stark lifted his mask the rest of the way.

Deadpool averted his gaze. As much as he’d love to know the face behind the mask, it was clear from their past interaction that Spidey wasn’t comfortable with that. Being respectful of another superhero’s boundaries was important.

[Since when do you give a dick about boundaries??]

[[Since when the fuck are we a superhero?]]

“Whatever, I don’t need this shit.” It was as much for Yellow and White's benefit as it was for Iron Dick and Vision, who wasn’t quite touching Wade yet with his outstretched hand shepherding him away. There was an anxious buzzing under his skin and his stomach turned sickly at the idea of just leaving when Spidey was still lying there motionless. But it wasn’t like Stark was about to let him come back to their super NOT secret HQ and sit by his bedside.

“Just...tell Spidey to get better soon,” Deadpool muttered.

Stark gave him a look like he’d just sprouted a dick out of his forehead.

“Who else is going to remind me not to unalive the civilians?”

“Morality and common decency?” Stark suggested.

[[Clearly he doesn’t know the voices in your head…]]

Wade flipped the bird over his shoulder as he turned off and stumbled down the street. Black Widow fell in step beside him, surprisingly unscathed. “You gonna be alright?”

Deadpool might normally be all about the concern from a hot little red head with a tightass body, but right now he just wasn’t in the mood to be around other people, particularly not those associated with Tony Fucking Stark. He grunted noncommittally in response. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him, like she could see right through his mask, and maybe even the skin beneath.

“It might take him a little longer than you to recover, but Spider-Man will be fine,” she said.

“Yeah,” Deadpool agreed glumly. There was this stupid little fantasy playing itself out in his mind right now, of holding Spidey’s hand while he convalesced, keeping him company instead of all those humourless dickbags. He’d caught a glimpse of brown hair and pale skin behind that mask, before he’d snapped his eyes shut.

“Tony’s just really protective of him,” Black Widow continued. “Still thinks of him as a kid.”

And thanks for reminding him of the fact that basically all of them knew Spidey’s secret identity, had apparently known it all along, and Wade was the one asshole left in the dark. They could team up all the liked, but it was clear where Spider-Man’s loyalty was.

“Yeah well if he was that worried, maybe he shouldn’t have put a kid in a costume and sent him off to fight,” Wade snapped back. And look, it wasn’t like Wade wasn’t aware of the fact that Spidey had to be young. Even with his silly little voice modulator, he wasn’t kidding anyone.

“Spider-Man is a big boy, and he can make his own choices, like everyone else here.” There was something suggestive in her tone that Wade couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Anyway, thanks for the assist.” She punctuated her words with a super brotastic shoulder bump that actually sent Wade staggering. He let out a hiss, his hand coming up instinctively to protect the burn that was sluggishly healing itself there.

“Fuck--don’t you have somebody to be crushing to death with your thighs right about now, Famke?”

[Oooh, now there would have been a nice piece of casting!]

[[But then who would play Jean Grey.]]

I prefer Scar-Jo anyway.

“Oh, go rub some dirt on it,” Black Widow said. Wade didn’t think he was imagining the softening around her eyes, though, almost like fondness. Take that, Iron Dildo. Deadpool would just win them over one by one on his own, thank you very fucking much.

It wasn’t the same as dat Spidey-Ass, but Wade wasn’t about to let the opportunity of Black Widow’s swaying hips just walk away from him unnoticed.

[[Keep making excuses for your horndog ass. First Black Widow and now Peter]]

[The professed love of your life could be wasting away in a Shield laboratory and you’re lusting over some barely legal coed.]

It isn’t fair that shoving more food in his mouth doesn’t shut the boxes up. It’s almost enough to make a guy lose his appetite. He really needs to go stab some bad guys to distract himself. There’s that suspected Hydra warehouse Spidey had been surveilling before shit went down with the Kree. Seems like as good an opportunity as any to take his mind off things.

[And hey, one less thing for Spidey to worry about when he gets back!]

[[I doubt he’ll see it that way…]]

Chapter Text

Nothing like slaughtering Nazis wholesale to cheer a reformed mercenary’s soul.

The place is locked down tighter than a cat’s asshole. Deadpool’s a little suspicious. He’s taken hits on Hydra agents in the past, and for a super secret underground organisation pulling the strings of, like, every world government, they had hilariously lax security. Makes him think there might be something else going on here.

The whole information gathering deal has never been his strength. As far back as the second grade, when he and Lark Bryant decided to steal the answers for the science test, he’s always been on hand to be the lookout, the distraction, and later the muscle.

Killing everyone is so much easier than trying to figure out what these apparent Hydra scientists are up to in the lab. Maybe not as satisfying as the ones that can fight back, but beggers can’t be choosers.

He’s in the elevator heading up to clear another floor when there’s a loud thunk on the roof of the car. Deadpool lifts his gun, ready to shoot through the metal, but familiar red-gloved fingers peek around the edge of the access panel.

“Spidey--so good to see you out heroing again, man--fancy seeing you here!”

Spider-Man drops down into the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, the white slits of his eyes narrowed. Daddy Stark got his suit all fixed up again, complete with his voice modulator. “You mean because of how I’ve been running recon on this place for a goddamn month.”

“Oh that was this Hydra facility?” Deadpool says.

"You came by to annoy me while I was here just last Friday!” Spidey puts a hand to his forehead. “I’m out of commission for less than a week, and you go off the rails.”

[[Ha! That’s cute!]]

[Like your entire life hasn’t been off the rails...]

“Would you believe me if I said I was trying to help?”

“I’d believe you’re shitty at helping,” Spider-Man mutters.

“I’ll be the best at helping, Spidey,” Wade declares excitedly. “Just point me in the right direction and tell me who to unalive.”

“How am I going to get any answers if everyone’s dead?” Spidey exclaims. He gives Deadpool a lingering look, then says, sotto voice. “You’ve already killed everyone, haven’t you?”

“Just on the bottom three floors,” Wade says. He crosses his finger over his heart in an ‘X.’ It’s seriously impressive how Spidey manages to look so dubious through his mask. “And maybe set some explosive charges.”

Spider-Man sighs. “And here I was trying to stick up for you with Iron Man…”

[[Aw, his ire almost sounds affectionate!]]

The elevator dings cheerfully when they arrive on sub-level 2 and Spider-Man strides out. He stops after a couple steps and casts a glance over his shoulder. “You coming?” Wade practically skips after him. “No more unaliving, though! I need to be able to talk to them!”

“So when you’re done…?” Wade asks.

“Not at all, Wade.”

“But…” Wade trails off, pouting. “Nazis.”

Not even Spider-Man can make an argument against that, apparently, because he stops trying. Maybe because he’s focussed on the room numbers and labels they pass. Things like Nerve and Muscle Regeneration and Pressure Vessels and Extreme Environmental Deprivation.

[[I don’t like where this is going…]]

“Uh, Spidey, you know genetic experimentation always makes my trigger finger a little twitchy.”

[Everything makes your trigger finger twitchy.]

[[Trigger warning--heh, clever on multiple levels!]]

“You’re not the only one,” Spider-Man mutters. “Cap asked me to take a look on the DL. If Shield knew, they’d just sweep in overnight and wipe all trace of the operation off the face of the planet, but who knows what they’d do with what they found.”

“Careful, Spidey, I think I’m supposed to be the cynical one in this relationship,” Wade says.

Well, maybe that’s not entirely fair. There is a long and storied list on Deadpool’s part, with Tony Stark and Wade’s own issues with authority at the top, in bright, bold red ink. Spider-Man has fewer problems with the team all around, but the reason the two of them get along so well is the same reason neither of them really fits in with the rest of the good guys.

[[Whether or not we’re the good guys is debatable…]]

Wade considers the bodies strewn across the floor downstairs, the blood splatter on the wall.

[Gold star; you tried.]

Spider-Man tsks. “Come on, son, you know my cynicism is why there even is a relationship. That and my razor sharp wit.” He pauses, and smiles cheekily, or at least Wade likes to imagine what the expression under the mask is like. Probably with stupidly soft, gorgeous, pillow-like lips. Deadpool had been a bit too distracted by the whole making-sure-Spider-Man-was-breathing deal to pay much attention when he saw them first hand, but he has a vivid imagination.

[[He said relationship!!!]]

[I think that’s like, tacit approval for ass-grabbing.]

Though maybe not in the middle of a mission. Wade tilts his head to the side speculatively, as Spidey continues on down the hall unawares. Well, probably not unawares--he has been working alongside Wade long enough to know where and how often his mind wanders.

[Oooh, you should totally write Daddy Stark a thank you for designing those tights!]

Wade giggles out loud at the thought and earns a shushing sound from Spider-Man, but it’s so true. That blue spandex leaves nothing to the imagination. Wade has spent a lot of time wondering--okay fantasising--about the guy behind the mask, and what sort of routine he has going on that keeps his ass so tight and pert but still full enough for Wade to really get a handful, with the shallow dip where hip meets thigh, and damn if those tights don’t hug every single curve and swell. Especially when he’s climbing the walls, with his booty all popped out like he’s just begging for Wade to fit up against him just right…

Well. Maybe a little squeeze couldn’t hurt.

It’s a testament to Spidey’s professionalism that he doesn’t even jump when Wade cops a feel.

[[Or maybe he’s just used to your perversion.]]

“It’s called affection,” Wade says.

“Can you maybe show it some other time?” Spider-Man hisses back, smacking his hand away.

Wade presses closer, just for Spidey to get a brief feel of them back to front, and whispers, “Baby boy, I’ll show you any way, any time. And just to be clear, I’m a shower and a grower.”

“Jesus Christ, Wade,” Spidey says, but he doesn’t pull away right away, which is as good as consent. Wade can feel the tension thrumming in the muscles beneath his hands where they rest on Spider-Man’s hips. His thumb swipes across that little dip. Spidey drops his head back to thump against Wade’s chest, and for just a second, his whole body seems to melt back into Wade’s. “Later.”

And, okay, Wade knows, he knows Spider-Man doesn’t mean it like that. Not in the way that goes straight to Wade’s dick with promise. And it shouldn’t even sound so goddamn sexy with that stupid voice-modulator, and yet. Here he is, following along like a stray puppy looking for any scrap Spidey tosses out, helplessly turned on by even the suggestion that he might have a chance.

[Pa. The. Tic.]

Which goes without saying…

Spider-Man pushes off again, and Deadpool stays close at heel. The lab he’s looking for is ominously unlabelled. If Deadpool had a special sense like Spider-Man’s, it would be a-tinglin’. There are three scientists inside, and as soon as they look up and see company, they start scrambling to grab what they’re working on and throw it in the incinerator.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to play with fire?” Spidey calls after them. A second later they’re all three webbed to the spot, with their notes scattered all over the floor. Spider-Man slams the incinerator shut and plucks one of the papers up. “I have a few burning questions for you.”

Deadpool likes to imagine himself coming up with all sorts of sassy and threatening phrases worthy of a Tarantino film, but the sad fact is that the scientists just give it up seeing him standing there at Spider-Man’s shoulder.

All the work they’ve be doing on mind control techniques, or menticide, as these tool bags keep calling it. No wonder Cap was so interested in the facility. And with all the trouble Barnes has caused, both between the Avengers and in the legal system, of course Hydra is looking to take it further, which explains the trail of dead guards Deadpool left behind. But shame on Hydra not training their scientists better--seriously, he hadn’t even had to torture them a little bit, first.
Spidey webs them up good and tight and then destroys everything in the lab except for a couple of handwritten notebooks.

“You know, it’d be easier if you let me just blow the place. All you gotta do is give the word,” Wade says winningly. “You said yourself what Shield might do if they got ahold of this stuff. Like they wouldn’t just disappear those scientists into a cell somewhere like they did with Cap’s dream team after the whole Bucky incident?”

“They’re not going to,” Spider-Man says. “I’m giving it to Steve. And we’re not going to go around killing people because it’s easier, Wade.”

“You think that was easy?” Wade says, indignant, gesturing at the floor below them. “I forgot my ammo bag again, I lost my right ear, and one of those assholes stabbed me in the thigh. We’re talking mere inches from Little Wade!”

Spider-Man’s gaze flicks down to the spot where Deadpool’s suit is torn from said stab wound. Though the skin has closed now, it’s pink and brand-new, and visible through the gash on the inside of his thigh. “Poor baby,” he cooes.

Deadpool wiggles his brows and sidles close, pitching his voice low. “Wanna kiss it better?”

That earns him a sharp jab to the spot, and Spidey’s gleeful “oops” as he slips free and makes for the elevator. “Come on, help me drop these off and then I’ll treat you to gelato to make up for it?” Deadpool considers the scientists, watching them like they’re the crazy ones--

[[Well, we are.]]

And really there are far better ways to be spending his evening than cleaning their blood off his blades. They fight their way out, leaving a pile of unconscious and/or webbed scientists and guards in their wake, and it might not be the same as killing Nazis, but it is with Spidey at his side, so that’s basically just as awesome.

True to his promise, Spider-Man meets up with Captain America. Deadpool sticks to the shadows, and don’t think he misses the fact that Cap has his own shadow or two--the Winter Soldier lingering in the dark of an alley, and another dark figure on a fire escape overlooking the exchange. Maybe they’ll do what needs done back at the Hydra base.

After they part, it’s back uptown for gelato, at Spidey’s favourite place. They’ve been there so many times the workers and clientele don’t even double-take anymore when two masked vigilantes stroll in to place an order.

Deadpool pointedly averts his gaze when Spidey lifts his mask up to his nose to eat. One of these days his patience is going to pay off, and Spidey’s going to realise he’s trustworthy enough to take it the rest of the way off.

“Thanks for your help,” Spider-Man says, when they’re sitting on a rooftop overlooking the park. “I mean, I probably could have done it without you--”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Deadpool asks, knocking their shoulders together.

“Fun, right,” Spidey scoffs.

[[Definitely affectionate.]]

Spidey doesn’t move away, just leans his head on Deadpool’s shoulder, and Deadpool goes rigid beneath the touch, afraid to shift or even breathe, because then Spidey might move or pull away, or think Wade doesn’t want him. He doesn’t know what possesses him, in that moment, to say, “This really hot guy gave me his number today.”

[Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you??]

“Yeah?” Spider-Man asks. He straightens up to look Wade in the face.

[[Way to kill the moment, Douchepool.]]

Because Wade apparently hates himself, and can’t have anything nice, he adds, “I think he asked me on a date?” That part is still sort of confusing. Okay. The whole thing is still pretty confusing.

“You should probably call him, then.” He sounds...excited? Happy? Either way, it fucking sucks, because Spidey isn’t supposed to be happy that some other guy wants to date Wade. Maybe, no matter how far-fetched it is, he was hoping Spidey might be jealous.

[Keep dreaming, loser.]

“Yeah, well, maybe I will.”

Spider-Man hops to his feet, still full of boundless energy, and brushes off his suit. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow--gonna catch a few hours of z’s.” He pauses at the edge of the roof, ready to swing off, and shakes his head, chuckling. “It was fun, DP,” he says, and jumps into the night.

Wade watches him swing gracefully from roof to roof until he’s disappeared into the distance. All flirting aside, Spidey couldn’t be any clearer, telling him to go for it with someone else. If Wade were the sort to wallow in self-pity, he’d never be able to pull himself out from under the long enough to get out of bed.

He takes his phone from its pocket on his suit and thumbs through to Peter’s name.

Chapter Text

In the end, it takes Wade a while to muster up the courage to text Peter. He composes about half a dozen unfinished messages, deleting each one in disgust before he can press send. Maybe in the moment it seemed like a good idea, texting Peter as some fucked up (and ineffective) way of getting back at Spider-Man. But at home, surrounded by the hot pile of garbage that is his life, it’s all too obvious that there’s no place in it for some hottie science nerd college kid.

“Just fucking do something already,” Al grouches at him sometime around noon the next day. “Your pity-party is so loud I can’t nap.”

“You know being blind just enhances all your regular senses, it doesn’t actually make you a mind-reader.”

Al gives him a knowing look, one brow quirked as if to say oh really, and Wade has to reevaluate. She has a whole life he knows nothing about, from before they met, and it would explain a lot of eerie prescience, but…

[There’s no way she’d still be here if she could hear all the freaky shit that goes on inside our head.]

[[Unless she’s into it.]]

“I knew this was just your long game seduction plan to get get a piece of this sugar baby ass--” Wade is cut off abruptly by Al snatching the phone from his hand. They wrestle briefly, while Al taps out a message one handed. “I’m lacing all your food with Visine and leaving Blair’s hot sauce on the toilet seat.”

Al throws the phone back at him with a smirk. “If the payoff is not having to clean your jizz off the couch for the 900th time, it’s worth it.”

“I think you’re really underestimating my refractory period, there. By the way, you missed the spot where you’re sitting.” Wade glances down at the message she’s typed out. “How the frick--” Wade demands suspiciously, mouth dropped open in disbelief. “How did you even write that?”

[[Do you have any proof she’s actually blind?]]

“Because I’d rely on you for anything if I had any other choice.”

[Are we sure she’s not a mind-reader??]

Just in case, Wade lets the voices run wild with the most demented shit they can conjure up, in retaliation for the texts she’s sent.

my roommate was gonna start testing my regenerative powers if i didn’t stop pining and ask you out

this is wade btw

Peter is already typing a response, and Wade awaits it in dread, but all that finally appears is I was starting to think you were never gonna text me Wade stares in disbelief until the next text pops up. Just finished my last class, I neeeeeed caffeine. There’s a place nearby my apartment that has the most amazing dark roast with black pepper. It’s grounds for celebration.

“I think there’s something wrong with this kid’s head.”

“Well you’d know,” Al mutters.

Wade has never in his life angsted so hard over what to wear, like a kid on prom night. He doesn’t usually go out in full-on Deadpool suit for day to day living, but Peter--even if he knows who Wade is, that doesn’t mean he knows about the horror show under the mask. On the other hand, maybe seeing Wade in all his horrifying glory will wake the kid the fuck up.

So he compromises. His Team Instinct tank top with a hoodie on over it so he doesn’t scare off any little kiddies. It lets him hide his face in the shadow without suffocating in the early autumn heat. Of course there are still plenty of rude fuckers who stare on the train, but Deadpool isn’t above flashing the magnum he’s got tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

And for once, I don’t mean my dick.

Or do I…?

Then he gets there, and actually sees Peter standing outside the coffee shop, and is reminded of how stupidly hot the kid is. Golden skin, hair mussed like he just rolled out of bed with a little curl across his forehead, body leaned against the wall like a fucking invitation with his hips canted outward, feet spread, shoulders lax, eyes closed.

Peter's wearing glasses today, and apparently he’s one of the lucky ones who somehow manages to look even hotter with them. Wearing another one of his science shirts with a zombie cat popping out of a cardboard box proclaiming, “The cat is UNDEAD!” this time without a hoodie, and Wade hadn’t anticipated those arms, okay? Petey must work out, because those are some serious guns he’s carrying, all long, slender, elegant muscle unlike Wade’s bulk. It’s unfairly hot.

Wade is considering just splitting when Peter straightens up and opens his eyes, finding him staring from across the street like he’s got some sixth sense for it. Peter smiles, which one, shows recognition, and two, that he’s not phased by what he sees.

[[It might be time to consider that he’s a plant...]]

Definitely starting to fall under the “too good to be true” category.

“You okay?” Peter asks, when he draws nearer. His mouth splits with a yawn, and covers his mouth. “Sorry, I’m exhausted after last night. Almost fell asleep in lab.”

“Yeah,” Wade agrees, “I remember those late night study sessions.” Peter gives him a strange look, part confused, part suspicious. “You’re right, I’m full of shit, I never attended a day of college in my life. Unless you count all the times I was paid to rough up jackhole frat guys who didn’t understanding the meaning of the word no.”

“What a bro,” Peter says. “Careful, DP, or word’s going to get around about what a softy you really are.”

Apparently word already is around, if Peter considered him safe to approach in the first place. Now if Tony Stank and his buddies at Shield could just get with the program and get off his dick. While they wait in line, Wade considers the likelihood of any of the Avengers actually believing Peter was here of his own free will, or if they'd just assume Wade kidnapped him.

Which, fair enough...

Wade has never been one for artisanal coffee. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys it as much as the next guy, but he never got the fuss when the day old dreck in his coffee maker gets the job done just as well. Peter’s right about this peppery blend, however, it is the shit. They take theirs to go and Peter leads the way through the crowded sidewalks outside as gracefully on foot as on his skateboard.

Peter takes a sip from his coffee and makes another sinful noise of appreciation. “Ugh, I so needed that.”

“So, what’cha studying?” Wade asks, before the silence can grow super awkward.

“I honestly haven’t decided between Biochemistry and Molecular Biology or Neurobiology, and I have to admit in my circumstances, Evolutionary Biology has more than a little appeal,” Peter answers with a shrug. “I mean, I’d just rather do them all--it’s not like Mister Stark or Bruce Banner limited themselves to one field of study--but May worries about me being too stressed, between school, work, and...extracurriculars.”

“So you’re a legit nerd, then,” Wade says. His brain sort of went off-line after Biochemistry, but it sounds pretty smarty-pants.

Peter holds up his hand in a Vulcan salute. “Light sabre-carrying, pipboy-wearing, lego-building dork.”

“Okay,” Wade says, considering. “Best Star Wars Episode?”

Peter answers without hesitation. “Five.”

“Interesting choice.”

“The Empire Strikes Back is like, one of, if not the most iconic films of all time, and I will fight you on this.” Peter starts ticking points off on his fingers as he spoke. “The Battle of Hoth alone is a wonder of special effects that still holds up over thirty years later, plus the scoring, holy shit. And the whole back and forth between Leia and Han ending in that iconic ‘I love you’/’I know’ exchange? And talking about iconic lines, like, can you even imagine what it was like in theatres the first time everyone heard ‘Luke, I am your father.’”

“Uh, the line is ‘I’m your father,’” Wade corrects. “And I don’t have to imagine--did see it in theatres, thank you very much for highlighting the age difference here, Mister Jail-Bait.”

“Whatever.” Peter waves him off. “The point remains.”

“I’m just frankly relieved that you didn’t try to lecture me about the comedic genius of Jar-Jar Binks, you freakin’ toddler.”

Peter punches him in the shoulder hard, holy shit. “That’s just fucking rude.”

Wade can’t help but laugh at his indignant expression. “Alright, alright. Favourite Trek?”

Peter scoffs. “Next Gen,” he says, like there’s any other answer.

Wade’s lips pull into a scowl. “Clearly DS9, but we’ve just established that you’re practically an infant, so I’ll give you time to come around.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Favorite character lightning round: BSG?”

“Original or reboot?” Peter asks.

“Reboot.”

“Uh, Starbuck, clearly.”

“Clearly,” Wade agrees. “Kara Thrace can kick my ass any day.”

“Yes please.” Peter nods his head and they bump fists.

“Though I do feel a personal affinity for Gaius,” Wade says.

Peter laughs. “Are the voices in your head secretly a hot Cylon babe?”

“I wish,” Wade says. “DC?”

“I feel like I should say Batman, but it’s gotta be Riddler.”

Wade strokes his chin. “Harry Potter?”

“Hermione. And like her, I should be in Ravenclaw, but I’m totally a Hufflepuff.” He says it in this adorably pouty way. “I bet you’re Gryffindor.”

Wade is taken aback, and more than a little smitten. “Most people would probably guess Slytherin.”

“With all your charging headfirst into danger regardless of threat of dismemberment or death? Stupidly brave.” Peter’s smile is soft and fond. And Wade. Wade doesn’t know how to take this kid--this complete stranger, really, who seems to know him.

“Fine,” Wade says. This one’ll stump him. “Best episode of Golden Girls?”

