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act your age (not your shoe size)

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Sometimes Peter patrols early and then likes to unwind afterwards with a film. He stashes a change of clothes on a rooftop, changes, and goes to see whatever late night B-movie that's showing. Tonight it's a screening of something called The Apple. Peter's never heard of it. There's only one other person in the theater, sitting close to the front for some odd reason. They've got on a grey sweatshirt, the hood of it up over their head.

As soon as the movie starts Peter wonders what exactly he signed up for here. There's some futuristic singing competition with terrible spandex and even worse cinematography.

"Jeez, look at the buns on that," the guy in the theater says, loudly, obnoxiously. "Yeaaah. He must work out. Oops, wait, wrong movie. But it still fits."

Peter shakes his head. Weirdo.

The guy doesn't stop though. He gives running commentary of the choreography, the songs, the actress and how she's a long ways away from dragging around Bernie's dead body on that fateful weekend. Peter is kind of lost on all the references he throws out (and that's normally his own specialty, thank you very much) and the guy is talking faster than Peter’s brain can handle for 1 a.m., but he finds himself entertained by the chatter almost as much as the film.

The guy hasn't looked behind him and Peter wonders if he thinks he's alone, which is almost endearing -- like he's behaving as he would in his own living room just because he feels like he can.

Or maybe he knows Peter is there and he's just being a douchebag.

Still, Peter hasn't had this much fun in a movie theater since his first real date with Gwen. When the credits begin to roll, Peter gets up and stretches. The guy still hasn't turned around. He's probably one of those types that stays all the way through the credits, regardless of the film.

"Hey, thanks for that, pal. Nice show," Peter calls out to him and then leaves before the guy can respond.

He finds himself humming one of the film’s dumb songs on the way home, smiling.

Just when things are getting a little boring in Spider-Man land, Deadpool shows up to make them interesting.

"Was just passing by, saw a fine spandex-clad ass, figured you could use the assist," Deadpool says, pumping his fists in triumph after helping Peter apprehend two people that were holding up a corner market.

“Your assists never really end up in my favor, Deadpool,” Peter says, rolling his eyes.

He's only run into the guy a handful of times. The first ended with him stealing one of Peter’s web shooters and using it on the Wall Street bull. Peter was the prime suspect by the cop stationed there, who couldn't tell the difference between their costumes.

(That last part had annoyed him more than what Deadpool did.)

The second time, Deadpool somehow got Peter's phone number (his emergency superhero one, anyway), posed seductively in a Spider-Man costume, and had a billboard created with the words "For a good time call", followed by his digits.

(Peter was still getting phone calls.)

The third time consisted of a bouquet of roses, a string quartet, and more cops involved, this time wondering why an impromptu orchestra had been set up on the TKTS stairs in Time Square.

(Answer: It had been Valentine’s Day and Deadpool was apparently either a romantic or a stalker, Peter hadn’t fully formed his opinion yet. He was still deciding on whether or not he’d been horrified or flattered.)

So, no, things couldn't be called boring when Deadpool came back around, but Peter also didn't need this kind of excitement in his life.

"Aw, sweetums, do you not approve of grand gestures? Does that not impress you much, Shania? I can tone it down a notch."

Peter tilts his head skeptically.

"I can!" Deadpool insists. "I mean, look it, I didn't even unalive anyone tonight."

"Well, that definitely wouldn't impress me much, so thanks, I suppose?"

"Anything for you, baby boy."

"I'm going to ignore that one. And uh, I don't really need your help? I had it handled."

Deadpool puts his hands over his heart. "You wound me, Webs. Don't do me like that."

"I won't be doing you like anything, Deadpool," Peter quips.

Deadpool is delighted. "I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby."

"Oh my god, I'm going."

"Don't be a stranger, baby boy! Call me! 1-800-Need-The-D."

“That's too many numbers!” Peter yells back as he swings off into the night.

"What? No, not the, da! D.A! As in, ‘Dat Ass’. Which -- dat ass, damn, Spidey.”

“Oh,” Peter mutters. "Still not calling you!" he yells to Deadpool, flushing. “Especially not now!”

"I'll wear ya down!"

Peter doubts that very much.

