Chapter Text
He can see the smirk even through the red fabric that covers his face. To be honest he's pretty sure he can almost hear it. The merc is almost nose to nose with him, crowding him up against the filthy alley wall. Peter's heart is pounding in his chest but he tries not to show it, tries to seem unaffected by the sight of those huge arms either side of his head and the broad, Kevlar-covered torso almost pressed against him. All this and the twist of a smile behind the mask is making it hard to breathe.
Peter sighs in a way that he really hopes sounds exasperated rather than breathless.
"What the hell Wade? Let me go! He's going to get away!"
Without turning his head or shifting his gaze Deadpool points his gun down into the dark of the alley in the direction of the fleeing robber Peter had been chasing. He fires twice and there's a shriek and a thud in the distance.
"Nope," Wade says with a grin, putting the gun away.
Peter is just about to punch him when the sound of muffled cursing and yelling tells him that the perp is still alive - if maybe not kicking. Which makes him feel fractionally less guilty about the part of him that found that little demonstration of Wades abilities ridiculously hot.
He frowns under his mask; what is wrong with him? He does not find it hot when he watches Deadpool fight - not at all. Because that would be messed up. His heart is only racing because of surprise gunfire.
"Sorry baby boy, where were we?" Wade says, his mouth against Peter's ear, suddenly so close that he can feel his breath, hot against his skin even through their suits. He swallows hard.
"You were being a pain in my ass," he manages, instantly regretting his choice of words when he feels a huff of amusement against his neck, which absolutely doesn't send a shiver down his spine.
"Aw no I'm not, just tryin'a help you out...I could be though, if you like?"
Peter does his best to bite back on the groan that he can feel in his throat. What is wrong with him? That was a terrible and obvious comment deserving no more than an eye-roll and a smack upside the head but now, with Wades solid, warm thigh pushing against what he's sure is a pretty obvious hard on, the possibilities behind those words shoot through him like electricity.
He closes his eyes and wills himself to get a grip but his hands are clearly not listening because suddenly they're running up Wade's torso, sliding up to his neck, tracing every hard ridge of muscle and the faint bumps that he presumes are scar tissue. Wade mouthes along the line of his jaw, pulling at the edge of his mask, lifting it as Peter pushes at Wade's own mask, shoving it up to reveal...
Fuck!
Peter sits bolt upright in his bed, he's vertical so fast that silver sparks shoot across his vision and his heart is thumping. Panting for breath he stares wildly around at his bedroom and then down to the very obvious tent in his boxers, his cock is so hard it aches and he groans, pushing the heel of his hand down, willing his erection away but only succeeds in dragging a broken groan from his own throat.
He crashes back down onto the mattress and lies with his eyes screwed shut. What the holy crap is going on? Have things really gotten so bad that he's having sex dreams about Deadpool?! He knows it's been a while but goddam that's low. It's not like he's even attractive...probably...he's never seen under the mercs mask anyway, not more than the occasional glimpse of the bottom of his face while he stuffs it full of tacos anyway.
Although...there is something attractive about the shape of his face, the jaw line, his profile...he wants to ask but the moment never seems right and to be honest he's afraid of fracturing this uneasy truce before it's even really started.
But then there's the rest of him....
It's not like big guys do it for him though. Well not always anyway, but...holy shit he looks good in that suit. Not that he's noticed. Not that he's ever found himself slightly hypnotised watching him fight, watching the way he wields those katanas like some kind of psychotic ninja ballerina. That's not hot.
This is just his frustration and curiosity getting the better of him after a few months of kind of working together - and a long dry spell.
It's nothing to do with the fact that he seems to kill without thinking but still appears to be oddly heroic. Moral ambiguity is not supposed to be a turn on.
It seems that his dick however, doesn't care about his finer feelings or rationalisations. In some dark part of his brain he just Wants.
His hand is on his cock before he's really consulted his brain and he gasps as he wraps his fingers around his hot, hard length and begins to stroke himself, slowly at first, trying not to concentrate on the images his mind is helpfully trying to provide him with, as if by doing so he will have plausible deniability. It only takes a few moments for that plan to fall away as the space behind his eyes fills up with red and black, spandex and Kevlar, hard muscles and soft skin, teeth and breath and wet and heat and breathless, fractured moaning that might actually be coming from him.
He imagines the feel of uneven scarred skin, rough lips, textured fingers against his smooth skin. His fingers against a solid chest, broad shoulders, lips against his throat, raking teeth, sucking bruises that vanish instantly, running his tongue down Wade's abs, the ones he feels his mouth watering over everyday these days if he's honest. He imagines pressing his lips to the head of Wade's cock, the taste of his skin and precome. He wonders what he would taste like? Gunpowder? Sweat? Hot Sauce? Blood.
In his head Wade is silent except for the odd deep groan and breathy 'fuck!' as Peter trails his tongue over his skin. He wonders if that would really be the case? Could he really render the merc with the mouth speechless? Somehow he doubts it.
His hand speeds up, heat curls in his stomach as he imagines the fist gripping his cock is Wade's. His head drops back and he moans loudly. He can almost feel Wade's lips on his throat, his hand sliding over his length, rough skin catching and dragging. A wave of pleasure washes over him and he comes hard with Wade's name on his lips.
So much for plausible deniability. Chances are everyone in his building is now aware of exactly what's going on in his head. Shit. He rolls his eyes, draping his clean hand over his eyes with a groan. However, as much as he wants to be mortified, he can't help the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth.
Their next patrol is going to be...interesting.