“Is that really nerdy?” Peter asks, giving him the side eye.

“No stalling.”

Peter sighs, eyes rolled upwards in consideration, before he finally says, “The Case of the Libertine Belle.”

“Um, I think you mean It’s a Miserable Life,, but more importantly, are you, like, an evil cyborg or, brainwashed by Hydra, or…” Wade is cut off by Peter’s giggle, and holy shit, he even laughs adorably.

“I take it I passed?” Peter asks.

“With flying colours,” Wade mumbles.

[Would it be rude to stick a needle in him to make sure he bleeds red on the first date?]

A couple townies walking the opposite way down the street purposefully bump into Wade, snickering when he spills some of his coffee. Peter looks between them and Wade, whose hand is inching toward his waistband.

“Assholes,” Peter calls over his shoulder, flips them off, and loops his arm through Wade’s. “Hey, come on.” He gives a tug, trying to get Wade’s attention back on him. “You could go kick their asses, or you could come back to my place and teach me why I’m so wrong about Next Gen. I’ve been meaning to do a rewatch of DS9 anyway.”

“Well, Major Kira is the finest Trek character ever created,” Wade says by rote, though his attention is still mostly on the dbags that are now joking about how apparently twinks dig the burn victim look.

“Former militia with a chip on her shoulder and a problem with authority, and she looks super hot in a skin-tight red uniform? Hmmm…” Peter says, and taps a finger to his chin. “Now why does that sound so familiar?” He gives a firmer tug on Wade’s arm in the opposite direction. The kid is deceptively strong for his height and build.

“Oh, and I suppose you’re more the Wesley Crusher sort.”

“Teenage geniuses never get the appreciation they deserve,” Peter says breezily.

Wade allows Peter to lead him away, to a trendy looking walkup nearby the N train. “I cleaned and everything,” Peter says, as he lets them in the door. “And by cleaned, I mean shoved all the laundry and random shit lying around in my linen closet--don’t open the door if you value your life.”

It’s cramped but fairly tidy with modern appliances, and frankly more than he’d expect a college-aged kid to afford on his own. One whole wall of his tiny living room is taken up by a giant television screen and his gaming set up. Wade lets out a low whistle.

“Yeah,” Peter says, “the Stark Internship pays pretty well.” He says it in this off-handed, casual sort of way.

It’s all starting to make sense. If Peter is smart enough to have qualified for a paid internship at Stark Industries--and to understand all that sciency stuff that Stark and Banner go on about--maybe he’s worked with them on some Avenger-related project. Hell, it’s entirely possible Wade already met him at some point when he showed up to annoy Tony. It would explain the familiarity on Peter’s part. Though he still thinks he’d remember that face. Not to mention that ass...

They make it through a couple of episodes before their stomachs start growling in unison and then they have an intense rock paper scissors battle over Vietnamese vs Pizza for delivery. Then starting the next episode devolves into an argument over whether Kai Winn or Gul Dukat is more evil, which rages on over food.

So, maybe he’s not a spy. Maybe I’m just hallucinating it all.

[Odds of anyone other than Vanessa actually being into your raggedy ass are exceedingly low…]

[[No need pining for Spidey and how he’s never going to love us back when you can just make up the perfect boyfriend in your head.]]

“Hey.” Peter lays a hand on Wade’s. “Is Six stealing your attention away from me?”

“Let’s just say the thought that this is all,” the pizza dangles perilously from Wade's hand as he waves it around to encompass Peter, the apartment, all of it, “some elaborate hallucination on my part has crossed my mind more than once.”

Peter clucks his tongue and gives Wade a dubious look. “I'd offer to smack you across the face, but I think you'd like it and I'm not sure it'd prove anything to you, anyway.”

“My goodness, Peter,” Wade exclaims in faux shock, one hand to clutched against his chest. “On the first date? What kind of girl do you think I am?”

A blush colours Peter's cheeks and it takes a second for Wade's brain to catch up and realise he just called this a date. Peter ducks his head, pleased smile tucked into his shoulder, and says, “Seriously, Deadpool, I'm pretty sure everyone in the city knows what kind of girl you are.”

Wade covers his panic with a blasé shrug. “Fair enough.” He throws back his shoulders and turns his face to the side, patting his left cheek. “Just don't go for my good side.”

Peter sits up straighter, licking pizza grease off his fingertips and wipes them on his jeans. He wriggles closer on the sofa, turns to face Wade more fully, legs all folded up beneath him, and lifts his hand like he's actually gonna go through with it.

Wade can't say what's braver—actually considering hitting Deadpool or willingly touching his bare skin. He almost jumps when Peter makes contact. Just the warm press of his palm against Wade's jaw, fingers giving the slightest pressure to angle his face upward. His breath catches in his throat and his body doesn't seem to want to ever exhale again when Peter leans in and brushes his lips across Wade's cheek.

“There,” Pete says, biting his bottom lip as he leans back against the arm of the sofa. Smiling like he hasn't just managed to render Wade speechless. Staring in wide-eyed disbelief, skin tingling from the memory of the touch, and it's been so long since anyone's touched him so gently. “If you were hallucinating, we both know you'd have me putting out on the first date.”

Chapter Text

Peter is pretty fucking perfect, that goes without saying.

There aren’t a whole lotta people who can put up with Wade; the very short list is mostly made up of those who knew him before Deadpool, and those who are just as fucked up as he is, in their own ways. ‘Course there are exceptions, like Spidey, who takes his rambling in stride and then rambles right back, but...Spidey is a mutant or something, and they don’t tend to be the most mentally together people.

Which is what makes it particularly rich when Silver Member tries to start lecturing on mental health.

Peter is normal, though, so Wade’s more than a little shocked when he texts Wade to hang out again. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and keeps looking over his shoulder on the way, like maybe someone’s decided to reopen Weapon X studies, or maybe Tony Stark’s gonna pop up and accuse him of molesting innocents or something.

They meet up again for a monster movie marathon in the Village, and are two of only a small handful that make it through all 9 films. Peter sneaks in every flavour of Mountain Dew known to mankind, along with red vines and seven layer dip combos, and Wade sneaks in enough vodka to kill a horse, and they sit in the back, snickering and joking over the dialogue like their own personal Mystery Science Theatre.

Sometime around movie number three, Peter rests his cheek on Wade's shoulder. Wade can’t help but think of Spidey doing the same on the rooftop the other night, and then he misses the next half hour of the movie while he has several different, simultaneous freakouts--what is he even doing here with someone as perfect as Peter? What is he even doing here when he’s already in love with someone as perfect as Spider-Man?

[[That one’s easy--he already made it clear how he feels about you dating other people.]]

And then there’s the question of what, exactly, Peter thinks is going on here? Like sure, he keeps calling these dates, plus there’s the kiss to the cheek that Wade can’t even think about because every time he does his brain goes off line with the refusal to believe it actually happened. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s hallucinated this week.

But, supposing it did happen, that doesn’t mean this is a date. Kids these days, so comfortable with their sexuality and showing physical affection--who the fuck knows, right? So maybe he’s just a giant creep who’s reading way too much into this whole situation.

Sometime after movie number four Wade finally gets fed up with the argument waging in his head and throws caution to the wind, and wraps an arm around Peter to draw him nearer.

It's mid-morning on Sunday when the marathon ends, and it's a misty grey day, like autumn finally set in overnight. Peter draws his arms in his sleeves and huddles in on himself to keep warm. He stands there waiting, expectant, with his face tilted upward and Wade...

Wade is not the picture of restraint, okay? He can't even remember the last time he had someone who actually wanted him, who he wasn't paying for the privilege. Peter's skin is flushed beneath Wade's palm when he cups his cheek. Brown eyes smudged in dark shadow, red from exhaustion, but still bright and attentive, widening slightly when Wade leans in, before fluttering closed altogether.

Fuck, Peter's skin is soft, lips plush and full. His mouth is a balm against Wade's. Peter's lips part on an exhale, enough for their mouths to fit together just right, and he tastes sweetly of strawberry and Arctic Blast Mountain Dew. Before Wade can even process the sensation, or take a moment to wonder whether it's a good idea or not, he's licking into Peter's mouth for a proper taste, past the slick part of his teeth and across his palate.

Peter makes a faint sound of surprise that melts into a moan of appreciation, and suddenly his hands are everywhere. Running up Wade's arms to guide them around Peter's waist, up to Wade's shoulders to haul him closer, winding around his neck to cup the base of his skull. Peter kisses back with an enthusiasm that is intoxicating. Wade can't help but meet it with his own, hands clasped in the back of Peter's hoodie, body crowding into the last sliver of space between them as his tongue draws along Peter's. Anything to hear another one of those shivery little moans that go straight to his dick.

Finally,” Peter breathes, when they part.

“It's only the second date!” Wade protests, which might be the most ridiculous thing that's ever come from his mouth.

And that's saying something.

Peter arches a brow and smiles, a look that's equal parts amusement and ridicule. His mouth is red from kissing, a tempting sight. Wade just wants to sink his teeth into that swollen bottom lip and see how much it gives. Peter licks his lips like he can read Wade's thoughts and pulls him in for a second kiss.

Spideypool by cervinelich

Beneath his hand Peter's body practically hums, and it isn't until Peter makes a distressed sound and pulls away that Wade realises it's the phone in his hoodie pocket vibrating. Peter disentangles himself just enough to free it and swipe the screen up.

“What's up?” he asks.

Standing as close together as they are, Wade can almost make out what the guy on the other end is saying. A low-pitched, growly voice saying he needs Peter's help and he'll text the details.

Peter sighs and pulls away altogether, swiping a hand through his hair. “Okay, I gotta run home and change. I'll meet you up after.” He ends the call and gives Wade a weary look. “Duty calls.” He shakes the phone in Wade’s direction. “Wanna come?”

What a strange kid. Wade can only imagine that it’s either something to do with his internship, or something to do with school, and either way, Wade isn’t going to be any help. “Nah, I think you’ve got it covered.”

Peter’s brow furrows, mouth parted in disbelief like he’s caught off-guard and doesn’t know how to respond to that.

[[Oh look, you’ve finally found someone as co-dependant as you!]]

[I’m honestly not sure if this is cute or pathetic.]

“Okay,” Peter finally says, drawing out the syllables. Then he laughs it off with the shake of his head and steps back into Wade’s personal space. He goes up on his toes to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Wade's mouth. “Rain check?”

Peter takes off down the street, and Wade is left alone with his thoughts, which is never a good thing.

What the fuck is he doing? Sure, the kid is hot as hell, and funny, but...

[You're not still carrying that torch for Spidey?]

[[Dude, we have covered this. He's just not into you. Take it where you can get it.]]

Wade grabs a cab home; right now he's not fit for the public. Once there, he locks himself up in his room and mulls it over, which makes him think of mulled wine, which makes him think of Christmas. That, inevitably, just brings up all kinds of shitty memories revolving around his cancer diagnosis and Vanessa, and the reminder of all the reasons why this is a Bad Idea.

[[Face it, you’re not meant to be in a relationship with anyone. You’d just fuck it up.]]

[Well, certainly not anyone nice and normal...]

Before, when all his baggage included was a miserable childhood and a government sanctioned body count, Vanessa was the closest he'd ever come to healthy. Until they met, most of his relationships, if they could even be called that, were brief and casual. She was the only person he'd been able to imagine himself with past a romp in the hay. Neither of them were ever going to be anyone else's idea of normal, but together they managed to almost make a whole, functional person, filling in all the gaps.

The problem was, Vanessa had fallen in love with the man he'd been, not the monster Francis made him into. By the time Wade found her again, the tiny gaps had become wide, aching holes, and no amount of wishing was going to hold them together. Wade couldn't be the man she'd known, and they both ended up resenting him for it.

But Peter never knew the old Wade.

And fuck, Wade wants to believe that could mean something.

Peter is so young and sweet and innocent. He's a smart kid with a shit ton of potential, and for some reason he thinks Wade is worth his time? The last thing he needs is to be drawn into the shit show that is Deadpool's life, and all that entails. With superheroes and villains and shadowy government organisations and nazis. People who would leap at the chance to get back at him where it hurts the most. People who would kidnap or murder Peter in a second if they thought it would get them what they wanted from Deadpool.

Sometime around the fifth time this all circles around in his head and it's clear that he's not going to shut it up on his own without putting a pistol in his mouth, Wade stumbles out to Sister Margaret's. Weasel takes one look at him and pours a double shot of tequila. Wade picks it up and gives him a little salute of thanks with the shot glass before throwing it back.

It's hard to get and stay drunk with his healing factor, but Weasel's been messing around with his own, higher proof shit for just these occasions. He keeps Wade's shot glass full while he babbles the whole thing out, expression growing dubious when Wade waxes poetical about Peter's gorgeous face and soft mouth for probably an hour straight.

“Jesus Christ, you need to get laid,” Weasel says, when Wade's finished. “How long has it been??”

“You're missing the point of my crisis, man.”

Weasel shakes his head and pours another double shot. “Nah, man, I think everyone in the bar is clear on that.”

“Oh yeah?” Wade scoffs and looks around challengingly at the room at large.

Weasel raises a single brow and points a finger at the muted television behind the bar, where a news anchor is apparently reporting on a sighting of Spider-Man, Captain America, and The Winter Soldier. “Spider-Man,” he says, and a handful of guys in hearing range nod their heads in solemn agreement.

Okay. So. Maybe Wade has previously spent other drunken hours waxing poetical about Spidey's gorgeous...everything. “What about him?” Wade grumbles.

“Dude, you've got this horny teenager trying to climb your dick, and instead of buying an industrial-sized vat of lube and getting down to business, you're here, rambling about...I don't fucking even know what? Morals?” Weasel shakes his head. “Sounds like the whole superhero shit has finally gone to your head.”

Wade jabs a finger in his face. “You take that back!”

“Seriously though, Wade.” Weasel folds his arms over the bar top and leans closer. “Time to shit or get off the pot. If it's Spider-Man that's holding you back, you gotta fucking do something about it. Otherwise it's gonna come back and bite you in the ass.”

Weasel's got his number. That's what it comes down to, past Vanessa and the turmoil of his life: Spider-Man. They've worked together for almost three years now, and it probably took all of five minutes for Wade to fall in love. He can still remember the first time he stumbled upon Spidey in person, after seeing his photos in the paper and the youtube videos of him in action.

The way he arched through the air, it almost looked reckless, and other people would gasp when he'd let go of one web and soar, coming close to the ground before throwing out another web to catch himself, but oh, Wade could almost feel what Spider-Man must: the air whipping past his face, the exhilaration of knowing exactly how much he could take, how far he could push himself, and the satisfaction of executing each movement just right, with unerring precision.

Running into him during that drugs bust had been complete accident, and Deadpool had been content to just watch, bounty be damned, as Spidey webbed the guns from their hands and slung himself around the tightly confined space with neat little flips, never stopping talking the entire time. It was almost like looking through a distorted mirror, of someone Wade could have been. Someone less damaged, sure, but the same smart mouth, using humour as another weapon in his arsenal.

A river of red ran from the nose a guy Spidey had punched, and he flung a handful of powder in the face of another, then made a pun about blowing their noses, and Wade just fell, hard. Both figuratively and literally. On his ass, still cackling over Spidey's jokes. For a second Spider-Man had paused, uncertain, like he didn't know if Deadpool was another threat or not. Then one of the drug dealers attacked Deadpool, and that answered his question.

They'd fought side by side, and after, when the sirens were drawing close, Spider-Man had graciously accepted Deadpool’s invitation to tacos. It probably had something to do with the fact that he'd inhaled some of the stuff himself, during the fight, but Deadpool wasn't about to look a gift horse in the powdered nose.

It might have been the drugs that had got Spidey to accept food in the first place, but by the end of that first night, the two of them lying on a rooftop too stuffed with food to sit upright, watching as the first streaks of sunlight licked across the horizon, he was back to himself.

Spidey rolled over onto his stomach and stared at Deadpool for a long time. Back then his expressions in the mask had been inscrutable. “Thanks. For the help at the warehouse. And you know. Making sure I ate and drank a million glasses of water and—I've never taken any drugs before, and if you hadn't been there, I might have gotten myself into trouble. So. Thanks.”

“Hey, any time,” Deadpool said. “Wanna team up, or go for tacos, or cocaine, I'm your guy.”

Spider-Man laughed once, and then seemed to sober. “The Avengers warned me about you,” he said. Deadpool was quiet, because of course they had. “But there's a lot of reasons I haven't joined them, even when Iron Man's offered.”

“Yeah?” Deadpool was cautiously hopeful.

“I don't agree with everything they say and do,” Spider-Man said, “And more importantly, they don't get a say in how I do my job, or who I work with.”

Outside a handful of the X-Men, there weren't a lot of superheroes who'd work with him, and even those that did merely suffered his presence. With the exception of Negasonic, the others treated him like a burden or a ticking time bomb about to go off, or in Cable's case, a tool, and an expendable one, at that.

But he and Spidey started working together on the regular, accidentally or planned, and instead of snapping at him to shut his mouth, Spidey met him joke for joke. Instead of taking for granted that Deadpool would act as a human shield, Spidey went out of his way to make sure Deadpool came out unscathed, even after Deadpool illustrated his healing abilities. Instead of telling Deadpool to get lost the minute the mission was over, Spidey went out for celebratory Mexican and gelato, talking a mile a minute and matching Deadpool's enthusiasm every step of the way.

Weasel is right. Which Wade already knew, but there's no avoiding it now. He wishes he'd had his epiphany maybe after he got Peter in his bed, because it seems like a shame to never see him naked and now that's never going to happen.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I think Spidey's morals are catching, and they fucking suck.”

Weasel nods in commiseration. “You can keep your superhero cooties to yourself.”

Chapter Text

They're meeting at Medina's, finally, after Peter's Monday afternoon classes. Part of Wade is tempted to just do it over text message and get it over with. Well, Yellow keeps urging him to do so, and White has all kinds of suggestions for how to get out of it, most of them involving Wade dying horribly over and over. Wade ignores them both because Peter is cool, and maybe not his soul mate like Spidey, but in his life having another friend can't hurt. If Peter will even have anything to do with him after.

Peter greets him with a kiss to the cheek and a blinding smile that makes Wade feel like a class A jerkoff. “Things got kind of crazy with the--” Peter pauses, looking around the crowded sidewalk, and finishes, “the, uh, gang this weekend. I was going to call to see if you wanted to join, but my phone became intimately acquainted with New York's sewer system.”

Wade has to wonder just what they were up to for that to happen, but okay, he’s been known to get fall-down drunk and end up in the gutter before, and they are college students, so who is he to judge? Isn’t that what college is all about? “That's shitty,” Wade says, and they both manage to keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter.

“Anyway, I don't know if you tried to text or whatever, but it'll be a day or two before I get a new one.”

Now Wade's really glad he didn't do a text message breakup. Peter wouldn't have gotten the message for days, and he would have shown up here and not known what had happened to Wade. Of course, now he's faced with the problem of seeing Peter again, and being reminded how pretty he is.

“Peter.” Wade catches him by the arm before they can go inside and Peter starts being funny and adorkable, and Wade forgets why he needs to say this in the first place. “Look, I—I don't know why you're into me, but I know I'm one lucky son of a bitch.”

Peter frowns and opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Wade holds up a hand and plows on. “But...”

Wade stops and shakes his head against Yellow and White pushing for attention with all the ways he could sugarcoat this, about how dangerous Wade's life is, or that Peter's too young. He's not a fucking coward. “The thing is, there's someone else.”

Peter's entire face changes, a flash of disbelief and honest confusion, followed by a look that Wade is personally intimate with. That look that says he's familiar with rejection, that he never should have believed he could have something he wanted in the first place. It's entirely out of place on a face like Peter's. “Oh,” is all he says, quietly resigned.

Then he laughs and takes a step back, and when he meets Wade's gaze, there are unshed tears lining his eyes. “Of course, I just thought--” He makes a gesture with his hand between the two of them to encompass what, Wade can't even begin to say. “But I mean, of course you have this whole other life, and I mean. It was silly of me to think...” his babbling trails off and he just stands there, clearly at a loss. His teeth bite into his bottom lip hard enough to turn the skin around it white.

“No look, Peter, you're fucking awesome. I mean, Jesus, have you looked in the mirror lately? And then there's--” Wade sweeps a hand down the front of himself in illustration of his physical appearance, which really defies description, no matter how often and creatively Weasel tries. “I wish I could just turn it off, but he's really special to me, and even if he isn't into me, it still feels unfair to both of you to just keep going.”

Peter smiles, a shaky thing that looks like it might break at any moment. Another expression Wade knows all too well from personal experience. “You know, fuck what anyone else says about you, Deadpool, you're a good guy.”

And aw, fuck, way to make him feel even worse about it, Peter taking this so graciously. “Good enough that you still wanna hang out?”

Peter gives him this look, like the answer is so obviously yes, Wade is almost taken aback. “Duh, you dick,” he says. “Just. Uh, I don't know, give me a few days, maybe?” He turns away, takes a couple steps, and then turns back, hesitates. “I hope it goes well. With the other guy. You do deserve to be happy.”

[Classy.]

[[Yeah, now you just need to tell Spider-Man.]] White sounds scathingly dubious.

Well fuck you, Buddy, I’ve got a plan.

The boxes respond with expectant silence.

Okay, it’s not a very detailed plan. Maybe plan is too strong of a word. Wade has an idea. He’s always been better at just diving in and making things up on the fly. Shoot first and ask questions later.

[[I don’t know if that’s innuendo or not, but either way, I don’t think Spider-Man will appreciate it.]]

[Just tell me when it’s over. I don’t think I can watch.]

“Fuck off,” Wade mutters. His idea is perfect.

*

Really, his idea doesn't involve much deviation from the standard. Some flirting, some light groping, and then if all goes well some baring of his soul, hopefully followed by some heavy petting.

[[How could you fail with such a well-thought out plan?]]

Finding Spidey is never particularly hard. Either there’s gunshots or explosions or ridiculously ostentatious villains to follow, or it’s on the news. And on the quiet nights when he’s patrolling, there are areas of the city that are just statistically more likely to attract his attention.

Sure enough, Wade catches up with him in a rough neighbourhood of Brooklyn, knocking around a couple of muscled thugs. Normally, Wade would jump right in, but there’s something that gives him pause. Spider-Man is moving differently than usual, getting in close. It doesn’t suit his fighting style, which works best when he has distance with space to flip and twist and web away. Blocking blows he’d usually dodge, flipping one of the guys over his shoulder like it’s no effort at all, none of his usual banter. His body is one tense line.

His fighting is as impressive to watch as it is jarring, and when he’s webbed up the last guy, Wade lets out a long, low whistle. Spider-Man looks upward and crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Not exactly the warm welcome he was hoping for, but Wade shrugs it off. He slides down the outside of the fire escape and lands in the alley. “Hey Baby Boy,” he says, and gamely ignores Spider-Man’s huff of annoyance. “Looks like you got some tension you need to work out. I’d be happy to help with that.” He rocks his hips suggestively, just in case it wasn’t clear.

Spidey just stares at him for several long seconds of silence. Long enough that Deadpool starts to grow worried. He looks around, but no, it's just them and the muscle guys, still bound and gagged. He sidles closer to Spidey, til their hips bump, and throws a companionable arm around his shoulders.

“Would you just stop!” Spidey snaps, dancing away out from under Wade’s arm, and even with his voice mod, the pitch climbs distressingly high. Wade’s surprise must show on his mask. “I’m sorry, I just--I can’t--I need you to stop with the flirting, okay, right now?”