The next time Peter goes to a movie it's after a final. He's dead tired and just wants to escape to a place that isn't his own apartment, because sometimes it feels even more lonely there.

He chooses some Seth Rogen comedy that’s been out for ages now. It's 1pm on a Tuesday and there's no one there. Peter falls asleep 30 minutes in until he hears, "The only good thing about this movie is that those two dudes are clearly banging."

Peter startles and turns his head. There's someone sitting a row in front of him and to the left. His voice sounds kind of familiar, but it's the hoodie that gives it away. It's that guy again.

"I mean, come on, they clearly want each other. Why bother with this neighbors rivalry, the whole thing should just be a slow burn friends to lovers and then banging. If this were a fanfic, it would be happening."

"It would be more entertaining, that's for sure."

The guy stiffens a little and then huffs out a laugh. "And here I was hoping to get you to skedaddle so I could pull a Paul Rubens."

Peter smirks. "Sorry to ruin your plans, dude."

The guy never looks over at him and Peter can't see his face around the hood. He finds that he kind of wants to.

"Soooo, what's a cute boy like you doing in a place like this?"

Peter has no idea why he flushes at that. "You haven't even looked at me," he points out.

"Eh," the guy replies, waving his hand. "Snuck a peek while you were off in dreamland. Cute as a button, baby boy."

Peter freezes, stomach dropping to his feet. That's why that voice was so familiar. Deadpool. Of course it would be Deadpool. It made so much sense.

Peter doesn't know how to respond, wonders if Deadpool knows it's him, if this is all some sort of long con. For what, Peter doesn't know.

But then again, Deadpool doesn't seem to be wearing the mask and he always does around Peter so… maybe he's safe.

"Gee, thanks creepy mystery man I've met in a dark movie theater who watched me sleep," Peter replies dryly after a moment of consideration.

Deadpool laughs. "No problemo, sugar buns.”

Peter sits up, rubs his eyes, tries to pay attention to the film and not the fact that he’s sitting a few feet away from the same guy that compliments his ass every time they see one another. Deadpool continues his word vomit play-by-play, which is honestly more entertaining than the film this time, much to Peter’s horror.

“Awww, kiss him! Kiss hiiiiiiiiim!” Deadpool whines obnoxiously when the two frat dudes have their heart to heart on the front lawn. Peter ducks his head to hide his grin, even though Deadpool can’t see him. “Boo! Hiss! You know they would’ve if one was a girl. You know it. Actually, might’ve even if they were two girls. But only for titillation purposes of course, my sleepy friend. Little known fact: there are no lesbians in Hollywood.”

Peter snorts. “I’ll file that one away.”

“Well, I’m ready to bail. These two won’t be doing any special hugs.” He turns toward Peter a little, just enough that he can make out the uneven planes of his face.

Deadpool stands, stretching, facing forward again. “So, whaddya say?”

Peter looks around, before fixing his gaze on Deadpool’s back. “Um? Huh?”

“Wanna go grab some grub? I have it on good authority there's some qual-a-tee Mexican around here.”

Peter’s mouth drops open. “Uh, you always invite guys you just met out for lunch?”

Deadpool laughs and leans forward. The words are muffled when he says, “Only the ones I meet in movie theaters.”

Peter’s shaking his head, smiling, before realizing Deadpool’s words were muffled because he was putting on his mask.

“Although, this might put a damper on things,” he says as he turns. “Wade Wilson aka Deadpool aka the Merc with the Mouth aka the Gangster of Love (okay, fine, that's Steve Miller, whatever) at your service.”

Peter should bolt. Any normal person who wasn’t Spider-Man probably would. Sure, he’d already been aware it was Deadpool even before the mask, but he's the only one out of the two of them that know that. The appropriate reaction of some random college kid would be to don a shocked expression, back away slowly, stutter out a “thanks but no thanks”, head home and make some damn ramen.

So of course, instead, he stands up, sticks out his hand, and says, “Peter Parker. And sure, man, if you're buying.”

The next time he sees Deadpool, Peter can't help but think about how this is the same guy who held doors open for him, bought Peter lunch, and made him laugh over his five word movie reviews till he was blue in the face. Wade had rolled his mask up a little to eat and Peter kept finding his eyes drawn to his skin. He didn't say anything, and instead tried to keep up with someone who could outwit him on his best day.

