Work Text:
Usually when it was colder than five degrees out and snow was packed high on the ground, New York became a quiet city. Restaurants closed, bodegas turned off their lights, and even bars stacked their liquor on their shelves and kept the caps on. Peter always looked forward to this time of year– sure, he enjoyed Christmas, but not in any sort of religious way since he celebrated Hanukkah, and more so enjoyed the peace and quiet the brightly colored streets offered.
Multicolored lights dangled from nearly every window and overhang the city had, illuminating even the darkest of alleys with holiday cheer as grumpy New Yorkers smoked cigarettes and grumbled about their heating being turned off by shitty landlords. Peter happened to be one of those tenants and had resorted to wrapping himself in his thermal suit (thank God for Mr. Stark), a down jacket, a pair of sweatpants and snow pants just to go to sleep comfortably under his duvet and five other blankets. He tended to run cold.
Despite all of this, some asshole small-time criminals decided this was a wonderful opportunity to try and rob a bank. It was comical how quickly Spider-Man managed to web up all of the ski-mask wearing robbers (fitting for the weather, but no less cliche), especially considering they couldn’t even drive their truck in front of the bank due to all of the snow. When he tried to contact the police, they echoed that sentiment, saying none of their cars had the ability to deal with that much snow right now.
So, two by two he carried the webbed perps to the nearest police station, dropping them off unceremoniously at the front while two cops who looked like they had been there for days, either stuck because of the storm or because they were required, dragged them into holding cells while Peter dusted his hands off. Now he sat on a roof somewhere sipping on a cup of hot chocolate (with marshmallows!) one of the cops had graciously given him. It warmed him up slightly but did nothing to quell the chills that wracked his body every so often.
Going home wouldn’t really do anything considering it was only a few degrees warmer, which wasn’t saying a lot, so he sat and kicked his feet, hoping something else would spring up that gave him the opportunity to move his muscles.
Just as he was about to finish the last of his hot chocolate, a frown forming on his face when he realized it had already cooled, he heard a loud crash from behind him and found Deadpool face-first on the ground. His legs were in the air, bent at odd angles, and Peter had to tilt his head a little bit to figure out what happened.
He correctly assumed that Deadpool had been running so fast towards Peter that he slipped on the fresh snow, nose planting into the concrete building. Feeling a little bad for the merc, Peter got up, frozen muscles protesting as he stiffly made his way over to Wade, offering a hand. Wade looked up, blood staining the front part of his mask where his nostrils are, the whites of his mask widening.
“Baby boy! You’re too kind!” He cheered, rolling to his side before moving his legs under him and grabbing Peter’s arm, allowing the Spider’s super-strength to pull him up. They stood for a moment, and then Wade tapped his chin contemplatively. “Say, Spidey, what are you doin’ up here anyhows? It’s, like, way too cold for that– even I’m feeling the chill and I’m the coolest cat around!”
Peter resisted the urge to scrunch up his nose in distaste for the stupid joke, but found himself fighting back a small smile. He shrugged, arms wrapping around himself now that the wind could attack his entire person.
“Funny story, actually,” he started, voice sheepish, and Wade just groaned. Peter stilled then, confused as to why that was the reaction he got, and placed his hands on his hips. “What?”
“Ooh, I love it when you go all sassy on me,” the gun-for-hire chided, motioning towards Peter with an excited hand. “But, anyways, Pookie, whenever you say ‘funny story’ it’s always something terribly sad and very Sarah McLachlan.” Wade stepped a bit closer, the wind whipping a little harder now, and Peter was grateful the man was much wider and taller than him so he could block the harsh cold.
Regardless of how nice Wade was being, Peter crossed his arms again and jutted out a leg, a bit miffed. “Are you likening me to a stray dog in the middle of winter?” Peter asked, then realized that the answer was an absolute and resounding yes . “Okay, never mind, don’t answer that. You’re right, it’s not a funny story. My landlord says that the heat isn’t working but I know he’s just saving it all for himself. I still have to pay the same rent and everything. Who the fuck said New York was a good place to live?”
“No one, I think. Too bad you were born here, Spides,” Wade answered gleefully before he turned a little quiet. “So your apartment is, like, sub-zero levels of cold? Like, if a Tauntaun showed up, you’d Han Solo it and then make like Luke and crawl inside?”
“Whoa, Star Wars reference! Nice one, DP!” Peter actually grinned at that, high fiving the merc.
