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Peter is having the worst night of his life. He is absolutely, immeasurably fucked.
The asshole that snapped his picture when he was changing in the alley? That guy is probably having a great night. He probably whistle skipped straight to the Daily Globe and is out there in the city right now drinking himself stupid with his big, beautiful break.
Peter on the other hand? A walking dead man. It’s not like all the other close calls either - he can’t just jimmy open the window to the Globe tonight, press delete on the file, and save the fucking day. No, this shit is locked up and final, it’s happening and there’s nothing he or anyone else can do about it besides wait until morning.
Peter does not want to wait until morning and he knows the perfect vice to keep him distracted until the rooster crows. It’s Custer’s Last Stand, or One Night Stand as it were and he’s picked the perfect asshole for the job.
Wade’s been holding a candle for him for what - five years? It’s been their little game to keep it coy, or at least it’s been Peter’s game. They went from enemies to co-workers too - whatever they have now, which is a crossover event of the two that dabbles into friendship territory. Not that Peter is into labels, specifically labeling whatever they have. Wade’s a flirt, he’s utterly obsessed with him and thinks that Spider-Man invented being a hero and there’s something so - so impossibly gratifying about having someone always trying to shove their dick into your corner. It’s just that Peter’s corner has been and always will be a shoddy patch job trying to beautify a big plaster hole and tomorrow, everyone, including Wade, is going to see the light shine through. If the building is coming down, then at the very least Peter is taking the dick with him.
Which is why he’s scrambling up the side of Wade’s brick-lined apartment, forgoing any attempt at being careful and quiet about it which is weird - not having to look over his shoulder and worry that someone’s going to snap a picture of Spider-Man sneaking through the window of the most infamous mercenary in the city. It’s just that he couldn’t give less of a shit anymore.
If anything, he’d love it if everyone cared more about Spider-Man’s dick appointments than his very boring secret identity but that’s not how the news cycle works, Peter knows that better than anyone. He runs his own. Or did. It’s all past tense now, and if his eyes water as he hauls himself up onto Wade’s balcony then at least there’s no one to see. Well, not unless Wade is standing at his balcony window waiting for intruders but his apartment is dark and he doesn’t even have a camera or anything mounted to the window. It feels almost too easy for someone to break in. Peter runs a finger around the edge of the window. Maybe security is a moot point for someone who can’t die and has a solid no-survivors policy when it comes to people messing with his stuff. Peter hopes that he is the exception, he very much wants to mess with Wade’s stuff.
He’s not sure if Wade even knows that Spider-Man knows exactly where he lives. Actually, he’s positive that he doesn’t - Wade is kind of uniquely noble in the sense that he’s never actually tried to get his leather gloves under the mask, and everything that entails. Peter used to worry about it, but Wade is exclusively interested in the glam, he doesn’t care what sort of pumpkin Spider-Man turns into when midnight hits and the horses start shrinking back into rats.
Peter is not uniquely noble and has known where Wade’s lived for years, not even on accident but because he intentionally followed him home once because he was curious. It’s a nice place, of course it is - with a mercenary’s salary he’s still kind of surprised that Wade didn’t invest in some high-tech lair but a nice studio in New York is probably a similar price bracket so he can’t fault him too hard for having some level of class. He has actually thought of doing this before, breaking in to fuck Wade - more than once actually - but he - well, he likes what they have, whatever it is. It’s easy and it’s fun - reliable and consistent and one of the only things in Peter’s life that falls under all those categories at once. It would be a pity to lose it, but then again - there’s really nothing he’s not losing tomorrow so he might as well get a nice thing from the wreckage.
If he didn’t think Wade would immediately start shooting, he’d probably be throwing pebbles at the window. Fulfill the fantasy.
Peter squints into the dark interior, god he hopes that Wade is actually home because how embarrassing would that be? Breaking into his apartment for a dick appointment and the dick not even being there, just broken glass and having to listen to Wade complain the next night about coming home to the world’s shoddiest break-in. Not that there is a guaranteed next night, Peter’s not sure if he can afford to be a superhero when this all blows up and oh - that stings, that really stings and it’s overwhelming how badly that hurts so he distracts himself with the only reliable form of therapy he has and punches straight through the window. Wade should upgrade his window anyway. It has absolutely no give.