Except Wade didn't know that. To him, Peter was some sleep-deprived college student who was a bit nerdy and kind of shy and the thing was, he wasn't wrong. Sometimes the endless stream of humor and the need to be “on” got tiresome. Sometimes Peter just needed to be a guy who'd lost the woman he loved and was too afraid to get close to anyone again.

Except Wade couldn't know that either, which made shit -- confusing. Peter wasn't exactly sure who the person that had eaten tacos with Wade Wilson was, but he didn't hate him.

And that person had actually agreed to see Wade again.

“You must be a glutton for danger, baby boy,” Wade had said to him after they'd made plans to officially see a movie together this time. A midnight showing of Purple Rain.

Peter knew Wade was referring to the fact that this seemingly innocuous college kid was willingingly hanging out with a known mercenary, but he'd been too caught on Wade using the same nickname he reserved for Spider-Man (for the second time now) to properly respond.

He'd simply shrugged, mind far away with the ludicrous thought of just how many people does he call that and the berating follow-up of get a grip, Parker, you can't be jealous of yourself.

So here he was now, following Deadpool from above while he walks through an alleyway, swinging his katana and whistling something that sounds suspiciously like Be My Baby.

Peter flushes and webs down in front of him.

“Spidey, my man!” Peter can hear the grin beneath the mask and hates the flood of warmth it brings him. “Beautiful night, eh?”

Wade keeps swinging the katana, carefree as he looks up at the sky. He doesn’t know what Wade’s hoping to find; the city lights have washed out any stars there might be. Peter’d actually wanted to go and stargaze on the High Line. Maybe he'd ask MJ.

Peter crosses his arms over his chest, head cocked to one side. “You're in a good mood,” Peter says, trying to sound conversational but feeling like it comes out a little accusatory.

Get a grip, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Mmm. Life is grand, what can I say? There was a Golden Girls Marathon on TV this weekend, my apartment just went rent controlled, my favorite couple is doing well on Dancing with the Stars, and I met a cute boy.”

Peter swallows hard. “Oh?” He means it to come out disinterested. He fails by a mile.

Deadpool tsks and sheaves his katana, walking up to Peter and poking him in the ribs. “Now, now, no jealousy. There's enough DP to go around.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groans.

“Nope, still just me! Although we could probably find Thor if you're up for a three way. That is one fine hunk-o-god.”

“I see your interest in this guy is really serious,” Peter snarks, and then wishes the ground would swallow him up over how protective he just sounded about someone he isn't supposed to even know.

Wade actually pauses for a second, looking at Peter before holding up his hand. “I solemnly swear my intentions are true.”

Peter hums and begins to ready his web shooter.

“Whoa, whoa, leaving so soon? One parental warning and you cut and run?”

Peter flushes. “What did you have in mind, exactly?”

“I dunno, Spidey, we never talk anymore!”

Peter snorts at Wade’s melodramatic tone. “We never talked much to begin with, Deadpool.”

“And ain't that a shame? Also WTF, call me Wade, jeez.”

Peter bites his lip and resists the urge to shuffle his feet. “Alright… Wade. Look, I gotta--”

“Swing away on a web, I getcha Errol Flynn, but how about if ya didn't? Come on, the city is our oyster.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He needs to get up early and study for his last final and then he's meeting MJ for lunch and --

“Alright, hop on,” Peter says before he can think better of it.

“Oooh, Spidey, what kind of a girl do you think I am, taking me for a ride on our first date?” Wade says, wrapping both arms around Peter’s chest. He's taller, broader, and Peter hates the thrill that goes through him at that knowledge, almost as much as he hates the shiver when Wade whispers, “Don't worry, I won't tell my boy,” against his neck.

Peter’s feeling kind of smug the next time he sees Wade, which is -- pretty ridiculous. He can't help it, though. He'd ended up taking Wade stargazing on the High Line, instead. They weren't supposed to be up there at the time and Wade had been sufficiently impressed.

(“Breaking the law, Webs? Guy after my own heart.”)

The fact that Peter’s silent reply to that had been take that, Peter Parker proved just how unwell he really was.

