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Wade laughed as he snapped an arm in half, bursting an artery below the elbow. Blood sprayed, showering his suit before he could leap back.
“Fuck- I know I’m not supposed to do that anymore, but-” he breathed, exhilarated. “But god damn that was satisfying.” He broke into a breathless laugh as the assailant flopped to the ground, clamping a hand over his stump.
Wade himself stumbled back to lean against the side of the building, scrambling for something to hold onto. His pulse surged in his ears, face flushed and heated. It took a lot to get him going, but a hearty combination of gore, katanas, and cold brew could accomplish anything. Plus, Spidey was in a brooding kind of mood tonight, breaking heads instead of throwing quips.
His little spider, half the shadow and all the eye-shine. Lithe and fluid, he could bend the air and use it as a fucking springboard. Try to tell Wade’s super-human pulse that it was super-human then.
But Deadpool couldn’t spectate forever- there was still a knife lodged in his palm, and the bodies weren’t even cold. He tore his glove off with his teeth and yanked the blade out, pressing the wound against his mouth and waiting for his body to nurse itself back together.
Spidey had said no killing, but there was now a circle of attackers on the ground in various stages of dead.
That last guy (sans the elbow) was at 60%... 75%... oh, a speedy 86%...
“Wade,” the spider hissed, his voice like a clear douse of water to Wade’s senses. Already Wade was starting to calm down, the sweat drying from his eyes. The lights of the city unblurred from their corrugated streak on the skyline.
He turned and saw that Spiderman’s suit was torn right through at the hip, fabric split apart and weeping with blood. There were slashes in his arms and torso too, even one unthinkably close to his face.
“Okay, I know I’m trying that no-kill diet, but when the fuckers get both of us this bad-”
“Wade.” The male cut him off sharply, squatting down and pressing a hand to the bleeding. His voice dripped with exhaustion. “I want to go home.”
Not exhaustion. Resignation.
“Oh.”
For months, Wade had popped up and annoyed, destroyed morale, made situations harder (aka funner, aka harder) than they had to be. And still Spidey had never flaked on a mission.
“You mean home-home, or like, home base?” he tried sheepishly, “And I mean home base as in where the giant fucking monster with the legion of warriors is.”
“I mean home, Wade,” he said quietly, rolling up on his heels. “I want to crawl into bed. I want to get these damn things off me.” He whipped his arm out and one of the web cuffs went flying off his wrist.
In the silence following the crack against the pavement, Deadpool looked over the mess of bodies. Their faces were webbed beyond recognition, their limbs in questionable states of attachment.
Normally, any sentence even slightly evoking the mental image of this particular spider crawling into bed would have been enough to tie his neurons in a knot, but Spidey wasn’t being his usual self.
“You sure you’re okay, Webs?”
A hot summer breeze rolled through the city, spilling over them. Trash rustled at the gutters near their feet, loud enough to drown out the cars whipping past on the nearby bridge. A newspaper caught on Spiderman’s foot and he kicked it away.
“Why?” he asked, softening. His shoulders eased, voice relaxing. “Because I haven’t reacted to your trove of lewd comments in last fifteen minutes? At this point it kind of goes without saying that you’re disgusting.”
Wade bent down, picking up the cuff. He passed his thumb over the smooth metal, then pressed down and shot out a rope of thick silk.
“No- I mean yes, it’s a gauge, but mostly no.” He side-eyed the corpses and hesitated. “I mean, not to call attention to it, but you took the first one out, Spideyboy.” He glanced over to see the male bristle. “Look, I’m not worried about your soul or anything, but let’s just say I’m a little worried about your head.”
The bright glare of Spiderman’s eyes (the suit’s mesh always shone white and luminous like a true sclera) flashed towards the ground.
“I’m just tired, Wade,” he averted, turning his face away. “This is the third time the same group of people have been sicced on us.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “It’s exhausting. Now you know why this no-killing thing falls so hard on me.”
“They’ve been incarcerated twice in the last month.”
“That’s recidivism, baby. It’s the system. Pay to win.”
Spidey felt his heart in his mouth, hot as lead, grainy as dust. But this time when he tried to swallow it down, he couldn’t. He knew Deadpool was right. In a foolish and everlastingly disturbing way, Deadpool was always somehow right. Peter kept a tight fist on Parker Industries. He created a system that worked the way he thought it should. But the rest of the world didn’t play by his principles.