Deadpool shrugged, clearly proud of himself before he literally patted himself on the back. “What can I say, baby boy. Your influence is unmatched. Watching every Star Wars movie with you every year since you started tolerating me has changed me irreversibly,” Wade said, and Peter rolled his eyes behind his mask, beginning to shiver again. “Y’know, though, just putting it out there like a dinner plate during service, not saying you have to eat off of it– I do have a couch. And a bed. I can take the couch, you can take the bed, and there’s heat, which is nice. My neighbor– Mrs. Doory– I’ve convinced her I’m her long lost great-grandchild and now she makes me free meals. So there’s also warm food.”
“Isn’t that taking advantage of the elderly?” Peter asked.
“I’m pretty sure she’s a white supremacist, so no,” Wade responded easily.
“Oh, okay,” Peter said. He then looked at Wade. “I’m not eating anything from a white supremacist, Wade.”
“Why not? It’s free food! Besides, I’m stealing her money so she dies unhappy and alone!”
“I’m Jewish, Wade! That’s, like, disrespecting my ancestors. Besides, I can cook. Just buy me the ingredients,” Peter scolded, not liking the idea that Wade was talking to a white supremacist at all, regardless of the free food.
“Hm. Okay, Spidey, sounds good. Do you wanna bring a menorah? I know it’s still Hanukkah. We can really piss off that old lady, and I solemnly swear to never accept food from her again. I will keep stealing her money, though.” Wade promised, holding out his pinky and everything, and Peter hooked his own around Wade’s and shook on it.
They ended up at Wade’s only thirty minutes later after Peter got tired of being wracked with chills and Wade got too concerned. Sliding off his mask, snot dripped grossly down his nose from the prolonged exposure to the cold, and Peter was pretty sure his fingers and toes were a few minutes away from frostbite. His cheeks and nose stung with how numb and red they were, and his lips were chapped and bitten.
Luckily, Wade had enough money to afford an apartment that not only had heat but hot water. The mutant spider walked over to the sink and turned on the water, first running his hands over lukewarm water before slowly making it hotter and hotter. He did the same with his face, splashing water on it until the blood flow returned without shocking his system. Wade just kind of stood there, watching him, tracing the lines the water made on Peter’s face. It caused the younger man to flush, feeling incredibly exposed under all the attention.
Peter and Wade had known each other’s identities for about three years now– it was the product of Peter and his incredibly terrible anxiety and Wade showing up (unannounced) at Peter’s apartment and getting webbed in the face. In return for seeing Peter’s face without his consent, Wade had to show his own and had to stop killing once and for all. It was rocky for a while between them after that, but Wade was a good person at his core and did whatever it took to get on Spider-Man’s good side again.
Wade took off his own mask, walking into his room, most likely to change clothes. Peter had to ask if he had any spares for him, and also if he could take a shower to warm up. He was still shivering despite him getting feeling back in his face and fingers.
“Hey, Wade?” Peter called from the kitchen as he dried off his face with paper towels. He desperately wanted to get out of his suit, the outside cold sticking to it.
“What’s up, Petey-pie?”
“Would you mind if I took a shower and possibly used all your hot water? I’m fucking freezing.” Peter asked, walking over to the hallway where both the bathroom and Wade’s room was. Wade poked his head out.
“Of course you can, baby boy. Want me to make something warm? Not to inflate my own incredibly humble ego, but I am said to be a kinda badass cook. I could really give you the four star treatment.” Wade winked, his blue eyes sparkling. Peter smiled widely, nodding before he entered the bathroom.
“Could you get me some pajamas too, Wade? Sorry to bother.” Peter’s voice echoed through the bathroom while he gaped at how nice it was. A full tub. Cabinets under the sink and not just the shitty mirror space with a nice tiled floor and a little wicker stool where a stack of magazines was kept. Wade came in a few seconds later with a stack of clothes, watching as Peter took off the top half of his suit.
They stood looking at each other for a while, stuttering in their steps for a few moments like time had slowed down. Peter didn’t really understand it, but before he knew it his instinct kicked and he said, “Thanks, Wade.” with a large smile. Wade let out a strangled sort of noise before he left the bathroom to Peter.
His shower didn’t take very long considering he was just doing it to warm up, so he quickly toweled himself off and pulled on the softest plaid pants he’d ever felt and a very loose white t-shirt. It had to be Wade’s because although it was a relatively fine length, the sleeves were longer on him since his shoulders weren’t as wide. It caused him to look smaller, and he didn’t know exactly how he felt about that.
When he walked out, Wade was in the middle of cooking something– soup, from the pot he was using, the color light and rich. Peter sniffed the air, humming pleasantly when the savory fragrance filled his lungs.