[Shot down in flames]

Wade can barely hear Yellow over White’s obnoxiously loud laughter. His muscles twitch with the urge to swat at the air around his head. Like that would shut them up. He holds up his hands to show he means no harm. “It’s cool Ba--” I suppose calling him Baby Boy might constitute as flirting… “Spidey,” he finishes lamely. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Spider-Man’s shoulders droop. “I know.” He sounds glum, which is so out of character, Wade feels compelled to fix it somehow.

“Hey, I know, let's do gelato! My treat.” There’s more of that unnerving staring and silence from Spidey. Wade shifts his weight from one leg to another uneasily. “Or we could just patrol together, if you want?”

“What I want?” Spidey asks, in that dangerously high-pitched voice again. “What I want?” He flings his hands in the air. “You obviously don’t care about what I want!”

Wade is aware that his jaw is hanging open. Would be nice if the boxes could do something useful for once, like slam it shut for him, or shove his foot in it.

Did I miss a page or something?

[An entire issue, it would seem.]

[[Some Spidey perspective would clear things up a bit…]]

“Spidey…”

“Look,” Spidey says, hand to his forehead. “When I want to patrol with you, I’ll let you know. Until then, just leave me alone.” It sounds more like he’s begging than giving an order, body curved away from Wade’s, hugging himself, and if a mask can look miserable, well, Spidey’s does right now. It’s so distressingly out of character, Wade doesn’t know what to say. He wants to fix it, but apparently he’s not allowed.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees dully.

[Well, that went over like a lead balloon.]

White is unbearably smug. [[Maybe you should have made sure Spidey was into you before kicking ole Petey to the curb…]]

Spider-Man waits a moment longer, like he’s waiting for Wade to say the right thing. Problem is, Wade has no idea what that could be, since he has no idea what’s even happening right now. Then he makes a noise somewhere between disgust and exasperation, and webs up the nearest building.

Did Iron Man finally get to Spidey? Convince him that Wade was bad news? It seems unlikely given that Spidey’s stood up for him in the past, and besides, he’s mostly won over Cap and Black Widow and Hawkeye. Mostly.

I mean, they don’t shoot on sight anymore, so…

[[There is simpler explanation.]]

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Wade grits out.

[[Maybe his tolerance just finally ran out. Maybe he finally realised he was wasting his time with us. Maybe he was so disgusted--]]

“I said shut the fuck up!” Wade shouts. He has his gun unholstered and halfway to his temple before he thinks better of it. Last thing Spidey needs right now is to hear a gunshot and have to come running to clean up a mess Wade left him. Besides, he’s not going to let White get to him. He’ll figure out a way to fix this. Somehow...

Chapter Text

It surprises literally no one when Wade’s way of dealing with his current predicament is to kill every bad guy who crosses his path, and spending the rest of the time moping in his room listening to Matchbox Twenty. He’s too depressed to jerk off, which is truly impressive, White comments dryly.

Al gets tired of his shit within a couple of days and says she’s going to visit a friend. Weasel kicks him out of the bar the one time Wade drags himself in, telling him he’s driving off customers who are afraid he’s going to skewer them on a katana. Which, fair enough.

Wade is considering skipping town for a while. The boxes might call him a coward, but he’s fucked up his friendship with Spidey, and on top of that, he turned down the only person who’s shown any interest in him since Vanessa. There doesn’t seem to be a good reason for sticking around when it’s not doing anyone any good. These days he could pretty much throw an arrow at a map and find a job wherever it lands.

The pros far outweigh the cons, but he’s still dragging his feet, pretending he doesn’t know the reason why, when there comes a tap at his window. Suddenly he’s grateful for the whole “too depressed to jerk off” thing, because it’s Spidey’s face staring back at him through the glass. No need for another kick in the blue balls with his pants down, as they say.

[No one says that.]

[[Literally no one has said that ever, except you, right now.]]

Wade sits up so quickly he thinks he tears something in his neck, holy fuck, thank god that’s going to heal in a few seconds. He rubs at the tendon and jumps up from bed to unlatch the window and slide it open. “Spidey! Hey!”

Shit, shit, play it cool.

[[Yeah, the likelihood of that seems vanishingly slim.]]

“Wade.” If a mask can look weary, Spider-Man’s does right now. Which is at least better than disgusted or pissed off, so Wade will take it.

“Spidey, man, I’m so sorry, I feel like such a dick, I mean I am a dick--” Oh god, he’s babbling. Just don’t turn it into innuendo, no innuendo.

[Please don’t say anything about your dick.]

Spider-Man holds up his hand. “Wade,” he repeats, more firmly. “Let’s just forget about it, okay? Cap and Barnes need some help at this Hydra base upstate. You in?”

As much as Wade is eager to jump on the invitation, the apparently self-destructive asshole part of of him can’t keep its mouth shut. “Are you sure the Avengers want my help?”

“The Avengers aren’t going.” Spidey shrugs. “Lingering trust issues, I guess? I don’t know, the point is, we need help, and I trust you, which is good enough for them. So are you in?”

Wade might need a few minutes to get the wild pattering of his heart under control at that declaration. Like, sure, they work together, and Spidey has made his trust implicit, from the amount of times he’s let Wade cover his back. But he’s never said it. He practically trips over his own feet in his rush to get his suit.

He figures he’ll take his bike, or maybe hotwire a car, or hell, even call Dopinder and see if the terms of his parole allow him to leave the city, but when Wade comes out back, it’s to find Spidey waiting by a sleek, nondescript black SUV. “I guess we get to travel in style when we’re playing with the big boys.”

Inside, Sam Wilson is at the wheel with Barnes at shotgun, and Cap is all serious-faced in the middle row, in a fancy seat that can spin around and face back or forward. Wade has to resist the urge to clap his hands in glee.

It’s one thing to have Colossus on his dick trying to get him to join Captain Picard’s bunch of declawed losers. But Captain America, he’s like, a fucking rebel--going against orders to save the 107th (okay, yes, he read all the old comics as a kid and maybe still has them in pristine fucking condition in plastic sleeves locked up in a safe box somewhere), dismantling Shield, then going up against the Avengers and the UN--in the end, all of it to save Barnes. Wade’s never believed in anything that much, but he has to respect it.

[Oh come on, we all know you’d do at least that much for Spider-Man.]

He’d do a whole fucking lot worse than all of that for Spider-Man.

“Deadpool,” Cap greets, with a polite but serious nod of his head. “Spider-Man has good things to say about you.”

“OMG,” Wade squeals, because Captain America is addressing him directly. “You’ll make me blush--thank goodness for the mask.”

“Hey, you really take out all those dudes in the sub basement at that medical facility?” Falcon asks, and when Wade nods, he whistles. “Respect, man.”

“Yeah, well, impressive though it may be, we’re not really going for a triple digit body count tonight,” Cap says. “That medical facility was only one of three that we took out, but apparently there was at least one more, because our reports tell us they’ve started working on a new round of super soldiers.” He passes a tablet to Wade with a series of dossiers to sweep through.

“Six prisoners have gone ‘missing’ over the last two weeks, from all over the country, all of them convicted for violent crimes, all of them ex-military. Right now it’s being covered up. Anyone with the ability to hit six different maximum security prisons simultaneously and leave not a trace behind is reason enough to justify the involvement of enhanced individuals.”

Wade flips through the dossiers as Cap talks. It’s not just the prisoners, either. There are several suspected missing members of military and paramilitary. Go big or go home, the Hydra way of getting shit done. That’s a whole fucking lot of canon fodder.

Cap outlines the plan. They’re going to be outnumbered like thirty to one (with the fucking King of Wakanda himself meeting them there in his jet), and that’s not even taking into account the potential for brainwashed killing machines. Who knows how far they’ve gotten along on the whole reconditioning thing. As far as the media is concerned, everything is peachy-keen with the Avengers again, but if that were the case, this is definitely the sort of situation to bring in all the guns.

When Wade says as much, Cap’s mouth goes tight and he can practically feel the tension radiating from the front seat. “Tony has the rest of the team working on another problem,” Cap says, and that’s the end of that. Spidey wasn’t kidding about those trust issues, damn son.

It’s Falcon, Spider-Man, and Deadpool taking the front, head-on assault,

(and Yellow is still giggling about that, giving Wade some totally inappropriate mental images of them all charging in butt-ass naked--which, in Wade’s case, might be considered a deadly weapon

[[You can decide for yourself whether he means his dick or that much of his skin on display.]])

while Black Panther takes the rear (it takes all Wade’s not considerable self-control not to remark on that), and Cap and Barnes sneak inside. Barnes obviously has a lot more experience in this fucked up Manchurian Candidate bullshit than the rest of them, and it’s their hope that whatever has been done can be reversed--like it was with him. Deadpool is willing to smile and nod for now, but he’s not opposed to taking them out if they prove too dangerous, and he has a feeling that no matter what the others say about leaving the safety on, they know it.

Turns out Falcon’s a pretty good addition to Spidey and Deadpool’s fighting style. He doesn’t have Natasha’s style or ruthless efficiency, but the flying thing is so goddamn cool. Of course it’s not as fun when he can’t just cut through these fuckers. Wade consoles himself with the looping mantra of Captain America let us on his team! and even White can’t think of a single thing to say to shit on his parade right now.

The Hydra security have no compunction about shooting them. Within seconds an alarm is blaring, painting the night in shades of yellow and red, and they’re facing the full defensive force of the base. Falcon and Spidey are good at dodging, with Falcon picking them off one by one and neutralising them, and Spidey webbing guns out of hands and pinning them to the spot. But for every one they take out, it’s like two more come spilling out from the door, guns blazing.

[[I see what you did there, and it wasn’t funny.]]

“I’m fucking hilarious,” Deadpool mutters, and charges in, because there’s nothing more unnerving or demoralising for the enemy than the guy that just doesn’t go down no matter how many clips you empty in them. The nearest guy’s gun clicks harmlessly when he pulls the trigger, and his eyes widen almost comically.

“What is with you assholes never paying attention to your clip size?” Deadpool asks, as he grabs the barrel and shoves the butt back against the guy’s head. “You think this is a fucking Hollywood production? Unlimited ammo?” He jerks the gun and twists it out of the guy’s grip to use like a club. A single blow knocks him unconscious. “Fucking amateur.”

The next guy’s just holding down his finger on the trigger, apparently either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that recoil is sending that shit all over the place. “Hey! Spray and Pray!” Deadpool vaults himself over the low vehicle gate and breaks into a run. “Do they even train you?”

Hydra’s tried to hire Deadpool in the past, and now he almost feels bad turning them down, because it’s clear they need someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing around here. Almost. Except for the whole Nazi thing. The second guy goes down as easily as the first. He tries to back up and trips over his own feet, firing into the air. Deadpool dodges under the fire of another errant assault rifle and grabs him by the hair, slamming his head against the concrete. They said no killing, but they didn’t say anything about permanent brain damage.

[Hey, if it’s good enough for Batman…]]

The whole fight is sort of pathetic. Even with wave after wave of soldiers pouring out the door like some sort of shitty survival video game, Deadpool only has a half-dozen healing bullet wounds, all in fairly innocuous places. They drive the line back to the entrance within the first ten minutes, leaving a trail of unconscious or webbed dickheads behind.

“Come on,” Deadpool shouts. “It’s no fun when you don’t make it a challenge.”

“Goddamnit, Deadpool, what have I told you about tempting fate like that?!” Spidey shouts back.

Sure enough, when they fling open the door onto a weird receptionist area, Deadpool recognises the faces of the three people waiting to meet them, from Cap’s dossiers. The grizzled ex-marine with a face like it was carved out of stone, the six foot five convict with a trail of tear tattoos down his cheek and missing incisor, and the paramilitary lady with the buzz cut. They move quickly--no guns, but Deadpool quickly learns they don’t really need them, when the marine lands a punch to his nose. A lesser man might have dropped dead on the spot from the force of it. As it is, blood gushes freely down his face and through the mask.

[[Now this is more like it!]]

Deadpool licks the taste of blood from his lips and drops his centre of gravity as the soldier rains down blows on him. He manages to get a single punch in before the soldier physically lifts him up by the straps on his suit. The world turns sideways and Deadpool lands on his back on the reception desk, followed closely by the soldier.

“Buy a guy a drink, first!” Deadpool protests, and brings his arms up just in time to keep his newly healed nose from being broken all over again.

Beside him, the ex-con is slamming Spidey’s face into the computer screen. “Have you tried just turning it off and back on again, first?” Spider-Man bites out. He arches his back and throws the guy off.

Falcon manages to distract the soldier on Deadpool for a second with an arm around his neck, and earns an elbow to the face and a kick to the gut, sending him flying. It’s enough of a distraction for Wade to get the upperhand, though. He plants both feet on the soldier’s chest and shoves with enough force that he stumbles and lands on his back.

Grizzly’s on his feet again the same time as Deadpool, and it’s been years since Deadpool’s really engaged in hand to hand combat. Pretty much around the time he underwent his “transformation” and stopped giving a fuck about whether the people he was after were still breathing when he was finished with them. Bullets and katanas are far more efficient.

Still, it’s muscle memory from his time in the Special Forces. Deadpool manages to dodge and get the soldier by the wrist, twists and forces his hand back. Without missing a beat the soldier does a fucking backflip and uses the momentum to pull Deadpool off balance and knock him to the ground. He sweeps out a leg and brings the soldier down with him.

Around them, Deadpool is vaguely aware of the others fighting. Falcon’s wings and Spidey’s webs aren’t a whole lot of good with the low ceilings and narrow confines of the hall. He catches a glimpse of Falcon pinned to the desk by Buzz-Cut and flailing around for something to use as a weapon. He hits his super soldier across the face with a stapler and Spidey says, “You really stuck it to her.”

Falcon makes a disgusted noise, and Deadpool laughs out loud before his soldier hops to his feet and kicks him solidly in the gut. Spidey webs the guy in the back and yanks him across the room, then shoots out another web to his feet.

“They’re not slowing down even a little bit,” Falcon comments under his breath, regrouping at Deadpool’s side and offering him a hand up.

Deadpool reaches back to rub his hand along the hilt of one katana. “I have a few ideas about what we could do to remedy that,” he says.

“No--” Spidey cuts off as he rolls out of the way of a blow, “killing!”

For a minute Wade is distracted watching him, because his chance at ever tapping that might be shot to hell, but damn is he nice to watch in action. The fluid curve of his body as he rises to his feet and flips forward, shooting off webbing at the ceiling as he goes. He pulls his legs upward, forming a V with his body and vaults over Missing-Incisor (he really needs to come up with a better monkier for this one) to land behind him, then webs him face first against the wall.

The remaining two share a look like they’re communicating without words, and then both turn to Spider-Man. Apparently, they’ve decided he’s the real threat here, which, fair enough.

[[Only because we’ve been neutered.]]

“How about some light dismemberment?” Deadpool asks. “We could even fix ‘em up with metal limbs, and name ‘em after different seasons, collect a full set.” Falcon snorts in amusement.

From somewhere deep in the facility there’s an explosion that rocks the whole building. The floor under them rumbles ominously. Deadpool and Spidey might not have the whole super-soldier mind-whammy telepathy, but they’ve fought together often enough that they’re a pretty well-oiled machine.

“I’d like to oil his machinery,” Deadpool says, and can imagine Spidey’s eyeroll. They move together to take advantage of the momentary disorientation, Deadpool kicking Buzz-Cut in the side of her knee and sending her to floor, and Spidey webbing her lower legs in place there, stuck kneeling, while Deadpool punches her between jaw and ear, and she slumps over, unconscious.

Now Grizzly’s reassessing his odds, and turns to run down the far corridor. “Hey, Autumn Soldier, we weren’t finished dancing!” Deadpool yells after him. He dives after him, arms around his lower legs, tackling him to the ground. They wrestle for a minute before Grizzly comes up on top. He gets in a few good blows and fucking breaks the nose again before Falcon knocks him over the head with enough force to stun him.

“Did I miss the part of the plan with the explosion?” Deadpool asks.

[I think we would have remembered that.]

[[I’m a little insulted they didn’t ask us.]]

Falcon shrugs. “Probably Barnes, destroying the lab.”

“Man after my own heart!” Deadpool exclaims.

“We should get these three back to the jet,” Falcon says. He hauls up Grizzly and Spidey grabs both of the other two, one over each shoulder. Deadpool’s mouth goes dry and his mind fills up with all kind of filthy images of the way Spidey could use that strength.

They come around the side of the building to find Cap, Barnes, and His Royal Highness fighting their way through a crowd of at least two dozen Hydra security officer. Barnes and Rogers cut through them with a ruthless efficiency that is, frankly, really fucking hot. The way Cap throws his shield and Barnes catches it, lays out one of the security guys, and throws it back, ricocheting off another on the way, before it lands neatly back in Cap’s grip. And it occurs to Deadpool then, watching the bodies drop dead, that maybe they meant no killing with the super soldiers, but everyone else was fair game.

Fuck yes.

Through the open hatch of the jet, Deadpool can see two rows of weird, glowing white pods fixed to the hull, filled with the super soldiers, so they’re safe. He unsheathes his katana and leads the way through the crowd, clearing the path for Falcon and Spider-Man. He skewers one guy and kicks another in the ballsack, then runs him through when he falls to his knees.

“Deadpool!” Spidey calls, half despairingly, half scolding, but Deadpool’s not having any of it.

“Nuh huh, Spidey, Captain America just about decapitated that dude with his shield, so you can’t say shit!” And to punctuate his point, he goes ahead and actually decapitates the asshole rushing at them with guns blazing, and takes a moment to appreciate the comical expression on the guy’s face as it goes sailing away.

Spidey gives a long-suffering sigh, but at least he doesn’t try to argue the point. And, well, maybe that leaves Deadpool feeling magnanimous, because he doesn’t even kill the next two that cross his path, just leaves them minus a couple of parts. They can live without ‘em.

Falcon and Spidey get the last of the soldiers loaded up while the rest of them take care of the stragglers, and okay. Look, Deadpool has never given two shits about what Tony Stark and the rest of those holier than thou douchebags think of him, but this is something else. All these superheroes actually fighting alongside him, trusting Deadpool to have their backs.

[[Yeah, real fucking touching. You know the only reason they’re putting up with you is Spider-Man.]]

[It’s not like they’d hang out with us otherwise.]

Deadpool aggressively ignores them ‘cause, nope! Still not going to let them bring him down right now! Spidey and Falcon rejoin the fight, and then it’s over in minutes. T’Challa, Barnes, and Cap have a whispered conversation, and then the jet is off again with it’s new precious cargo.

“Aren’t you gonna go with him and do the whole…” Deadpool gestures to his head to indicate a mind-whammy or who the fuck knows.

“T’Challa knows what he’s doing,” Barnes mutters. “His scientists fixed me.”

“We’ll be heading over soon enough,” Cap says. “There are things here that still needs handled. We have to make sure that fourth medical facility was the last of them, or what we did tonight won’t matter--they’ll just keep churning out more and more soldiers.”

“But now we go for celebratory tacos, amiright?” Wade asks hopefully.

[[Oh my god, you’re so pathetic. Spidey barely tolerates you, what makes you think--]]

“I could kill a plate of nachos right now,” Sam says.

“I know this place outside Yonkers that has chalupas to die for,” Wade offers.

“I still don’t know what those are,” Steve says.

Sam gives him a sidelong look. “Man, you are like a walking, talking caricature of yourself.”

“Oh man,” Wade gushes, “Captain, you gotta try ‘em--and not that shit from Taco Die-Shitting-on-Toilet Bell. I mean the real deal.”

Cap gives him an amused look, one eyebrow arched indulgently. “You can call me Steve, you know.”

Barnes throws an arm around Cap’s shoulders and starts leading him back toward the car. “Come on, old man, let’s go feed you and get you tucked into bed before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Cap sputters indignantly. “Me an old man?” The two of them and Sam leave Wade standing there, jaw dropped in disbelief.

Spidey comes up to stand beside him and nudges him companionably in the side. “You good?”

“He said--they said--”

“Come on, you doofus, I’m starving.” Spidey gives Wade a little shove towards the rest of them.

“Ha!” Wade says to the boxes. “Take that, dickweeds.”

Wade has to jog to catch up with Spidey, still trailing behind the others. “So...we’re good?”

Spidey nudges him again, this time shoulder to shoulder. “I just needed a little time, Wade,” he says softly, and then, “We’re good.”

Chapter Text

Peter texts him a few days later, and Wade is honestly afraid to open the message for the better part of two days, just looking at the notification every time he uses his phone. He knows he’s lucky Al hasn’t gotten back yet, because she’d have already stolen his phone and professed undying love for Peter.

It’s just...now that Spidey has made it clear he’s not interested, Wade feels like a total dick for turning Peter down, but it’s not like he can walk that back. Peter doesn’t seem like the sort happy to be someone’s second choice, and he deserves better than that. He deserves better than Wade, without a doubt. Because even though Spidey’s turned him down, it hasn’t stopped how Wade feels.

Then he considers the sort of d-bag that actually leaves a friend hanging on a text for two days and almost shoots himself in the face. Turns out Peter was inviting him to play games, and Deadpool only feels a little shitty for making up a lie about being out of town on a job, and shows up at Peter’s place with a shit ton of junk food, booze, and a pile of new games to make up for it.

Peter takes in the bounty bemusedly, idly turning the bottle of beer Wade hands him, and says, “I’m not old enough to drink, you know?”

“Shit, really?” Wade hasn’t thought about it much. Like, college-aged, sure, but he’s working at Stark Industries already. “Well, here’s to contributing to the delinquency of minors.” He clinks his bottle against Peter’s.

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to do anything for me, but--” Peter shrugs and takes a swig. “Why not?” He makes a considering face, and Wade waits for his approval. He’d picked this one because of all the spices, remembering how Peter likes his coffee. Then Peter smiles and takes another, longer drink. “It’s good. But Wade.” He laughs. “You didn’t have to bring all this stuff.”

Wade waves him off. “Eh, I’ve got the money, why not?” He takes the rest of the six-pack to the fridge and his eye catches on the invitation stuck to the front with an Invader Zim magnet. “Hey, you going to Stark’s party?”

Peter looks momentarily confused before his gaze lands on the invitation as well. “Oh. That thing. Do you know when I first started working with him, Mister Stark invited me to this NBA finals party at Stark Tower, and then he didn’t even show up? He was at the game.”

“What a douche,” Wade says.

“It was still a pretty sick spread,” Peter says. “But I mean, I went to his Halloween thing a couple years ago and it was just weird. I felt out of place with all the Avengers and Shield agents and random socialites.”

“No, dude,” Wade throws himself over the back of the sofa and lands heavily next to Peter, jostling beer down his hand. “We should totally crash it.”

Peter spares his a sarcastic smirk. “It’s not crashing if I have an invitation.”

“You have an invitation,” Wade points out.

“What, you saying you wanna be my plus one?” Wade leans against his side and bats his lashes at Peter, which, actually, must be a pretty horrifying sight, but Peter just smiles fondly and sighs. “Well, it’s not exactly as if I have a busy social calendar.”

Wade pumps his fist. “Yes, this is great. Stark’s gonna shit bricks when he sees you showing up with me.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “What are you going as?”

“Only my favourite superhero ever,” Wade exclaims.

“I...have no idea, seriously, that could be one of a dozen, honestly…”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see. What about you?”

“I don’t know--maybe since you’re going as someone else, I’ll be Deadpool,” Peter says breezily, and Wade has to remind himself that he’s already had and lost his chance at that ass when his brain supplies the image of Peter wearing his suit, red and black leather hugging all those sweet little curves.

“Fuck, please don’t say you’re joking,” Wade whispers.

[[Please, he couldn’t fit in our pants.]]

[Oh, but he’s welcome to try.]

Peter laughs, but it sounds a little off. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he shoots back.

[[You need to watch your fucking mouth.]]