“Clinging to a naive ideology is worse than embracing the truth,” he murmured bitterly, snatching the cuff back from Wade’s fingers. He clamped it around his wrist. “Even if the truth sucks.”
Wade opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. His eyes climbed up the skyscrapers around them, flicking across the distantly pleasurable lights further than 20 stories away. All at once the fight had gone out of him. He felt heavy.
“You ever killed someone before, kid?”
Spidey shivered. He looked at the ground. “If I don’t get used to it, I won’t be ready when I have to.”
Somewhere, in a warehouse that was pinging red on the find-my-enemy app on his phone, there was a monster they had to deal with. But Deadpool was looking at a monster in front of him right now: disenchantment. He fell for Spidey because of the purity of his actions, the intention of his existence, his commitment to doing what was right. But he knew that if the goddess that was his web-slinging arachnid should fall from his pedestal and land somewhere in the gutter beside Deadpool, he would still love him.
When it was Spidey, it didn’t matter; drenched in cloud light, or dirty as a sewer rat, Wade would want him.
“I know I’ve asked this a million fuckin’ times- but can I actually take you home?” He smiled, teeth gleaming beneath his mask.
Spidey pressed a palm to the gash on his hip and winced. “Yeah,” he acceded, looking at the blood on his hand. “Lemme get a dose of that healing factor.”
“You’ll have to kiss me for it, Spideyboy.”
Peter scoffed and flicked blood off his fingers.
“No I’m serious, it’s the enzymes. You ever let a dog lick your cuts as a kid? It’s like that, except imagine the dog is also a radioactive werewolf and has an amazing tongue.”
“Nevermind, you’re disgusting. Can’t be overstated.”
Wade grinned. “I knew you was still in there.”
In the end, he carried Spiderman back to his apartment. Enzymes or not, it was gonna take a megafuck of bedrest before Spidey’s mobility was restored, that gash only a few inches shy of stitches territory.
Even though he didn’t have his partner swinging by his side, the city at night was still as exhilarating as usual. It wasn’t even that late, maybe 10:30, but dancing across rooftops with Spidey in his arms, the city flinging past in a whirlwind of flashing colors and electric sounds, he felt tremendously alive.
“Left,” the male dispassionately directed him, sending them leaping closer towards the quieter buildings of Forest Hills.
“Cut through 71st after the gas station.”
Deadpool obeyed, letting himself tour this new part of Queens. It was quieter, almost… neighborhood-ly. He’d always seen his arachnid as a city spider, concrete and metal to the core. But this environment sort of clicked in Wade’s head. Of course Spidey grew up here.
“Building 21, on your left,” he said, gesturing towards the brick-and-balcony apartment complex.
“What floor?”
“Eight, but I’m fin-”
Wade squatted down and then launched into the air, angling for the generous length of the outer windowsill.
“Wade-” he protested as the merc, tip-toe on the sill, started prying at the window. “That’s not my apartment.”
“Oops. Why didn’t you say so, babes?” He trapezed to the adjacent ledge, holding Spidey in one hand and grabbing the frame with the other. “Door number two?”
“For one thing, it’s a window, and for another, I lock them.”
“Yeah, good luck getting that to stop me.”
“Wade, do not break my window.”
He heard wood and metal scream from the other side of the glass and cringed. He slowly looked down to meet Spidey’s annoyed expression.
“Whatever, just let me go,” the male grumbled, struggling to wrestle out of the merc’s arms.
“Stop it-” Wade protested, trying to gather the male back up as he slipped from his grasp. “Let me get you- situated,” he grunted as Spidey squirmed out of his arms, tumbled through the window, and landed on the bed beneath.
“Insects,” Deadpool growled to himself.
He angled over the windowsill, not quite stepping in. “So you live here, huh? By yourself?” He dragged his eyes around the room. It looked minimalistically practical for the most part, with a lingering essence of youth: a comic book face-down on its spine, a controller glowing white as it charged, empty bags of chips in the wastebin.
Spidey slumped against his pillow, letting out a deep, repressed sound.
“Wait, why?” he demanded after a moment, a snarl in his tone. “Do I really seem that lonely to you?”
The words were whipped at him violently, powerful enough to throw Wade out of the window, (“I was thinking more like, square footage…” he scrambled), but then Spidey rolled his shoulders into the mattress and laughed disparagingly.
“Webs…”
The male stiffened at the sound of his nickname. He looked up at Wade with hardened, severe eyes.
“Are you really a better man, Wade?” he asked harshly. “Or have you just lowered my standards so much I can’t tell anymore?”