It’s the loudest break-in he’s ever done, Spider-Man is more sneaky than guns blazing, that’s more Wade’s gig but then again if he’s getting canned because of sloppy mistakes, it’s not like there’s really any reason for decorum. This is his new brand.
The bullet that whizzes past his ear just makes his blood run hotter, good - he’s fucking here, and if that isn’t that the only good news of the whole fucking night. Somewhere, Wade is crouched in the dark - gun smoking and ready for Peter to jump him and ride him like a mall pony.
Peter steps into the apartment, glass crunching underneath his feet as he scans the room. Wade’s face is barely visible through the shattered lines of light filtering through the broken window, his scarred eyes wide as he stares at the window and at Peter. It’s kind of fun being the guy breaking in, there’s something so forthcoming about it.
“It’s your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” Peter calls out. “I’m making house calls now.”
“Spidey?” Wade says cautiously before standing up and god - he’s not wearing anything but some inny weeny itty bitty boxers, the type that saran wraps around the dick giving no illusions to the weight and height of the package. Peter wants it in him so badly.
Wade is staring at him like he’s not sure what to say which - usually, would be the perfect response, Wade could stand to shut up way more but not tonight, Peter needs that motormouth cranked to an eleven, all of his stupid blabbering covering his brain like a needling blanket to keep all of the anxieties in the white out zone. Wade can’t fix his problems, but he makes a damn near-perfect distraction.
“Cat got your tongue?” Peter says, ripping his mask off his face, and watches as Wade’s eyes turn into big, milky saucers as he takes it all in, slack mouthed.
“What the fuck is happening?” Wade says, eyes traveling in every direction but mostly taking return loops around Peter’s face, staring him eye-to-eye which is - it’s weird, for two people that have known each other for half a decade to never actually locked eyes before. Peter should probably get used to it now, seeing as all of New York is going to get a good fucking look.
“Merry Christmas,” Peter says instead, planting a firm hand on Wade’s chest and pushing him hard onto the floor of his studio kitchen. Wade lands on his back, hands raised above his head like Peter is robbing the bank, and - well - maybe he is.
“It’s fucking July twink-face,” Wade mumbles, staring up as Peter straddles his waist, pressing his thighs firmly against his tree trunk legs, pinning him down and feeling that sweet, hard dick pressing firm against him. He’s got this in the bag.
“You’ve been trying to cop a feel on my ass for five fucking years and that’s all you can say?” Peter says, grinding said ass hard against Wade’s length and grinning at the resulting gasp, Wade’s hands still aren’t touching him but he’s staring at him like he’s the second coming and that’s nice - it’s really nice and all - but Peter would prefer if they could just get to the coming, the white-out - the part where he gets to stop thinking.
“Guh,” Wade responds prolifically, bucking his hips up.
“You’re so built.” Peter gasps, running his hands up against Wade’s chest, swirling his fingers against the scars patterns, and textures, and - he’s thought of this, of course, he’s thought of this but he didn’t actually think he’d ever go through with it. He can’t feel enough through the fabric of his suit so he reaches up and bites his gloves off, flinging them half-hazard in the corner.
“Holy shit.” Wade breathes. “This is what VR porn is trying to be.”
“You think you’re dreaming big guy?” Peter smiles slowly, dipping down so that their faces are only inches apart.
“I know I’m dreaming doll face.” Wade breathes. “You look like you were made in a factory and discontinued because people got weird about it.”
Peter presses his lips hard against Wade’s mouth, swiping his tongue against his upper lip before biting down on it hard, pulling back when he tastes blood.
“Wake up.” He breathes, licking up the taste of iron and feeling hard enough to drill through the fucking floorboards.
Wade shudders underneath him, his hands reaching out and grasping both sides of Peter’s hips and pulling him down heavily against him, Peter gasps and lets his head fall forward, resting just inches above Wade’s forehead.
“Fuck. Now you’re getting it.” Peter moans. “Just like that.”
“I have never done anything in my life to deserve this,” Wade mutters.
“Never,” Peter smirks. “Not a single thing.”
Wade is quick, wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso and flipping him over in a swift, impossible motion that results in Peter being pinned against the floor, wrists tangled together under one of Wade’s massive hands. Peter could get out of this real quick if he wanted to, no problem but he hopes the fact that he doesn’t clues Wade into what he’s looking for.