“Hey, Petey! Dang, that was a short shower. What happened to using all my hot water? I don’t appreciate going back on your word, Pete, y’know I don’t condone all that lying stuff, certainly haven’t done any of it myself, as I’m not a sinner, you know– oh, do you smell it? Isn’t it fucking yum? Ugh, delish. Could smack my lips if I had 'em. Oh, it’s called zupa toscana. Fucking revolutionary. Whatever Olive Garden is selling, I’m devouring,” Wade rambled, his baritone voice slightly lulling the now warm and fuzzy Peter.
He simply slid into one of the dining room chairs, watching as Wade slightly swayed his hips as he stirred the soup like he was listening to a particularly good song in his head. Peter watched as Wade continued talking, his mouth pulling up whenever he reminded himself of something funny.
They enjoyed the soup, talking softly between each other and laughing as they joked across the table, the blizzard outside a long forgotten memory.
-
Ouch. Peter hurt. Peter hurt a lot.
Blood gushed from Spider-Man’s side, his suit torn and ripped and sticking to the healing wounds he’d gotten earlier in the fight. Aliens– it was always aliens, either the actual beings or their fucking technology– that made Peter the most injured. He had large lacerations on his right side, his left thigh, and one on his right shoulder. Glass littered his abdomen and he was pretty sure his eye was injured due to the fact he couldn’t quite see out of it.
He stumbled home, pushing clumsily through his front door, desperately trying not to pass out or get himself seen as he closed the door with haste. Blood dripped thickly onto the beat up wood floors, seeping into the scratches and dents. Layer by layer pieces of Peter’s suit were thrown to the floor, splatting as they did due to the amount of blood until he was left naked.
“Fuck this,” Peter breathed out, wincing and groaning as he picked the pieces off glass out of himself bit by bit. Some he could wipe off with just a short jolt of pain, but others throbbed horrendously once removed so he was left with a sheen of sweat by the end of it, panting heavily. A shower would probably help, and the cold water would be good for his heated skin.
Bloody fingerprints littered the apartment walls as Peter moved himself around, falling to the cracked tile floor of his bathroom. He turned on his shower, stepping inside and gasping softly at the frigid spray. It kept him awake though, his eyes squeezed shut but his head throbbing. The pain was also dulled by the water, causing him to wince slightly as he stepped out once all the blood not actively oozing out washed away.
Two rolls of gauze greeted him as he opened his shitty mirror cabinet. A bottle of ibuprofen, Neosporin, and antiseptic were also grabbed as he crashed down onto the toilet with a loud groan. His entire body felt like it was inflamed, every inch of it throbbing and sending searing pain through him. Agony erupted once more when he poured the antiseptic, quickly applying Neosporin through gathering tears, trying his best not to panic about his eye.
This was the worst he’d been hurt in a few years, and he blamed it on his lack of sleep and tendency to overwork. His lab job was fantastic– studying DNA mutations was everything and more– but it kept him so busy he frequently went without sleep. A recent mishap at the lab caused him to be awake for more than 72 hours, and during the battle was so out of it his spidey sense was nearly non-existent.
Tears mingled with the gauze as he tightly wrapped it around his wounds, nearly his entire abdomen and right leg covered in white linen. He shifted stiffly, legs too seized with pain to work, dragging himself towards his bed. He threw on warm sweatpants and a hoodie, knowing it would get cold later, and snuggled as comfortably as he could beneath the blankets. He slept, not knowing when he would wake up.
“Spidey? Spideeyyyy? Peter? You in here?” Deadpool called, voice slowly growing more and more concerned as he walked through the apartment. He’d gone through the window, something that Peter frequently left unlocked so the merc had an easy way inside.
It had been three days and Wade hadn’t heard from Peter at all, much less seen Spider-Man out on patrol so he decided to do a welfare check. Knocking lightly on Peter’s room door, he slowly opened it to a sleeping, wounded Peter who had soaked bandages and was so fast asleep Wade assumed he’d been sleeping for three days straight.
Carefully Deadpool assessed Peter, looking at all of his wounds and biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like looking at it, and certainly didn’t like the fact that Peter didn’t tell him . Gently, like he was waking a foster cat, Wade rocked Peter awake. With a long groan and pained moaning, the younger male slowly came to, blinking blearily at Wade.
Almost instantly Peter breathed a long sigh of relief, an anxious nature to it that set Wade a little on edge. Peter just laughed softly, leaning into Wade’s touch on his shoulder. “Thank God I can see with both eyes. It was getting a little dicey for a while there,” Peter mumbled out, his brown, curly hair sticking out in wild directions. He looked positively adorable.