A slash of genuine hurt cut through Wade’s chest. He had two blades strapped to his back, about a dozen bullets below the belt, and a moment’s disregard for Spidey’s physical state.
He was gonna attack. He was gon fucking do it.
He didn’t. Pushing down rage, he climbed in through the window.
“Have some time to think it through,” he suggested bitterly, clicking on the lamp atop Spidey’s bedside table. A soft, muted glow spread weakly over the floor. “Not too much time though. Get lonely enough and we start lusting after the literal demons.” He began going through Spidey’s drawers.
“Hey,” Spiderman protested as he saw the merc rifle through another drawer filled with socks. “Hey, stop,” as the older moved on to the next.
“Bingo,” Wade exclaimed, pulling a first aid kit out of the man’s desk. “See kid? I know you. And that’s why I’m gonna have to circumnavigate way the hell around option A to land at option B, which is that you know me well enough to know what’s gonna stick when you throw it. That’s your thing, isn’t it? Being sticky.”
In response, Spidey shot a web and grabbed the first aid out of his hand.
Deadpool stopped in his tracks. Despite himself, he smiled.
Then another web shot out and grabbed him by the forearm, yanking him forward.
“What’s your endgame, Wade?” the male questioned weakly. “What do you hope’s gonna come out of all this?”
Deadpool felt another swell of anger.
“You want me to say something pussy like a purpose? Or, let me guess, something more believable, like uh, clout? PR?” He snatched his hand back and his left glove tore off, clutched tight in Spidey’s web. “Nah, son. You know the grind. You know what it’s like to do it over and over and over, to stall the end of humanity a little bit longer.” He cocked his head. “I want a friend. I want a cause I can get behind. Somebody that makes me look at the world I’ve saved and be happy I did it.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Cause there are days I ain’t so sure I’m happy I did it.”
A beat of silence passed between them.
Privately, Spiderman took in a bellyful of breath, looking at Wade’s exposed hand. It was as thick as it was rough, scarred so heavily he wasn’t sure if it could still be called flesh. Even that tiny bit of exposure made this all seem real in some way it never was, and he was overwhelmed with it.
Deadpool snatched his glove back and fitted it back down, thieving him of that tiny window to his personhood.
“Prove it then,” he snarled impulsively. “Prove that you have motivations beyond whatever whim you feel at the moment.” And then, in a trailing voice, “Stay with me.”
I don’t want to be lonely.
Wade climbed up on the bed and then he kept climbing, crawling back through the window.
“I’d love to, kid, but like I said, I know you. You’re not in your right mind. So I’ve got some monster brains I have to bash for the both of us, and when the neurotransmitters start doing their thing again, you’re gonna be glad I did.”
“Wade-” he snapped, spitting out a string of webs. Deadpool dodged them, flipping off the ledge and clinging to it with just his fingers.
“You’ll see, Spideyboy,” he added, poking his head back up. “I know you better than you know you.”
And then he swung away, leaving Peter alone.
🕸
All business, no thrill.
Sometimes the rush of a fight was all that Deadpool needed to keep his mind focused, but tonight questions like why do the monsters always have to bleed green and similarly oh shit I forgot to make sure that ocarina of time cartridge I got off eBay wasn’t v1.2 took a backseat to the steady desire to get it done.
It wasn’t a dance, not like it was when Spidey was there. There was nothing graceful or meaningful about it. Just death. Just green bile all over his suit.
But when it was done, it was really done.
For now. Until the next one.
He didn’t want to talk about it.
🕸
It was a night for rooftops and ice cream.
Wade was thrumming with feelings and he needed a loooong sit-down by a fire escape, watching the sun shed off the night until it burned everything out of him and he puked phish food or fell asleep, whichever served him better.
But he found himself back in Forest Hills, still fresh at the early age of 2am, crashing through the window.
“Oh my God, what’s happening?” he heard as Spidey shot up from the bed. “Wade? What? How did you get in here?”
“I broke the window, remember?”
“Oh! Yeah. Why are you covering your eyes?”
Wade had his mask bunched up in his fist and was pressing it over his face, rendering himself sightless.
“I-” he tripped over the bed, barely catching himself before he fell to the floor. “I thought you might have taken off your mask to sleep.”
“No,” he answered in a voice thick with disorientation, “I don’t even remember falling asleep. Oh, huh, I guess that’s why I kept dreaming I was suffocating.”