“Look, Peter--”

Peter holds up his hand. “Please don’t apologise again,” he says. “It’s fine, okay. I get it. It’s how you are. And I--” He grabs the two controllers from the coffee table and shoves one at Wade. “I like how you are, okay? So can we just shoot some shit up now?”

Wade swallows back all the stupid, useless, inadequate things he might say, and nods his head. “I’m a fan of shooting some shit up.”

*

With the Avengers moved upstate and Stark Tower sold, the party is being held at the much more intimate penthouse Stark purchased shortly thereafter. It’s just another ostentatious display of wealth, sitting empty 90% of the time and only getting use when he breezes through New York City. Wade stands in front of the tower of glittering glass and steel, and mutters, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Someone laughs behind him. “Wait until you see the regulation tennis court on the roof.” Wade turns to see Barnes lingering in the shadow by the side of the building, dressed in a pretty badass Solid Snake costume.

“What are you doing over there? Have you seen Peter? Parker?” Wade adds at the end, and then feels like an utter moron because how would Barnes know who the hell Peter is, last name or no?

“Probably upstairs already, playing nice with Stark.” Barnes rolls his eyes. “Anyway unless you wanna deal with all the reporters and bullshit, you should take the back way.”

“Oh.” Wade glances over his shoulder at the main entrance where there are flashing lights and more super powered people than he’s ever seen before in one place lined up to enter, like it’s the fucking Oscars. “Probably for the best. I don’t know if the cameras can handle all of this.” He sweeps his hands down the front of himself, and Barnes snorts. “And, you know, I wasn’t strictly invited. In the strictest sense of the word.”

“Strictly speaking.” Barnes shakes his head. “Come on, dumbass.” Coming from him, it almost sounds like a term of endearment.

“You seem suspiciously familiar with this place,” Wade comments, when Barnes leads them through a staff entrance.

“If you’re suggesting that I’ve broken into Tony Stark’s penthouse on numerous occasions in his absence, to be fed by his chef and swim in his ridiculous pooI, I know nothing about it.”

“There’s a pool?”

“I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never seen it.” Barnes presses the button for the elevator and then leans against the wall beside the mirrored doors and takes Wade in head to toe. “Nice costume, by the way.”

Wade considers his reflection in the elevator doors, the truly alarming shade of yellow that makes up the majority of it and the more subdued blue of the highlights, topped with his own mask, of course. “Yeah.” Wade offers him a fist to bump and Barnes gives him a dubious look, but ultimately gives it up and taps his fist to Wade’s. “I knew you were my kinda dude.”

“I just can’t wait to see Logan’s face when he sees you.”

Wade’s mouth drops open. “What the shit? He’s here?” He might start bouncing out of excitement any second. “He never does costume parties. Or any parties. Or gatherings of people for festive purposes!” Wade really thinks about it for a second, mouth pulled into a cringe. “Or, really, any purposes, aside from getting shit-faced and watching cage fights.”

Barnes shrugs. “I don’t know, Stark has this way of getting people to do whatever the hell he wants.” He tips his head to the side and indicates himself in illustration. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Now Wade does bounce on his toes. “Gonna get Petey to help me prank Iron Toaster,” he says gleefully.

“Goodie two-shoes?” Barnes arches a brow. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Wade’s about to ask how Barnes knows Peter, when the elevator dings and opens up in a bustling kitchen. The staff greet Barnes like an old friend and suddenly the two of them are surrounded by platters of fresh hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

“Where’s that nice friend of yours?” one of the women asks Barnes.

Wade already has all sorts of ideas about what the Cap and Bucky are getting up to behind closed doors, and the way Barnes blushes and he ducks his head pretty much confirms all of them.

“Ah, Steve’s out making nice for the paparazzi,” he says.

The woman wraps up a stack of lumpy orange biscuit-looking things and passes them over to Barnes like a secret. “I made some of those carrot cookies you two like so much. Make sure he gets a few!” She pinches his cheek in parting.

“Not a word,” Barnes says sidelong to Wade, once they’ve left the kitchen, still pink about the cheeks.

Wade mimes zipping his lips and Barnes eyes him suspiciously. Like, he’s got to know that Wade basically has no filter whatsoever, right? He can’t honestly expect Wade to keep a promise like that, can he?

There are several smaller rooms splitting off, staff quarters and storage, and Barnes points out all the little secret features of the place as they go, most importantly the one that leads to Stark’s ‘wine cellar.’ Then the hallway opens up into a gigantic, open space full of what looks to be roughly ⅓ of the population of the city.

“Oh man, Steve made it up. I gotta go rescue him from Senator Garner.” Barnes heads off into the crowd, tossing over his shoulder, “Have fun screwing shit up.”

Where to even start? There’s Doctor Strange dressed up as Sherlock Holmes, talk about some serious fourth wall breakage, and he’s gesturing with his hands animatedly talking to a bored looking Jessica Jones dressed like Jessica Jones carrying a mostly empty fifth of bourbon. Wade has never been more envious of a pair of skinny jeans in his life.

Natasha has set up shop at the bar in her Resident Evil Alice costume (to match Clint’s Leon, presumably), complete with an assortment of fully functional weaponry, along with Sue Storm as Claire, Maria Hill as Jill Valentine, and Storm as Ada Wong. Frankly, Wade can’t decide which of the five of them is hotter, but Storm is rocking the shit out of the slit on her dress. Legs for daaaaaaays.

[Holy shit, is that that Captain Marvel dressed up as Xena Warrior Princess???]

Tonight is going to fuel his spank bank for years.

Wade makes his way to the bar and Natasha greets him with a frothy pink concoction and a wink. Wade takes a sip, pineapple, cranberry, and a lot of vodka. “That would knock a lesser man off his feet,” she says. “You should see Thor if you want something that might have an actual effect.”

“I’m not sure if Tony or Logan is going to be more annoyed to see you,” Storm murmurs, “but either way I’m sure it’ll be an entertaining show.”

“Hey,” Wade protests, “I’m here legitimately. Peter invited me.” Clint and Natasha share an unreadable look that makes Wade suspicious.

“Well, if you’re looking for him, I’d suggest the lounge.”

Sure enough, there’s Peter standing with Pepper Potts, looking earnest and attentive, and like he’d do anything to get out of whatever conversation he’s a part of.

[We should swoop in all superhero and rescue him!]

Peter’s costume, a Vault 101 jumpsuit, looks homemade instead of store-bought, and pretty well-done, too. It’s not particularly sexy or revealing, but all the same, Wade can’t stop grinning at the choice. Complete with a pip-boy and leather armour pads. What a nerd. And they even match, how perfect is that, and they weren’t even trying!

Wade practically skips over, and Pepper stops mid-sentence to stare at him in disbelief when he says, “Hey there, sexy.”

Peter bursts into laughter at the sight of him, hand over his mouth.

“I--” Pepper looks at Peter and back at Wade, like she’s not sure whether he’s addressing her or Peter. Her expression wars between confused and concerned. “Peter,” she says, and clears her throat, “This is Wade Wilson. Mister Wilson--”

Peter waves a hand, still giggling. “He knows who I am.” Pepper’s face finally settles on concern, eyebrows pinched, but Peter pays her no mind. “Oh my god, you look--is that actual hair you glued to your mask?”

“Wolverine fur.” Wade grins, showing off all his teeth, and Peter breaks down, bent over in half.

“Sorry, Miss Potts,” Peter says, straightening and trying to wrangle his laughter to no avail. He wipes at the corner of his eyes. “Wade is my plus one tonight.”

Pepper’s lips press in a thin line. “I wasn’t aware--does Tony know about this?”

Just then, there’s a crash from the floor below, and over the balcony Wade catches sight of Johnny Storm and Scott Lang, both dressed as Han Solo, engaging in an impromptu game of beer pong. “Oh my--” Pepper runs off in that direction, thank fuck.

“Sorry about that,” Peter says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Everyone acts like I’m still a teenager around here.”

“Uh, aren’t you?” Wade asks.

Peter flushes bright red. “Only for another couple months. That’s not the point. I’m not their kid brother.”

“Easy tiger.” Wade holds up his hands. “I promise I don’t think of you as a kid brother. And hey, at least they invited you.” At that, Peter looks contrite, and Wade has no interest in his pity. “Hey, help me find Thor. Black Widow says he’s got the good shit.”

Peter rolls his eyes and lets Wade drag him off through the crowd. They find Thor along with Banner, and Steve and his crew tucked away in a game room off to the slide, playing pool. Sam is telling a story, dressed up like Geordi LeForge with the eyeband and everything. “And then I wake up in Jersey without my shoes, and Barnes doesn’t have his arm, and all I can think is, ‘where are the bees?’ And then this asshole,” here he jerks his thumb at Barnes, “just goes, ‘I think I dropped the tracker in the sewer.’”

The crowd dissolves into laughter, except Thor, who is literally on the edge of his seat. “And what became of the bees?”

Sam waves a dismissive hand. “Hope and Scott had already taken care of it by then. The real adventure was finding his arm.”

“Peter!” Thor booms. “And you’ve brought a friend!”

“This is Wade--Deadpool--”

“Ah, yes!” Thor claps a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “I have heard tell of your deeds. The tale of your triumph over the zombie dinosaur in the Savage Land is a favourite in New Asgard.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wade asks. “Are you fucking with me?”

Thor frowns and glances questioningly at Peter, who waves a hand. “He doesn’t mean literally.”

“Ah,” Thor says. “Heimdall watches over all the realms, and regales us with the rousing battles he witnesses.”

“Right on.” Wade offers his fist and Thor cheerfully hits it with his own, hard enough to break a couple bones. Wade grits his teeth around a smile while he shakes it out.

Beside him, it sounds suspiciously like Peter is trying to muffle his laughter with his hand. “Hey, Thor, you have any of that Asgardian Ale?” he asks.

“Certainly!” Thor pulls out a flask and pours a tipple in Wade’s drink, then turns to Peter.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Steve interjects.

“Nonsense!” Thor gives them a blinding smile. “Aesir are weaned from our mother’s milk on this ale!”

“Wow,” Banner says under his breath, and the others just stare wide-eyed. Wade very diplomatically doesn’t make any comments about backwards, medieval practices.

“That’s okay,” Peter says. “Not really looking to get trashed tonight anyway. I’ve got an exam Monday and the last thing I need is to spend all day tomorrow nursing a super-hangover.”

Talk of exams apparently gets Banner all hot and bothered, because suddenly he’s all up on Peter, and the two of them are geeking out over science. Wade gets drawn into the conversation with the others, and, prompted by Thor and Sam, even tells a few of his own stories. It’s definitely weird to have a hero other than Spidey listening to him without responding in utter disgust. (Logan and Cable don’t count, because Wade has a sneaking suspicion they tune out about 98% of what he says. Domino is actually a pretty good listener, but he always assumes she's just humouring him.)

Then Vision and Scarlet Witch show up, and Wade does his best to disappear into the wall himself, before Vision notices him and runs to tattle to Stark. If Potts hasn’t already done so. Wade grabs Peter by the wrist and drags him out of the room. Thor’s ale has gotten him buzzed, and he doesn’t think it’ll last long. Might as well take advantage of the feeling while he has it, and carry out his plans.

“Hey, come on, Barnes showed me this, you gotta see it.” He takes them back towards the little hallway that leads to the kitchen.

“Check this, Stark has a fucking hidden stairway for the staff. Like this is antebellum Georgia or some shit.” Wade pushes on the wood panelling in the hall which opens to reveal the staircase.

The upper floor is mostly just one giant room, separated by furniture into a bedroom, sitting room, and study area. Through the floor to ceiling windows, just outside bedroom area is a pool that looks like it just drops off the side of the building.

“Okay, that’s awesome,” Peter says, and pushes open the sliding door. He crouches down to flick his fingers in the little waterfall at one end. “I should totally swing by sometime when it’s not fricking freezing.”

Something about his word choice is strange, suggesting a familiarity with Stark beyond employee/employer, and that threatens Wade’s good mood. He fishes around in the pockets he specially sewed into his Wolverine costume, until he finds what he's looking for, packed just for tonight. A bunch of unexploded dye packs from a bag of ransom money on a recent job. They way he sees it, he got the guy back relatively unharmed, the ransom money is like a bonus on his pay.

“What are you doing?” Peter asks, coming up behind Wade at Stark's dresser.

Wade holds up one of the packs for him to see, grinning and wiggling his brows. “Gonna tuck 'em in his underwear drawer, may be a couple of his suit pockets.”

Peter covers his face with his hand. “Oh my god, you are like a twelve year old. Why do you want to make him hate you even more?”

“Wanna help?” Wade tosses one and damn, Peter has some quick reflexes and a delicate touch. He manages to snag it out of midair without setting it off.

“I can't! If Mister Stark found out--”

“Oh, right,” Wade interrupts, “because he's your boss. Nah, I get it.”

Peter looks indignant. “He's not my boss,” he says haughtily, throwing the pack back at Wade, who does manage to catch it, but it still goes off in his face. Peter smirks. “I'm not an Avenger.”

“Yeah,” Wade scoffs. He grabs the nearest article of clothing from the drawer--a Pink Floyd t-shirt, nice, he’s keeping this--to wipe the purple ink off his mask, sputtering at the taste on his lips. “I doubt anyone is going to mistake you for one.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Peter demands. There's a smile toying around his lips, but he looks ready to be offended if he decides that's the proper course of action.

God, he's fucking adorable.

“Don't worry, Petey, you have plenty of amazing, non-traditional superhero qualities.”

“Yeah, well I can non-traditionally kick your ass,” Peter says. He crowds close, and Wade can't help but giggle. Peter's face softens and he shakes his head. “Your mask is ruined. You need to wash that off before we go back to the party or he's going to know as soon as he sees you.”

“Ooh, we should put one in the shower head!” Wade doesn't wait to hear Peter's protest or agreement, and takes off for the bathroom.

The room is off the fucking hook. Wade might even be considering having a shower like that installed in his own place. A giant, open-sided stall with all the massaging heads on the wall and a bench. Of course, he might actually have to spend some of his merc money and get a bigger place, first, because the stall alone is bigger than his bedroom.

[Imagine getting Spidey in there! Or Peter!]

Wade is trying not to, as a matter of fact. The main shower head is a long bar along the ceiling. “Is there something to stand on?” he mutters out loud.

Peter makes an annoyed sound behind him, snatches one of the packs out of Wade's hand, and goes to stand under the head. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he says, and then, in one fluid motion, does a back flip and lands gracefully on the ceiling. He fidgets around with the dye pack and shower head, before dropping back to his feet.

With a cheeky smile for Wade, Peter dusts his hands together. “There.”

Chapter Text

Wade does an actual double-take, then stands there speechless, frozen in disbelief. “You--”

[Maybe that Asgardian shit was stronger than we realised…]

Suddenly, a whole lot of things are starting to make sense. Like, sure, there could be any number of possibilities for Peter’s sudden manifestation of Spider-Man-esque abilities. But now he’s looking back on basically every interaction they’ve ever had through this new lens, and only one thing makes sense.

“Yeah, he's totally going to know I helped you,” Peter agrees. Spidey agrees.

Wade's brain has checked out at this point, allowing the boxes to run free.

[[I knew it all along.]]

[Fuck you, no you didn't. Also, holy shit, Spidey is hot. I mean, we always knew he would be, but this is even better than we could have hoped for.]

[[Except for how you totally blew him off.]]

[Eek, no wonder Spidey was so butt-hurt when you tried to hit on him.]

God, I’m such a dick.

“Holy shit—you--” Wade splutters uselessly.

Peter catches Wade's gobsmacked expression and arches a brow. “You didn't think it was the suit that let me climb walls, did you?”

“I honestly hadn't given it much thought,” Wade says blankly.

[[That's a fucking lie. You have whole notebooks of self-insertion real person fic about Spidey's origin story and abilities.]]

Peter—Spidey!!!--reaches out to grab Wade's mask and tugs it off the rest of the way, then twists around to fill the sink with water. “Maybe it'll come out if we soak it.” When he turns back, he cups Wade's cheek and smiles in a fond, sad way that makes Wade's chest ache. His thumb smudges through the ink on Wade's cheek. “You've got it all over y--” The rest of what Peter was going to say is muffled by Wade's mouth on his.

This? This is perfect. It means that Spidey wants him, as much as Wade has wanted. Not just for the back up and the one liners and the witty repartee. Not just the late night, post-fight gelato runs and rooftop tacos. Spidey wants to go on coffee dates and to the movies and to make out in broad daylight where anyone can see that he's chosen someone as hideous and morally bankrupt as Deadpool.

Peter jerks like he’s going to pull away and makes a sound of protest, but then it’s like he melts. His hand slides around to grip the base of Wade's skull, and the other comes up to clutch at Wade's shoulders. He kisses back, parting his mouth to suck Wade's upper lip between his own, his tongue tracing the shape of the bow. It's slick and hot and somehow delicate, like both of them are waiting for the moment to shatter.

Wade, has no finesse, just stupid, blinding desire. He’s been missing this since the last time they kissed, kicking himself over missing out on the way Peter (SPIDEY!!!) fits just right against him, crushed against him when Wade gets two handfuls of his ass and jerks him close. He nudges a leg between Peter's, rocks up to find his cock growing hard against Wade’s thigh. Licks into his mouth, chasing the flavour of champagne, and Peter Spidey, his mind supplies helpfully, moans and arches against him.

“Spidey,” Wade breaths against his mouth, because he has to, has to say it out loud, just to confirm, and Peter hums as he presses his lips against Wade's again, gives a little nip and says, “Yeah?”

And he knew, of course, all the pieces are coming together now, and how could he miss it at this point? But to hear Peter say it so casually, like he hasn't just turned Wade's whole life upside down. It sends heat shooting through Wade's gut. He clutches Peter tighter, hands on his ass urging him up, and Peter gets the hint, easily bounces up on his toes and slings his legs around Wade's waist. Wade sinks a hand in his hair and guides him into another kiss, and oh, Baby Boy is so good at this. Every slide of his tongue between Wade's lips, every little snag of his teeth against sensitive skin, makes Wade's dick that much harder.

[So, we're not going to discuss this at all?]

Discussing seems like a bad idea. They've been doing nothing but talking for weeks, and apparently they've been having very different conversations. Wade can’t help but think of all the moments that now, upon reflection, he was so close to knowing the truth. All that time when they could have been doing this. This is a lot simpler.

“I've got a new idea to piss off Stark,” Wade says against Peter's lips, as he walks them back into the bedroom. “Let me fuck you in his bed.”

Just like that, Peter goes stiff in his arms, and not in the good way. “Wade.”

“Or you could fuck me.”

Peter wriggles out of Wade's hold and pushes him away with a hand to the chest once he's on his feet again. He's got purple ink on his cheek and chin and smeared across his top lip, and he runs a hand through his hair, sticking up all over the place. Wade imagines that's what it looks like when he's first taken off his mask at the end of the night.

“Or we could just make out,” Wade backtracks quickly. “Some grinding, heavy petting?” Fuck fuck fuck, why do I always have to ruin every single good thing that happens to me?

[[Because you're a masochist, and a shitty one at that.]]

Peter bites his bottom lip, red and swollen already from Wade's kisses, and oh shit, that does nothing for Wade's self-control. “Look, I can't do this, I'm sorry,” he says. “I mean, I want to, fuck. The flirting, okay, but I can't just do the making out and the casual sex stuff, especially when you're in love with someone else.”

“Yeah, but Baby Boy,” Wade says, and reaches out to take one of Peter's hands. Peter lets him, grudgingly, but he looks downright miserable. “I'm in love with Spider-Man.”

“Right, and I can't b--” The words catch up with him and Peter stops mid-word, mouth open like he's ready to speak but has no idea what to say. “Wade,” he finally says, very slowly, like he’s talking to a toddler, “I am Spider-Man.”

“Right!” Wade agrees cheerfully. “So problem solved!” He ducks in for a kiss and Peter brings up his hand, fingers pressed to Wade's lips.

“Then why would you say all that? Do all--” Peter asks, face contorted into a frown. “Were you just fucking with me?”

“Um, maybe it slipped your attention,” and maybe it had, Wade is willing to give Peter the benefit of the doubt here, as much as it's hurt in the past to know he was the only one not in on Peter's secret, “but you've never told me your secret identity. No name, no stupidly pretty face.”

“Tony said you took off my mask, when we were fighting the Kree.”

Wade throws his hands in the air. “You were having trouble breathing, Jesus Christ, what a fucking dick. I was trying to help!” He strokes a hand down Peter's cheek, and then he can't help himself, eyes drawn to the shape of Peter's mouth. He traces along the swell of his bottom lip with his thumb, smiling when Peter's breath catches in his chest. “I didn't look. I know how you feel about your identity. I wouldn't do you like that, Spidey.”

“Oh.” Peter's eyes widen briefly, and then he's suddenly all over Wade, jumping up again to lock his legs in the small of his back, sending Wade stumbling back a few steps before he catches himself. Arms and mouth full, all Wade can do is make a sound of appreciation and try to keep up with Peter's kiss. His hands grip the back of Wade's head to hold him in place when he draws back just enough to ask, “Did you just say you were in love with me?”

Wade smiles. He has a feeling it looks pretty goofy, but Peter's eyes are suspiciously wet, and he has that sort of effect on Wade. “Well, duh.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, and presses another hot, breath-stealing kiss to Wade's mouth. He pulls away with a groan that makes Wade's dick throb painfully and reaches between them to fumble with the fastenings of Wade's pants. “Yeah, let's do it. Let's totally fuck on Stark's bed.”

That's basically as good as an I love you, too as far as Wade is concerned.

Wade tumbles Peter onto the bed—as ridiculous as everything else about this place, easily big enough to sleep five—and Peter climbs up on his knees to grab Wade by the belt and haul him close. “I can't believe you didn't know it was me,” he laughs, mouth pressed against Wade's throat while he unbuckles the belt. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, in my defense...” Wade trails off, distracted by the thing Peter's doing with his tongue against his pulse. And the fact that Peter's totally right. Now that Wade knows he's sort of gobsmacked by the fact he hadn't noticed sooner. “In my defense, you are stupidly hot, and I was mostly functioning in a state of disbelief that someone who looks like you could want anything to do with me.”

“Wade,” Peter admonishes. Wade can feel his smile against his skin, which might be his new favourite sensation. That is, right up to the point that Peter sinks his hand down the front of Wade's pants and wraps around his cock. Wade makes an embarrassing sound and Peter chuckles and sucks gently up the line of his neck to snag Wade's earlobe between his teeth.

He should move—he should do something. White and Yellow are eagerly offering their backseat driver suggestions. About the conveniently placed zipper right down the front of Peter's jumpsuit, and the way Peter's ass fits perfectly in his hands, and how those cherry red lips would look wrapped around his cock. But Peter feels so good. His grip just the right side of tight, and the slow, dry drag of his palm from root to tip before swiping his thumb over the head. Wade's hips stutter into the touch.

“I've been going crazy trying to figure out why you were all over me one minute and shutting me down the next,” Peter says.

“I'm so sorry, babe,” Wade moans. “Let me make it up to you.” He goes for the zipper of Peter's costume and has to pull back and watch as it parts. It's not quite the same as all his fantasies of stripping Spidey out of his suit, but that hardly matters when all Peter's perfect, pale gold skin is on display. There's a flush over his chest and throat, darkening the lower Wade drags the zipper and the more is revealed.

“Fuck, look at you,” Wade breathes, when the zipper ends just below Peter's belly button. The smooth cut of his muscle is not as defined or bulky as Wade's own but beautifully chiseled. Sort of slender, compact, and graceful like a gymnast. Wade pushes the jumpsuit from his shoulders and Peter unclasps the pipboy and throws it aside, then shucks the sleeves from his arms and pushes the suit down over his hips. He sits back to kick off one leg then the other, til all he's left in are his boxers, and Wade doesn't know where to start.