“Petey, what the hell happened to you? Did a tiger get you? Were you sent to ancient Rome to battle a lion in the colosseum? This is gnarly, kid, and I don’t like it one bit, no siree. You haven’t even been properly changing your bandages– I mean, come on! This is ridiculous. Thank goodness I found you. Heavens forbid if you were to rot here you poor thing you–” Wade’s voice turned from normal to southern bell rather quickly, but Peter was glad he was being himself. It gave the spider something to focus on besides the pain.
Wade gently towel cleaned all of Peter’s wounds after he popped a few more pain meds and some melatonin considering his body would definitely need more sleep in order for him to properly recover. According to Wade, the reason why Peter couldn’t breathe was because he’d cracked two of his ribs and seriously bruised the rest. His lungs burned with every inhale, not to mention the searing burn of his side whenever he expanded his stomach with air.
“Aliens. Well, guys with alien gear. Either way, it wasn’t pretty,” Peter mumbled, slowly settling onto his couch while Wade rifled in vain through his cabinets and fridge to find something suitable for Peter to eat. “Actually, it did feel pretty awful, but that was the only pretty part about it. Fuckin’ douchebags.” Peter grumbled.
“Baby boy as much as I would love to admonish you for such foul language– really, douchebag over hateful cunt? Get more creative, Spidey!-- you’ve got nothing to eat. Like, it’s empty. Do you even live here? Did you break in?”
“What? No, Wade– I’m poor. Plus, I’m in the office more than I’m here. It’s– I don’t– um. Yeah, I think those are the only two reasons. Mostly that I’m poor.” Peter sheepishly swallowed, snuggling into a pillow on the side of his ratty couch.
“Pete, my love, my sweetie pie, my little apple bottom. This is ridiculous. I’m ordering pho and chimichangas– the chimichangas are mostly for me, but you can have some– and you’re gonna fall back asleep. Sound like a plan?” Peter blinked for a few moments before nodding, watching fondly as Wade placed the two orders. He settled securely next to Peter, and without even realizing, the smaller man cuddled right up to the sturdy warmth Wade offered.
The other man stiffened a bit, surprised by the sudden display of affection but likening it all to Peter’s delirious, pained, drugged up system. He’d taken his fair share of painkillers, with Wade making sure he never overdosed or took too many, so he chalked all of the weird clingy stuff up to that.
Peter pressed a soft, warming kiss to Wade’s bicep, the one he was clinging to, muttering something under his breath akin to a thank you. Wade stuttered for a moment, cursing to himself and arguing with what Peter knew to be the boxes before he lifted a hesitant hand.
“Can I pet your head, Petey? Hair looks so fucking soft, I gotta feel it.” Wade muttered and Peter responded with a slight nod through his daze. Long, thick, calloused fingers scratched delicately at Peter’s scalp, massaging his head as he lulled in and out of sleep, eyelids drooping before they eventually closed for good, his chest rising and falling evenly.
Spring air blew gently into the apartment, making it smell fresh and relieving the stuffy feeling it had ever since winter started. Peter sneezed the second he woke up, the dust getting kicked up by the breeze. His side felt startlingly cold, and it took Peter a few groggy seconds before he realized it was because Wade had left. He wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been asleep, but his bandages were fresh and he was feeling good enough to walk normally.
His ribs still hurt, his healing factor not good enough to heal a broken rib over the course of a week, so breathing was still a problem. This meant that going out on patrol would be horrendous, especially considering it was a beautiful day out. Sun was shining, no rain, barely even cloudy. Where did the pollution in this city go, Peter wondered. If it didn’t come back he might have to consider moving.
Just as he thought, even swinging felt awful, the extension of his arm over his head jostling his ribs in all the wrong places, and he had to wheeze and catch his breath on every rooftop. It was pathetic, the way he couldn’t just take a goddamn day off , but he’d taken five off already and it gave him endless anxiety.
After a few takedowns of robberies and muggings– only one of which was armed, small victories– Peter laid stiffly on top of a gravel roof, the bits of rock digging uncomfortably into his skin, but the man couldn’t move. He was rigid and in pain, his lungs spasming as they tried to breathe in enough air to make Peter stop feeling light headed. Maybe he was slightly panicking, but he tried his best to calm himself and after around twenty agonizing minutes, his heart rate slowed enough for him to actually take a deep breath with minimal pain.
“Spideeyyyy!” Wade squealed from somewhere over on Peter’s right, his footsteps making crunching noises on the gravel. Peter grunted in response, not moving at all. His mask had been pulled up over his nose, his eyes still covered. Moving felt like a chore, so he stayed still, not willing enough to even raise a few fingers in hello. “Whoa, Spidey, you just look worse and worse the more I see you! I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re gor-ge-ous , who wouldn’t think that, but me oh my! I’ve never seen you so… geriatric before. So lifeless.”