Wade pulled the mask from his face and looked over his shoulder.
“Damn, Spideybaby, come on,” he fussed, dropping the crumpled cloth to the floor and turning. “You look like hot garbage.”
The male had fallen asleep in his suit, wounds completely untended, blood crusting his clothes to his skin. It was gonna hurt like a bitch to pull the two apart.
“Wade, listen,” Peter began, his head swimming with fatigue. “What I said. I didn’t mean it. I’m just. I’m having a hard time with all of this. I’m getting old.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes through the mask, wincing at the pain that flared when he moved.
Wade’s eyes swept over Spidey’s body and he instantly cursed himself, remembering he was unmasked.
“Look,” he said loudly, trying to distract from the full body sweep he’d just done over the other. “I believe in you. We all go through it. If any superhero can climb their way out of it, it’s gonna be the spider. You’ve got a many-limbed advantage.”
“Avenger,” Spiderman corrected under his breath.
Wade laughed. “Well yeah, if we’re narrowing the pool down to nimblest and most resilient Avenger, you got this.” He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I like it when you’re unmasked,” Peter admitted suddenly, leaning against the headboard. “Even your jokes are crappier. You hide easy, Deadpool. Not so much when I see your face.”
“… Show me yours?” he suggested lightly.
Spidey shot his head down immediately. Deadpool had never asked him for his face before. Not once. He’d tried to pass the suggestion off as a whimsical request, but Spiderman felt its serious nature creeping beneath.
“I really…” he straggled.
“It’s okay, Webs, I shouldn’t have asked. Can you… can you tell me your name, maybe?”
He looked down again, thoughts swirling.
“You’ll know,” he murmured finally, “Even if I tell you my name. You’ll know.”
“What’s so bad about knowing?” It was a stab at levity but it came out dry. “Did you cut me off in traffic once? Are you the guy who does my prostate exams? Because for the record, I am not gonna be embarrassed about that incident anymore- Hold up. If you’re an Obama, I’m gonna scream.”
“Wade, I just….”
Deadpool shook his head.
“No, Webs, I’ll drop it. It’s fine. I don’t need to know. I’m sure you’re beautiful under there, and even though I’m so. Curious. about this ever-loving mindfuck you keep promising me, I don’t need it. I’m good with this.”
Spidey didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowed in thought and pointed down at his lap, but Wade clamped a hand on his leg and stood up.
“Now let’s get you out of your own filth, kay?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, Spidey rocked into a sitting position. “Thanks, Wade,” he mumbled to himself.
“I’m gonna get you a drink of water. Any family pics I need to look out for? Awkward graduation photos?”
“No,” he smiled. “And the kitchen is just a room over, so even you can’t get lost.”
“A likely story, Spideyboy. Get yourself cleaned up and I’ll be with ya in sec.”
Peter lugged the first aid kit, still nestled between the bed and the window, over his lap and started unloading gauze and antibacterial cream.
“You should probably change,” Wade added with a side-smile. “If you put on the black suit, I’ll- well first I’ll bust a nut, but then I’ll cook you a grilled cheese. And I don’t cook. Ever.”
“That’s a… really weird request.”
“Not really. Have you looked in a mirror? Like, ever?”
Peter scoffed.
Deadpool opened the bedroom door and turned to leave, but stopped when something smacked against his upper thigh.
He turned, finding a crooked expression on Spidey’s face, the male’s wrist flexed out.
“Nice,” he approved, smiling, as he pulled the web off his ass.
The rest of Spidey’s house was dark. Whoever he was under there, he was either not all-that well off, or a firm believer in the KonMari method. The kitchen was only a few paces past the living room, which was only a few paces down the narrow hall that branched from the bedroom.
Moonlight slanted in through the windows, reflecting off the stainless-steel counters in his kitchen. In the end, he did end up making Spidey a grilled cheese, since the guy needed time to dress anyhow.
It was strange, he thought, as he jiggled the pan over the burner.
Wade had never been behind the curtain like this before. Never imagined Webs would take him into as private a space as his home. The male could have ripped that mask off and it wouldn’t have felt as… sacred as this was.
And damn. That was just the word for it.
(Not his fault. He didn’t invent the dictionary, and he didn’t invest in a thesaurus).
But it made sense. He’d never idolized somebody like they were a symbol before. He usually got to know someone so well that he gradually raised or lowered the pedestal over time, depending on what the recipe called for.
This was the reverse.
