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Peter didn’t drink at all. Not because he didn’t like to, but because it took too much for him to feel the buzz electrify his veins. The ethanol took too long to reach his brain cells in order to make him feel the vibrations because of his fast metabolism. It all felt like a waste of alcohol, if Peter was honest. The amount it took him to feel ever slightly buzzed could knock two men clean off their feet, and he would rather it be them than him.
But Peter’s coworkers had been begging him to join an after-work hang out. He’d managed to find valid enough excuses from time to time, the start of him working at the lab being the worst. He was the newbie, the person to be picked on when it came to liquor. Everyone wanted to see if the new guy could hold his alcohol.
Peter blamed his master’s program. Peter blamed Aunt May and Tony Stark. Peter shifted the focus from after work engagement to something else, but tonight was different. Gwen roped Peter into a project, which led to a presentation, which led to a higher up in the company offering to foot the bill for the team.
And Peter was so close to graduation.
And Aunt May was out on a work trip.
And Tony Stark was off on his honeymoon.
The night started off innocent enough anyway, until the drinking games started. Gwen had hit her limit, her eyes threatening to close at every turn of Peter’s head. There was no way, in Peter’s good conscious, that he could let Gwen polish off shot after shot as the games raged on, so he did it for her. And with twice as much liquor as everyone else, Peter was starting to feel it.
Really feel it.
“’m srry fur talking you inna dis,” Gwen slurred next to Peter’s ear. They were just outside her apartment door, Peter fumbling for her keys to let her in.
“S’ fine,” Peter mumbled.
His fingers felt heavy as he looked at her plethora of keys, half of them being to doors in the lab. He squinted his eyes.
Why the fuck did she have so many? Who the fuck owns this many keys?
Heh. Lesbian’s do.
“Got it!”
He saw Gwen safely inside, marching down the streets of New York to his own apartment. The nighttime sky was a comforting blanket above Peter, the stars shining down just for him. He breathed deeply, swaying gently as he walked down the empty sidewalk. His hands ran across his collar bone, rubbing against the material of his red sweater.
It was his favorite sweater, gifted to him by Aunt May for his twenty fourth birthday. The red matched that of the Spiderman suit, a happy coincidence. Two solid white stripes ran along his biceps and torso, the fit oversized and comfortable. It felt like a giant hug. A home away from home.
Closing his eyes, he took another deep breath, feeling his heart thump quietly against his chest. He was alone on the empty sidewalk, the only noise coming from cars in the distance and the occasional cricket. His arms and legs felt light, but also like thousand-pound weights with every step he took.
Peter didn’t like to drink, but he delighted in the feeling right now. He delighted in the cool, autumn air that danced around him like a calm ocean. He was a lone man at sea, drifting easily into the wide abyss.
Stumbling alone in the dark might’ve scared Peter before he met his closest friend. Before the red suit with blue designs, Peter might’ve opted for taking a bus home, or even the subway, but tonight felt too good to have it end there.
Content.
Peter was content, something he rarely ever got to feel these days.
While the lab was backed up between the NYPD breathing down their neck for evidence and Stark Industries, it was a good busy. A fun busy. But still dreadfully busy. And when Peter spent time with his close friend, either during patrols or to kick alien-ass, he always came home a little battered and bruised. A little worse for wear every time.
But right now, in the crisp night air, Peter was content.
He fumbled in his pocket for his own home keys when he got to his apartment building. Jamming the key in the slot, he opened the door to his darkened living room, his other hand slapping aimlessly against the wall to find the light switch.
Closing and locking the door behind him, he toed his shoes off and placed them neatly by the front door. He hadn’t lived with Aunt May in five or six years, but old habits die hard.
When he was younger, he’d groan in annoyance at having to constantly take his shoes on and off at the threshold of the door to his aunt’s house. He’d pitch a fit and Aunt May would roll her eyes at his teenage angst, chiding him about the shoes regardless.
Peter cracked a smile at the memory, gently swaying into the living room. He ran a hand over his face and through his brown hair, his thigh gently brushing against the back of the couch as he made his way to his bedroom.
Swapping his street clothes for a set of comfy pajamas, Peter wandered back into the living room to the kitchen. His left hand slipped under his pajama shirt, smoothing idly over the skin on his stomach as he thought about what he’d grab.
The thought of a cold glass of water felt like a siren call to his parched mouth. Maybe he’d steal from his snack-stash and munch on a granola bar before bed.
Actually —a grilled cheese sounded amazing.
Flicking on the lights to the kitchen, Peter’s gazed narrowed in on the fridge like a beacon. Nothing would stand in the way between him and his meal.
The metal of the fridge was cold against his fingertips as he slid it open. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet next to it, taking no time to pour the refreshing water from the Brita into the glass.
The moment the water met his lips, Peter groaned a little.
Yes .
This is what he needed.
The fuzzy, chilling sensation the water brought rung throughout his body, small goosebumps littering his upper half. He shivered delightfully at the refreshment, downing half the glass before filling it up again and closing the fridge.
Turning around, Peter was about to grab a pan for his grilled cheese when he froze. Every hair on his body stood up on end, his spider-like senses screaming in distress. Red sirens blared in his mind, every subtle movement from the way his foot twitched on the tile floor beneath him to the cars honking outside seemed way to loud. Way too overstimulating.
On Peter’s kitchen island, a lone white rose lay unmoving.
But it wasn’t just a white rose. Peter wished it was.
The white petals were covered in a glistening red substance Peter had become very used to over his years of befriending Spiderman. Blood.
It wasn’t just speckles either. It looked like the head of the flower had been doused in the plasma, the drips touching his island countertop.
Obviously, Peter hadn’t done this. Peter hadn’t plucked a white rose and bled all over it.
Someone else did this. Someone else had broken into Peter apartment to plant this, but why?
Peter didn’t have any enemies in his civilian life and nobody knew Peter was friends with Spiderman, at least to his knowledge. He was so careful when coming home from a fight, or hell, just patrol. There’s no way some bad-guy would have followed him and slipped inside his apartment unsuspectingly.