“Thanks, Wade,” Peter deadpanned, coughing a little as he sucked in air. “It’s the ribs.”
Wade sat down beside him, albeit a few meters away like he was scared to get too close, and rested his cheek on his propped up hand. “Baby boy, I gotta tell you, taking time off isn’t a bad thing. I’ve been top dog on these streets since you’ve been resting up, all without blood guts and murder. Okay, maybe not the blood bit since there was a lot of blood, but even you can’t make me hold back that much. Giving guys nosebleeds is one of the seven wonders.”
Peter moved his head then, opening his eyes to look at Wade. “You’ve been patrolling for me?” He asked. Wade just shrugged, sliding off his katanas before laying down as well. They looked like lizards basking in the late afternoon sun, its hazy rays causing the once blue sky to turn periwinkle.
“‘Course, Webs. What else would I do? I don’t have my favorite crime stopping buddy, and I know you’d be pissed if I didn’t, so–”
“I wouldn’t be pissed, Wade,” Peter interjected, sitting up slightly, his side protesting as he did so. “You have your own life and your own job and I respect that. You didn’t have to do that for me, but I’m glad you did. Thank you.”
Peter was rarely serious, especially when he was with Wade because that man was never serious, and it tended to rub off on him. Over the many years of knowing Deadpool, however, Peter found it important to be serious with Wade so he understood when Peter was being genuine. Sometimes, when you’ve lived the life Wade has, sincerity is necessary.
The conversation lulled for a while, Wade most likely being too stunned to properly respond, and they watched as the sun dipped beneath the tall buildings of the New York skyline, painting the sky pink and yellow. Peter let his head fall to his shoulder, breathing evenly for the first time in what felt like forever. Clear air without even a hint of pollen or dust settled cleanly in his lungs and his skin tingled with the now cooling temperature.
It was quiet, something rarely ever associated with Deadpool, and Peter couldn’t help the smile that tugged onto his face. He’d forgotten (or didn’t care) to move his mask back down, and he could tell Wade was watching his lips. Looking at them like they were an unattainable grail of a prize. Someone looking like that at Peter felt a little absurd, considering the spider mutant was scrawny and nerdy and all sorts of insecure. He hadn’t quite figured that all out yet, not since high school was so horrible, but now that he was nearing mid-twenties he assumed that maybe he should get on that.
Gravel crunching stole Peter’s attention away from the sunset, the colors darkening as the moon made itself known, no longer hidden by the blue sky. Wade was standing up, looking a bit rigid, like his muscles hadn’t quite caught up with the movement. His eyes looked directly at Peter who finally pulled his mask over the bottom half of smooth skin and plush lips. Wade had nearly stabbed his eyes out, lusting over Spidey so openly like that.
Peter got up as well, head tilting. “What’s up, Pool? Hungry?” The superhero stretched, long, lithe arms careening above him as he erupted in a shout from stretching his bad side. “Fuck!” He yelped before groaning. It probably felt bad and good to stretch out a side that had been rested to the point of stiffness. Deadpool couldn’t look away, entranced by the flexibility and the way Spider-Man twisted his spine and cracked just so – well, it was making Wade all hot and bothered.
With a thick swallow, Wade croaked out, “Yeah, something like that.” before they were heading to a hole-in-the-wall Asian restaurant because Peter had that ‘dim sum dog in him’. Peter chose to web there, swinging from the tall buildings while he watched Wade jump and scramble to grab onto the edge of rooftops. Obviously Peter made it to the restaurant much quicker than Wade, so he ordered for them both and had the takeout ready when Wade arrived.
“Fuck, Spides, I gotta work out more. This runnin’ across town thing is getting to me, I’ll tell ya that much. Ooh! O-M-G, baby boy, you are just the cat’s pajamas! The bee’s knees! You remembered my order, you little web munchkin, you. Oh, I could just gobble you up! Speaking of gobble, where do you think the turkey they pardoned for Thanksgiving went? Do they get immunity for life or is it a one time deal, like the Hunger Games? Oh, but what if there’s a turkey Quarter Quell? What then, Spidey? ” Wade babbled on as they walked to Peter’s apartment, with the smaller man chiming in every so often.
Peter’s apartment was just as messy as he’d left it that morning– blood was still caked into the floor despite his best efforts to get it out, but he was already long past mourning his security deposit. The apartment had seen much worse, especially in the four-ish years Peter’s been living there. Every time he renewed his lease he questioned why he still lived there, but the price and proximity was too good to give up.