Wade was undressing the Spiderman slowly, learning him, stripping him from idol to human. Every second of it was wonderful and precarious.
The pan hissed when a glob of melted cheese rolled down the side of the bread.
He shook his thoughts out. Turned off the burner and filled a mug with tap water. Then he headed back to the bedroom, rapping gently on the door.
“I’m good,” Spidey called from the other side.
Wade half-expected that maybe Web’s resolve would have slipped, that he’d be waiting with his features exposed. But he was just in a new suit, red and spandexy. Wade sat back down beside him.
“Fuckin tired, Webs,” he admitted, setting the plate and mug down on his bedside table. “So unless you want a big spoon with that meal, I’m gonna get going.”
There was another beat of unusual silence.
“Wade,” Peter shot back, a wounded look on his face. “What- what is all this?”
“I’m sorry bro but I’m no Gordon Ramsey, this is the best I could do.”
“No. Not that? This. All of this. Is it all part of the same joke?”
“What?” he asked.
“You.” He hesitated. “You treat me like I’m delicate but you’re so obscene every time you open your mouth. I mean, you say so much shit all the time that I can’t even establish a pattern, but then you look at me like you’re the bug and I’m some light that’s gonna zap you. I don’t get it.”
He shrugged. “I believe the word you used was disgusting.”
Spiderman drew his knees up into him, wincing. “Disgusting only covers half of it.”
Wade tilted his head. He remembered that he was being watched this time, but he still couldn’t help giving the man a once-over. Webs was squished somewhere between Apollo and Arachne, beautiful and cunning, slightly vain and sometimes overly self-interested. Very crafty. Very empathetic.
Very pretty.
“It’s not a joke,” he said finally when his eyes had swept back up to Spidey’s face. “You can wrap all your eight legs around me, pretty webs.”
Peter felt his cheeks heat below the mask. This didn’t sound like something that was meant to humiliate him. This didn’t sound like an easy jab at shock humor.
“I think you’re cute as fuck,” he continued shamelessly. “I would do anything for you. Look at the hearts in my eyes and tell me I’m fucking with you.”
Maybe it was the demonstration of character change, or the sacrifices that Deadpool had made for him, but Peter… believed him. It no longer felt like the fabric of Deadpool’s universe was something stitched chaotically to pass the time. It was an elaborate web, and Peter was in the middle of it.
Not to be trapped: to be displayed.
Not a side piece. A centerpiece.
“I don’t think you are,” he admitted slowly, tentatively flexing the words. He leaned forward and reached for one of Wade’s hands. It grabbed the side of his face.
“Oh my god,” he said out loud as the force of it hit him. “I think you’re actually being serious.”
Wade didn’t budge.
“If you want me to turn around and go, I’ll go. I’ll fall back through that window and see you around the next time we’ve got ninja assassins on Times Square. Won’t change how I feel, but we can pretend this didn’t happen.”
“No,” Spiderman responded quickly, grabbing him by the arm. Wade’s thumb stroked against the bottom of his mask, edging below the fabric. He felt his skin light up when fingers curled around his bare neck. “I want you to stay.”
Wade let out a huge sigh of relief.
“You can’t show me who you are? I’m not offended.” He looked up. “I don’t need the mask off, Webs. I just ask you roll it up past your mouth.”
Peter’s pulse flared, heart pounding beneath the suit. He reached up and pulled the mask up over his nose. Exposed.
And then Wade could have fucking died because Webs was down on his elbows and knees, crawling across the bed.
“Webs,” he said quietly, but then the spider was in his lap, legs wrapped around his torso, chest arced at a perfect angle. “Oh fuck, wait, wait, I’m not ready.”
He really wasn’t. Not ready for this small, flexible, gorgeous thing twisting around on his lap, pressing its lips to his mouth. He wasn’t ready to share saliva with the fucking Spiderman, and still here he was, wrapping his arms around him, opening his lips, pressing his tongue into his mouth.
He lent back and Spidey poured over him, sucking all the blood out of his brain, kissing him so frantically that his lungs forgot they needed air.
“So I know you just changed your whole outfit…” Wade pulled away breathlessly, fingers bunched around the Spidey suit, “But take this off, Webs. Or for the love of God, put on the black one.”
Peter didn’t say anything, just found the clasp on the back of Wade’s suit and separated the top from bottom.
“Not mine!” he protested, squirming as Spiderman webbed the sides of his sleeves and peeled the fabric from his front, leaving him bare-chested. “I said take your suit off.”