“What’s the fucking catch?” Wade growls against his ear and Peter moans, wrapping his legs around the mercenary’s thick torso and trying to rut against it with absolutely no success. It doesn’t matter because his brain is making the Windows shut-down noise and the screen is finally turning blue.
“No catch.” Peter gasps out, furiously trying to create friction where friction does not exist. Wade was so down, and now he’s just holding him down like he’s trying to arrest him for something.
“I thought you were straight.” Wade stares down at him, his eyes searching as his hands loosen around his wrists and move down to cup the side of Peter’s face, almost gently - like a lover’s caress which isn’t really what Peter wanted on the menu tonight, but it’s better than the interrogation pin.
“You thought.” Peter grabs the back of Wade’s head roughly and drags him down into another kiss. “That’s your fucking problem.” He mutters against his scarred lips. “Thinking.”
“Now stop thinking,” Peter says firmly, tapping a finger against Wade’s lips firmly before using the leverage of his legs to flip their positions again, sending Wade back where he belongs - long and hard underneath him, rubbing against Peter’s trapped cock and it feels good, it feels so fucking good.
Peter stares down at Wade and suddenly, his resolve slips a little because Wade is staring at him like he can’t believe he’s there, and not in a hot way - in the way that people look at ghosts that crawl out of their TV screens.
“You want this right?” Peter asks, ten minutes too late.
Wade’s wide-eye expression melts instantly and his scarred face breaks into a shit-eating grin as he crosses his arms behind his head.
“Yeah bucko, my dick’s hard because I want you to go home.” He snickers. “Am I your first time at the rodeo or do you actually think that the last five years of me trying to get into your spandex was a fever dream?”
“You actually think this is a dream.” Peter snaps back, palming the front of Wade’s boxers and rubbing his hand hard against the thick impression.
“I’m not even thinking right now.” Wade groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “I’m great at following directions.”
“Good.” Peter grunts, trying to tug his pants down with one hand, the other feeling Wade up through the soaked fabric. If he doesn’t get Wade’s dick inside him right now then he’s going to start thinking again and he can’t afford that.
“Let me help.” Wade smacks Peter’s fumbling hand aside, grabs onto the front of his spandex, and tears it down the middle like its existence personally offends him and usually - usually Peter would be pissed, but honestly it’s saving him the trouble of finding an industrial-strength paper shredder to throw his entire costume into tomorrow.
“That’s not actually helping.” Peter tries to scowl at him, but Wade’s hand is already wrapped around his aching dick and he just bucks into it instead, eyes fluttering closed as he spills pre-come between his skilled fingers.
“You seem pretty helped to me,” Wade comments thoughtfully, fisting Peter with one hand and dragging the ripped costume down his thighs with the other. “Damn. These are lethal baby boy.” He whistles low, running a hand up and down them, pinching at the flesh and making Peter whine. “Hate if you wrapped them around my neck and suffocated me for the irrevocable damage.”
“I’d rather ride your dick when you’re conscious.” Peter gasps. “Call me old fashioned.”
“Oh, I have. You sedimentary twink.”
“Not a - twink.” Peter bites out, he can feel himself about to fall off the edge as Wade picks up the pace and stares at him intensely like his only purpose on earth is to watch Peter come.
Peter is into it, really, really into it. It almost makes up for everything else.
“You got fucking doe-eyes twinkster,” Wade says softly. “I see why you wear the mask. No one would ever take you seriously.”
“This - this isn’t anything - anything serious - “ Peter moans out, throwing his head back, falling back and caught by Wade’s sturdy knees.
“That works for me.” Wade breathes out, and then Peter is coming in ropes, covering Wade’s abs and sinking back into his warm thighs like a ship crashed against the rocks. Peter is seeing stars, transcending - and then - the post-nut clarity rips through him and suddenly he’s just wet and sticky in Wade’s apartment, and tomorrow everyone is going to know that he’s Spider-Man.
“Damn. That’s the saddest post-orgasm face I’ve ever seen.” Wade stares at him. “You look like someone just died.”
Peter groans, sliding forward and crowding his arms beside Wade’s head and staring bleary-eyed at him.
“Kiss me.” He says.