Dim sum, egg drop soup, spring rolls, gyoza, soup dumplings, and fried rice were all deposited onto the dining table as Peter went to grab plates. Along the way he took off his mask, setting it on the kitchen counter and running a tired hand through his hair. His ribs felt better, but they still nearly killed him when the adrenaline wore off.
Sliding a chipped, well used plate in front of Wade, Peter then began loading goodies onto his own plate. His stomach rumbled in anticipation, and he noticed that Wade had already dug in on the fried rice.
“Dude! You were supposed to wait! This is a holy meal!” Peter complained, his face lax in shock, mouth hanging open as he gaped at the empty hole in the fried rice. Wade just dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin like he was some posh Englishman.
“My apologies, it was calling my name. It said, ‘Deadpool, Deadpool! Eat me!’ and I couldn’t resist that. I’m not the bigger man, I’ll admit that. I enjoyed the fried rice and the way it tasted. Spidey, I’ll tell ya, I haven’t had good Chinese food in far too long. Maybe a couple weeks, and that for me is a real hurdle. I climbed a mountain, Petey-pie, I conquered zeniths , for that fucking bite of rice and it cured me. Obviously I still have horrific skin and no hair, but it cured what’s in here,” Wade pointed towards his heart, slapping his hand over it as he pretended to wipe tears with his other hand. Peter just blinked.
“Keep acting like that and I’ll eat all the goddamn rice.” Peter points his chopsticks menacingly in Wade’s directions, to which the man just threw up his hands in mock surrender before they both started piling food onto their plates and pouring the soup into separate bowls. They ate in relative silence, bursts of conversation accompanying funny mundane things they thought of. Too hungry to do much else, they finished off their meal peacefully and without interruption.
Lumpy and peeling, Peter’s leather couch he’d picked up off the side of the road sat both of them as they loafed off their food comas. Ben 10 played on the TV, courtesy of Wade and his childish taste (“Ben 10 is top tier television! If you make me watch that freak shit like Hannibal one more time, Petey, I’m gonna blow my brains out all over your wood floors!”) while the boxes argued with him in a dull murmur.
Peter enjoyed the background noise, both from the television and from Wade, and found himself smiling comfortably, his eyes hazily settling on Wade. Before he knew it, they’d become closer than anyone Peter had in his life for a while. Since Gwen. Since Harry. Wade, though, Wade always came back. Death could not hold Deadpool down, and for that Peter was grateful.
“I love you, Wade,” Peter stated, said so casually that one might have assumed they were dating. He said them like they were fact– and Peter supposed they were, if he was making proper sense of his feelings.
Wade just stilled, his head snapping to look at Peter, and he muttered something, head lowering before he snapped, “He has to be!” at his left. Yellow must’ve said something to piss him off. Sitting up, the blanket that Peter draped over himself falling to the ground, the mutant spider placed a warm hand on Wade’s leg. Faster than Peter had seen Wade ever move, the larger man moved his head up and slid Peter’s hand off his leg.
“Pete, you can’t–” Wade took a deep breath, his chest expanding with the force of it. He was trying to calm himself down, and Peter suddenly felt very anxious and very bad about saying his feelings out loud. “You can’t joke like that, Peter. I mean, that’s just low-hanging fruit. Mostly everything else is on the table, though. I’ll even let you joke about my cancer, not that I have it anymore, even if this is a bit worse, you can still joke about it. Hell, you can joke about my skin now all you want!”
An expression that Deadpool was not expecting made its way onto Spider-Man’s face, his brown eyebrows pulled harshly together, causing shadows to fall ominously over his eyes. He looked mad but also extremely dejected, like he didn’t quite know what to do. Almost in slow motion, Peter looked away from Wade, his hands coming up to massage his temples.
“Wade,” Peter whispered, his voice drained and tired. Very suddenly did Deadpool feel small , cursing himself for every making his baby boy feel like that. The larger man moved to get up, but a pale, smooth arm shot out to hold him back. “I wasn’t joking. I swear on Aunt May, I love you.”
Only then did he look back at Wade, his head turning so that his brown eyes locked with Wade’s blue ones. Never before did Deadpool know how intense ambers and golds could look, but on Peter they looked beautiful. Scary, but beautiful. The man didn’t know quite how to respond.
“Well– um,” Even the voices had stopped their ramblings, shocked silent by Peter’s confession. Well, double confession; Deadpool still felt bad for acting like it was a joke, but he couldn’t really blame himself. Peter was and always would be too good for him. “Thanks, Petey.”