“Sharing is caring, Wade.”
“But… I’m ugly.”
“You’re not ugly. You’re textured.”
“In ugliness,” he countered, reaching out to snatch his shirt back.
Spidey shot out another dual stream of webs. They hit Wade’s hands and knocked them back against the windowsill, binding his wrists to the wood.
“Oh my god,” he rasped helplessly, eyes clouding. “You didn’t. This is literally gonna kill me, Spidey. This is gonna do me in.”
“Quiet,” Peter grumbled, hitching his hips forward.
“If you slap me right now, I’ll come.”
“Wade, shut up.”
“Remember that whole “I’m not kidding” thing? I’m not kidding. Be easy with me.”
Peter angled into a backflip and landed on his feet on the floor, putting a good five feet of distance between them.
“Okay, not that easy,” Wade panted.
Spiderman looked at him, his flushed face, his hair damp with sweat. Part of him still felt like this was all one ridiculous bit he was just going along with.
The other part of him was looking at the state Wade was in: sweaty, panting, needing. It was that part that made him wrap his arms around himself and unclasp his suit at the middle so he could slide out of it. He released the clasps on his cuffs and set them beside the grilled cheese, pausing to take a swill of the water.
“Need me to pour water in your mouth?” he asked, just because he knew it would glaze Deadpool’s eyes over again.
“Hng,” the male answered.
Spidey smiled and took another gulp, then turned back to the face him.
“What color are your eyes?” Wade asked suddenly, as though Spiderman’s dick wasn’t out right now, his suit pooled around his feet, the look of a predator apparent even behind the mesh of those stitched-on eyes.
“Blue. Ish,” he answered, walking back and draping himself back around Wade’s hips.
“Of course they’re fucking blue,” he murmured to himself, his nerves turning electric as their bare chests pressed together.
“I said ish.”
“Don’t catfish me now, Spidey,” he rumbled, words dissolving as Peter ran a pair of hands up his front, fingers spreading hungrily over the textured shape of Deadpool’s chest. The merc’s breath came in shallow spurts. He was sort of having a panic attack right now, as his best friend slipped his hands down his pants and slid them down to his thighs. Spidey was such a sweet soul, it was kind of terrifying when he acted like this. It was really hot.
“Are you gonna release my hands?” he asked, “Cause if you don’t, you really will have to slap me.”
And he did.
He slapped him.
Not very hard, but hard enough to bring tears to Wade’s eyes for all the wrong reasons.
“Damn, Spideyboy,” he melted, the side of his face ringing. His healing factor was paving the sting back over way too quickly. “You really did that.”
“I did. Can we move on now?”
“Yeah, just let my hands go- oh.”
Spiderman slid his bare ass against the front of Wade’s briefs, grinding against his erection. One of his hands slipped beneath the leg of his underwear, grabbing his cock, and helped pull the entire article away.
Wade lurched forward and tore his hands out of the webs, wrapping them around Spiderman.
“Gotcha,” he hissed, squeezing Spidey’s ass. “I was able to get out the whole time.”
“I know.”
“Can I peek? Just once?”
“No.”
“I don’t know what blue-ish means. It’s for science.”
“Do you know what it means when I tell you you can either be getting me ready for sex or gazing into my eyes?”
“Ooh,” he breathed in a sharp, belabored voice. “If you were really giving me the option, I don’t think you’d wanna know which one I’d pick.”
For some reason, Peter did in fact know which one he’d pick. And he was so angry right now, because of course the hypersexual basket case who couldn’t shut up about his ass would be more interested in holding him than groping him. He was the one who’d been fucking catfished. And he was so soft about it. He was so soft for it.
“Scarred here too, huh?” he diverted, rubbing a palm down Wade’s cock. It was disconcerting, he had to admit, the way his flesh was raised and grooved like a cobblestone walkway.
But Wade just reacted the normal way, groaning and rolling back. He must have been pretty before all that happened. He was… still kind of pretty. Especially when he leant back and exposed his neck like that.
“You’re not ugly,” he heard himself say in a moment of seriousness. “You’re actually really built.”
“High praise,” Wade responded, flashing his eyes back up. “Take me, Spideyboy.”
He wrapped his hand around Wade’s cock and rubbed it against the cleft of his ass, appraising.
“Ten minutes,” he estimated, “Three fingers.” He shrugged cheekily. “Ish.”
Wade scrambled to get under him, pulling apart his cheeks with thick digits. “I knew you were a power bottom.” He kissed him again, pressing carefully into the heat of his body.