“Are you going to cry?” Wade squints at him.
Peter kisses him and Wade, for once just shuts up and kisses him back. It’s soft for a micro-second and then it isn’t and Wade’s tongue is in his mouth and it’s wet and messy and distracting, so blissfully distracting. Peter blindly gropes for Wade’s hand and shoves it towards his head, clenching his hand down against it and hoping he gets the message.
Wade pulls his hair hard and Peter moans against his lips, hips bucking up against the wet mess on Wade’s abs and it should be gross, it is actually gross but his dick is already twitching and he can feel his brain sinking straight back into the blissful emptiness of the good fucking he came here for.
“Fuck me.” Peter pulls back and stares down. “Fuck me.” He says again, in case Wade doesn’t get that this is not a request, but an absolute necessity.
“You literally don’t have to ask me twice.” Wade rolls his eyes before shoving his hands back under Peter’s hips, getting a long and intentionally drawn-out squeeze of his ass which Peter feels is remarkably delayed considering how much Wade never shuts up about it.
“I prepped before we got here.” Peter gasps when Wade’s fingers brush against the plug that’s snugly fit between his cheeks. There was no way he had the time to relax for a gentle, instrumentally accompanied fingering.
“Jesus Christ,” Wade says, pulling at it wonderously. “You literally came here to fuck me.”
“I broke your window to fuck you.” Peter groans. “So fuck me.”
Wade removes the plug and tosses it into the depth of the room, Peter listens to it roll loudly before there’s a finger shoved into him and Peter scowls down at Wade.
“What part of prepped do you not understand?” He grits out, grabbing onto Wade’s dick hard enough to hurt and trying to navigate it toward him like he’s steering a ship.
“Don’t you ever let someone enjoy the moment?” Wade gasps out, his eyes wide and distant at the pain and he would be, and he would be the type of masochist who got off from Spider-Man death gripping his dick and trying to shove it into the hole-in-one.
“I’m letting you enjoy me,” Peter says. “Isn’t that enough?”
Wade chuckles and crooks his finger making Peter moan, his grip slacking on Wade’s dick as Wade shoves another one in, and his hands are so - he kind of wishes that Wade was in costume just because when he imagined himself getting fingered by the mercenary he always pictured the fingers being leather. Hot and rough when they slide into him but the scars feel good too, it all feels good. Wade was never not going to feel good.
“Wade.” Peter gasps out.
“Is Spider-Man begging me for something?” Wade looks at him with a Chesire smile as he slams his fingers against Peter’s prostate. “I love that. Do it again.”
“No.” Peter keens out, scrambling his hands against the wood floor. “Fuck you. Get in me already.”
“I technically am in you.” Wade teases before he crooks his fingers again and Peter shudders against him. He needs his big, stupid dick in him now. He watches it bob in front of him, spilling pre-cum and it shouldn’t be observable, it should be functionally blowing his back out.
“Shut up.” Peter feels his cheeks burn and he slams one of his hands over Wade’s mouth. “You’re terrible at dirty talk.”
“I’m not even dirty talking,” Wade laughs through Peter’s fingers. “I’m just being annoying.”
Then, in one perfect motion he’s lining his dick up and shoving himself inside Peter before Peter even has time to respond.
Peter throws his head back and closes his eyes, it’s a perfect burn, cleansing and baptismal and he’s so full and all he can think about is the way that Wade’s hips cant into him, the way he slams himself inside him like Peter is his glorified fleshlight. It’s perfect.
“Harder.” Peter moans. “Faster.”
“Stronger.” Wade finishes, tangling his hands into Peter’s and pulling him down into a kiss. Peter’s lips slide against his, he lets himself fall down and lets Wade do all the heavy lifting.
Wade has amazing dick game. Peter never knew whether his bragging actually was ever going to lead to anything, if he actually fucked as good as he talked about fucking but - Peter is crying from how good it is and Wade is licking the tears off, greedy.
“I always knew you’d be a crier.” He breathes out before dragging his tongue across Peter’s open, panting mouth. “I’d always knew you’d be pretty when I railed you.”
“Stop.” Peter gasps out, and he’s not sure what he’s trying to get stopped - maybe it’s the fact that no matter how good it feels, how full it feels - he’s still thinking about the fact that there’s a tomorrow.