Peter felt the glass momentarily slip from his grasp, his brain logging back on so as to not drop the glass and have shards go everywhere in his kitchen. He blinked back to life, his other hand landing on the bottom of his cup as reassurance.
He couldn’t rip his eyes away from the offensive plant, studying its unmoving body.
What the hell was he going to do now?
Peter looked around, nothing else in his apartment seemed to be in disarray. If it was someone connected to Spiderman, no telling what his apartment would look like. The coffee table would be overturned, his laptop sitting on the kitchen table might’ve been smashed or gone, the art on the walls would’ve been trashed or punched through.
And yet, Peter’s apartment remained as immaculate as ever.
Meaning whoever did this, did this to...scare Peter? To make him feel uncomfortable in his own home?
Like hell he would let some good-for-nothing bad guy do that. Peter gripped the glass in his hand with renewed fervor. He would rather be picked apart by flesh-eating bacteria than have someone try to scare him on his own turf.
He sighed, moving to the other side of the kitchen with slow steps. He reached up for the light, turning back to face the bloodied rose one last time. Peter knew he would have to do something about it in the morning.
But for now, he wanted nothing more than to sink into his bed and doze off into oblivion.
“Why so pensive, Spidey?” Deadpool asked, making Spidey flinch only slightly. He doubted that the merc saw.
“No reason,” Spiderman breathed.
He’d parked himself up on a moderately average building to overlook a busy intersection. Though, no one below him seemed to recognize his presence, the pedestrians moving hurriedly back to their homes for the day. The sun was dipping into the horizon, the threat of night creeping up on them.
Spiderman wasn’t surprised by Deadpool’s presence. They’d been...work colleges, so to speak, for the last year. When the job was big enough, or the merc needed someone to talk at, he often times found Spiderman even when he didn’t particularly want to be found.
It wasn’t always so bad. Deadpool would make silly, albeit inappropriate jokes, and Spidey would roll his eyes and try not to egg the other on. They’d catch dinner together on slow nights, usually a food truck parked in close proximity to central park, and tell stories about their past jobs.
But Spidey never offered up information about his personal life to Deadpool. He knew the type of contractual work he did and preferred the merc not know too much about him. Spidey never spoke about the lab, his fondness of his mentor, or about his life before the mask.
Deadpool did though. He talked in length about his life before donning the red suit, about his past love affairs, and about his Hello-Kitty obsession. Spiderman felt like he knew a lot, maybe too much, about the man sitting next to him, and yet the other knew nothing of him.
It was difficult to keep a friend at arm"s length. They’d share these intimate moments when the adrenaline was pumping and the stakes were high, and Spidey would want to form a deeper, more meaningful relationship with the other man.
And yet, he found himself unable.
Had he met Deadpool when he was younger, maybe a little bit more reckless, he would’ve. But now, Spidey had a day job and day friends who would come into harm"s way if he ever toed the line too thin.
The thought of the rose bloomed in his mind, the way it now sat in a dumpster outside of an alleyway, miles away from his apartment building. He thought of how someone would even have been able to do that, let alone why.
Deadpool was a gun-for-hire. Surely, he had done his fair share of stalking a target to scare. A shiver ran up his spine just thinking about it.
“Hey ‘Pool?” Spiderman asked, swinging his head in the direction of Deadpool.
The merc in red turned to look at him, a soft grin lifting the mask a little.
“That’s my name, sweet-cheeks. Don’t ware it out! Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you did. That’d be really hot—”
Spiderman waved a hand in the air, cutting the merc’s words off.
“I—yanno what, nevermind. It’s kind of a stupid thing.”
He moved as if to get up from where he was, but Deadpool reached out and grasped his forearm. Spiderman looked down, the expression on Deadpool’s face being apologetic and charming.
Damn him.
“Nothing is ever stupid with you,” Deadpool said in a serious tone. It was highly unlike him to take such a tone with Spidey, unless he truly meant it. “I mean it. You could tell me to jump off the Chrysler building and I’d do it.”
There it was.
It made the spider feel better, but also a million times worse. What if the merc thought Spidey less than for not being able to sense an attacker? What if he thought his skills as a hero were subpar if a bad-guy was able to invade his personal space so easily?
Or worse, what if Deadpool became worried and tried to break through the walls that Spiderman had carefully built around himself in the name of protection?
But Spidey had already gone and said the words, the sentences sitting between the two cloaked in red like the weight of the world.
“Uh, thanks. I just wanted to run something past you.”
Deadpool let go of Spiderman’s arm, nodding along to the words he spoke. Spiderman let his gaze turn back to the intersection, watching the people below run like a child watching an active ant-farm. His mind whirled with how to explain his dilemma without making it sound too dire.
If Spiderman can stop an alien invasion, an elaborate bank heist, or interdimensional wizards, then surely, he could stop a rogue bugler.
“Let’s just say, hypothetically, if someone broke into your house, how would you deal with it?”
Deadpool kicked his feet out in front of him, humming with intent.
“Well, for starters, no one is breaking into Casa Pool without a death wish and a bullet hole to the skull—”
“Just...hypothetically.” Spidey almost rolled his eyes as he faced the merc, unsurprised with the answer. Deadpool would’ve killed the home invader. Spiderman wouldn’t have done that, Peter wouldn"t have done that, but the perp would’ve been in jail.
The only problem is that he hadn’t been there to witness the break in, he’d been drinking with co-workers and ensuring his friend got home safely. He’d been content, finally having a goddamn moment to himself.
“Okay. Hypothetically, if someone broke into my house, I would find them. And if I couldn’t, I’d find someone who could.”
Spiderman nodded along to Deadpool’s words, mulling them over in his head. The perp hadn’t left very many clues to go off of, other than the bloodied rose. No signs of forced entry, nothing else out of place.
Spidey also wasn’t entirely familiar with finding people who didn’t want to be found. That wasn’t his area of expertise. It was Deadpool’s though...
No. That’d be absurd. No way would Spiderman ask Deadpool to do such a thing. It’d be a huge mistake, blurring the lines between Spiderman and Peter even further than necessary.
“Webs?” ‘Pool asked, snapping Spiderman out of his thoughts yet again.
“Yeah?”
“Is someone...did someone break into your house?”