“You don't even like him that way, calm down,” Peter had berated himself when he'd swung home that night.

Now he was in line for popcorn and soda with Wade, who was prattling on about constellations and the eagle nebula, the same way “Spider-Man” had two nights earlier.

“You're a smart kid, right Petey? You probably already know all this junk.”

“Not a kid, but uh, yeah. I've taken a few astronomy courses.”

Wade hums. “Wonder if Spidey’s gone to school,” he mutters.

“What's that?” Peter asks.

“Oh, nothing! Whatcha gonna get? My treat.”

Peter smirks and checks out the candy selection, even as part of him is now getting irritated that Wade’s mind is on the other night rather than the here and now.

It's what you wanted a minute ago, Parker.

Yeah well. Whatever.

Peter shakes out of his funk the second Wade starts leaning over to make the standard running commentary Peter has come to expect. He also sings all the songs under his breath and is appalled Peter’s never seen the film before.

Wade’s dressed in regular clothes aside from the mask and the gloves. It takes him 43 minutes to reach over for Peter’s hand.

Not that Peter was counting or anything.

He folds his fingers within Wade’s, tries to remember to control his superhuman strength despite the fact that his body is thrumming.

Peter doesn't know why he hasn't pulled his hand away or why he even said yes to this -- date, it's a date.

He just knows that when the movie ends and Wade starts singing, “You don't have to be rich to be my girl, you don't have to be cool to rule my world” at the top of his lungs, Peter laughs until he cries and realizes he’s had more fun during his recent interactions with Wade than he's had in awhile.

“Wasn't in the movie, though,” Peter says when he can breathe again.

“Nope, that's just me serenading you.” Wade says the words as he leans in close to Peter’s ear. He’s still holding his hand. “Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with,” Wade sings softly, his breath making Peter shiver.

“Cheesy,” Peter mumbles, looking around. There’s no one in the theater anymore and Wade’s way too close. His pulse jumps.

“We should go.”

He swears he can see Wade’s lips form a pout through the mask.

“Whatever you say, baby boy.”

Peter lets go of his hand as they stand up. They walk outside. The theater’s right near the subway and they're both going in opposite directions. Wade walks with him down until they have to separate. It feels weird, Wade in the mask while Peter isn't. He doesn't know how to ask for otherwise, though. It doesn't seem like it's his place to.

“Thanks uh, for tonight. You really didn't have to pay. Again.”

Wade snorts. “Please, I'm a big balla. What else should I use all this cash for if not on some sweet young thing.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but something sticks with him.

“Seriously, um, you don't still -- do the whole Merc thing, right?”

Deadpool might be trying to pal around with Spidey and even the X-Men, but that doesn't mean he's totally clean.

He watches Wade scratch the back of his neck. It's the first nervous movement he's seen out of him. “Uh, I mean do I take gigs but only the non-lethal ones. What can I say, I'm infamous, sweetums, it's a selling point.”

“I see,” Peter replies, trying to wrap his mind around that. He would've rathered Wade wasn't taking any jobs, period, but Peter’s got no claim to him and preaching rhetoric never goes very far.

“Gangster of love, baby cakes. Most of the time I just go around telling preppy assholes to leave pretty girls alone. While using Jack Johnson and Tom O’Leary here.” He holds up his fists at that. “Bea and Arthur usually stay firmly in their home,” Wade adds, nodding to the katanas.

Peter grins, looking down. It's like he can never stay annoyed or morally judge this guy for all that long. It comes in waves and passes quickly.

“Anywho, I just want your extra time and your,” Wade sings, pausing to lift Peter’s chin before stage whispering, “kiss.”

Peter gulps, taking in the white eyes of his mask.

“Too much?” Wade asks.

Peter shakes his head, lifting his hands tentatively to Wade’s face.

He hears a quick intake of breath that isn't his own. “Oh, okay, miscalculated this,” he waves his hand, “with the uh, mask thing and the whole scarred as --”

“I've already seen them,” Peter points out. He did. When they went for food. And well, a little in the theater that first time, too.

“Not completely up close and personal, though, Robert Redford.”

“I can close my eyes,” Peter offers, even though he wants to say I really don't care.