“Thanks? That’s all I get?” Peter stood up, stepping away slightly from the couch, hands gripping his hair with fervor. “Well, Wade? Do you love me back?”
Wade once again was stunned, mouth agape with no words able to escape as he bit down on air. Slowly did Peter get more anxious, his spidey sense causing his fingers to twitch and clench and his jaw to tick. Arms and legs trembled with energy that he did not have the means to get out as he just stared down at the man on the couch.
“Petey– baby boy– I thought you already knew that,” Deadpool murmured, ears tinged red. “The readers did at least! That has to count for something. I’ve loved you since the minute you weren’t jailbait anymore, Pete. As bad as that sounds I’m going to stick with it, like Pooh Bear to honey. You’re the honey in this analogy and I’m the fat yellow bear with the red shirt. See, red!” Wade points to his suit for added effect, and Peter just purses his lips.
Tears slipped out one by one, plopping unceremoniously onto the shitty hardwood floor that had been so scratched and scraped it looked like a horror movie prop. Wade moved from the couch to the floor, his feet planted firmly as he stood taller than Peter, crowding his space like a protective animal. Strong arms wrapped around the smaller man, securing him to Wade’s chest as they hugged long and hard.
“Thank you, Wade,” Peter sniffled, his tears soaking through Deadpool’s suit. Gentle, scarred fingers brushed Spider-Man’s cheek as Wade separated them both. Blue eyes scanned Peter’s expression, his face. They looked to be counting every eyelash, every freckle Peter had. It made him blush madly, seeing Deadpool so focused and possessed by whatever Peter’s face had to offer.
Soft lips found Peter’s own dry, cracked ones, and he sighed at the sensation. His tears were beginning to dry on his cheeks, their salty taste mingling with the kiss as Wade licked the bottom of Peter’s lips. Opening his mouth, Peter groaned when Wade’s tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, and his teeth nipped at the corners of his lips. Soft whimpers poured from Peter, not used to such ministrations, unsure of what else to do besides kiss back.
A thigh was jutted between Peter’s legs, rubbing against his half hard cock and causing him to let out a loud, airy gasp. Wade smiled against the lips he was feasting on, pleased with the sounds his baby boy was making. It was like a symphony was playing in his ears, the violins accompanied by whines and the cello accompanied by groans. He was interested in what the piano would sound like, the viola– the flutes and the percussion.
What Deadpool didn’t expect was for Peter to begin rutting against Wade’s thigh, head dropping to the merc’s shoulder with a low moan. Wade began mouthing down Peter’s jaw, sucking and biting his neck, digging his canines in so the bruise lasted just that much longer. Peter had a healing factor, and while not as potent and intense as Wade’s, it still had the ability to heal bruises in less than twelve hours. Any marks the former assassin wanted to administer to Peter would fade, but it was still fun giving them away.
“Wade–” Peter huffed, gripping tightly to the red and black leather of Wade’s suit, continuing to ride Deadpool’s thigh like his life depended on it. “Please, Wade, touch me– please.” He brought his head up, both hands unfurling from leather to grab scarred skin, holding Wade’s head firmly in place by his cheeks. He kissed Wade, deeply and passionately, his hands moving lower and lower until he was undoing Deadpool’s utility belt.
With renewed fervor, Wade shimmied out of his pants, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach as he ridded himself of his suit entirely. Peter did the same, bright red and blue mixing with deep red and black. They both looked at each other, completely naked. Wade hadn’t shown anyone all of himself, not willingly. A bob of Peter’s adam’s apple alerted Deadpool to him swallowing, and soon the spider was on Wade, hands wrapping around both of their cocks and moving down harshly.
Both of them let out groans followed by shallow pants that followed the strokes Peter took, and soon Deadpool wrapped his own hands around them. He gathered precum and used it to help lessen the friction, Peter soon relieving his hands of work in favor of grabbing onto Wade’s biceps. They were huge, large enough for Peter to settle comfortably in them as Wade moved them to the couch. Unceremoniously they fell, Wade’s hands never leaving their cocks as he stroked harder and faster.
Peter was babbling then, so close to the edge he could taste it, feeling it warm in his stomach. He tensed quickly, but before he could come Wade removed his hands, causing Peter to gnash his teeth. Fangs had grown in, something that happened when Peter felt overwhelming emotions such as arousal, and they dripped with saliva and poison. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes were nearly completely black, only a thin ring of bronze showing that Peter was still there.
Shocking both Wade and Peter, the smaller man grabbed Wade harshly, using his strength to pull him close and nose at his neck. He was scenting Wade, and it was something that Deadpool had never dreamed Spider-Man would do. It was hot– hotter than Wade expected, and his cock responded earnestly to the rough licks of Peter’s tongue.