Wade’s hips still, he stares up at Peter with - is that concern? Oh god, that is not the look he wants to see.
“Don’t stop fucking me!” Peter bites. “Asshole! Still fuck me!”
Wade looks at him with an unreadable expression and then he’s pounding into Peter like he’s trying to break him, and it’s so good. It’s so good.
“Damn, thanks for the review.” Wade grins up at him and Peter realizes that he’s saying it out loud, complimenting him like Wade’s ego actually needs it, and it doesn’t and he can tell because of the smug expression on his face as Peter just slumps against him, boneless and burning.
“Just make me cum.” Peter says, and it’s a little like begging but he’s too strung out to care. He needs it so badly.
“Your wish is my command.” Wade rumbles against his ear, reaching down to fist Peter’s dick in his hand, rough and quick, and Peter sobs as he comes against him, cheeks wet as he presses his face against Wade’s chest.
“Fuck.” Wade stutters underneath him, grasping Peter’s face between shaking hands and lifting his head up forcefully so he can stare at him. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He says, and Peter closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see him when Wade comes inside.
Afterward, it’s quiet, Peter curls his face against the side of Wade’s head and presses his cheek against the cool of the wood floor. Strangely, it’s Wade’s breathing that loses him, the quiet - almost imperceptible pants, the curl of his fingers against Peter’s spine, and the heat of his body pressed into his. Peter, for one second - thinks of nothing but this.
“So - what did you in?” Wade asks, and the moment dissipates and Peter is just a guy in New York with come in his ass and his long-term situationship staring at him with a look that demands answers to questions that Peter would rather he wouldn’t ask.
Peter kisses him instead of answering because he doesn’t want to give one. Wade can evaluate it in the morning like everyone else, he can blow up his phone then - weigh his options, but not now. Not while Peter is still Spider-Man, not while he still can get away with it.
When he pulls back Wade is looking at him like he’s the sun and Peter - he’s not that and he doesn’t feel like that now, his costume hanging off his body in shreds and his face open and his identity circling around the drain and he kind of wants to cry.
“What's wrong Spidey?” Wade asks softly. “You look really fucked up.”
Peter slides off him with a gasp, feeling Wade’s cum spill out of him and onto the floor it’s too much, it’s all too much so he scrambles up and takes a few unsteady steps back as Wade stares at him like he’s trying to dissect him with one of those knives he’s so good with.
“Do you have any sweats I can borrow?” Peter asks quietly because his pants are fucking ruined and he may have nothing left, absolutely nothing - but running into the night with his cock hanging out feels like several steps past a level of uncaring that he doesn’t want to reach.
“Wow,” Wade says neutrally as he pushes himself up, walking naked over to a chest of drawers he has such a great ass. Peter mourns the fact that he’ll probably never be able to destroy it. “You really are a fuck boy.”
“Come on.” Peter wasn’t expecting his feelings to get hurt during this whole thing, but thankfully the mask will cover that microexpression so he finds it flung on Wade’s marble counters and pulls it halfway down his face before Wade can look back. “This is what you wanted right?”
Wade snorts followed by the quick slap of balled-up sweats hitting the side of Peter’s body hard. Peter snatches them before they hit the ground and then quickly pulls them over his legs, sinching the elastic as tight as it can go because Wade is built differently than him in every way possible and they still slide down. It shouldn’t make his dick twitch, but it does.
“Is that all?” Wade says, and he really is looking for answers isn’t he? Peter hates him for that.
“You just got some big guy. I don’t see what the big deal is.” Peter glances up and wishes he didn’t. Wade looks at him with the smallest expression known to man, naked and full of - of something that Peter refuses to name, refuses to engage with because it’s all temporary. All of these dramatics are temporary, a drop in the shit bucket and Peter can’t afford to fix something that is already in the process of breaking beyond his abilities.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Peter lies. “Okay?”
Wade’s expression ripples like the moon on the water and suddenly he’s smiling again, sharp and knowing as he leans against the wall. He looks like he’s found what he was digging for, and Peter doesn’t know why.
“Listen Spidey.” He starts, trailing his eyes up the expanse of Peter, and Peter shivers, leaning against the countertop, curling his fingers against the cool edge for support. He feels so terrified right now, and the fact that he can’t talk about it - can’t say anything - just feel it thud through the core of his body, the rabbit skip of his heart bursting through his skin makes him want to hurl.