“Sadly that won't make them go away, baby, I’ve tried.”

“I don't care,” Peter does say now, a whisper as he leans closer. He has no idea when the switch flipped in him. When he went from merely tolerating his run-ins with Deadpool to seeking them out to wanting to kiss him, but it was probably around the same time that Wade Wilson sat unguarded and unmasked in a movie theater while Peter listened to his dumb voice.

“You're gonna, trust me, but whatever floats your boat.”

There's no one around them and Peter can hear a train coming but he doesn't even care if its his. He finds the seam right beneath Wade’s jaw and carefully rolls up the mask just enough to get at his lips. The scars are overly present and yeah, a little different this close, but for some reason all they makes Peter want to do is press forward rather than recoil backward.

So he does.

Peter hears Wade before he sees him. He's whistling something that sounds suspiciously like “And Then He Kissed Me” and Peter can't help the blush that rises to his cheeks. Thank Christ for the mask.

“There's my favorite webbed hero!” Wade says loudly while Peter’s still lost in the sense-memory of their lips pressed together, their tongues curling around one another, the fact that this is a person he's made out with and Wade doesn't even know that because the person he made out with wears glasses and skinny jeans and perhaps too much aftershave.

“How’d you find me,” Peter says, voice sounding flat even to his own ears.

“N’aww, Webs, this is our spot, eh? You're not the only one who can sneak up here, sweetie.”

“And here I thought I was special.”

“Now, now, why so down in the dumps. The night is young and you're so beautiful.”

Peter snorts. Yeah. Like Wade would know that. “How's it going? With the guy?”

He's losing it, he's officially losing it.

“Huh?” Wade says, sounding surprised.

Peter's face heats up even further. He waves a hand in the air. “The -- the guy, man. Last time you said you had a date or something.”

“Oh, yeah, but -- Well, he actually kissed this ugly mug if you can believe that, so there's gotta be something wrong with him, right?”

Peter shakes his head, looking up at the sky. “Maybe you should cut yourself some slack.”

Wade’s quiet for a beat. “Nah, that sounds too much like common sense and mine doesn't often tingle, baby boy.”

“Don’t --” Peter starts sharply until he realizes he was going to finish that sense with call me that, since you call him that now too and then it hits him that he's utterly and completely jealous of himself, no matter how hard he’d been hoping that weren't true, and damn there isn't enough therapy in the world for this shit. “Uh, don’t… be so hard on yourself or uh, this guy, huh? Seems like he must really like you.”

Wade’s quiet again and it freaks Peter out.

“Yeah well, uh, turns out you know him, so.”

Oh, right. Peter had admitted that part last time, while they were standing in line for tickets, because he couldn’t help himself. That he's the same Peter Parker who takes Spider-Man’s photo. Wade had barely gushed over him. Peter didn't really know what to do with a Wade Wilson that wasn't acting like his biggest fan. It might be contributing a bit to his mood. Slightly. He shouldn’t be allowed alone with his own thoughts too much, it only lead to brooding and over-analysis. Better to be webbing up baddies.

“That's nice,” Peter says, disinterested.

“Not even a liiiitle curious as to who it is?” Wade says, poking Peter in the ribs.

“Do I look like a gossiping school girl?

Wade tilts his head. “No, but there's a thought. You'd look great in a prep school uniform, Webs.”

“You're incorrigible.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

And it's then Peter realizes this is all a game to Deadpool. That the flirting and grand gestures and pretty awful pigtail pulling pranks were all for laughs. Wade was never interested in Spider-Man.

It shouldn't sting, especially because he is interested in Peter Parker, but it does.

Spider-Man knew Deadpool first. He'd thought they'd had a bit of commonality.

“Not interested, but thanks,” Peter says. He doesn't realize how cold his voice was until he sees the usually unflappable Deadpool staring at him before looking away.

“Oh. Well, uh. Guess I'll see you around then, Spidey.” Wade’s voice is oddly quiet. He actually gets up to go. Peter just stares after him, perplexed by this turn of events. What kind of nerve does he have, playing the role of the scorned lover after bragging about his date?

And what kind of nerve does he have to be the one leaving Peter? That’s Peter’s deal.