“More– need it, now, Wade, now,” Peter growled into Deadpool’s hair, drool sliding wetly down Wade’s skin, pooling in the scarred divots as poison mixed in as well. “Might bite you. Can’t bite. Can’t.”
“Of course you can, baby boy,” Wade cooed him, patting Peter’s fluffy brown hair down, its unkempt waves bouncing back up, the sweat causing the ends to curl. “Go on, bite. Then you can do whatever you want with my cock, okay?” Wade nosed at Peter’s temple, pressing warm kisses to the exposed part of his neck.
Hot breath fanned across the skin of Wade’s neck, and before Wade knew what was happening Peter sunk his fangs in deep, puncturing skin and sucking up blood while pumping Wade full of venom. It made him tingly, a euphoric feeling seeping into his bones and muddling his muscles, causing them to go impossibly lax. Despite all of that, his dick stood at full attention, red and throbbing at the tip.
Peter licked the wound, leaving his own trail of kisses as he ran calloused hands up and down Wade’s body. The spider in him was sizing up his prey, and if Wade didn’t know any better he would think himself already devoured. Each touch of Peter’s skin caused jolts of pleasure to rush through Wade, and he squirmed drowsily beneath his baby boy.
Two fingers were inserted by Peter into his puckered hole, gently easing it open in order to accommodate Wade’s length. Spider-Man used one hand to steady himself on Wade’s chest, the other scissoring himself open. Soon two turned to three, and then to four, Peter whining and salivating on his chest as he hit his prostate over and over again. Not wanting to come without Wade, Peter pulled his digits out and made to line up with Wade.
Luckily his spider habits allowed slick to pool in his hole, a natural, welcomed lubricant, albeit a bit strange. Regardless, Peter uses it to his advantage as he lines Wade up, slowly letting the man fill him up. He reached for Wade’s arm, bringing his wrist to his mouth and biting into Wade’s wrist, injecting more poison and drinking more blood. The more blood in Peter the more precum he released, his arousal almost palpable in the air.
Wade could do nothing more than groan and grunt, his eyes trained on his dick slowly entering Peter. It happened gradually at first until Peter seemed to get fed up with the pace and took all of Wade in him at once, causing the bigger man to choke on air. Peter set a brutal pace, nipping and biting at any flesh he could get his hands on, slamming himself down on Wade.
Sobs and needy moans were all that could be heard from Peter, only silenced by the lapping of his tongue against Wade’s skin. Wade regained some of his strength, his healing factor a blessing, kissing Peter harshly in order to get him to stop pumping him full of poison. Wade gripped Peter’s hips, thrusting in deeply, a shout echoing through the room as Peter tilted his head back.
The sudden, continuous assault on Peter’s prostate had him keening and sobbing, poison and saliva mixing with wet tears as he chanted Wade’s name like a mantra. It caused Wade to thrust harder, go faster, the noises Peter made fueling Wade further. He drank them like nectar, licking his teeth and wanting for more.
Wade began tugging at Peter’s cock once more, causing the smaller man to push him down with his hands, using all of his strength. It stole the air from Wade’s lungs as he heaved a breath in, only having it hitch once more when Peter leaned back, hands using Wade’s thighs as support, before thrusting Deadpool back in. Every time Peter slid down the merc’s cock it hit his prostate, and the man lifted one hand from iron thighs to press the bulge in his stomach.
Groaning deep, Wade could do nothing more but lean back and take it, his climax building readily in his stomach as Peter’s whines became more high pitched and needy. Before long they were both coming, Wade filling his Petey-pie to the brim with his cum, allowing Peter one last bite in his flesh before his fangs retracted and his body went slack.
Just as predicted the spider flopped unceremoniously onto Wade, tired and spent, murmuring sweet nothings into Wade’s chest. He carried them both to Peter’s janky ass bathroom, washing him with a damp washcloth.
When Wade attempted to clean out Peter’s hole the boy sobbed with overstimulation, his spider genes making sex extremely sensitive. He came twice more in the shower, once from Wade fingering all his cum from Peter’s ass, and the second just because Wade wanted him to. By the time they made it to bed it was late and both of them were so spent from the day they fell asleep in a few seconds, cuddled up next to one another.
In the morning Wade made blue and red m&m pancakes, topped with real genuine maple syrup, “
The Canadians do it right, Petey! Never, and I mean
never
have pancakes without this free healthcare maple syrup, okay?
” and for the first time in both of their lives, they addressed each other as boyfriends.