“Well,” Spiderman twisted the fabric of his suit around his knee, nervously looking anywhere but to the man next to him. “Um, not in a way...I can—”
“ ‘Cause if someone is making you feel unsafe, I would want to know.”
That snapped Spiderman’s head towards Deadpool, a serious expression painted on the man’s face. He was frowning, the space in between his brows scrunching the leather of his mask together. It took Spidey by surprise, never having heard Deadpool speak with such...seriousness?
“I’m not unsafe,” Spidey swallowed. “Someone... did break into my apartment. But I’m not some helpless civilian and I’m certainly not going to let someone make me feel uncomfortable in my own home. I just don’t know what to do.”
Pool nodded slowly, the wheels in his brain turning. His gloved hands rubbed against his thighs and for a moment, Spiderman could feel an emotion blooming in his chest. The fuzzy, warm feeling started in his heart, wrapping around his lungs and giving a gentle squeeze.
For all the times Pool had joked around with him over the time they’d known one another, Spiderman hadn’t ever seen the other this pensive or caring. It felt nice having someone of Deadpool’s caliber worrying over Spiderman in this way. Actually, it felt nice when anyone cared about him inside the suit.
And the feeling shot down his arms when Deadpool continued.
“Do you want me to do something about it?”
“What?”
“Yanno,” Deadpool smirked. “It’s kinda my thing, Webs. I find people like that.”
“Mmmm,” Spiderman bit his bottom lip, mulling Deadpool’s offer over in this mind. “You don’t have to waste your time on me. Plus, I don’t want the fucker to die.”
The merc placed his hand on Spiderman’s thigh, a warm expression growing under his mask.
“You could never waste my time, baby boy.”
The fuzzy feeling in Spiderman’s chest shot directly down to his lower half, a breath getting caught in his throat. It made all the neurons in his brain fire all at once, the spark spreading down every vein and artery.
Spidey was used to Deadpool’s touch, the other taking any opportunity to grab him that he could. He usually brushed if off with a scoff, letting the mental, gay panic only last for so long. But now, feeling the hefty weight of Pool’s hand on his thigh, so close and yet so far, Spidey knew he was in trouble.
He had to go. He had to get out of here and clear his head before the merc noticed his pants start to tent.
“Okay, whatever you want ‘Pool.”
Spidey flicked his wrist, a string of webs thwiping out and attaching to a building. Before he could think twice about it, before the blush crept from his face to his ears, Spiderman swung away from the building.
It took a couple deep breaths to calm him, a small smile becoming etched into his face in the process.
Before climbing in through the window of his apartment, Spidey stopped a mugging and bodega thief. Both instances should’ve left him with a renewed sense of vigor in what he does but the entire time, all he could think about was the weight of Deadpool’s hand on his thigh.
How would it feel going further, pressing hard into his hip to hold him down while the other roamed freely around his body taking whatever it wanted. Searching desperately to give Spiderman what he desired from the man in red.
Now in the comfy space of his bedroom, Peter shed the suit in its entirety and let his mind seep fully into the fuzzy feeling from before. Here he was free to express his wants and desire, even if they stayed between his head and his right hand.
He laid down on his bed, hands running over his body as his mind turned with thoughts of the leather-clad mercenary.
‘ Baby boy ’ echoed between his ears, his hand running down his hip and to his cock, giving two lazy strokes against the hard member. He felt himself come alive under his own touches, his teeth biting down to stifle a soft groan. He squeezed his eyes shut, the voice of his patrol partner sending shivers down his spine.
“Fuck,” Peter mumbled, biting down on his lip.
A couple forceful upward strokes on his cock made his knees draw up, his heels planted against the edge of the bed. Pre-cum smeared down Peter’s shaft adds to the glide, groaning softly. He imagined Deadpool between his spread knee’s, this thick body keeping them apart for Peter.
‘ You fuck your hand so good for me, baby boy ’
It spurs him forward, his hips bucking up to meet his closing fist. More pre-cum spills in his fist. Peter can almost feel the slide of leather against his bare skin, the weight of a gloved hand holding him down.
For a second, Peter’s hand becomes the merc’s. That thought makes his brows furrow, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. It’s this very thought of his friend’s hands on him, the sound of his voice in his head, that makes Peter climax. The feeling shudders through his whole body, his fist jerking the last third of his cock as cum gushes from the tip. He focused the last couple strokes on the head as he comes down from the initial high, quietly whimpering at the slight overstimulation.
When his breathing evens, his hand moving away from his softening member, Peter sighs. It’s not the first time he’s fantasized about Deadpool and it probably won’t be the last. As much as Deadpool teases Peter, making jokes about how tight his ass looks in spandex or the things he’d do if Spidey let him, Peter always feels bad after jerking it to his friend.
He doesn’t want to think of the implications of his actions. He doesn’t want to think of how it may change how he perceives the merc.
So, Peter rolls out of his bed to turn the shower on.
Padding out of his room and into the living room after his shower turns out to be an awful decision. When Peter flicks the light switch, a familiar, gut twisting sensation hits him like a wall of bricks as his eyes wash over the display on his glass top coffee table.
A white rose, covered in blood, with red kisses littered around the head. It looks fresher than the one Peter found before, the blood still bright in color and oozing in viscosity.
Meaning, whoever left it might’ve heard Peter groan as he fucked his hand.
As violated as Peter wanted to feel, as embarrassed as he is with a bright red blush spreading across his chest and up to his ears, a small, sick part of Peter twists with interest. Someone obsessed with Peter might’ve heard him cum, the smattering of kisses all but proving this.
Peter sighs, walking over to the rose and dropping onto the couch to study it. Nine kisses done haphazardly over the glass top, Peter counts. Nine times the person who put this here could’ve left but instead, chose to kiss Peter’s coffee table over and over again.
But why?
Standing from the couch, Peter walked into his kitchen. He missed the fridge, reaching for a cupboard to pull out a giant freezer plastic bag. He knew he’d asked Deadpool, kind of, to help him find the culprit, but Peter wasn’t completely helpless at finding them. He worked as a fucking micro-biologist. He knew people. He knew Gwen. All she did day in and day out was study DNA and sample slides.