Peter's too tired for this shit. He swings home, scowling the whole time.

Are we still on for tonight? is Wade's text the next day.

Peter frowns down at it. Wade has no idea that Peter's thought about canceling, because he has no idea they got into a fight last night (at least, it's a fight to Peter) so this text only angers him further.

I guess so, he sends back, hoping it sounds as disinterested as he meant it.

We can just watch a movie at my place, is Wade’s response.

Peter isn't used to a Wade Wilson that isn't putting a come-on or emoji into every sentence.

Sure, text me the address, Peter replies and wonders why he's even bothering.

It's not as if Deadpool likes Spider-Man anymore. Maybe he never did. And what Peter's come to realize more so in the past year than ever before is that he's absolutely Spider-Man and vice versa.

Peter knocks on Wade’s door with trepidation.

He's been rehearsing what to say for the entire 30 minute subway ride. He's firmly between “it's over” and “I'm Spider-Man,” which is no help whatsoever.

Wade answers the door as Peter’s raised his hand to knock a second time. His mouth drops open when he sees him. Wade’s in his grey hoodie, flipped up as per usual, but he's also not wearing the mask. Of the gloves, Peter can tell, as he shoves one bare hand into his pocket.

“So. This is your friendly neighborhood Deadpool, in the flesh. So to speak.”

Peter's mouth snaps shut and he can't even process the Spider-Man quip, too busy staring at Wade. His eyes are… intense. Beautiful. Familiar, even. Like Peter knew what they looked like even before he saw them.

And the rest… well. Peter’s kinda… into it. Into him. Wade was actually making that “it's over” option harder by doing this now, ironically enough.

“Hey…” Peter says quietly, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind them. “Can I…” He starts, reaching a hand out to Wade’s face.

He pulls back, though. “So, yep, this is me in all my technicolor glory,” Wade says. “How bout you introduce me to yourself, baby boy?”

Peter only has a second to frown in confusion before Wade is pulling something out of his pocket and tossing it at him.

It's a Spider-Man mask.

“Uhhh…” Peter stutters, swallowing hard. “Wade, what --”

“Take me for what I am, baby,” Wade says. “But that means all of you. I'm done with this multiple personality disorder you're giving yourself.”

“Uhhh,” Peter says again, blinking down at the mask. He could deny it, he could cut and run, he could --

“How long have you known?” He whispers the words, still looking down at his hands.

His head shoots up when Wade replies, “Suspected during that first lunch. There aren't many adorable college boys that would willingly go out with yours truly. Knew for positive the night we kissed, because again, didn’t make much sense otherwise that not one but two dudes with fantastic asses were paying so much attention to me recently. Plus you sound like Spidey. I mean, you barely even try with that, Petey, gosh, at least pull a Batman (yeah, yeah, wrong universe, whatever).”

Peter laughs, breathless, nervous. “You asshole.”

Wade holds up his hands, but he's smirking a little. “Hey now, I was waiting on you, this is your show here, sweetums. Secret identity and all that jazz. Not something to reveal lightly. Heh, reveal. But when you started giving us whiplash with all the flirting as Spidey and jealousy and then acting like you didn't even like us, well -- I mean, I'm the one with boxes in my head, Spidey. You're supposed to be the sane one. Threw us for a loop, is all. Had to take matters into our own hands.”

Peter shakes his head, grinning, still feeling the bits of nervous energy at the corners of his mind. “Well, uh, kinda glad you did since I couldn't really take much more of hating Peter Parker.”

“N’awww, Spidey, that kid’s cute as a button. The glasses really sell the whole hipster nerd chic look.”

“Shut up,” Peter whispers. He drops the mask to the floor as he leans up and rises on his tiptoes and pulls Wade in by his hoodie strings.

It's different, kissing without the mask in the way. Peter can press his nose against Wade’s instead of leather. Can reach out and feel the contours of his skin, can thumb right beneath his eye and feel it flutter with movement under his touch.

Wade’s hands start roaming. Glancing across his shoulders, smoothing down his back. Peter presses back into the touch while also kissing him harder, biting softly on Wade’s bottom lip.

Wade groans and moves his hands slide lower, over Peter’s ass. He squeezes almost experimentally and Peter can't help the grin that forms against Wade’s lips.