Yellow is making a hard case for finding where Stark keeps the lube and jumping straight to the main feature. And White—well, Wade didn't even know such a thing was possible, but White is apparently shocked into silence by the sight of mostly naked Peter. It is a mouth-watering sight.

Wade goes with instinct and lets himself touch, hands smoothing up the hard planes of Peter's stomach to the curve of his waist, pulling him closer as he ducks his head to suck one dusky nipple between his lips. Peter's breath catches, stomach going concave. Wade flicks the flat of his tongue against the peak before scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin, and Peter's fingers come up to caress Wade's head. When Wade's hands find the elastic of his waistband, his fingers dig in tighter, but he gives no protest as Wade slides the boxers down over his hips.

“Oh-ho Spidey,” Wade whispers, and drops to his knees on the floor in worship. Peter's cock is rock-hard and red, bobbing in his face like it's waving hello. Wade places a kiss on the head and is rewarded by a rush of precum. “Hello.”

Peter snorts. “Wade, you're such an--” Then Wade pulls him in by the hips and swallows him down until Peter's cock is nudging the back of his throat. “Oh fuck, you—you're mouth, Wade.” Wade hums around his mouthful, draws back just to fit his tongue along the underside, press hard against the roof of his mouth, and suck. Peter's grip is going to leave little fingerprint bruises all over his skull, but it's totally worth it.

“Yeah?” Wade teases, when he pulls back. He looks up at Peter from under his lashes with a coy smile, and swirls his tongue around the head. Peter laughs a little breathlessly and nudges forward to rub his dick over Wade’s lips, and Wade sucks him back down.

The weight of him in Wade’s mouth is so fucking good, the stretch of his jaw, the taste of Peter leaking onto his tongue. Wade could suck him off for hours. Take Peter apart with nothing but his mouth, bringing him right up to the edge over and over again before finally letting him cum. And even then, not stopping. He wants to hear Peter’s wounded little sound when Wade keeps licking him after. Cleaning up every drop of cum from his over-sensitised skin until Peter’s hard again and ready to do it all over.

Wade pulls off Peter’s dick to say as much, muffled as he licks and kisses his way down to suck first one, then the other of Peter’s balls between his lips. Peter’s cock jerks in response to the words, little dribbles of precum waiting for Wade to lick them up. “Fuck, Wade, if you keep talking like that--”

“Does that do it for ya, Spidey?” Wade asks, switching from mouth to hand, jerking Peter off with a loose, leisurely stroke. He rises up, tracing a path with his tongue up Peter’s belly and across his chest as stands. “Like it when I talk dirty?” He hums in question as he flicks one nipple between tongue and teeth. “All those times we were working a job and I made some comment about what I’d like to do to you?”

Peter lets out a low, shaky moan, and Wade grins, teeth sharp against Peter’s bottom lip. He gives a tug and Peter opens to welcome him in. “Were you getting all hot and bothered? Getting hard in your Spidey suit? Wanting me to push you up against the wall of some dirty alley, just rip open your suit and go to town on your ass right there?”

“Wade.” Peter thrusts into his grip erratically. “I thought...you said...you were gonna fuck me.”

Wade chuckles. “Getting impatient?”

“I’d rather not have Tony Stark or Pepper Potts walk in on us,” Peter says. “So. Yeah.”

“Ugh, okay,” Wade says, putting a little bit of distance between their lips. “We need a rule about no talking about your dad during sex. Total boner killer.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, then maybe you should shut me up.”

Never let it be said that Wade isn’t up to a challenge. Quick as a flash he’s got Peter face down, sprawled out on the sheets, and he doesn’t even put up any sort of reflexive fight. “Holy shit.” Peter sounds astonished as Wade at the fact, and seriously turned on. “You didn’t even make my Spidey-Sense tingle.”

Wade, fishing around in the bedside drawer, snickers. “Oh, you’ll be feeling a tingle here in a minute.” He finds the lube, in a fucking crystal pump bottle, of all the fucking things, but all his derisive thoughts roll to a stop when he pumps some into his hand and feels the silky smooth glide of it.

Peter casually crosses his arms under his chin and turns his head to watch Wade. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re all talk.”

“Guess it’s time to put my money where my mouth is,” Wade says, as he climbs up on the bed. Then he stops and frowns, head cocked to the side. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. I’m not putting any money up your ass. My cock where my mouth is? I mean, not that my mouth is on your ass, but I’d totally be into that--would you be into that, Spidey?”

“Oh my god, Wade, as long as something is in my ass, I don’t give a flying--oh!”

Wade slides one slick finger between his cheeks and down until he finds the puckered hole, and Petey opens just enough to let it slip inside to the first knuckle. His forehead flops down to the bed, body drawn tense, breath still, and Wade waits for him to adjust to the sudden intrusion, exhale, and then he pushes deeper, in one slow, steady glide until he’s in all the way to the join of his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Wade breathes. “You ever done this before?”

Peter swallows audibly and gives a little rock of his hips when Wade starts to move, dragging his finger slowly out and back in again. “Uh…” He sounds dazed, and Wade sort of wishes he could see his face right now, lost and sweet. “I’ve done it,” he says, around panting breaths. “I mean, to myself.”

Wade bends down to watch his finger disappearing into Peter’s body. Spreads his cheeks open with his thumbs and squeezes in a second finger, and after the momentarily resistance, it glides in as easily as the first. Peter moans and spreads his legs open wider. The tiny, restless jerks of hips grind his cock against the comforter, no doubt smearing precum everywhere, and Wade can’t help but grin at the idea of Stark knowing exactly what happened here, and that it was Deadpool who defiled his precious little Spidey.

“Yeah?” Wade asks. He spreads his fingers apart and works Peter open, trying to commit every second to memory. Every little sound Peter makes, and the way he feels inside, in case this is some hallucination, or Spidey comes to his senses, at least he’ll have this to revisit. “You fuck yourself on your fingers thinking about me?”

Peter nods his head jerkily. “Uh huh.” Wade rewards that little bit of honesty with the drag of his fingertips across the prostate, and Peter cries out. The muscles of his back and legs ripple, a reminder of his strength and power, all carefully caged beneath Wade’s body. It’s impossibly hot. “Wade,” he whines, and twists his hips to press harder back on Wade’s fingers. “I can’t--I’m too.”

“Shh.” Wade presses a kiss to one pert asscheek, and then he has to take a nibble that earns him a squeak and twitch, with Peter’s ass clenching down on his fingers. Fuck Spidey’s ass is perfect, and he just wants to mark it all up. Wants to dig his fingers in, spread Spidey open and just lick and suck until he’s a whimpering mess.

Just thinking about it has Wade hard enough to hammer nails. Making a wet spot on the front of his Wolvie costume. And Peter is a fucking wet dream splayed out beneath him, face turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut tight, cheeks flushed, lip caught between his teeth. Wade’s white-knuckled grip on his self-control is slipping fast. He pumps more of the lube over his fingers and pushes it in Peter’s hole along with a third.

“Fuck!” Peter cries, hands flailing out to grasp the sheets. His spine twists and arches as he settles into the stretch, and Wade can see the exact second he relaxes into it, the tension in his face bleeding away to pleasure. “That’s a lot.”

Wade opens the zip of his pants and reaches in to let his cock spring free. He smacks it against the curve of Peter’s ass and says, “Got something even bigger for ya, Baby Boy.”

Spidey must be pretty far fucking gone, because he doesn’t even comment on Wade’s inappropriate sense of humour. “I swear to god Wade, if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to hold you down and ride you like a fucking racehorse.”

“Promises, promises.” Wade grins, and traces the head of his cock over Peter’s skin, leaving a shiney streak of precum. “Don’t blame me when you can’t walk straight, after,” he says, drawing back and then shoving all three fingers in deep. “Limping around the party.” He leans up to whisper in Peter’s ear. “Everyone knowing what we’ve been up to.”

“Then you better fuck me good,” Peter whispers back. “If you want everyone to see. Hard enough that I’ll still feel it, even with my healing.”

[Fuck, he’s amazing. We have to keep him.]

There is literally no way Wade can resist that. He straightens up to hastily pour lube over his cock and jerk it a couple of times, not that he can get any harder than he already is right now. “Just remember you asked for it.” He nudges forward, cock lined up to where his fingers split Peter open, and pulls them free as he pushes in.

“Jesus,” Wade grunts. His eyes fall shut, unable to keep them open as much as he’d like to watch. Peter’s so goddamn tight, his body opening just enough to let Wade in and no more, practically sucking him deeper. “Oh, shit, Spidey.” He bottoms out in one long, deep thrust, bodies flush, and bends forward to press his forehead between Peter’s shoulder blades.

“So long,” he mutters, lips moving against Spidey’s skin. He rocks his hips back, pulling out until only the very tip of his dick is breaching Peter’s body. “I’ve wanted to do this for so--” he thrusts in deep and hard, and Spidey cries out. “fucking” Wade does it again, harder and faster. “long.”

Peter’s hand unclenches from the sheets to find Wade’s braced by his head, and threads their fingers together. “Me--ah--too.” He rocks back to meet Wade’s next thrust and his ass clenches down, like he’s trying to pull Wade even deeper.

He’s so fucking tight in this position, but there’s only so far Wade can reach like this. He smacks one open palm against Peter’s ass and pulls out, and says, “Up on your knees.” Peter rises up on shaky limbs, knees spread. His weight on his hands gives him the leverage to push back on Wade’s dick when he slides in again, a little more open now, really letting Wade sink in.

Wade has to take a minute to breathe deep so he doesn’t embarrass himself by coming right then and there, and then he’s setting up a brutal pace. Good fucking thing the party downstairs is loud and the soundproofing in this place is top of the line, because the frame of the bed knocks against the wall with every thrust, and Spidey isn’t shy with his approval. Every breathy moan, every cry, every gasp echoes through the room and goes straight to Wade’s dick.

He’s always boasted about his control and stamina, but leave it to Spidey to strip all that away and leave him shaking with how bad he needs it. Wade shifts all his weight to one hand to get the other on Peter’s cock. “As much as I’d like you to come on my dick without being touched, it’s gonna have to wait for another time,” he manages. “I’m not gonna last that long.”

Peter starts to laugh, but it ends on a sharp cry when Wade slams into him. “All those times you bragged about what a great lover you were…”

Wade hooks his arm around Peter’s neck and sits up, pulling Peter with him, legs splayed on either side of Wade’s lap and oh that lets him get deep. Peter moans and grinds down on Wade’s cock with a hot, slow roll of his hips that has Wade gritting his teeth against cumming. He spreads his hand over Peter’s throat, fingers curled around his chin to guide his face to the side where their lips can meet in a messy, off-centre kiss.

Peter reaches back to hold him in place, fingers slipping sweaty over Wade’s skull. His body undulates in a elegant movement, over and over, using Wade to fuck himself and Wade can tell he’s close, too. There’s a desperation in him, a single-minded focus on splitting himself open on Wade’s cock in the clumsy, distracted way he sucks Wade’s tongue.

Wade draws on his last reserve of self-discipline to piston his hips fast, in time with the blur of his hand on Peter’s cock, and anyone else would probably complain it’s too fast, too rough, too much, but Peter just moans, “More, Wade, fuck.”

Wade gives it to him, fucking tears Peter’s orgasm out of him, brings down his other hand to massage Peter’s balls, his fingers dipping lower to brush against Peter’s hole stretched wide around his cock. Thinks idly about sinking another finger in there alongside, how Peter would squirm and squeal and take it and has to tell himself another day because neither of them are going to last that long.

But his fingers tease the sensitive ring of muscles that open for him, and his other hand tightens on Peter’s cock on the upstroke, and then Peter’s cumming, back bowed away from Wade’s chest, white striping across Stark’s comforter and fancy pillows. Pulse after pulse, slicking up the way under Wade’s fist, messy and stupidly, impossibly hot. Wade sucks on Peter’s throat, imagining the taste of him, and it’s a combination of all those things, and the way Peter’s hole tightens rhythmically around him, that has Wade’s hips stuttering. He buries himself in Peter, sounds muffled against his skin, as he empties deep inside.

Even then, it doesn’t feel like coming down. He’s still buzzing on the high of having Peter’s close, and all the places their skin meet. Already wants to go again, but without his costume in the way. To feel all Peter’s silky-perfect skin sliding and catching on his own. And of course, in awe of the fact that Peter, apparently, wants the same thing. He nuzzles the mark he’s left on Peter’s throat, already fading from a dark purple to a lighter pink. It’ll be gone entirely in another couple of minutes.

“Fuck, Spidey,” he whispers, “I hope you weren’t too married to the whole college education thing, because there’s no way I’m letting you out of bed for, like, the next month at least.”

Peter chuckles, hand coming up to rest over Wade’s, braced against his stomach. Now, without the immediacy of his need distracting him, Wade can appreciate all the different sensations--the weight of Peter in his lap, and the racing of his heartbeat thumping against Wade’s palm, beneath his lips, the little trembling after-shocks skipping through Peter’s muscles, and Wade’s cock going soft inside him. Peter pats his hand and lays his head back on Wade’s shoulder. “You’re assuming I’d try to leave.”

“Fuck, I love you,” Wade breathes, and he can see Peter’s profile lighting up, the stretch of half his smile spread wide across his cheek. Peter squeezes his fingers and kisses the underside of Wade’s jaw and says, “Me too.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my god,” Peter groans, an indeterminate time later, nudging his elbow in Wade’s chest. Wade grumbles and shifts above him from where they’ve collapsed together on the sheets. “Oh my god we just trashed Mister Stark’s bed. After helping you plant dye packs around his room.” He face plants in the pillow. His voice is muffled. “I'm dead.”

Wade presses a kiss between his shoulder blades and lifts his head to assess the damage. That’s definitely cum on the headboard and maybe on the wallpaper, and somehow Stark’s fancy lube has spilled off the nightstand and onto the floor.

[[Stark is going to find a way to actually permanently kill you for deflowering Spidey in his bed]]

“Worth it,” Wade says.

“Says you,” Peter fires back, raising his head to give Wade a baleful look. “You don’t have to face him on a regular basis.”

Wade gets to his feet and smacks Peter on the ass, just to admire the way it jiggles. Peter doesn't even react; he just stares morosely at the cumstained bedspread. “Come on.” Wade tugs on his hand. “You go de-boobie the shower while I clean up in here, and then I’ll join you in there for round two.”

“Wade.” The absurdity of it all sinks in, and Peter begins to laugh, shaking his head. He loops his arms around Wade’s shoulders, still laughing when he presses their mouths together. “If I’m going to die of shame anyway, we might as well,” he murmurs against Wade’s lips.

With a little rock of his hips to show he’s already half-hard again, Peter pulls away. “Hurry up.” Apparently any concerns of what Stark’s going to do when he finds out have been overridden by desire at this point, which is really flattering, and also hot as fuck.

[I think Petey might be the one to actually kill us.]

[[And what a way to go…]]

The lube cleans up easily enough, though it does leave the wood of the nightstand looking suspiciously shiny. The bedspread is frankly a lost cause. They waited far too long. He wipes up what he can and flips the pillowcases over, and it looks good enough for now, but Stark’s gonna know what he’s smelling the second he lays down, and Wade isn’t the slightest bit repentant.

Peter has not de-boobie-trapped the shower, but is in fact standing in front of the floor length mirror, fingers stroking absently over the fading bruises on his hips. Wade has to take a minute to appreciate the image, and maybe pinch himself, because how is this real life? How is Peter so fucking perfect for him and he’s Spider-Man, and he wants Wade back.

Wade comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull them flush together and drops a kiss to the curve of Peter’s neck, then just buries his face there and breathes in the smell of them. He nudges forward, cock growing harder in the groove of Peter’s ass, and the movement pushes Peter up against the smooth surface of the mirror.

“Wade,” he moans. It almost sounds like a protest except for the way his arm comes up to wind around Wade’s neck and hold him into place. Peter rocks backwards and then forwards again, a delicate little shudder running through him.

“Look at you,” Wade hums. He strokes idly up Peter’s stomach as he drinks in their reflection. The red flush spreading down Peter’s throat and chest, the bitten pink of his lips, the glassy look in his eyes when they meet Wade’s. “Oh the things I’m going to do to you.”

Peter’s all but panting already, squirming between the hard, hot line of Wade’s body and the cool press of the glass, where the tip of his dick leaves a new streak every time they rock forward. “Yeah?”

Wade opens his mouth to start to rattling off the list he’s been compiling since basically the moment he first laid eyes on Spidey, but then Peter freezes up, eyes wide. Wade knows that look, though admittedly he’s used to seeing it on a fully clothed and masked Spidey. He’d like to think he’s the reason for his senses to be tingling, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Pete?”

“Someone’s--” Peter pushes him off and grabs Wade by the wrist, dragging him back the way they came, snagging pieces of their costumes as he goes. They barely make it into the walk-in closet before the bedroom door opens.

Whoever Peter was anticipating, Wade is willing to lay odds that it wasn’t Bucky and Steve, stumbling blindly through the room not bothering to part at the mouth long enough to look where they’re going. A lamp and what looks to be a priceless vase are just a couple pieces of the collateral damage of their journey to the bed, where Cap lands solidly on his back with a grunt. Bucky’s already between his legs, working down the zipper, when Peter’s hand covers Wade’s eyes, and he drags him deeper into the closet.

“Spidey,” Wade hisses, “this is like, all of my childhood fantasies playing out on that bed right now, you have to let me look.”

Peter actually seems torn, like maybe he has some of those same fantasies.

[[Ayyy!]]

[Somewhere in our wicked, miserable past, we must have done something good]

Wade scowls. Julie Andrews deserves better than Yellow obnoxiously off-key singing.

In the end, Spidey’s morals win out over his horniness--

[[Sadly]]

--and he shoves a handful of spandex at Wade and tells him to get dressed. It’s trickier than expected in the dark of the closet, and it definitely seems tighter than before, sticking to all the places he’s sweaty and still covered in cum and lube.

When Cap and Bucky sound sufficiently distracted, Peter leads the way, sneaking around the opposite side of the room to the maid’s entrance. Wade can’t help but steal a single glance backward, and the sight will forever be burned into his memory. Captain America, sprawled-out naked and all golden skinned on Tony Stark’s bed, chest heaving like he’s dying. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes between his thighs, deep-throating like a fucking champ. Oh yeah.

“That is really good sound-proofing,” Wade remarks, when they’re safely back on the second floor. The party has increased in both volume and drunkenness. No one immediately appears to have noticed their absence. But still, Peter’s back his unnaturally straight and stiff, and he’s got an apprehensive look about him.

“I mean,” Wade says carefully. “At least now you don’t have to worry about Stark knowing what we were up to.” He jerks a thumb back at the stairs. “Something tells me Barnes isn't going to bother cleaning up after.”

Peter turns to him, face softening into something undeniably fond. He lifts a hand to stroke Wade’s cheek, and that’s when it occurs to Wade that he still isn’t wearing his mask. The concern that he left it upstairs evaporates when Peter closes the distance between them to brush a kiss over his lips. “Wade, I don’t care if Mister Stark knows what we were doing. I'd just rather him not know where we’ve done it.”

Wade draws him closer and takes a chance at deepening the kiss. The novelty of being allowed this is never going to fade. To lick past Peter’s lips, and have Peter open for him so eagerly. The way Peter sinks closer in Wade’s hold until they’re pressed flush together, and hums in pleasure at the roll of Wade’s tongue in his mouth.

They’re jostled apart by the appearance of Natasha at their shoulder, surprisingly unsteady on her feet. Between her training, heritage, and general badassitude, Wade sort didn’t imagine her the tipsy type. “Woah.” He grabs her elbow, but Natasha shrugs him off and totters a step back. “Just how much of Thor’s baby juice have you had?”

Peter thumps his head on Wade’s shoulder. “Oh my god don’t call it that,” he says under his breath.

Natasha gives Wade an imperious look, one eyebrow raising impossibly high. “I could ask you the same thing.”

At least Peter looks as confused as Wade feels. “Huh?”

Clint sidles up to Natasha, snuggling drunkenly into the curve of her bosom, and Natasha takes advantage of the convenient armrest made by the shelf of his shoulders. She points at Wade with one fingertip, the rest wrapped around her precariously full martini glass. “Stark’s been tearing the place apart looking for you for the last half-hour.”

“And you two show back up looking like that!” Clint dissolves into giggles, from somewhere near Natasha’s armpit.

[Oh my god is your dick out???]

[[It has happened before]]

“One time!” Wade snaps, ducking his head down to check, just in case.

[[Three, at least, in my recollection]]

Suits are tricky, okay, and sometimes things get overlooked when you have to hurry into battle! No one ever wants to address superheroes needing to take a piss.

It takes a second for Wade’s brain to catch up with what his eyes are seeing. After all, the fabric is still yellow and blue. Peter is coming to the same conclusion, if his slightly hysterical giggles are anything to go by. He’s not disentangling himself from Wade, though.

“You make a hot X-Person, Spidey.”

[The just-been-fucked hair definitely helps.]

Peter snorts and and wipes the tears at the corner of his eyes, still chuckling. He tugs lightly on the zipper up the front of the Vault Suit that Wade now wears. “So, uh, this is probably not the best time to discuss my Ghoul kink that you’re currently fulfilling...”

“Oh, babe.” Wade bounces excitedly. “Do I get to play your Hancock?” He let his voice drop down in register, mimicking Hancock’s. “Have some impure thoughts you’d like to act on?”

Peter waggles his brows, despite the bright blush staining his cheeks. Wade can’t help but think of all the times he’s flirted with Spidey in the past, never knowing the effect he was having.

[[Oh this is going to make teasing him so much more fun!]]

“Gag,” Natasha says blandly, over Hawkeye’s continued laughter. “If I say ‘get a room,’ I sincerely hope you’ll choose a better one than last time.”

Peter makes a miserable sort of sound, melting into Wade as if he can hide in the confines of his arms. “Well jokes on you ‘cause Bucky’s up there with Cap right now and he is Getting It, so.”

“I never took you for an idiot, Wilson,” Natasha says, “but if you don’t think Stark’s got Friday recording everything that happens in this place, then I’m going to have to reassess.”

“Oh my god.” Even Peter’s ears are pink at this point. “Not even twenty and I’ve already starred in my first porno. I don’t know who’s going to kill me first: Mister Stark, Aunt May, or the crippling shame.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Wade smirks. “We’d be a best-seller. Well. You would at any rate.”

Natasha is not very subtle about checking them both out, then shrugs and throws back her almost entirely full drink in one swallow. “I’d buy it.” Clint hums a sound that might be agreement.

“That was the whole point, anyway,” Wade mutters. “Not making a porno, I mean.” He meets Peter’s eyes. “He thinks I’m just an fuckup who you wouldn’t give the time of day, and you’re just a kid who has to be protected from the likes of me.”

Peter straightens up, something like steel glinting in his eyes, but before he can speak, Stark’s voice cuts through the chaos of the party.

“WILSON.”

For a second, when Peter pulls away, Wade can’t blame him, but he is disappointed in himself for expecting any different. Except then Peter angles himself between Wade and Stark, who’s barrelling towards them, and Wade realises Peter’s setting himself up as his protector or some ridiculous shit, and Wade’s tired old heart flutters in joy.

Stark draws up short at the sight of him, and Natasha and Clint just sort of...disappear into the crowd, fucking spies. Pepper Potts and some stocky, personal security-type guy who looks vaguely familiar hover at either side of Stark's shoulders. Wade’s mind unhelpfully conjures up images of the Plastics, and he does his best to stifle his laughter. For Petey’s sake.

Stark blinks, then narrows his gaze at Wade, before turning his attention back at Peter. “Pete...are you...okay? Pepper told me that he came with you.”