Surely, Peter could call in a favor.
He opened the bag, picking up the very end of the stem with his thumb and pointer finger and placing it head first into the bag. He made sure not to touch the blood so it could be tested properly.
Whoever is doing this, is doing it well. Maybe they’re in a database somewhere in the country. Or maybe not, Peter could only hope. He zipped the bag closed, depositing it in the kitchen so he could take it to work with him in the morning.
“Can you test something for me?” Peter asked, leaning against the doorframe to Gwen’s lab. It was on the opposite side of the same floor they worked on. As close as they were, they never got to see each other very much, especially when work was as backed up as it was.
She looked up from her microscope, frowning at Peter despite being excited to see him.
“You’re asking me for personal favors when my docket looks like this?”
Gwen gestured to a stack of papers behind her at least a foot in height. Peter cringed, knowing an exact replica of her pile was in his own office. He knew it’d be a favor, that’s why he phrased it like that. He was just hoping she wouldn’t pry too much into why.
“I know,” Peter sympathized. “I know it’s a lot to ask but it’s kind of important.”
Gwen straightened her spine, narrowing her gaze at him. Peter quickly put his hands behind his back to stop the fidgeting he knew he was probably doing, her gaze narrowing even more.
“Why is it so important?”
Fuck .
“If I tell you that you aren’t allowed to ask too many questions about it and that it’s confidential, does that mean you won’t test it?”
Gwen softened her expression, the tension leaving her face only to be filled with disappointment.
“No,” she said in a defeated tone. “But it worries me that you’d ask something like that. Why can’t you do it if it’s so confidential?”
“Because you’re so much better than I am at this sorta thing!” Peter praised, only stepping a little further into the room. The labs had a very strict policy on who was allowed where and at what time, lest another incident happen again. “Annnd because you have access to things I don’t.”
“Oh my god,” Gwen gaped. Peter closed his eyes tightly, sighing to himself. She’d picked up on something Peter had been hoping to hide— “The criminal database. Peter if you are in danger, talking to me is not going to—”
“No, no, no,” Peter waved his hands in front of him. His eyes wide with alarm, holding in a breath. “I’m fine, Gwen. Really. I just need you to do this...for me.”
The blonde huffed, sticking her elbows into her sides since she couldn’t, in good scientific conscious, cross her arms. Finally, she rolled her eyes and accepted what Peter was saying was true.
She knew him to be of sound body and mind. If he was in trouble, she thought, he would alert the authorities.
“Fine. But I treat you just as I would anyone else! You won’t get the results for at least five to six days.”
Peter smiled, reaching into his pocket and producing a vile of the sample needing testing. He noticed Gwen grimace when she saw the deep red color of the blood, swallowing any thoughts of questions she may have. Confidential and all that.
“Do I...yanno what, nevermind. Get outta here,” Gwen shooed Peter out.
Three days later, Spiderman was on a roll through the streets of New York. It seemed like on this particular day, everyone who’d ever had an impulsive thought of doing something bad was doing it. The poor hero couldn’t catch a break and he swore, sometimes the small stuff outweighed the larger missions.
Fighting magic wizards was one thing, having a singular target to fixate on and nothing else. But fighting a large number of New York amateur criminals back to back to back was another thing entirely.
Spiderman had backed a masked robber into a corner, ready to web him to the brick wall and wait for the cops to arrive. The person under the black ski mask had tried to hold the elderly owner of a jewelry shop up at gun point, only making it four blocks before Spidey caught up to him. The bag of merchandise was dropped in a dumpster the moment the perp knew Spiderman was trailing him.
‘Was no one else out today?’ Spiderman thought to himself as he stepped closer, web shooters ready.
‘Where even was Deadpo—’
A knife sunk into the palm of ski mask, pinning his left hand to the wall behind him. Spiderman paused. He hadn’t done that.
“Webs! There you are!”
Spiderman close his eyes in frustration, sighing at the owner of the voice behind him. Note to self, never think of Deadpool while on the job. He will appear.
“What the hell?” Spiderman threw up his hands, turning to the masked merc. “I had this under control.”
Deadpool smiled ear to ear, sauntering over to Spiderman like the world was made of daisies and sunshine. Not a care in the world.
“I know, I just—”
“Typical...” Spiderman mutter underneath his breath, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with gloved hands.
Deadpool was a mercenary and while this might be obvious, Spidey had to remind himself many times over when something like this happened. The other wasn’t afraid to shed blood, especially at the expense of whoever he was against.
Sometimes it was a person of some capacity deserving of it. Pedophiles, human traffickers, people like that. And sometimes it was a petty robber being tackled by Spiderman.
“Hey, look. I was just trying to help.”
“I know, ‘Pool. But you don’t have to stab a guy just because you can!” The spider opened his eyes, his arms tossing themselves to the sides of his body.
The mercenary rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his demeanor changing the second he opened his mouth again. Like he experienced a moment of uncertainty before resuming normal jauntiness.
“Well, technically I didn’t stab him, my knife did.” Spidey couldn’t help the groan at Deadpool’s words. “But you’re right, sweetcheeks.”
Before he could berate him, Spiderman paused at Deadpool’s words. That was unexpected . Deadpool’s never given up a verbal altercation between them, much to Spidey’s dismay many times.
Why is now different?
And why does it make Spiderman feel odd?
A tug from inside his chest pulled him away from his mixed feeling towards the mercenary. The familiar, time-slowing sensation of danger threaded through his body.
POP !
The noise of a gun at close range wrang through the air next to the two of them, Spiderman’s skin crawling with how loud it was. He turned to the perp, who should’ve been pinned against the wall, but was now collapsed against the ground. Blood oozed from a gash in his side.
When Deadpool threw the knife, the gun that ski mask still had on him must’ve gone off when he moved to try and get away. The smell of gunpowder filled the air, a thin veil of smoke blooming.
The noise drew sirens which drew cops and before he knew it, Deadpool was being shouted at by the responding officers. One had even gotten close enough to start to handcuff the mercenary, Deadpool mouthing off at mach 9000 speed.