“I may just be your glorified booty call right now, a dick to bounce on if you will - “ Wade pauses. “But I’ve known you for five fucking years. I know how to read you pretty well.”
Peter looks away from him.
“I know you’re scared shitless. You have been since you got here.” Wade continues. “And I want to know why,” Wade says and the look he levels Peter with makes him pause and want to actually tell him the truth.
Peter has nothing to lose. Or if he does, he’s already lost it. Hasn’t he? Wade has gotten what he wanted from him, Peter got what he wanted from Wade. Spider-Man isn’t even really in the room anymore, at least the costume isn’t. It’s just the mask, slipping over his nose and the tatters around his arms and suddenly he wants to confess it all. Willingly. At least to one person.
“Someone - “ He starts, his voice catching. “Someone is leaking my identity to the press. Tomorrow.” He drops his head into his hands and digs his hands into his brow. “I mean, it’s already leaked. It’s - already fucking leaked. It’s just - “
“Who…?” Wade asks very, very carefully.
“Peter,” Peter says quietly. “My name is Peter.”
Wade snorts out a laugh before he walks over to Peter and smacks him fondly on the cheek. “No you idiot. I wasn’t asking for your fucking name. Who leaked it?”
“I - “ Peter’s breath catches. “It’s too late Wade. It’s too fucking late. I - I can’t fix anything. I tried. It’s impossible. It’s over. Done. Tomorrow all of New York is going to know - “
“Who leaked it?” Wade asks again and he’s crowded against Peter’s face, his fingers tugging the mask so slowly but he’s not taking it off, he’s pulling it over Peter’s face until it’s on again and then he presses a quick kiss to his clothed lips. “You can tell me.” He says and Peter can feel his smile over the fabric.
“He’s - he’s a journalist for the Globe,” Peter says before he can think too hard about answering. “I’ve already tried talking to him - he wouldn’t budge. He said he already sent it off and - and - “
“Aw Spidey,” Wade tsks. “See that’s your problem. Asking. No one likes an asker.”
“You’re not going to kill him are you?” Peter stutters out. “Wade. No. You can’t - you can’t - “
Wade is walking into the dark of his apartment and waves a dismissive hand behind him. “Oh please, you didn’t even give me a name. How would I be able to kill him?” Then he disappears into his hallway and then there's the sound of a door shutting followed by the noise of the shower turning on.
Peter stares after him, and then at the broken window.
It’s not his proudest moment that he scrambles out and leaves but then again - it’s not like Wade tried to get him to stay. He’s taking a fucking shower - he can’t actually expect Peter to wait around - to lounge in his fucking pants as he waits for his life to end. No, he slips out of the apartment and when he makes it back to his, he’s fully shaking. He takes a shower too, changes back into Wade’s sweats, and sits on his bed before pulling open all of the news apps on his phone and keeps on waiting for it to drop. The hours pass and the sun rises. Nothing.
Then, at eight AM the biggest news story of the night drops. Barney Bushkin was found dead in his apartment.
Wade picks up on the second ring.
“Good morning Peter.” He says cheerfully. “I thought you would have deleted my number by now - seeing as I’m just a notch on the ol’ bedpost.”
“Fuck you.” Peter grits out.
“You're welcome,” Wade says. “You don’t have to thank me, or like me, or exonerate me. I know that goes against your code or whatever.”
“Wade - “
“But.” Wade interrupts. “You were scared.”
Peter is quiet.
“I hate seeing you scared,” Wade says quietly. “You don’t - you’re not like that.” He pauses before following with. “It’s a bad look on you.”
Peter’s mouth twitches, he bites down on his knuckle and stares at the article again, and then out the window. He doesn’t know if he can actually morally thank Wade for this but - it doesn’t - maybe that’s not -
“Anyway - can’t believe you sell photos of your own ass for cash.” Wade continues. “That’s amazing. So you.”
Peter is definitely not thanking him.