“You know, this is not unlike a mirror opposite of the hand gesture you make when you shoot ya webs,” he commented when his ring and middle finger were buried deep in Spiderman’s body and the male was bouncing up and down to get them deeper.
“I’m gonna shoot some webs right now.”
“Spidey,” he exclaimed, scandalized. “I love this. How is this happening?”
“It will happen faster if you add a third finger.”
“You’re experienced,” he realized, pressing a third digit to the now-yielding ring of muscle.
Peter put his hands on Wade’s shoulders, pressing down on the added breadth. “Not all of us feel the constant need to advertise our sexual experiences.” His voice slipped and he moaned lightly as a finger pressed against him perfectly. “Again, do that again. Fuck.”
“Spidey,” he purred, “A swear? What is going on here?”
“A whole lot,” he laughed, his head swimming as it came down off the intense burst of pleasure. He grabbed Wade’s head and kissed his lips. “Okay, I’m ready. But I’m not getting spit on my hands, so you’re gonna have to take care of that.”
“Baby I’ve always got my saliva glands ready.” He licked his fingers.
“I’m disgusted.”
“You just almost ejaculated all over me.”
“That’s not even the point.”
Wade bucked his hips and pushed into him with a sudden thrust, making Spidey taste tears. He grabbed onto the merc’s shoulders harder, letting out a gasp as he adjusted to the stretch of Wade’s cock inside of him.
“Don’t slap me,” he warned with a moan, “Or this time I really will come and ruin this entire thing.”
“You better not,” Spidey growled, rolling his hips back to sink down until Wade was buried inside him. “God damn it. That feels good.”
“Yeah? How bout how you feel, baby boy?” he returned, slipping his hands under Spidey’s cheeks and giving him a few shallow bounces. “Will it turn you off if I tell you how tight you are?”
“M… maybe.”
He hissed out as Wade lifted him up and dropped him back down on his dick, laughing. Then merc grabbed his hips and started fucking him so hard that his mind went numb, heat flaring through him. He choked out a moan.
“Wade-”
He was gonna say something but their mouths met instead. He tasted sweetness in Deadpool’s saliva, felt tenderness even as the male pounded into him. Peter moaned into his mouth, a new tingle sizzling up his spine. He felt weak. Vulnerable. He felt like he was giving his body to somebody and leaving his control behind.
“Aw, Spidey, you’re crying,” Wade murmured, drawing back. There were streaks of tears rolling down from under his mask.
“No. No, it just feels good,” he whispered.
Wade laid back against the windowsill, his hands bouncing Spidey in time with his thrusts. “Need a second? Need to stop?”
“Don’t you dare stop,” he snarled.
Deadpool laughed, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna come in a hot minute, Webs.”
“Then do it.”
Wade let go of his hips and put his arms around Spidey’s shoulders, tongue hanging out. “Tell me I’m pretty,” he requested, eyes misted, as his hips bucked lazily.
“You’re very pretty,” Peter told him.
“Hold me by the neck and tell me I’m a pretty boy.”
Spidey wrapped his hand around Wade’s throat, squeezing his fingers lightly. “You heard me the first time.”
Wade murmured something and then threw his head back, moaning. “Fuck,” he sighed, body spasming as he released. “Fuck.”
He laid on his back, chest heaving, until Peter balled his fist and cuffed Wade harmlessly against the jaw. “Was that everything you always wanted?” he quipped, slowly rising off the other’s cock. He was sure as hell sticky now, a few dried tears on his cheeks and a load of semen under his ass.
“Not yet,” Wade spoke after letting out a long exhale, then rolled onto his stomach. And because Spidey was nimble and beautiful and made of the stuff of dreams, he rolled right with him, laughing.
Loose as air, Wade slithered down the side of the bed and landed on his knees, grabbing Spidey by the thighs. He sank his head down and took the male’s cock into his mouth and hand, fisting it down his throat.
“Oh- wow,” Peter managed as his laugh fell apart, grabbing for bedsheets to hold onto. “Wow, that’s…”
Letting go, Wade sank down balls-deep, taking the male all at once. Then he made a humming sound and it traveled right up Spidey’s fucking spine, telling that well-fucked body of his to spill down Wade’s throat.
“Will you swallow?” he questioned sheepishly, holding himself frantically on the edge, and when Deadpool nodded his head with Peter’s cock still swallowed an unbelievable distance down his throat, that was it.