“Wait, wait,” Spiderman held up his hands, approaching the arresting officer to the side of Deadpool. “He, surprisingly, didn’t do anything wrong here. I was about to apprehend the guy myself.”
It shouldn’t surprise him that the cops, upon seeing Deadpool, just assumed that he’s the one responsible for the crime at hand, even without any evidence. Spiderman didn’t want to think of how many times they had caught Deadpool in the middle of a situation he knew better than to get involved in.
He didn’t even want to think of the times that he caught Deadpool in the middle of a situation he knew better than to get involved in.
The officer putting handcuffs on Deadpool paused, giving the taller, leather clad man a hard expression. The officer was tall, but still shorter than Spiderman, his distrusting eyes going between the two supers.
“You’re absolutely sure about this?” He spoke with disbelief and honestly, Spiderman couldn’t blame him.
“Yes. The perp robbed ‘Juliet’s Jewels’, dumping the bag of stolen merchandise into a dumpster on 45 th .”
The officer leaned into the radio on his shoulder, murmuring something into it for dispatch. When Spidey’s story was corroborated, the officer let Deadpool go, the ambulance having took the injured perp away long before.
“Heh, thanks for sticking up for me, Webs. It’s funny that the cops always jump to me being the offender in these cases though. I get it, I can get pretty trigger happy, but I’d never just outright shoot someone when you clearly had it handled.”
But you’d certainly stab someone.
Deadpool yapped along as the two headed away from the scene, Spidey falling into step with the taller man.
“So, you’re not mad about almost being arrested?” Spiderman asked, looking to the side.
“Why? Did you like me in handcuffs that much?” Deadpool teased, wiggling his brows down at the spider who huffed in annoyance.
Deadpool certainly had his moments, especially when Spiderman first met him. He could’ve compared him to a deranged psychopath in those first couple months, but much has changed in the time between then and now. Spiderman liked to think that it’s because of him but who’s to truly say what’s going on at all in the merc’s mind.
Though, the image of Deadpool in handcuffs lingered in Spiderman’s mind. He didn’t think he’d mind using them on the merc, if to back him against a wall and use the bigger man anyway he wanted. The thought of Spiderman on his knees in front of Deadpool while he’s unable to do anything but look at him made the spider blush underneath his suit.
He swatted the idea away, not wanting to swing up and away from Deadpool just yet. The night was still young, unfortunately. There were probably many more adventures the two of them would share between now and bedtime for Spiderman. Having tented pants might ruin that and Spidey was not about to have that happen.
“What’s got you so quiet? Are you picturing it?” Deadpool asked after a moment. Spiderman looked up confused, wondering how long they’d be walking in silence for.
“What?! No —it’s nothing,” Spiderman admitted. It was close enough to the truth.
“That intruder still buggin’ you?”
Spiderman nodded, liking the outcome of that conversation more than the thoughts that had truly been plaguing his mind just then.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I might have the upper hand in this, even if I don’t know who it is yet.”
Deadpool cheered and patted Spiderman on the back a little harder than maybe he meant to.
“Good for you! What’s the lead?”
Spiderman crossed his arms and held his head up high.
“I can’t tell you!”
“What!? Why not?”
Spidey smiled, his wrist flicking to ready his web shooter.
He wasn’t going to tell Deadpool what his lead was, even if he was supposed to be helping him. Spidey just wasn’t ready yet to involve Deadpool into his life like that yet, even if he felt cowardly doing it. He wanted to let Deadpool in. He wanted to make something more of whatever this was they had going on.
But he felt too comfortable in this secrecy.
He wanted to keep his strict divide intact for as long as he could. Disclosing his identity now would be cutting it shorter than it could’ve been.
“Because. I bet I can beat you to central park.”
Deadpool took the excuse of changing the subject, settling his hands on his hips.
“What’s on the table?”
“Dinner.”
Deadpool winked, the promise of food luring him into Spiderman’s trap.
“Your ass, as amazing as it is , is grass, baby boy.”
Spiderman couldn’t help it if when he swung from the side of a building seconds later, the mercenary’s words looped themselves over and over again in his mind. He would never disclose to anyone that the nickname made a fire light in his chest, making him feel like oozing lava inside. Not even the intruder, the person responsible for sneaking in and out of his sacred and safe space, could know the depths in which he felt.
Over the next couple of days, every time Peter came home from work there was a sacrificial rose in his apartment smeared in blood. He’d gotten used to the calling card, sometimes paired with a drawing of a heart in the red substance or a litany of kiss marks. It was a little morbid, getting used to the sight of a very obvious breaking and entering, but what could he do? Not go to work?
The city of New York didn’t deserve to suffer because Peter couldn’t catch a criminal.
What he hadn’t gotten used to was the additions to the rose that slowly found their way into his space. A haul of new groceries he 100% did not purchase ending up in his fridge. A new, very expensive bottle of wine in his pantry. A fresh, unbloodied, bouquet of flowers in a vase on his kitchen table arranged with care.
There was even a new leather computer bag hanging from his coat rack next to the front door.
For a moment, Peter wondered if his intruder was actually a friend and not a person set out to scare him. But if that were true, why didn’t they just talk to Peter about it? Was he so scary and intimidating that his friends didn’t feel comfortable coming to him with their thoughts and feelings?
Was that the message? Was it a judgement on him?
If he asked Gwen, she’d laugh in his face. There was very little the woman was afraid of, least of all was Peter. She’d say he was being ridiculous and shoo him away so she could worry about actual problems.
Peter outside the suit, he thought, was anything but intimidating. He never even corrected servers when they brought the wrong food to him, choosing to stick it through than tell them they got it wrong. He’d rather stab himself with a fork than inconvenience an innocent customer service employee.
But still, Peter couldn’t think of anyone in his life who wasn’t loud and forthright with their opinions and thoughts. And it had to be someone he knew. Who else would leave a rose, a symbol of love and adoration, covered in blood and pair it with more conventional gifts other than someone that Peter knew?
It would be less likely to be someone Peter had never met before, someone completely unknown to him. No, it had to be someone from his day job, who knew him to be Peter Parker and not Spiderman. No one, Peter thought, would do this if they knew he was the masked super.