Peter’s lips twitch in amusement. “Slightly after,” he says. “But close enough.”

Wade lays his head on Peter’s shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. Stark clears his throat, clearly someone unused to being confused and not happy about it. “Have you been drinking?” he asks, incredulous. "Has someone been giving drinks to the minor??"

“I'm almost twenty!” Peter protests, at the same time Wade says, “Like you’re one to talk,” and Natasha’s voice floats from somewhere in the crowd, “We’ve all seen the tabloid photos, Tony!”

Stark’s mouth, poised to say something else, snaps closed and he points blindly in Natasha’s direction. “That. Is beside the point.”

“Anyway, no, I haven’t.” Peter crosses his arms over his chest.

“Then help me out here, Peter,” Stark says through clenched teeth. “Because I’m trying to figure out what other excuse you could have for your judgement being so impaired that you trusted Deadpool with your identity.”

Several people around them are trying to stealthily slink away, while others are pretending not to be listening in and failing.

[Earth’s mightiest right here, folks.]

“You know, Wade and I work together a lot. I’ve lost track of the number of times he’s saved my life. And anyway, it would be weird, not telling my boyfriend my name.”

The boxes are fucking squeeing, which is always a nice change of pace from ridicule.

Potts is going on an epic face journey, and the bodyguard dude's jaw just drops, but Stark’s brain hasn’t finished processing. “You don’t have to team up with him. If you need something, you can call Happy, or me. There’s always a place for you here, with the Avengers, and Jesus Christ, did you just saying boyfriend?

“Lay off the kid, Stark.” Bucky ambles down the stairs, making no attempt to hide where he’s coming from, and looks utterly unashamed. Both he and Steve are stained purple around their faces and the crown of Cap’s blond hair, and Wade cringes at the same time Pete sucks his teeth in realisation that they’d obviously tried to shower after their quickie.

“Queue our exit, babe,” Wade whispers. “While your Iron Daddy is distracted.”

“Okay, that just sounds wrong,” Peter hisses back. “No more nicknames. I am making a rule right now.”

Stark rubs at his brow and pushes back his hair. “Do I even want to know what you two were doing up there?”

Cap looks anywhere but Stark’s face with an expression like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Bucky just smirks and shrugs. “Hate to tell you we weren’t even the first of the evening.”

Natasha and Clint are cackling from minimal safe distance.

Wade tugs on his arm, but he’s reminded of how strong Spidey is when he doesn’t budge from the spot. He shrugs off Wade’s hand and throws back his shoulders. “I’m really sorry about the mess, Mister Stark.”

Stark pivots on his heels to face Peter with a stunned expression, mouth parted in dumb surprise. Peter’s bright red, but he’s not backing down. “Wade will replace anything we damaged.”

At Peter’s elbow in his gut, Wade nods his head vigorously. “Yes. New sheets, and pillows. Maybe a new bed just to be safe. And I’ll buy you some more of that fancy lube.” He holds his hand up, thumb and index fingers pressed together and winks at Pepper. “Great stuff, I’mma have to get some for myself!”

For a long second, Stark just stares at him, nonplussed, and Wade is starting to worry he’s stroked out. “I’m. I’m not sure I follow.”

Peter is clearly similarly concerned, his voice gentle when he speaks. “Look, Mister Stark, I appreciate all you do for me, but I’m not a kid anymore--”

“That is debatable,” Stark interjects.

“And I can team up with, or date, or have sex with whoever I want.”

Potts makes a strange sound and Stark looks skyward. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You’re not his real papa!” Wade yells.

“And,” Peter continues on as if he weren’t interrupted, voice raising slightly, “the person I want to do those things with is Wade, so, I hope you can respect that.”

Wade, utterly smitten, presses a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

Peter shakes his head, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I know.”

Stark, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Wade since his little outburst regarding Peter’s parentage, narrows his eyes. “I take your point, Peter,” he says slowly and finally redirects his attention to Peter. “But did you have to make it in my bed?"

Wade claps his hands. "Are we one big happy family now?"

"You.” Stark steps forward, angling himself at Wade and taps his fingers against his chest. They both know Wade's the stronger one, with Stark out of his suit, but he lets himself be pushed back until he's against the wall. “I don’t think I even need to tell you what’s gonna happen if you step one toe out of line.”

“Yeah yeah.” Wade rolls his eyes and waves his hand around at the collected eighty or so superheroes milling around the place. “I getta deal with you and everyone else in the place. But see, Stark, I think you’re still missing the point. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a colossal fuck up, and Christ knows why Peter wants me. The point is, when I do inevitably fuck up, Peter can take care of it himself, ‘cause he’s a big boy now!”

“Yeah, well, be that as it may,” Stark grits out, “it would just give me so much personal satisfaction to, you know, help him out.”

“Alright, Tony, enough posturing.” Potts pats him on the shoulder a couple of times. “Let’s go. Peter.” She looks from him to Wade and back again, then gives him a tight-lipped smile like she has no idea what to say. “We’re very happy for you.”

And with that, apparently, things are back to normal, with Potts leading Stark away, and the party carrying on. Bucky comes up to clap Wade on the shoulder and grins broadly at Peter. “Thanks for taking the heat off us, Pete.”

“Yeah, any idea about my new hairdo, by the way?” Cap runs a hair over the purple streaks.

Wade finger guns him. “Looks good on you, man.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, but ruins it by how obviously he's trying not to laugh.

“Oh, hey, there you losers are,” Sam says, coming up and knocking shoulders a little too roughly with Bucky. “Thor was looking for you, DP. Something about being partners for doubles beer pong against Valkyrie and Okoye?”

“Is this real life?” Wade asks Peter gleefully.

Peter leans in to peck a quick kiss against his lips. “I’d wish you luck, but let’s be real, you don’t stand a chance.”

As Sam leads him away, Wade catches Natasha making her way back over, congratulating Peter on finally growing a pair and making a move. He’s kind of sad he won’t see Spidey’s blushing response, but BEER PONG WITH THOR AND OKOYE AND THE FUCKING VALKYRIE!

It turns out he and Thor do indeed lose, and spectacularly so, doing shots of Thor’s God Ale every time the ladies score a point against them. Okoye fucks off after trouncing them, and Banner takes over for her. Somehow they still lose, Banner and Valkyrie shouting "DRANK" obnoxiously every time they score. Wade is sure there’s a great story about how brotp those two are with one another that he's just dying to hear.

Then Loki shows up, and has some things to say about Wade telling people they’re related. Wade is a little too drunk and a little too busy laughing hysterically at the way Thor stands behind Loki's shoulders, mimicking his annoyed expression, to really follow it.

“Oh come now, Brother,” Thor bellows, throwing his arm around Loki and speaking over his increasingly aggrieved tone, “you must admit Wade shares your own appreciation for wreaking havoc in the name of creating mischief.”

“Well,” Loki allows, mouth twitching and eyes sparkling. “I am rather fond of the way Stark’s eye ticks whenever you steal one of his vehicles.”

By the time Spidey shows up, Valkyrie has cracked open some of her own alien booze and has drunk Loki literally under the table, and at some point Wade and Thor figured it was a good idea to join them. That’s where Peter finds them, lifting up the tablecloth and squatting to look at them.

“Shhh!” Thor roars.

“Spidey, you have to try Brunhilde’s space vodka.” Wade holds out a cup to him. Peter ignores him.

“How did you find us?” Thor asks, in what he probably thinks is a whisper.

“You guys have been moving the table back and forth across the room for like the last hour,” Peter stage whispers back. “I’m going to steal Wade now.”

“My son!” Loki calls, reaching after him, from where he’s only upright thanks to his position propped up between Valkyrie and Thor. Banner is passed out in his lap with impossibly tiny braids in his fringe. Wade is glad he’s taken a hundred horrible selfies with them all over the last hour or so, because he’s not going to believe any of this actually happened tomorrow.

“Thanks for inviting me, Mister Stark,” Peter calls, as he’s dragging Wade towards the door.

Stark waves them off. “I guess I should just be thankful that your boyfriend and Loki didn’t start some interdimensional incident.”

“Hey, hey Spidey. Spidey, now that we’re knocking boots, does that mean I get free web-slinging piggy-back rides.”

“I gave you those before!” Peter says, but he doesn’t put up any protest when Wade scrambles onto his back. He huffs a breath, hoists Wade higher, and checks to make sure there’s no one around before swinging off.

Between his accelerated healing and the cold air rushing past his face, Wade’s buzz fades pretty quickly. Damn, he hadn’t realised how much he missed being able to get drunk until now.

[What do you think are the chances that Valkyrie will share her intergalactic bootlegging source with us?]

“Well I do think I have some prime blackmail material on her and Loki on my phone now.”

Peter’s laughter carries back to him on the wind, and Wade squeezes tighter where his legs are locked around his hips. It’s true they’ve done this plenty of times before, when Wade was hurt, or they were in a hurry, or when he was just too lazy and whiny enough that Spidey carried him around just to shut him up. And still it gives him a heady rush of pleasure to be allowed.

Travelling by the skyline, it’s a quick trip back to Peter’s place. Wade hadn’t really noticed how convenient the terrace off his living room was until they land there. But then again, he missed a lot of the clues. Peter lets them in and walks over to the couch, where he dumps Wade off, then falls back against him, driving all the air from Wade’s lungs.

“Fuck, you’re heavy for such a small dude.”

“It’s muscle,” Peter grumbles. “And I’m not small.”

“You’re kinda tiny, Spidey,” Wade says, digging his fingers in the ticklish curve of Peter’s ribs.

Peter giggles and writhes away to settle on the sofa beside him. “You know, I was thinking about what Mister Stark said.”

[oh fuck]

[[Well, we knew this was never going to last.]]

“Shut up.” Wade swats around his head distractedly. “Which part?”

Peter sits up and takes his hand from midair, holding it in both of his own. “About trusting you. And I wanted you to know, that’s not why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Wade shrugs. “Hey, Spidey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I wouldn’t have told me, either.”

“No--listen, fuck those voices, and the Avengers, and whoever else told you that you weren’t worth their trust. Wade you’ve had my back since the day we met, when you could have totally taken advantage--.”

“You were adorably stoned." Wade smiles dreamily at the memory.

Peter nods his head, smiling wearily. “Yeah, yeah, I was sixteen, okay? And you were a complete gentleman. My point is, I trusted you then, and now I trust you more than anyone. But...it was really nice, having this one person who didn’t treat me like their little brother, who wasn’t constantly treating me like a kid--you’ve always treated me like an equal, and I don’t know, I wanted to keep that for myself for a while. That and I was kind of worried once you saw I was younger, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

Wade wants to protest, but they both know that it’s at least partially true. If he’d known just how young Spidey was that first night, he’d probably have gone off the kill Stark right then and there for putting a kid in a suit and sending him to do an adult’s job.

“Jesus Fuck, I was hitting on a sixteen year old,” Wade says dully.

“See!” Peter says. “Oh my god, please don’t beat yourself up over it--you didn’t know. But you see what I mean?”

Wade tugs him closer, turning his hand to lace his fingers through Peter's. Peter comes so readily, climbing over Wade’s lap and settling in with his legs splayed wide on either side of Wade’s hips. And Wade does get it, because Peter is right. If he’d known all along, they might never have gotten here. "Ah, it was kinda fun though, wasn’t it?” Wade holds up their joint hands to place a kiss on Peters knuckles. “The tease of not knowing what was under the mask?” Peter’s breath catches when Wade’s tongue darts out to lick the delicate skin between his fingers. “Though it’s gonna be a lot more fun having our post-fight rooftop hangouts now.”

“Oh?” Peter’s voice is gratifyingly breathy.

“Oh yeah.” Wade takes Peter’s middle finger between his lips, giving it a nice, firm suck and scraping his teeth on the flesh as he pulls off. He’s got a nice mental image of Spidey on his knees in full costume, mask rolled up just enough to reveal his lips, wrapped around Wade’s dick. He pulls Peter in close, free hand splayed on his back, as he whispers just that into his ear.

Peter actually trembles. His body does one of those sweet, sinful little undulations against Wade’s, and he whispers back, “You know, we don’t have to wait until the next time we patrol. I’ve got the costume in my closet right now.”

Chapter Text

Of course, the second Peter starts stripping out of Wade’s Wolvie costume, baring all that perfect sculpted skin, any plans of having him cover up again go right out the window. Wade tackles him to the bed before Peter can even get the top all the way over his head, placing sucking kisses down his chest and the line of his stomach. Covers all the fading marks and bruises with new ones.

Peter’s laughter is muffled through the fabric. He twists beneath Wade and struggles to free himself, but all that stops when Wade drags down his pants and boxers all in one go. Then Peter just sort of rips himself free, which is probably hotter to Wade than it should be.

“I thought--” Peter’s voice gives out when Wade goes down on him, head thumping back on the mattress. “I thought I was supposed to be the one blowing you.”

[Now there’s an idea…]

Wade straightens enough to tug down the zipper, shrug his arms free and push it down around his hips. He grabs Peter by the arms, manhandling him around. “Come down here.” It only takes a second for Peter to get the idea, putting his head at the foot of the bed, tipped back just right for Wade to fuck his face. It’s a sinful sight, the dark of Peter’s pupils swallowing up his eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth, the way his hips twist and strain off the bed as if he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

Peter reaches up to wrap one hand around Wade’s cock and guides it to his mouth. Wade tries to savour the moment, he really fucking does. Wants to take it slow and commit every little second to memory. But Peter’s perfect, pink lips part around the head of his cock, and Wade’s eyes fall closed, mouth hung open on a moan. His body tremors with the effort not to thrust forward.

“Oh fuck, Spidey.” Peter hums in answer, the vibration buzzing down Wade’s cock. He sucks gently at the tip, pulls back to lave his tongue over the head, and then takes him in again, deeper. His free hand brushes up the outside of Wade’s thigh, the tips of his fingers tracing the shape of scars. It’s a delicate counterpoint to the pressure of his tongue on the underside of Wade’s cock. Tender in a way that catches in Wade’s throat.

He opens his eyes to see Peter looking up at him with an intensity that makes Wade’s cock throb. Peter sucks the precum that pulses from Wade’s cock and makes a satisfied sound. His hand comes to rest beneath the curve of Wade’s ass, just enough force behind the touch to urge him deeper. It’s a slow slide, and Wade keeps waiting for the second Peter starts to gag or pushes him away. Tears prick up at the corner of his eyes, but he makes no protest as he takes Wade all the way down.

The sensation of Peter’s throat fluttering desperately around the head of Wade’s cock is quite possibly the single hottest thing he’s ever experienced, and he lets himself indulge in it for several long seconds before pulling out altogether. He’s slick with spit, a thick trail of it connecting Peter’s mouth with Wade’s cock.

Peter gasps for breath, his throat working around a series of aborted swallows, trails his tongue along the outline of his lips and lunges up to take Wade back in his mouth. “Jesus Christ, how are you for real?” Wade moans, thrusting despite his best efforts. Both Peter’s hands grab him by the ass, squeezing big handfuls, and urges him to meet the rhythm of his bobbing head.

It’s only when Wade finally tears his eyes off Peter’s face to trail down the length of his body that he remembers the whole point was sucking Peter off while getting sucked off. Peter’s perfect cock is hard and curved up towards his stomach, glistening at the tip, just begging for Wade’s mouth and Wade isn’t about to deny him. He braces a knee on the mattress and his hands on either side of Peter’s hips and bends over to suck him.

Peter arches into him and Wade has to grab onto his hips and hold him down, just to feel the flex of his muscles straining against his palms. Fits his thumbs to the yellowed-skin bruises he left earlier and pushes down just enough for Peter to feel it.

They both know Peter could easily buck off Wade’s hold, but he doesn’t. He makes himself still, trembling with the effort, and lets Wade control the pace and the depth, the same as Peter does with him. He keeps taking Wade deep, making those ridiculously hot sounds when he chokes himself on Wade’s cock, and fuck he’s not going to last long, between that, and the taste of Peter on his tongue.

“Wade,” Peter pants, pulling off to place tiny kisses down the length of him. “I want your fingers.”

Fucking minx, it’s like everything Peter says and does is designed to drive him crazy. Wade slicks up two fingers good and wet, pulls his asscheek back with the other hand and circles Peter’s hole to feel it twitch. He dips his middle finger inside, just the tip and gives a little tug. Peter makes this sound, lets out a shuddering breath pressed against Wade’s thigh.

“Don’t fucking tease,” he says, and nips at Wade’s balls. Wade grins around his mouthful and pushes his index in alongside, sinks them in deep. Peter groans his appreciation and shows it by taking Wade back in his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for Peter to get close like that, fucking himself back on Wade’s fingers and up into his mouth, whining when Wade crooks his fingers just right and deepthroats him. The closer he gets, the harder he goes at Wade, sucking him like he’s getting him off. Like he wants to make Wade cum as much as he wants to cum himself.

“Come on, Petey.” Wade licks over the slit of his cock, really works his tongue against it to make Peter writhe. “Come for me baby.”

“Mmm. You first,” he breathes, and then one of his dexterous little fingers works its way between Wade’s asscheeks.

“You little--oh fuck, yeah, right there, Spidey.” Peter keeps rubbing over that spot, and oh, the pressure’s just right. The mouth on his cock is almost secondary to that. Shit the kid knows what he’s doing. Wade’s orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train. He blacks out for a goddamn second, face pressed between Spidey’s damp thighs. Spidey’s still sucking him, throat working as he swallows every last drop of Wade’s cum.

Wade’s legs are threatening to give out on him altogether. “Babe, ya gotta--” Peter makes a questioning sound and Wade’s ass clenches at the too much, but it’s so good. Wade drags himself upright, stumbles backwards from the edge of the bed, cock hanging limp between his legs. Peter grins at him upside down, drags the back of his hand across his mouth. There’s a glint of challenge in his eyes.

And boy, are we ever up for a challenge.

[[You say up…]]

Give it a minute.

Wade climbs up with him, lets Peter wind his arms around Wade’s neck and drag him down for a kiss, lost in it for a minute. Kissing Pete is so good, the way his whole body gets into it. Straining up to meet Wade, leg twining around his hips to pull him down, fingers digging into Wade’s scalp to hold him in place while Peter licks into his mouth.

But he’s still hard and leaking with it, cock nudging against Wade’s skin with every movement of their bodies, and maybe Wade has a point to make. He disentangles himself from Spidey, and fuck is he living up to his name, nothing but limbs hanging on tight. Wade sinks down, grabs Peter behind the knees and slings them over his own shoulders, hauls Peter as close as he can get him with hands splaying his asscheeks open, and buries his face there.

“OH!” Peter’s hands scramble over Wade’s head, nails scoring. “Oh shit, I--” Wade licks across his hole, broad, flat swipes of his tongue, just to get Peter used to the sensation. “Wade, oh fuck, it’s too much, I can’t--oh!” He actually squeals when Wade jabs at the opening with the tip of his tongue, clench and release, until Wade can thrust inside, and then it’s just a litany of “yes, yes, yes, yes, please.”

Peter reaches down himself, hand fisted around his cock. His heels thump against Wade’s back, then the soles of his feet press flat for leverage as he rocks down on Wade’s tongue. “Right there,” Peter pants. “Like that, oh please.” His body is one tense line, toes curling into skin, flingers bruising Wade’s skull, hips jerking reflexively.

Wade’s jaw is starting to ache and his tongue is cramping, but there’s no way he’s going to stop, not when Peter’s stopped breathing, hanging right there on the edge. And then in breaks over him, little jolts running up and down his body as he finally cums, almost silent except for the ragged breath he finally exhales. Wade keeps working his tongue until the last pulse of Peter’s cock and then lets Peter’s legs drop and collapses beside him, both their heads hanging off the end of the bed, catching their breath.

“Shit,” Peter says.

A chuckle bubbles up from Wade’s chest. He rolls onto his side to sling an arm and leg over Peter, cock tucked up against his side. Peter gives him a sidelong look, brow raised. “I thought I was the teenager here.”

Wade waggles his brows. “Healing factor, babe. It has its benefits.” He rocks his hips to drive the point home, so to speak.

Peter rolls onto his side as well, strokes a hand along Wade’s stomach. He looks up from under his lashes, and has no right to look so coy given all that’s just transpired between them. “So you weren’t kidding about that whole not getting out of bed for a month thing, huh?”

“Nope!” Wade really pops the P.

Peter’s grin matches Wade’s and he gets up on his knees, pushes Wade onto his back and climbs over to straddle him, hands roaming down Wade’s chest. “Mmm, well, sign me the fuck up,” he says, grinding his ass back on Wade’s cock.

After their third go around, Peter tugs the comforter over them and curls up, little spoon to Wade’s big, and is asleep in seconds. Wade’s eyelids have weights attached, but he can’t quite keep them closed long enough to sleep. Like if he drifts off, he’s going to wake up somewhere else to find all of this had been nothing but the best dream ever.

[[Maaaaaybe you finally managed to die for good.]]

Which, okay, entirely possible this could be Wade’s version of heaven. The only thing is, if he were ever to really die, they all know there’s no chance he’d end up here.

Yellow starts singing “Heaven is a Place on Earth” in the background of Wade’s mind.

[[Since we’re up anyway, maybe now is a good time for us to discuss all the ways you could possibly fuck this up.]]

Wade resolutely closes his eyes, jaw set, and wills himself to sleep.

[[What, exactly, do you think that’s going to achieve? I’m inside your head.]]

At that point Peter rolls back towards him, sleepy warm and soft. Wade grows aware of the fact that he’s been humming along absently with Yellow and stops, holds his breath. Peter’s hand comes up to cup Wade’s cheek and he mumbles, “Tell your boxes to let you sleep, Wade.”

Wade is stupidly touched by the thought. He presses his smile into Peter’s hair. “Bold of you to assume they listen to anything I say.”

“Let him sleep, guys,” Peter mutters. “Don’t be dicks.”

There’s a sort of stunned silence that follows in Wade’s mind, and then a perturbed grumble from White, but after a moment he quiets down. “You’re amazing Spidey.”

Peter makes a sound of agreement. “They wrote a song about me.”

Wade chuckles and bundles Peter up close in his arms, hums the melody under his breath until Peter quiets him with a kiss. “Sleep, Wade,” he says, and Wade does.

*

True to his word, Wade keeps Peter in all day Saturday, venturing out of the bedroom only occasionally for a well-deserved shower or to pay the delivery guy, who gets an eyeful when Wade answers the door in a sheet. Peter is insatiable and without any sort of shame in bed, whether it’s telling Wade exactly what he wants, fucking himself open on his fingers when Wade doesn’t get to it fast enough, wanton moaning even through the blush that spreads from his cheeks down his neck...or letting himself be bent over the kitchen counter while Wade eats him out, thrusting back on his face, bouncing on Wade’s dick like a fucking trampoline on the dining room chair, feet braced on the rungs for leverage.

There are all sorts of amazing things about Spidey, let’s be clear, it’s not just the physical shit. But Spidey really excels at the sexy shit. Super strength and endurance and healing on top of being nineteen years old. And the way he can move. He’s so bendy in all the right ways, like when he’s got his knees over Wade’s shoulders, pressed all the way back against his chest and it leaves him so open for Wade to fuck him deep.

Saturday rolls into Sunday, and Peter makes breakfast burritos. Which, okay, he had Wade at burritos, but they’re fucking good, which he keeps moaning about around huge mouthfuls. Peter grins around his own overstuffed mouth. “Survival mechanism. Aunt May tried, but she truly is an awful cook. We mostly lived off takeout, which was way too expensive, so I picked up a thing or two. Besides, it’s just science when you come down to it.”

[Oooh, have we finally earned the right to his back story?]