“Everything you dreamed of?” He teases, pressing kisses to the scars at the corners of Wade’s mouth.

“I could write sonnets over these buns, baby. Or at least haikus. Limericks.”

Peter laughs. “So that's a yes, then.”

“Be quiet. I'm having a religious experience,” Wade says, copping another, longer feel.

Peter groans, only partially because of what Wade’s doing with his hands, and presses his face into his neck, sucking.

“How many dates is this?” Wade gasps. “You seem like a three date rule kinda guy, Petey, and far be it from me to take advantage of that. (Although do know all three of us want to.)”

Peter laughs shakily and licks slowly down Wade’s neck. Make that four of us, he thinks.

“If we’re counting the dates as Spider-Man, then probably a lot,” Peter mumbles into Wade’s skin.

Wade’s hands still for a second before resuming their exploration.

“Well, yeah. He's you, after all.”

The words unlock something inside him and suddenly he's kissing Wade again, hot and open-mouthed and desperate, using his super strength to lift Wade up, shift them around, and press him up against the door.

“Shit, Spidey, you've got moves.”

“Shut up,” Peter gasps, hitching one of Wade’s legs higher up around his waist while he pins him to the wall with his hands. God, he wished he had his web shooters. He'd use them to tie Wade to the door, bind his hands and rub against him until he begged.

“Holy shit, you're a kinky bastard,” Wade says, voice shocked, and Peter realizes he must have been saying that last part out loud.

He blushes furiously, biting at Wade’s neck again. “Yeah, well. Guess this is your lucky day, then,” he mutters, hoping Wade can't hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“Lucky day, week, year,” Wade says, sounding wondrous.

It cracks something else open in him, in the Peter Parker part of himself that hasn't wanted to let anyone all that close again.

He has to just stand there a moment, pressing his face into Wade and breathing in his scent, willing his body not to tremble. This is real, he's really doing this. About to -- start dating again or continue dating or whatever, but either way he's adding sex to it and he’s pretty sure this isn’t gonna be a casual thing.

“Hey, you know,” Wade says, voice oddly careful. “We don't need to be special hugging tonight. Regular hugging is cool, too. I've got Crossroads all queued up, get to watch Brit Brit attempt to act while on a road trip to find herself.”

“That sounds terrible,” Peter says, pretending he's not sniffling a little, overwhelmed at Wade’s ability to read him.

“Hey now, be glad I didn't choose Glitter

Peter snorts unattractively and then wipes his face on Wade’s hoodie for good measure.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, releasing Wade from his hold against the door and reaching down to grab his hand.

“Been wooing you this long, can wait a little longer,” Wade shrugs, like that isn't his (very impressive) erection tenting his jeans right now.

Peter's mouth goes dry, but decides this is probably best right now.

They end up making out on the couch anyway, after laughing like crazy at their equally on-point running commentary, a popcorn fight, and Wade doing his best Britney impression. Peter finds himself beneath Wade as they kiss, feeling small and not like he could a lay a punch on Wade that would send him sailing out of the building if he wanted to.

(He really doesn't want to.)

They kiss forever, for so long that Peter’s jaw aches and his lips feel raw and used.

They kiss until Peter’s sure this “hug” is going to turn into a special one and then Wade pulls back, sits up, and sincerely thanks Peter for a lovely evening. His pupils are nearly black, his face is blotchy and Peter can do nothing but laugh in delight and pull Wade back in, turning their PG-13 movie night into at least soft R territory, what with the way they shake and moan and come in their pants.

“I tried to be a gentleman,” Wade gasps against Peter’s cheek as they're still coming down.

“Stick with what you're good at.”

The next time the two of them go to a movie, it's a late show after patrol and they go as Spider-Man and Deadpool.

Peter has no idea what's on the screen in front of them, too busy learning what Wade’s body feels like in the suit and too caught up in the thrill of them both doing this in their suits for once.

Wade says people will probably just think they're cosplayers. Peter doesn't really know what that is, but finds he kind of gives no shits if anyone were to find out that it’s actually them.

Bring it on, NYC, he thinks, kissing Wade harder. Peter Parker and Spider-Man are here to stay.