He didn’t let this new development stop his life, he simply wouldn’t allow it. If this intruder wanted to keep stocking his fridge and leaving small treats along the way, Peter was nothing but a bystander to the event. He had bills to pay and civilians to help in his day job.
“Hey Peter,” Gwen had knocked on his office door halfway through the work day on Wednesday.
He looked up and smiled at her, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her lab coat was open, probably just returning from lunch of a meeting.
“What’s up?”
“Your special case is next on my docket.” Gwen chirped from the threshold. “I don’t know how long it will take, if it pulls anything at all. Expect results sometime next week.”
Peter’s grin widened as he nodded his head, thanking his friend for the favor. He watched as she walked away, his mind spinning a web of theories as to who might ping the databases Gwen had access to. Though, he doubted anything would pop up.
If his newest theory about the perp being someone he knew, they might not pull anything at all. How many people did Peter know in his civilian life that would be in any databases? How many went to jail?
Hardly anyone came to mind immediately.
He continued on with his day, unable to make his mind completely shut down that train of thought. It wasn’t until later when he was swinging through the city skyline with his friend Spiderman that he was able to hear nothing but static through his head. Nothing but the thrum of the city beneath him.
‘ 10-32. ALL UNITS NEEDED ON HIGHWAY 12. SUSPECT DRIVING A BLACK SEDAN WITH HOSTAGES IN THE BACK. I REPEAT, 10-32 ALL UNITS NEEDED ON HIGHWAY 12. ’
That sprang Spiderman into action, switching his course with his web shooters for highway 12. It’d been a while since he pursued anyone in a car, the adrenaline of having to keep up with a fast-moving vehicle being one that he secretly enjoyed. It really put his webs and dexterity to the test.
When he found the suspected car being tailed by at least five or six cop cars, he began his mad dash. Swinging from building to building till he could get a good hold on the highways tall ramped sides. He could feel his heart in his throat, the thrill of bearing down on the perp inching closer and closer to the super.
Getting close enough to the black car, Spiderman shot a web out, sticking himself to the hood of the car. When he landed on the hood, the car jostled slightly under his weight, alerting the driver that someone or something was on it. A gun stuck out the driver side window, rogue bullets being fired around where they thought Spiderman was.
He was able to dodge the bullets, most ending up flying nowhere near him. He ducked down anyway, sticking himself flat against metal. Crawling down the back, Spiderman carefully avoided the rear window, in fear of the bullets being shot through the glass.
He’d taken bullets before when the protective layers of his suit failed. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to, unfortunately. He just hated digging the shell casings out with pliers in the early hours of the morning.
Spiderman had graduated from the Tony Stark school of ‘ figuring your wounds out on your own ’ and only ever asked for help when it was completely and utterly necessary.
Like when he got shot in the back.
No, Spiderman avoided the glass for the sake of the hostages inside the car. The last thing he needed to be battling was a madman with a gun and shattered glass as he rescued civilians in the back of the car.
Sticking to the underside of the still moving car, Spiderman worked to open the latch of the hood. He fought against the latch and wind-resistance but was finally able to unlock the trunk of the car. Just when he was crawling inside, ready to web the perp"s hands to the wheel in order to rescue the people inside, the sound of an engine roaring next to the car snapped his attention.
A different, more deranged madman with a gun zoomed next to him in a car.
“Deadpool?!” Spiderman shouted through the fast-moving winds, his brows drawn together.
The man in the car said something Spiderman couldn’t understand, even with the window rolled down. Spidey shrugged, and rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the man in the car that was surprisingly able to keep up with the one Spiderman was sticking to.
He continued on with his mission, crawling into the trunk and kicking the back in with his feet. The material gave way under Spidey’s super-strength, unveiling the inside of the car to him.
The driver was shocked, letting out a string of expletives as he tried to keep his focus on the road but also on the spider crawling through his backseat. Spidey-senses rang through the super"s body, webbing the perp’s hands to the wheel before the gun from before could be pulled.
On either side of Peter, two trembling people gazed wide-eyed at him. Sometimes, the hostages gave Spiderman the same terrified look that they gave their captor and he tried not to take too much offense to it. They’ve been through more than they should’ve every time, and in the heat of the moment, it might be hard to distinguish one from another. Especially when masks were involved.
He moved the two of them to the trunk, flicking his wrists to use his webs as padding. If the car hadn’t still been moving so fast, Spiderman would’ve tried to get them to safety and far away from their captor. But as the car next to them with Deadpool inside roared along, Spiderman knew they’d be okay in the very back.
Locking eyes with Deadpool, Spiderman was unsure what his plan was. The mercenary gave him a solid thumbs up, which did nothing to comfort Spidey. Maybe it was wrong to have trusted him so much. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe—
The engine roared, the car next to him zooming forward. The nose of the car crashed against the driver"s side of the black sedan. A string of curse words echoed from inside, Spiderman holding himself and the hostages tightly together to brace for impact.
Deadpool’s car screeched terribly, like a bulldozer crying for help against a landslide. But it slowed the momentum of the car Spiderman and the hostages were in, the front passenger side grinding into the highway wall. Spiderman felt the impact the most, hugging the civilians as close to him as he could. He could see the blue and red sirens from the conglomeration of cop cars closing in on them, a moment of relief flooding him.
However, it was but a moment.
The cars slowed enough for Deadpool to open his driver side door, tucking and rolling out of it. The smell of burning rubber and metal hit Spiderman first, the spike in temperature coming second. Something was on fire, probably the car he was currently in. The people in his arms needed out and they needed out now.
The mercenary stood, arms out and beckoning. Spiderman didn’t have time to question anything, let alone think of something else himself. He picked up the person to his left with his super strength, sending them flying through the air. For a moment, he wondered if Deadpool meant to catch the person wrapped in Spiderman’s webbing, or if Spidey had just imagined it.
Whatever the case was, Spiderman had just enough time to watch the mercenary do exactly that before picking up the second civilian and making a jump for it.
It was a rough landing, Spiderman not entirely used to having another person attached to him without his web shooters deployed. He took the brunt of it though, the tops of his knees no doubt bleeding underneath his suit.