“Holy hell,” he whimpered, orgasm rolling up from his toes and then crashing down over him. “Oh my god. Yes, Wade.”
He came with a sound that Wade had never heard him make before, and it distracted him so much he almost choked on the damn thing before he could finish swallowing.
He wanted to get up and wrap his arms around Spidey, tell him he loved him, rip off his mask and look into his eyes until it was no-shame fucking uncomfortable for both of them.
But instead he took Spidey’s cock out of his throat, swiped a hand over his mouth (even though he didn’t have to), and rested an arm on his leg.
“Well,” he commented, looking up to meet Web’s dazed expression. “Crying during sex? If I didn’t already know you were white.”
Spidey looked at him for a moment and then laughed, flopping down onto the mattress.
“God damn it Wade, I wasn’t crying. It just happened.”
“No, it was cute.” He crawled back up onto the bed and planted a kiss on Spidey’s lips, then pulled the mask back down for him. “Even if the whole mask thing makes this look like terrorist porn.”
“I’m sorry,” he said after a second.
“Don’t be sorry,” he spouted, wrapping his arms around the smaller. “You gave me more than I deserved. I won’t forget that. Seriously. Probably by tomorrow you’re gonna beg me to forget it, and I swear I motherfucking won’t.”
“Wade, I’m… I won’t just try to pretend… hey, that’s my grilled cheese.”
“I swallowed your cum, I get the cheese,” he said between mouthfuls.
In the end, Spidey cleaned up, suited up, and threw a black hoodie over the uniform. They headed out for some 5am Chinese food at a place right down the block.
“Wade,” he mused tentatively as they carried two paper bags filled with steaming food back to the apartment. “That was really… unsafe. That whole thing. You don’t know where I’ve been. I certainly don’t know where you’ve been, but I have a few not-great anecdotes to go off of.”
Wade stopped, watching the back of Spidey’s hood. The younger noticed and turned back around.
“I’m clean,” he answered with a thoughtful shrug of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t. Or, I wouldn’t have done it like that.”
Peter looked down. “I don’t know about me. I’m not 100% sure, I mean,” he admitted quietly.
Wade didn’t have his mask on. He gave him a sympathetic look.
“It’s okay, Webs. We’ll get you checked out. Don’t worry about me. If my fuckin arms can grow back after being sliced off, gonorrhea ain’t packing no punches.”
He stood still, then gave a timid nod. They started walking again.
“You okay, by the way?” he checked, changing gears. “That wasn’t too rough on your wounds, right?”
Peter laughed. “Man, I’m so freaking sore right now. I thought kissing you was supposed to give me healing factor.”
“Yeah, I might have lied about that… to coerce you into bed and stuff…”
“Damn, I fell for it,” he breathed with a gentle laugh.
🕸
With full bellies and bleary eyes, Wade and Peter wrapped themselves around each other, cuddling up on Spidey’s bed.
“Is it offensive to you, as a spider, if I call you the bee’s knees?” Wade asked with a yawn, burying his head in Web’s chest to hide from the pale blue light of an approaching sunrise.
“I don’t get too technical about the species stuff,” he murmured back, limbs strewn around Wade’s front. Their legs tangled together. Spidey felt Wade breathing in his ear.
“I just… fuck, Webs, I can’t even find words for it.”
“That’s surprising,” he articulated, a small laugh creeping behind his words. “Words for what?”
“You,” he answered, cheeks heating fiercely. “I like you so much. You’re everything. You’re amazing.”
Peter didn’t say anything, but his chest throbbed.
At some point, half-asleep, he turned around in Wade’s arms and let the bigger male spoon him.
“Don’t freak out,” he heard Deadpool say, jerking him back to wakefulness. A hand came down on his scalp. His mask was pulled off his head.
“Not gonna look,” Wade cut in half a second before he started panicking. He reached over Peter’s body and put the fabric on the bedside table before burying his face into the back of Peter’s hair.
“I know it’s not comfortable to sleep in that. I’m not gonna look, I promise. But can I…” he faltered. “Can I touch your face?”
Breathless, Peter nodded.
The other’s fingers came up to his face and landed lightly on his jaw.
They inched up, tracing his cheekbones, circling beneath his eyes, drawing patterns on his eyelids. He let go of a shaky breath. Wade’s thumb swiped against his cheek.
“You’re crying again, Webs,” Deadpool murmured affectionately.
“Sorry, sorry, I know,” he whispered. “It just feels good.”