“So you know my identity,” Peter says, and - it hasn’t actually hit him yet that he’s safe, and in some ways, he’s not because it’s not like the city knowing who he is was the full problem. Wade isn’t the first person that Peter’s slept with who figured out who he was - but he would definitely be the first to not have a problem with it. People that want to fuck Spider-Man rarely want to fuck Peter too, it habitually ruins his dating pool. There’s a reason he kept things so distant from Wade, and the one night he decides to fuck it all up - well.
“You literally told me your name.” Wade snorts. “At the apartment.”
“I didn’t tell you my last name,” Peter argues. “There are a lot of Peters in this fucking city.”
“Oh fine - I killed the one guy in the whole fucking city that knew your identity, you think I’m not going to get the whole name out of him? I’m not like, a saint.” Wade says. “Maybe I like to know the names of the people who break into my apartment for the explicit purpose of fucking me.”
Peter feels a hot flush crawl up his neck, and that would embarrass him. Not Wade coming in his ass, just the summation of it afterward. It’s so - unavoidable, out in the open.
“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Wade says gleefully as if Peter needs to hear his full government name out loud by someone who shouldn’t know it again.
“I gotta say. I didn’t pin you as a professor.” Wade continues. “I knew you were a nerd but oh my god. You literally make no money from anything that you do.”
“Why else would I take pictures of myself?” Peter asks sardonically.
“I mean, your immense vanity comes to mind.” Wade snorts. “Honestly, I don’t know why no one’s put it together that the only guy that gets good stock images of you is also in the fucking photo.”
Peter snorts. “I can tell you. People don’t find Peter Parker interesting enough to think that he - I - am Spider-Man.”
“Consider me interested.” A voice comes from the window and Peter hates, he really hates that Wade doesn’t trigger his senses anymore because shit like this happens, the mercenary is crouched on his fire escape, phone pressed to his ear with the mask pulled high enough for Peter to see his big stupid grin.
Peter hangs up the call and walks towards him. Wade tosses his own phone onto Peter’s bed and then they’re just standing, staring at each other.
“So.” Wade starts and Peter doesn’t care what the fuck he has to say, he really doesn’t. He pulls him in and kisses him hard, teeth clacking against Wade’s as he growls against his mouth, pulling back and locking his hands around his big shoulders in a death grip.
“Is this how you thank people?” Wade asks with a smile. “I feel very thanked.”
“Why did you fucking kill him.” Peter hisses, shaking Wade hard. “Why - “
“Oh. That is so easy.” Wade looks at him, reaching up and pulling off his mask fully so that Peter has to look him in the eye. “I am very in love with you.”
“Oh.” Peter pauses, and suddenly it’s too much. It’s too fucking much. He wishes he had a mask so he could put it on again, the naked eye contact is more intimate when Wade isn’t fucking him because Peter doesn’t actually have any excuse to look away.
“Yeah.” Wade says. “Love makes you do crazy things. Like kill people. Something I would never do otherwise. As you know.”
Peter scowls, punching him hard in the shoulder and when he lets himself look again Wade is staring at him like he can’t get enough of it, like he’s never going to look away and Peter realizes that maybe, maybe he actually isn’t going to stop looking at him ever.
“I - “ Peter opens and closes his mouth and Wade presses a finger against it.
“I know,” Wade says. “You want to fuck again but we can’t because your bed is so unbelievably tiny and your apartment has no floor space.”
Peter takes Wade’s finger in his mouth slowly, Wade’s breath catches as his tongue wraps around it and then he bites down hard enough to draw blood, which should get Wade’s finger out of his mouth but he doesn’t move at all.
“No, you’re right.” Wade breathes. “We can just do it against the wall.”
Later, when they’re wrapped up in Peter’s tiny bed, Wade pressed against the side and almost falling off, crowded up against Peter’s headboard while Peter scrolls news outlets just to make sure, just to double-triple check he looks down at Wade, who seems to be half-asleep on his shoulder.
“Can this be serious?” He asks because - he’s not sure if he can handle it being anything else now that he has Wade here, in his room - fully in his mundane.
“You think we’re not serious?” Wade responds. “Always has been.” He pauses, not looking Peter in the eye. “For me.” He says quieter than Peter has ever heard him say anything.
“Cool,” Peter says, fingers stiff around his phone before he sets it down, curling down into Wade’s arms, wrapping himself around his body that barely fits in Peter’s room, in his world.
Peter is absolutely, immeasurably fucked.