But he couldn’t feel the burn. He was too concentrated on the person in his arms, on the person in Deadpool’s arms, on Deadpool. The responding officers took the civilians away, cutting away the webbing and wrapping them in blankets, leading them to an ambulance to be checked out. They also cuffed the perp as he excited the on-fire car, trying to escape before they noticed.
In the wake of an accident in the middle of highway 12, Spiderman was left sore and injured, but adrenalized beyond belief.
“How?” He asked, looking over at the taller man besides him. “How did you know?”
Deadpool chuckled, looking at Spiderman with an expression he couldn’t quite read. That was a first for the two of them.
“I heard a police scanner. I figured you’d be here and if not, well, I have to do some good things throughout the year. How else do you think I end up on Santa’s good list?”
Two of those things were a lie, Spiderman thought. Deadpool usually does good things throughout the year, but chooses some bad things every once in a while. Like he said, had Spiderman not been here, Deadpool still would’ve saved the day. He has some goodness in his heart.
But not enough to land himself on Santa’s good list.
“Thank you for helping. I feel like I don’t say that enough,” Spidey fidgeted with his hands, trying to be as sincere as he could be.
Deadpool grew stiff for a moment, eyes as wide as saucers. Slowly he nodded, looking away from Spiderman like he’d been embarrassed. But that’s impossible. For all that Spiderman has said to him, and for all he has said to Spiderman, nothing should ever make Deadpool embarrassed.
“Well, I better go,” Spiderman looked around, the police on the scene having covered most of the area. “I have some narly scrapes after jumping out of a moving car.”
Spiderman turned to leave, a hand landing on his wrist before he could thwip away.
“Here,” Deadpool pulled a small packet from his belt. He placed it in Spidey’s gloved hand before the other flipped it between his fingers.
“What is this?” Spidey asked.
“It’s a healing balm. It’s like Neosporin™ but three times stronger.”
Spiderman bit his bottom lip, inspecting the packet. It was white, nothing printed on either side in regards to name, ingredients, irritants, nothing.
“Should I be concerned why there isn’t FDA label on this?”
“Nope!”
Spiderman smiled underneath the mask, nodding along to Deadpool’s logic. What the hell, sure . He’s put weirder things into his body. If the spider bite didn’t kill him, this anti-bacterial won’t either.
“Thanks,” Spidey said, gesturing with the blank packet. Deadpool nodded back at him, the two splitting ways amongst the sea of blue and red.
As he swung back home, Spiderman mulled over the events of the evening.
Deadpool had saved those two hostages today. Had the merc not been in the car, had he not known Spiderman well enough to think that he’d be there helping those people, Spidey didn’t entirely know how he’d have done it.
Typically, Spiderman likes to assess the situation and plan accordingly but because life is but a dream, he doesn’t always get that. Sometimes he has to do things that might feel wrong in the moment, things that scream danger, in order to make it out alive. Spiderman learned long ago that he had to afford himself grace in those moments, he had to allow for some mistakes to happen in the heat of an altercation.
But nothing drastic had happened, nobody lost a life today, because Deadpool was there with a car and had very little self-preservation.
Spiderman was thankful.
But Peter, bandaging up his wounds, wished his friend had tried a little harder to not get himself hurt. He applied anti-septic and cringed through the burn. He cleaned the area and, with hesitant hands, applied the mysterious balm Deadpool offered. Wrapping gauze over his poor knees and elbow, Peter crawled into bed exhausted.
He slumped into his sheets, bone-tired. Still, Peter’s mind replayed the night. The determination on Deadpool’s face through the car window. The generosity he had for the spider. Peter went to sleep with a warm feeling lacing his heart.
“Did you try the balm?”
“Yes, actually! It worked like a charm, where did you get it?”
“I know some people. I’ll make sure to get you some next time I’m Woodrow.”
“You get that stuff from Staten Island?! ”
“Pump the breaks on the hate train, baby boy. Unless you don’t want any more of the good shit.”
“Fine.”
Peter tried not to see his friend on worknights, keyword is ‘tried’. But on Tuesday night the next week, Peter decided to stay in. His body had healed itself from the car wreck he put himself through a couple days ago so he wanted to savor the time before he had to go out and bloody himself all over again.
He flicked on the lights and toed his shoes off by the front door, as was his routine. He shrugged off his computer bag, still with the new leather scent on it. One sleeve at a time, he tugged his sweater off and placed it on a hook next to the door.
When he moved his bedroom, he found a white rose sitting quietly on his desk. The dark smattered in liquid he was used to seeing on the petals was instead drawn in the shape of a heart next to the flower, four lines smeared across the front of his desk. Like the person had run their hands along the wood, inspecting Peter’s bedroom.
This was the first time the intruder had adventured into Peter’s bedroom, usually leaving their calling card on the coffee or dining table. This felt more... intimate , Peter thought. This person, whoever they are, was growing bolder in their advances within Peter’s space.
For the first time since Peter found the first rose on his kitchen island, he thought the act was alluring.
A single rose growing into groceries, wine, and other essentials were more domestic than anything else. More friendly.
This? A rose in his bedroom with a heart drawn in blood?
Peter thought, no knew , that this calling card was different. This was sensual, inviting even. Whoever it is had a crush on Peter and they wanted him to know.
He felt a rush start in his wrists, zinging itself up his arms and into his belly. It was kind of hot, Peter had to admit. Someone is going through all the trouble, and money, to woo him. Granted, it was in the weirdest, most batshit insane way possible, but it was still wooing.
And wooed he was.
Peter started the shower, hot and steaming. He felt the spray of warm water against his back, his forehead pressing into the polarizingly cold tile. He stroked himself once experimentally, his cock jumping to life.
In his imagination, Peter felt the intruder behind him, grasping at his hips to keep him planted in the shower. Fingers dug in hard enough to leave marks, spurring Peter further. He could imagine their hot breath lace around the shell of his ear, their dark and deep voice saturating his nerves.
‘ You’ve been looking for me. Well, here I am. ’ The intruder would say just low enough for Peter to hear. ‘ And look at you, touching yourself to the thought of me. The things I could do to you...and you’d let me. You know you would. ’
Peter arched his back, his fingers tightening along his shaft as he pumped himself harder. He was so slick, whether from his own pre-cum or from the steaming water, he couldn’t tell. But the unholy shluck emitting from him as he stroked himself made him that much hotter.