Spider-Man hasn’t talked a lot about his home life. Early in their relationship he was so guarded about any personal information and by the time he’d warmed up to Wade, they’d moved to a more casual exchange. Wade knows about his Aunt, but this is the first time he’s gotten a name to go along with it, and he’s never asked why Spidey was with her instead of his parents.

Does Peter want him to ask about his Aunt? Is that even allowed. Wade sort of thinks Peter using the L word means he can probably ask about family, but Yellow and White are rather insistently against it.

Thing is, Wade could have figured this stuff out for himself years ago. He could have known the face and the name within days after first meeting Spidey, but something about that first encounter left him inclined to respect his privacy. It had been a weird and uncomfortable sensation, given the general attitude of the Avengers towards him, to not learn everything he could about a potential enemy.

[Don’t pretend you weren’t in love with him from the word go.]

[[A fucking kid you perv.]]

“I didn’t know, asshole,” he grumbles under his breath. Then he freezes in mopping up the sauce that’s spilled on the plate. He darts a concerned look at Peter, because maybe that sounded bad given the context, but Peter just kicks him in the shin.

“You’ve never bothered filtering yourself before,” he says. “It hasn’t scared me off yet.”

Wade laughs, and he knows it’s a little off, but he can’t control it. “Yeah, and as fucked up as the worst thing you’ve ever heard me say might be, not even the tip of the iceberg, Petey.”

“You know,” Peter swallows his bite and licks the sauce from his fingertips, and it’s fucking distracting, but Wade makes himself focus. “When Mister Stark first came to see me, he wanted to know why I was doing the whole hero thing. And I told him--well, it wasn’t a lie really, but it wasn’t the truth, either. I mean, not the actual answer he wanted.”

He has no idea where this is headed, but Wade wants to know, desperately. Truth like a dried up scab picked away, oozing painful secrets. Stark was Peter’s doorway to this world of supeheroes, and even so this was a secret he’d apparently never shared before now, even with him.

“I was fourteen when I got my powers, and I was so stupid. I didn’t give a fuck about saving the world or hell, even being a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. I could climb the walls. I could lift a car over my head one-handed. I came up with the webbing just to see how high I could swing with it. When I put those first videos up on youtube, I had these delusions of making insane amounts of money off my stunts. I guess I figured the Avengers had the whole superhero thing pretty well taken care of.”

Peter shakes his head, something dark behind the humour on his face. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, like he can put some extra distance between himself and whatever it is he’s remembering, and Wade knows that feeling all too intimately. He almost reaches out, almost tells Peter to stop telling the story, but Peter speaks first.

“My uncle caught on really quickly. I was being so irresponsible, staying out late, missing school, sneaking out. He gave me this big lecture on owning my actions and taking responsibility, and how having certain abilities makes you obligated to use them to help other people, and I could not care any less, right?”

“Anyway, long story short…” Peter fidgets, leans his elbows on his knees, stares down at his feet. “He was shot, just a couple blocks from our place. I was supposed to have been with him. If I had--If I hadn’t been so selfish and stubborn and only out for myself--”

“You were fourteen,” Wade grits out between his teeth.

[[Focus on your breathing.]]

[It probably wouldn’t be the best start of your relationship if you ran off and dismembered Tony Stark]

Because there’s no way Stark didn’t research Peter’s background before recruiting him, and there’s no way he didn’t put two and two together about his uncle’s death and Peter’s sense of obligation, and instead of oh, say, getting him to a therapist, he gave him a superpowered suit and sent him off to fight fucking Captain America.

“Do you realise what you could have done? What you’re really capable of? If I’d had the powers I do now when I was your age, I mighta gone full darkside. Fuck knows my special forces body count would have easily doubled, not to mention the jobs I would have taken, after. But you--a kid with superpowers, and your worst crimes were truancy and extreme base jumping and being a hormonal teenager? ”

Peter shakes his head with a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m responsible. I knew I was being an asshole, and I didn’t care. I knew how to be a better person. My parents, my aunt and uncle, they raised me to be a good person, and I made a choice not to.”

“I am almost positive that wouldn’t be held against you in a court of law,” Wade insists. “Being a dick doesn’t mean your his death was your fault.”

Anyway,” Peter goes on. “What I’m trying to say is I try so hard to be the best person I can be, to help people, because I know it’s the right thing to do, but what it really comes down to is I like how it feels to be special. I like how it feels to save people and know I’m making a difference. My motivations aren’t always noble.”

“I think you’ll find that most of your Avenger friends have similar motivations,” Wade says, and he’s not bitter, okay?

“What I’m saying,” Peter drawls, slipping from his chair into Wade’s lap and winding his arms around his shoulders. “You’re not the only one who’s fucked up. And I just talk to my suit instead of the voices in my head. Most of the time.”

[That’s goddamn adorable.]

[[Aww look at the itsy bitsy spider trying to play like he’s a badass]]

Wade can only presume his eyes are actual hearts right now, if the growing expression of annoyance on Peter’s face is anything to go by. Wade reigns it in, makes himself focus on the important part of what Peter said. “So, uh, what happened with your mom and dad?”

“Plane crash. I was really little, I don’t remember them much. My Aunt and Uncle pretty much raised me even before they died--they were gone all the time.” He’s clearly trying to play it like it’s not as big a deal as it actually is, so Wade lets him.

“Not a proper origin story ‘til you’ve racked up the body count.” It’s kind of a horrible thing to say. He knows it, and has the time to stop the words before they cross his lips, but Peter knows him, has been around him at some of his lowest points, and he’s not only still around, but now letting Wade touch him in his private places, so...

And sure enough Peter just rolls his eyes and says, “You would know.”

[[Okay, but maybe try not to actively push him away yeah???]]

They spend the afternoon snuggling on the couch with a Lord of the Rings marathon, arguing over who is the hottest of the fellowship, until Liv Tyler shows up and they can both agree on that anyway. Then cuddling turns into making out, and then it’s only a matter of time before they’re grinding against each other like two kids getting off for the first time.

Wade keeps waiting for Peter to shoo him off so he can do his school work or maybe patrol, or maybe for the simple fact that they’ve basically been dating all of two days and they’re not lesbians, so they’re not at the moving in together stage of things. But Sunday night becomes Monday morning, and Peter shows no sign of discontent, or any intention of asking Wade to leave.

Wade blinks awake sometime in mid-morning, and it’s a novel sensation these days, waking up without the voices reminding him of all the ways he’s a failure, and nothing but the sound of Al’s slippers shuffling on wooden floorboards to distract him from the crushing weight of loneliness.

Peter rolls towards him when he moves, snuggling up close and weighing the pros of chocolate chip pancakes against the cons of actually getting out of bed to make them, between lazy morning-breath kisses. He reaches past Wade for the lube on the nightstand and pushes down the sheets enough to reach his goal, slicks Wade up and straddles him, sinking down in one smooth motion. Wade just holds on, admiring the way his hands look splayed on Peter’s narrow hips,

After, with Peter curled up against his side panting, Wade has to ask. “Don’t you have school or some shit? Or your internship. Wait. Is being a hero your internship?”

“I mean, yes, but I do other stuff, too. Mostly working on my own projects--it’s a lot easier when Mister Stark is footing the bill. As for class…” He sits up to squint at the bedside clock, then flops back down. “Missed a couple, I guess.”

“Look at you, you fucking rebel, I always took you as too much of a goody two shoes to go skipping school.”

“You promised me a month of uninterrupted sex, and I might be a nerd, but I know how to prioritise.” He stood up from bed, taking Wade by the hands to pull him to his feet. “So, pancakes first, shower sex after.”

Wade crowds him against the door frame, sucking marks onto his throat. “Oh baby, talk dirty to me.”

“Explosive ordnance, Bea Arthur, chimichangas,” Peter says, around those impossibly sexy, breathy moans of his when Wade bites down on the curve of his neck. “Bernadette Peter’s Playboy shoot.” Wade drops to his knees and Peter draws in a sharp breath. “Okay, blowjobs, then pancakes.”

Wade finally puts down his foot late Tuesday morning when they’re woken by the ringing of Peter’s phone. They’re lying close enough together and it’s quiet enough that Wade can hear the woman on the other end, who sounds remarkably non-emotive given the content of her words. “Dude, where the hell have you been? You’re not answering your texts, Gwen said you skipped out of class yesterday. Ned is losing his shit. It’s exhausting.”

“Sorry, I’ve just been a little distracted,” Peter mumbles around a yawn. “I meant to text him back.”

“Like you’d let anything distract you from going to class, you nerd, unless you...holy shit, Parker, did you finally climb on that dick?” She sounds like she’s talking around a mouthful of cereal.

Peter flings an arm over his eyes as Wade shakes in silent laughter. “Jesus, MJ, tact, look it up.”

“Nah, I’m good. And I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What do you want, Michelle?” Peter asks.

“Just calling to remind you about Harry’s tonight. Maybe wash off the sex stank first.”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

“And you probably shouldn’t skip again or Gwen’s going to show up at your front door to lecture you on your ten year plan.”

“Goodbye MJ.”

“I like her,” Wade comments, after Peter has jabbed the end call button with more force than strictly necessary, and tossed the phone aside. “She sounds absolutely charming.”

“Yeah, she’s going to love you, too.” Peter sounds unreasonably forlorn about it.

“Okay!” Wade springs up onto his knees with a clap of his hands. “Up and at ‘em, kiddo. Gotta burn those bunsens and table those elements. Bedazzle some DNA. Do science!”

Peter grumbles a lot along the way, but Wade finally manages to get them showered and dressed and out the front door. They grab peppery coffee at the place around the corner, and Peter buys them red bean stuffed taiyaki from a street vendor.

“I still can’t believe you’re making me go to class when you could have me in bed,” Peter says.

“Yeah, well, I am frankly astonished at your underestimation of Tony Stark’s obsessive compulsive surveillance habits. Seriously, he could put The Police to shame. And I think if you were to miss much more school he’d show up to whisk me away to some S.H.I.E.L.D. black site.”

“As you so eloquently pointed out at the party, Tony Stark isn’t actually my father,” Peter says, but then his shoulders sag and he adds. “But, yeah. You’re probably right. Though he wouldn’t show up himself, he’d just send Happy to lecture me.” After a second, he punches Wade lightly on the arm. “Now I’ve got that song stuck in my head.”

Wade walks with him to the subway, and Peter sidles up to him while they’re waiting on the train, toe to toe, leaning into Wade’s space. “So, I’m supposed to do this movie night with friends tonight.”

“Yep,” Wade agrees.

Peter tugs at the ends of the strings of the hoodie Wade has borrowed from him, and goes up on his toes to brush a quick kiss over his mouth. “Wanna come with?”

After several seconds of Peter’s expectant, upturned face, it sinks in. “Oh. You’re being serious.”

Wade.” Even his frustration is adorable. “As you may have gathered from MJ, I ah, might have gone on about you. At length. Especially once I finally made a move and you shot me down.” His face falls. “I was really fucked up over that.”

“Fuck, Sp--etey, I’m so fucking sorry about that. I didn’t mean to jerk you around. I coulda just blown my brains out.”

“Please, no.” Peter strokes a hand down his cheek. “I prefer them intact. Even if you’d grow them back.”

“So you want me to come hang out with your friends who’ve heard you telling them what an asshole I am?”

Peter huffs in annoyance. “You are an asshole, but that’s not what I told them. I mostly blubbered about how I’d somehow mistaken all the flirting, and also speculated about who you were actually in love with. I had it narrowed down to Matt Murdock and Cable.”

[I’d have said Wolvie and Cable.]

[[Please, are we just going to ignore his burning thirst for Colossus dick?]]

Wade nods at all of them. “Fair enough. The thing is babe, most civilians aren’t down to chill with Deadpool.”

“Fine, I’m not going to badger you into it.” Peter releases his hoodie as the train rumbles down the tunnel. “If you really don’t wanna come, then you shouldn’t. But I hope it’s not because you they won’t like you, because they will.”

The train pulls up, screeching as it halts, and Peter gives him one last kiss before turning away. “I’ll text you the info if you change your mind,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Love you,” Wade calls out, belatedly, just as the doors are starting to close, and Peter’s whole posture changes--spine straight, shoulders back, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. He mouths the words back through the closed doors, and waves as the train pulls away.

The dilemma over whether or not to attend movie night isn’t helped by Peter’s text, when it becomes obvious from the address that the Harry in question is Harry fucking Osborne, which aside from being a whole messy can of worms that he’s going to have to ask Pete about, just feels weird? He can just see himself striding into Osborne’s posh penthouse, surrounded by beautiful teenagers, looking like he do. Probably shouldn’t wear the suit for a night in, but that means leaving his face bare to their scrutiny. All the questioning looks over why Peter wouldn’t have chosen him--and is it weirder for him to be dating Deadpool if they know he’s Spider-Man, or if they don’t?

It’s fucking providence then, that when he lets himself into his place, it’s to find Cable sitting alongside Al on the sofa, sipping tea and listening to an old George Burns routine.

“Fucking finally,” Cable growls. “What is the point of that shitty flip phone you insist on keeping, if you never answer it?”

“I’ve been a bit busy. Balls deep in Spider-Man, if you must know,” Wade answers, with great dignity.

"I didn't," Al mutters.

Cable’s brows climb to his hairline. “Have you completely lost the ability to distinguish between fantasy and the real world?”

Wade flips him off. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

And that is how he’s given a suspiciously convenient out for the movie night. He sends Peter an apologetic text, and a selfie with his cheek pressed closed to an unamused-looking and possibly homicidal Cable, with Domino visible in the background only as a pair of bunny ears behind each of their heads.

Peter responds with increasingly explicit descriptions of what he’d rather be doing with Wade over the next several days, complete with some artfully shot pornographic photos, escalating to full on sexting in the back of Dopinder’s taxi. If anyone notices they’re probably not surprised at this point.

When they get back in the wee hours of Saturday morning, Wade has Dopinder drop him off at Peter’s. It’s almost two, but it’s the weekend, and Petey keeps fucked up hours anyway, so when he doesn’t answer to Wade’s knock or text, it’s safe to assume he’s still out on patrol.

It doesn’t take long to find him. Spidey will stray from his neighbourhood as required, but most of the time he sticks fairly close to home, keeping an eye on things. Tonight Deadpool finds him outside a townhouse with a bunch of drunk college girls who are climbing out of the silver Prius that Spidey pulled up to the curb. Wade crouches on top of the bodega across the street to watch.

“Let’s maybe remember to take the subway next time,” Spidey is saying, over their giggling and chatter. “Like, why did your parents even let you take a car with you to college? The cost of parking alone, how is it even worth it?”

The girls move like a pack of wolves, circling Spidey. One of them wraps an arm around his waist and another other around his shoulder, and a third snuggles up against his front poking at his mask. “That voice thingie sounds kinda hot.”

“Not to mention that ass, umph.” One of them palms said ass, and Wade can’t help cackling in glee.

Spidey’s head jerks up, eyes of his mask narrowing when they land on Wade. “A little help here?”

“I think you’ve got this one covered babe,” Wade calls back, hands cupped around his mouth.

This gets the girls’ attention. The one still kneading Peter’s ass sizes Deadpool up as best she can from the distance and says, “Ooh, you can invite your friend along, too.”

Spidey does this little sideways wiggle dance and disentangles himself from them, then shoots a web and flips up onto a streetlamp to dodge their grabbing hands. “No more trying to drive drunk,” he says sternly, then flings the keys towards the building and webs them to a window ledge on the second floor. “You can get those tomorrow when you’ve sobered up.”

Wade gives him a golf clap, and then Peter is swinging across to land beside him, grabs Wade around the waist with one arm and lifts the edge of his mask with the other, and Wade has just enough time to roll up his own mask before their mouths are crashing together. Down below the girls start cheering and screaming lewd suggestions. Wade takes Peter by both asscheeks and squeezes, which just makes them squeal louder.

“Jesus Christ,” Peter pulls away with a moan. His grip on Wade tightens, and he mutters, “hold on,” which is all the warning Wade gets before he swings them off, to the chorus of disappointed groans of their audience.

A few minutes later, they come to land on a much taller building, with no prying eyes, and Peter backs Wade up against the door of the roof access.

“I seem to recall a fantasy of yours starting something like this?” Peter hums against his lips.

“Pretty much all the fantasies, Spidey. Every fantasy.”

Peter grins. “Well then we should probably get started if we wanna hit them all.” With that he sinks to his knees on the rooftop. Nuzzles the exposed part of his face over the bulge of Wade’s suit, and it’s not like he can feel much of it through the material, but the sight alone is so goddamn hot--Spidey’s mask eyes narrowed to little slits, and just that one small small strip of exposed skin from nose to chin with the rest of him still covered in red and blue--Wade’s dick twitches and leaks within its confines.

The buckle comes off first, and then Peter’s nimble fingers find the hidden fly and drag down the zipper. Probably it shouldn’t be so arousing, the texture of Spidey’s gloves, the silky smooth of spandex and nanofibers cut through by the ridges of web, sliding over Wade’s dick, pulling to free. Peter goes straight to town. Lips wrapped tight around him, cheeks hollowed out making a tight, wet tunnel of suction, while his tongue presses to the sensitive spot just beneath the head of his cock, dragging back and forth over the ridges there.

Wade spreads his legs, sinks down a little further, rocks his hips to push a little deeper. Peter’s hand rests on the inside of his thigh, and he pushes just enough to hold Wade in place and stop his squirming. Then he rewards Wade’s stillness by going down to the root and just holding him there for a second, before pulling off altogether to place little kitten kisses up and down the length of his cock. Pursed lips against his frenulum, sucking just slightly, then down to lick and suck at his balls. Wade’s head falls back against the door with a thunk.

“Oh, Spider-Man,” he moans, a little showy, when Peter takes his cock in his mouth again. His hand wiggles inside Wade’s suit to cup his balls, while his fingers brush teasingly over the delicate skin behind. “Gonna have your way with me?” Peter’s fingers move with new purpose at the words, sliding further to prod between Wade’s cheeks. Wade’s cock hits the back of his throat and Peter keeps going. Wade’s eyes fall closed at the duel sensation. “Gonna show the bad ole Merc who’s boss, with your dick?”

“That what you want, Pool?” Peter asks. Shit, he sounds wrecked already, voice hoarse from Wade’s dick down his throat. Two fingers push at Wade’s hole, but not with enough pressure. Wade tries to push down, and Spidey pulls his hand free of the suit. He stands, chest leaning into Wade’s, mouth on Wade’s jaw, biting rough, sucking hard enough to bruise. His hands fumble between them at the pockets of Wade’s suit. “Want me to punish you for all the shit you’ve done? All the times you fucked up a mission, crashed a job, caused more problems than you solved charging in with blades flying?”

Wade lets out a shuddering breath and nods. He likes the way it feels, his adam’s apple bobbing, the pressure of it against the cut of Peter’s teeth on his throat as he swallows hard. “Yeah.” Peter’s lips curve into a grin. “Yeah.”

The show of strength is really doing it for Wade, the way Spidey grabs him by the arms and pins them over his head while they kiss, hands like steel bands on his wrists. Wade flexes his muscles just to see, and there’s not the slightest give, but Peter doesn’t even have to try. A shudder goes down his spine, hot and electric.

“Want me to take out every ounce of frustration on your ass?”

“Fuck, Spidey, you’re killing me here,” Wade whines.

Spidey switches his grip, bringing both wrists together to hold them with one hand. “Which of these fucking pockets has the lube, and don’t you dare play dumb like we both don’t know you carry it on you.”

Wade jerks his chin vaguely in the direction of his right leg. “Snap pouch, on my thigh.” Peter kisses him hard, teeth clacking together from the force, while his hand finally finds its goal. As soon as his fingers close around the little tube, he steps back, releasing Wade, and pressing the spider on the front of his suit, which sags, suddenly slack, and falls loose around his shoulders, then down to pool at his feet.

“You, ah, always go commando under your suit?” Wade asks, because, well, he’s dreamed, but never really imagined it was true.

“Only when I’m hoping my boyfriend’s back in town after ditching me for five days.”

“Oh, I’ll make it up to you, baby boy.” Wade scrambles to get undressed himself, getting all tangled up in his straps and holsters, and he doesn’t even have the suit down to his knees before Spidey spins him around face first into the wall. Now bare fingers down Wade’s back, mouth on his shoulder blade. The other hand slick on his ass, smearing lube over his hole. Spidey lets out a groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lube coated hand stroking a dick.

That’s all the warning Wade gets, before Peter’s lining up and pushing in. It’s been a while, but Wade’s body remembers what to do, relaxing into the rolling thrusts of Peter’s hips to drive him deeper and deeper, until he’s in to the hilt. Then he just rests there, spandex-covered forehead to Wade’s back as he takes a steadying breath. Wade’s dick is a fucking fountain of precum. Even the slightest twitch of Peter’s cock inside him making it leak all the more.

“Fuck, Wade, you--” Peter’s words die on a choked moan when Wade contracts his muscles, making them clamp down on the base of his cock. “That’s so--you’re so--” He never finishes the thought, just springs into motion. Hands clamped on Wade’s hips, knees between his thighs spreading him wider, and then he’s fucking drilling Wade’s ass. As with everything else he does, Peter is good at this, too. All that super stamina, probably, lets him keep thrusting in that rough, punishing way that hits all the right places.

There’s nothing Wade can do but twist and moan and fist his own cock desperately in time with the brutal pace Peter has set. He’s so wet from leaking and close to cumming within a handful of minutes, and that’s so out of character for him, but then again, Peter has that kind of effect, like any semblance of self-control or dignity out the window.

[[What self-control?]]

[WHAT DIGNITY???]

Wade kind of proves their points by whining like a whore for Spidey to fuck him harder, moaning about how close he is, how he wants it so bad. Spidey answers by wrapping his fingers around Wade’s on his cock. His pace slows, but he fucks in harder, deeper somehow, barely drawing back before shoving in again, tucked up tight against Wade’s ass.

Wade turns his head over his shoulder for a kiss, and Peter seems to get it right away, arching up to meet him. It brings it all back home, seeing the mask still covering half his face, that this is Spidey doing this, fucking so hard he’s going to be limping the rest of the night, healing factor notwithstanding. Spider-Man, taking him right out in the open, for any of Stark or Fury’s surveillance to see, for any civilian with an open window to hear.

“Oh shit,” he moans, “I’m gonna cum.” He can feel it in the clench of his muscles, the radiating heat caught up between the feel of Spidey splitting him open and their hands on his cock. He’s too far gone now.

“Fuck you’re already so wet,” Spidey pants out against his mouth. He works his fingers between Wade’s to rub over the head of his cock, then just beneath, thumb sweeping back and forth. “It feels so good when you fuck me, Wade, I wanna make you feel it, too.”

Wade opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a series of obscene groans, lips against the metal of the door, as his body jerks with the force of his orgasm. Behind him Peter makes a surprised sound, and his hips start thrusting erratically, barely able to move with how tight Wade’s holding onto his dick.

And shit, it’s so hot, the way Peter fills him up so much he can feel it leaking out, how it’s going to drip all inside his suit and he’s never going to be able to wear it again without thinking of this very moment. It’s all Wade can thinking of, shooting jizz all over the door and the front of himself, and it’s unrepentantly dirty, and Peter is into it as he is. Those last little jerks of his hips as he empties every drop of cum in Wade’s ass are on the edge of too much, but Wade rides it out with a grin.

“Holy shit,” Peter says, when he’s caught his breath and pulled out. “I can’t believe we did that right here, oh my god. I don’t even--I never would have--you make me do the dirtiest shit.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Wade says, still breathless himself. He turns to lean against the wall facing Pete. “I think it’s more like you know you can do every kinky thing you’ve always wanted, and know I’m not going to judge you for it. I’m going to let you.”

Peter’s blushing, but he’s not denying it. “And,” Wade continues, stroking a single finger down the line of definition on Peter’s abs. “You know you’re going to let me do even dirtier, kinkier shit to you, and you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes in agreement, closing the distance between them with a kiss. “So, uh, let’s go home and do those things.”

Chapter Text

“I’m just saying, most people don’t really think of me as the take home to meet your parents type,” Wade says, as he’s picking himself up off the ground.

“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.” Spidey flings a web at one robber who’s trying to run away, hitting his ankle and yanking him off his feet. “And my parents are dead.”

“You know--” A gunshot rings out, and Wade registers the impact of three bullets in centre mass.

[That fucking stings. Every. Goddamn. Time.]

[[Rip his head off!]]

Wade sighs in annoyance and grabs the gun from the guys hand, breaks his wrist for good measure, pulls his arm out of socket with the twisting of it, throws him to the ground where he groans in pain. White’s suggestion is tempting, but he settles for a kick to the face instead.

“You know what I meant--and no fair trying to use the sympathy card.”

Spidey dodges a punch and webs a gun from another of the robbers, comes up swinging from a new web to one of the bank buttresses to land in front of a guy charging at Wade. “Look, Deadpool, if you don’t want to spend Christmas with me--”

“That’s not it,” Wade protests, struggling with yet another of these robbers. Seriously, is there a clown car they’re pouring out of somewhere?

[[Just break his neck.]]

[I don’t think adding to the body count is going to make things with Spidey better.]

Wade grits his teeth in frustration and just runs the guy head first into the wall, knocking him out. “You know I love you babe, but your aunt--”

“Are you guys for fucking serious?” a robber asks them breathlessly.

Wade faces him with hands on his hips. “Oh I’m sorry, are we offending your delicate homophobic sensibilities?”

The guy gives him a strange look. “I was talking more about the venue you’ve chosen, to air your grievances.”

[I’ve changed our mind. Kill him. A lot.]

“Mind your own goddamn business,” Spidey yells over, from where he’s webbing two of the guys together.

“I was, before you two busted in here with your little domestic drama.”

Wade punches him and his nose gives a satisfying crunch before he crumples to the ground, unconscious. “Spidey,” he says, aiming for conciliatory. “I don’t think I need to remind you how things went over with your Dad--"

[Lead balloon would be putting it too mildly.]

"For the last time, please stop calling him that."

“Not to mention Gw--your beautiful blonde nerd friend.”

[[Better watch out for that one, in case she tries to steal Petey away.]]

“What?” Spidey swings himself over to the last two guys, who have been silently loading their duffle bags full of cash, like they could somehow slip under the radar. “She doesn’t have a problem with you. And frankly--” he absorbs the punch of one robber and ducks under the spray of machine gun fire from the other, “my aunt might disagree with Iron Man’s opinion of you just on principle.”

“I like the sound of this woman more and more the more you tell me about her,” Wade says, watching with admiration as Peter begins to weave his webs around the remaining two, bouncing off the narrow walls of the vault back and forth, until they’re trapped.

Finally, Peter swings back over the land lightly on the ground before Wade, the expressive eyes of his mask wide and vulnerable. “Then why are you fighting me so hard on this?” He crosses his arms defensively over his chest, shifts his weight around, the very picture of uncertainty. “She’s going to love you. Why won’t you just trust me?”

How can Wade put it into words without sounding super self-deprecating, which Peter never appreciates? He still can’t figure why Peter chose him, cause Stark and Gwen and all the others are right--Peter is way too good for him. Not just the whole superhero side of things, but he’s an actual fucking genius who’s going to change the world. He’s probably going to cure diseases and help people regrow limbs and end hunger and fix global warming and--

Point is anyone with half a brain can see Wade doesn’t deserve Peter, and anyone who cares about Peter is going to be rightfully upset over that fact, and Aunt May is the person who cares for him the most.

[Other than us!]

[[Nobody loves Spidey like us.]]

Which is absolutely true, and is also why there’s no point in resisting anymore, because they all know he’s going to give in in the end. “Okay. Okay! You’re right. I mean, what’s Christmas without disappointing your family with your choice of romantic partners, anyway?”

Spider-Man manages to convey an eyeroll very eloquently given that Wade can’t actually see his eyes. “Exactly.” He leans forward and presses his lips to Wade’s cheek. With both of them still wearing their masks, it barely registers as anything more than pressure.

“So I’ll take care of these guys while you go get cleaned up.”

Which is how Wade finds himself outside a cute little pre-war walkup next to the Q train line holding a tray of steak and cheddar chimichangas.

[We look like a tool.]

Wade doesn't disagree, but it’s not like he could show up at Peter’s aunt’s in full Deadpool regalia. Besides the ridiculous black slacks and jacket over his white button-down and appropriately festive green and red striped tie, he’s also almost completely unarmed.

[[Might as well be naked.]]

Aunt May lives on the second floor, and when he knocks there’s a flurry of movement from within. Wade has to fight the urge to just throw the tray and bolt out the window when he hears the sound of the lock turning. Peter’s face greets him, split into a huge grin at the sight of Wade. Wade holds out the trays. “Brought chimis,” he says weakly.

“Awesome,” Peter says. He takes the tray and pitches his voice in a whisper just for Wade. “May got it in her head she was going to make duck, so now we’ll actually have something edible on the table.”

As he steps back to let Wade in, his brow furrows. “Not that I’m not digging the look, but you didn’t have to get all dressed up.” Peter himself is wearing a black t-shirt with a Christmas tree outline that is actually lit up in a rainbow of LED lights, and lusekofte printed pajama pants. “Hang on!”

Peter dashes out of the room, and Wade is left to take it all in. Cosy and cramped, but neat. Lots of small, comfortable overstuffed chairs covered in pillows and knitted throws. Leafy green plants all over the place, tucked in around the bookshelf and end table and tv stand, alongside photos of Peter throughout his childhood, often with one of two sets of very attractive adults.

He’s bent over one particularly adorable photo of Peter at maybe age eight or so, dressed up in an Iron Man costume with the mask lifted up to reveal a gap-toothed smile. Behind him, someone clears their throat, and Wade turns to face one of the women from the photos, who barely looks as though she’s aged. Aunt May, with a cascade of shining golden brown hair tumbling down around her face, wearing a red tank top covered in snowflakes and reading “I’m dreaming of a wine Christmas,” that shows off her toned arms.

[AILF material, holy shit!]

“Wade!” she says, smiling cautiously. There’s none of the flinching he’s used to at the sight of his face. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, after I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You---don’t look at all how I imagined,” Wade finally says.

May shakes her head. It’s weird how much she looks like Peter when she rolls her eyes, given they’re not actually biologically related. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Peter comes skidding back into the room in his socks, holding a fistful of truly horrifying holiday sweater, which he hands over to Wade. “Now you’ll fit right in.”

[[Somehow I doubt that.]]

Still, Wade lets Peter lead him off to a bedroom that must have been his, still done up as he left it when he moved out on his own. Wade takes in the action figures on the wall, Star Wars model ships, a half-finished game of chess left forgotten. Wade still hasn’t quite come to terms with the fact that this is where Peter lived when they first met. The desk where he rushed through his homework so he could go on patrol. This is the place he returned after every fight…

Like the time with Doc Oc on the roof of his building and Wade only just managed to arrive in time to break Spidey’s fall when he’d run out of web fluid. Cracked ribs, internal bleeding, and Spider-Man had just made Wade wrap his chest then jumped right back in the fray before he’d healed.

And after, bloody and battered, that’s the window he climbed through. That’s the bunk bed he crawled into and passed out, surrounded by the trappings of his childhood, and Wade had just let him go. It made his chest ache to think of it.

Never again. Peter would never be left alone again after one of his fights. If there was ever a time to be thankful for the curse of his immortality, it's knowing he’ll be around to keep Peter safe.

When he reemerges in his Christmas sweater (Santa riding a unicorn through space, shooting stardust out its butt) he’s greeted with Peter presenting him a glass of wine. May’s smile is sad, but genuine, when she gives Wade a once over. “That was one of Ben’s favourites,” she says, then she gives him a wry look. “It looks good on you.”

“Sure,” Wade agrees. “I know this mug just screams male model.”

“I hope Peter warned you that we don’t do an exactly...traditional Christmas here in the Parker household.”

“Oh shit, well I guess I should probably just leave.” Peter yanks him back down on the couch from where he tries to rise. Wade cracks a smile. “But seriously, Christmas in the Wilson household tended to involved a lot of verbal abuse and unbearable silences and both parents either storming out or getting shitfaced, so...yay for breaking that tradition.” He gives May a double thumbs up and waits for Peter’s embarrassment or censure, but Peter just hugs his arm and lays his head on Wade’s shoulder.

“Peter will attest that I can’t leave a silence alone, and the screaming only starts after the third hour of Monopoly.” May shrugs and gives him a double thumbs up in return. “I guess we’re 2/3rds the way there.”

They each nominate a non-Christmas Christmas film to watch--Peter picks Trading Places, May Edward Scissorhands, and Wade The Long Kiss Goodnight. They pull them out of a hat and settle in for Peter’s choice first. It’s comfortable, the way they’ve both clearly seen it so many times they know it by heart and they have no qualms about quoting along with the film or making jokes the entire time.

Near the end, Aunt May starts cursing and running into the kitchen, exclaiming something about how she forgot to set a timer. Wade and Peter follow to find her staring in dismay at the duck. “How is burnt and raw at the same time?”

“It’s okay, May, Wade brought chimichangas. I’ll make some guacamole.”

May breaks out the tequila, and what she lacks in the cooking department, she makes up for with her Margaritas. They watch The Long Kiss Goodnight over dinner, and then break out the board games. They’re both horrible cheaters, but they’re both so adorable about it that Wade can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. After about an hour, Peter does his Spidey thing, where he sits up straight, eyes going far away.

“Peter,” May says, with her voice tight.

“It’s nothing big,” Peter says, already standing up. “Ten minutes. Sounds like someone taking advantage of empty apartments on the next block.”

“Want some help?” Wade asks, looking between him and May with uncertainty.

Peter waves him off, halfway down the hall. “You don’t have your suit--I keep an extra here just in case. Ten minutes, fifteen max.”

There is a brief silence in his wake, before May laughs nervously. “Told you I can’t do silences,” she says after a few seconds. “So.” She claps her hands together. “Tell me about yourself, Wade.”

“Um. Aside what you’ve no doubt seen on the news?”

“Actually I tend to avoid anything to do with the superheroes or mutants.” May takes a long gulp of her margarita. “It just makes me anxious, seeing all the things that are a part of Peter’s world, all the ways he could be hurt. But Peter’s told me about you two working together. About you keeping him safe.” She reaches across the table to lay a hand over his. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

“That is not the usual reaction people have about me hanging around Spidey.”

“Let me guess?” May asks dryly. “Tony Stark? He’s the one getting Peter into trouble to begin with half the time.”

“I’m not going to disagree with you there,” Wade says, “but I’ve got this feeling that if you had the full picture of my whole mercenary background, you might not be so keen on me hanging around.”

May takes a deep breath, holds it a moment, then lets it out on a long sigh. Her gaze is fixed on something over Wade’s shoulder; he thinks he remembers a photograph there, of Peter with his parents. “I’m not keen on a lot of what Peter does. He’s brilliant--just like his parents. Just like Ben, so full of potential. And I worry constantly that he’s going to end up dead way too young, just like them. If it were up to me, he’d never have gotten mixed up in this Avengers business to begin with. Never put on that stupid costume again.”

[Mmm, I’d be fine with that, too.]

Wade has to tune out the stream of truly filthy things White is suggesting they do with a naked Spidey, because he cannot spring a boner in front of his aunt.

May’s eyes refocus on Wade. “But I have to let him make his choices, even if I don’t agree with them, and if he’s going to be out there, putting his life on the line, well. I’ll be honest with you, Wade, I’d prefer someone like you having his back. Someone whose primary concern is his safety and who will do whatever it takes to bring him home alive.”

[[She can’t possibly be suggesting what we’re thinking?]]

“So you’re saying you’re down with the killing?” Wade asks, dubious.

“I--” May looks flustered and takes another gulp of her drink. She swallows and clears her throat. “I think--Well, Peter has a very strong moral code, and I’m so proud of him. But I’m not naive. I can’t help but notice how so many of the people he fights come back again and again, killing and hurting more people every time. I’m not saying I condone killing, but I understand that sometimes it’s necessary.”

“May, you are a delightfully unexpected surprise in an absurdly hot package.”

May blushes. “I’m going to go refill my drink.” She stands and snatches Wade’s from him too on the way to the kitchen.

While she’s gone, the distant sound of sirens rings out, and then Wade’s cell chimes from his pocket. It’s Peter saying he’ll be back soon. May must have gotten the same text, because all the tension from her shoulders has eased when she comes back with fresh margaritas.

“I, uh, I know it must have been rough for you, finding out about Peter--shit that’s not true, I have no idea what it must have been like. I’m still trying to deal with the fact that he was doing this when he was a kid, and you--”

May’s eyes are a little watery, and it strikes Wade that maybe she’s never talked about this with anyone, which just in turn makes him pissy with Stark all over again. Like what kind of shitty ass support system has been for these people?!

“But I’ve never known him as anything other than Spider-Man. It’s who he is. He wouldn’t be your Peter anymore if he wasn’t.”

“I know,” May says, voice all shaky. She dabs at the corner of her eyes. “I think I’m starting to see why he fell for you. You’re a very good listener.”

“Just don’t let it get around that I’ve got a sensitive side--might ruin my image.”

[[For who? Everyone already knows that about you…]]

Spidey thankfully pops back in before the waterworks actually start, swinging in through the living room window still in his suit. He’s carrying a plastic grocery bag on one wrist, and when he takes off his mask he’s got a flush to his cheeks that makes Wade want to carry him off and do naughty things. It still gives him a thrill every time Spidey exposes his face, to know that Wade is one of the trusted few outside of the Avengers. Plus there’s just the general prettiness of his face and the way the suit hugs his body in all the right places.

[We just got her approval, perhaps now is not the best time to grope her nephew…]

Peter gives him a look like he knows exactly what Wade is thinking, and pecks him on the cheek, before presenting his bag to them both with a flourish. “The neighbours paid me with fudge and cutout cookies.”

“Oh!” Aunt May perks up and stands. “And I made fruit loaf!”

After she disappears into the kitchen, Peter bends to whisper in Wade’s ear. “Whatever you do, don’t eat it.” Then he straightens and claps Wade on the shoulder. “BRB, gotta change.”

The thing is, May is such a sweetheart and looks so earnestly pleased with herself when she presents the loaf, how is Wade supposed to say no? He hides a grimace behind what is likely a terrifying smile. “Delicious,” he manages around his mouthful.

May beams at him. “I got the recipe from Mary Berry on the Great British Bake-off.”

“So…” Wade struggles to swallow. “Moist.”

Peter saves the day with a pitcher of spiked horchata, which Wade chugs gratefully. They finally give up on Monopoly shortly after and settle in for May’s movie pick. Once it’s finished, Peter introduces Wade to their tradition of making new ornaments for the tree each year. Wade sort of wants to make a snide comment about it, but who would he be kidding?? He’s so down for arts and crafts.

There's a fair amount of smack talk between the three of them, whose ornament will be best, and eventually devolves into flinging glitter and festive pom poms tacky with glue, while May moans about how she’s never gone to get the glitter out of her house now. The end results are hideous, but May still hangs each in a place of pride on the tree.

Wade had such anxiety over this whole meeting the family thing that he’s sort of in disbelief by how well it’s gone. He isn’t even aware of how much time has passed until Peter joyfully exclaimes it’s midnight and goes to gather the gifts under the tree. Wade slips back Peter’s room for his jacket to get May’s present.

[I’m still not sure this is the best idea.]

“Whatever,” Wade mutters. “I give the best gifts.”

May presents them both with lumpy packages wrapped in rainbow snowflake papers, practically bouncing with excitement. “The pattern was a little more challenging than my normal projects, but I think they came out.” She gestures at the throws all around the room.

Peter and Wade tear into them at the same time. Wade pulls his out, a knit beanie in a red and blue web pattern, with Spidey’s mask eyes on the front and tiny spiders around the bottom. He pulls it on his head and turns to see Peter’s already opened and donned his as well--bold black and red with Wade’s mask on the front.

“Always knew you’d look good in my suit, babe,” Wade says, and the sparkle in Peter’s eyes suggests that Wade might get to see him in it sooner rather than later.

“I, ah. I wasn’t sure what you might want,” Wade says, when he hand the envelope over to May. She opens it, her eyes getting wide, mouth dropping open just a little. “Peter mentioned you work long hours and don’t have a lot of time for cooking, so this should make things easier. You just need to fill out the information on what you like…”

“Wade, this is--” May holds the paper out for Peter to take. “This is very generous.”

Wade shrugs. “Merc work pays pretty well.” What he can’t say is that she’s taken such good care of Peter and she deserves to have someone take care of her, because that’s probably too intimate a thing to say.

[[And since when has that stopped you?]]

“Well you’ve put my beanies to shame,” May says with a laugh.

“Are you kidding?” Wade pulls it tighter down over his head. “I’m never taking this thing off. It’s coming in the shower with me. It’s going on over the suit.”

“You only think he’s joking,” Peter sighs.

They’ve already agreed they’ll exchange their gifts for each other the day after Christmas at Peter’s place, so Wade doesn’t mind sitting back to watch as Peter and May open their other presents to one another. They’re both so earnestly pleased no matter how small the gift, it’s like they can’t actually be real, right? Something out of a movie about the spirit of Christmas being the thought that counts or some shit.

All the remains after are the stockings, which Peter has explained are for Christmas morning. Wade is not to be blamed for the slightly choked feeling he gets when May brings them out to be hung and there’s one with Wade’s name embroidered on it along with May and Peter’s.

“Are we supposed to sleep in separate bunks?” Wade asks, after they’ve brushed their teeth and Peter’s dug out some oversized Hello Kitty pj pants for him from the back of the closet.

Peter shrugs. “I hardly think Aunt May cares, if that’s what you mean. So sure, by all means, let’s both try to squeeze onto a twin mattress together.”

Wade rubs his hands together. “You know I’m going to take that as a challenge,” he says. Peter rolls his eyes and huffs in annoyance as Wade maneuvers them around the bed, but he allows himself to be tucked up between Wade and the edge of the bed with Wade’s arms and legs wound around him and not a breath of space between them.

He doesn’t even seem to mind the press of Wade’s growing erection against the curve of his ass, despite the sound of Aunt May still shuffling around in the living room, tidying up.

[[You fucking lech.]]

There was squirming and rubbing, okay, and Wade is only human, albeit a mutated one.

“Are you even capable of being quiet?” Peter whispers.

Wade gives a little rock of his hips. “I’m up for it if you are, babe.”

Peter presses his face into his pillow and makes a sound somewhere between arousal and exasperation. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” he mutters, then turns to look at Wade over his shoulder. “I swear to god if you make a sound, I’m kicking you out of bed.”

“Speak for yourself, Spidey,” Wade whispers, as tugs down his pj pants just enough to free his dick. Peter wriggles around to do the same, getting the elastic waist down around his thighs. “You’re the noisy one. All those whines and moans, so fucking hot, Jesus, just thinking about it gets me going.” He gets a handful of Peter’s ass, kneading and spreading him open to drive his dick between his cheeks, proving his point.

Peter fumbles at the bedside table, only managing not to fall out of the bed thanks to Wade’s hold on him and grabs a bottle of lube. Doesn’t waste any time popping the cap and squeezing a handful into his palm before reaching back to fist Wade’s cock. Wade has to take a centering breath to keep from groaning at that first slick touch. Presses his face in the nape of Peter’s neck as he pumps his hand up and down a few times, spreading the lube around, and then he’s guiding Wade to his hole.

The initial resistance gives and Wade pushes inside in a long, slow glide. Peter’s got his eyes screwed up tight, bottom lip between his teeth, holding his breath until Wade’s completely sheathed, and then Wade just stays there a long minute, while Peter takes several shakey, panting breaths as he adjusts. Fuck, Peter’s already sweating along his brow from just this, working his hips back in tiny, fitful movements, like it’s killing him to be quiet.

They can’t really move much, between the lack of space and the creaky frame that gives a squeak of protest every time they shift position. After a few experimental thrusts, Wade finds just the right angle that lets him roll his hips. Pulling maybe an inch back and it feels like he’s going deeper and deeper each time--not much friction, but it’s still so fucking good. Peter must think so too, the way his mouth is hanging open on a silent cry, hands fisted in his pillow.

And shit, Wade never would have thought he could cum like this, with so little stimulation, but maybe it’s just the illicitness of doing it in Petey’s childhood bedroom, or the effort to keep quiet making his lungs burn and his skin too tight. Peter’s nothing but one long, tense line, muscles drawn tight.

Wade shifts a hand from Peter’s hip to smooth over his belly towards his cock, but Peter catches it and laces their fingers together, holding them tight against his chest. “Like this,” he moans. It’s nothing more than the breath of an exhale, but still loud in the silence of the room, with nothing but their heavy breathing. “Make me cum like this, Wade.”

And Jesus, that is dirty pool. Wade’s already so wound up, Peter’s so tight with his thighs trapped together, and the elastic of his pants rubs against the underside of Wade’s dick with every movement. “What do you need, baby?” Because if Peter doesn’t cum soon, Wade’s not going to be able to hold off.

“Just this,” Peter whines, too loud, and bites his lip again. Twists his hips in this restless little grind on Wade’s cock.

Wade licks up the line of his spine, grits his teeth against the desire to just roll Peter onto his belly and fuck him hard. He puts a little more force behind his next trust and the bed squeaks. They both freeze, Wade straining to hear a reaction, but all he can hear is the distant sound of the kitchen sink running, so he does it again, and again, a handful of rough, rolling thrusts, each punctuated by the squeak of the bed, and then Peter starts to cum, clenching down so hard Wade can’t even move. He just rides it out and gives over to the hot pulse around his cock. Bites down on the back of Peter’s neck to keep from making any noise pumps Petey full of his cum.

After, Peter is pliable and sleepy in his arms. “Now aren’t you glad I talked you into coming for Christmas?”

“You should know by now it doesn’t take much talking to get me to cum,” Wade says with a waggle of his brows, as he cleans them both up with tissues from the nightstand and gets their pajamas back in place.

Peter covers his face with both hands, but the shaking of his shoulders gives away his silent laughter. “That was awful.”

“Like you have any room to talk. Have you heard yourself mid-fight?”

“You love my jokes,” Peter protests.

“Honey, everyone knows I have a shit sense of humour.”

From there it descends into a wrestling match, until Peter has Wade flat on his back and curls up on top of him, settling in like a contented kitten. “I have the best jokes,” he insists.

“You have the best jokes,” Wade parrots back.

“You love them.”

“I love you,” Wade amends.

Peter either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, already mostly asleep. “Love you too,” he mutters.

[[Even I have to admit the evening wasn’t an unmitigated disaster.]]

“Gee thanks,” Wade snorts.

[Family’s not an F-word.]

And yeah, Wade still needs that reminder from time to time, but here, with Peter in his arms, he knows it’s true. “So, uh, Al and Weasel and I do this thing for New Year’s. These days Dopinder and Cable and Domino and some of the X-People come along. Everyone brings a different type of carryout and drinks heavily, and sometimes the weapons come out, but no one’s had to take a visit to the hospital in years. I know it’s nothing like what you’ve got with your aunt, but if you wanna come…”

Peter squeezes him tight, some of that super strength bleeding in, making Wade’s chest feel tight. Or maybe that’s something else. Peter lifts his head to give Wade one of his happy, open, guileless smiles. “I’m all in,” he says.