Suddenly, the fingers digging into him in his imagination were gloved, familiar red leather pressing into his warm flesh. He could almost feel the clothes erection behind him, his backside trying to push into something that wasn’t there.
Why is the intruder Deadpool?
Maybe it’s because the merc had been on his mind these last couple of days?
Or maybe, just maybe, Peter wished it was Deadpool that was sneaking into his apartment, leaving bloodied roses in his bedroom.
“God, fu— ”
Peter finished in his hand, thinking about Deadpool sneaking into his apartment and his fantasy. He squeezed his eyes shut, stroking everything out of him to the brink of overstimulation. His breath was hot against the tile wall as he watched with slitted eyes as the proof of his darker, more deranged side washed down the drain.
The hot water slowly became more room-temp, cautioning Peter to finish his shower unless he wanted to be doused with the colder alternative. He carded his hands through his hair, quickly lathering the shampoo just to rinse it out. Shutting the shower off, Peter dried himself off with a towel and walked back into his bedroom.
Warm and bliss-ridden, Peter flopped onto his bed and let his wet hair dangle off the edge. His skin tingled with the afterglow of both an orgasm and steaming water, contentment ringing through his body.
Content.
Peter was content.
So much so that he didn’t remember falling asleep like that, but he woke up some hours later to his apartment bathed in darkness. The towel from earlier was still wrapped around his waist, his hair in between damp and dry.
He didn’t remember turning the lights off before he accidentally dozed into sleep.
Just then, a shuffling noise grabbed his attention. Time froze for just a second, his entire body jolted with a sense of caution. His spidey-senses alerted him about something as he laid on his bed in the dark, unsure of what was going on outside of his bedroom.
The intruder.
Maybe they hadn’t anticipated Peter being home and chose to come now. Maybe the quiet shuffling just outside of his bedroom door was in fact the person responsible for the bloodied roses and the gifts.
Or maybe it was a rogue raccoon scratching at his window, inflicting damage that his landlord would eventually use against him when it came to getting his security deposit back.
Either way, Peter was not going into this with just a towel draped along his waist. As quietly as he could, so as not to disturb the potential perp, Peter donned a pair of flannel pajama pants and a loose fitted t-shirt.
Nerves wracked through him as he inched closer to his bedroom door, the shuffling becoming increasingly louder. It sounded like something being dragged across his wooden floors, something with some heft to it.
Okay then. No raccoon.
Peter’s phone softly vibrated on his bed, like he’d received a text message. He’d read it later, though the idea of bringing his phone with him might be useful.
If it was his intruder and it was someone he didn’t know, he should call 9-1-1. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have them on speed dial in case of emergency.
Peter flicked his webs out, catapulting the phone to him. He dropped it softly in his pants pocket, resuming the mission at hand.
Turning the doorknob, the cold metal hissed against the nerves clouding Peter’s palm. How could he be as confident as his friend Spiderman and yet buzz with nerves as Peter?
The mask.
Maybe.
His living room was dark when he peeked around the corner, but there was definitely movement illuminated by the window next to his couch. Someone was in his apartment.
Peter reached for the light switch, mentally preparing himself for whatever the brightness brought. But what he found, he didn’t think he’d ever be prepared for.
Deadpool was in his living room, his hand covered in blood and a puncture wound to the chest. Collapsed on the floor next to his feet was a person completely unknown to Peter dressed in black civilian clothes. They were still breathing, but unconscious. The window was open ajar, a small breeze from the outside filtering in. A bloody knife was tossed against the wall next to the window.
What the fuck .
“Uh-oh,” Deadpool crooned, letting the body next to him drop completely to Peter’s floor. “So sorry for the noise. Caught this dude sneaking through your window and figured I’d get him out before you woke up.”
Peter nodded his head, his mouth opening and closing as he was unsure of what to say. Deadpool had no possible way of knowing who he was, did he? This was how he talked to most people, right?
He could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest, threatening to get caught in his throat. This wasn’t panic. Peter knew what panic felt like. Panic felt like being caught stranded in a raging storm, lightning zapping the very ground next to you with no way out. Panic felt like suffocating in a house on fire.
This wasn’t panic.
But it still wasn’t great.
Again, Peter nodded slowly and took a step back. Then another. Then another.
He was almost to his kitchen, the light having also been shut off.
When did he do that?
“I’ll —uh, be going now.” Deadpool started to pick up the man next to him, opening the window and shoving the front half of the unconscious civilian out and onto the fire escape. He looked back at Peter, a hint of remorse breaking through the mask. “I’m...I’m sorry.”
Peter didn’t know why Deadpool was apologizing. Was it because he felt bad for also breaking into his apartment? Did he leave a mess somewhere for Peter to find later?
None of that entirely mattered to Peter at this moment, turning to walk into his kitchen to get a glass of water. He shouldn’t turn his back to the mercenary, especially when he was inside Peter’s apartment. But Peter couldn’t talk, something he wanted to blame on his parched throat and not his frazzled mind.
Then it got worse.
Flicking on the lights to the kitchen, Peter saw the infamous calling card that’d been haunting him for the last couple weeks. A singular rose, fresh, covered in bright, fresh blood was positioned on his kitchen island, a heart smeared next to it.
Was the man Deadpool dragging away his intruder?
If so, Peter had to hightail it after the mercenary, needing to know who it was who’d been stalking him for weeks. He needed to move; he needed to find out —
Buzz. Buzz.
Peter’s phone vibrated in his pocket again, an incoming text alert. He knit his brows together, fishing the phone out of his pants pocket. This text should be the last of his concerns right now. The man breaking in, the calling-card, the Deadpool. All much more pressing things to be concerned about.
But it was late into the night. Who could be texting him.
Gwen: I don’t know why you needed this tested.
Gwen: I know it’s confidential and I trust you Peter but this is scary.
Gwen: I ran it and the blood belongs to Wade Wilson.
Gwen: just please, please tell me you’re alright.
Wade Wilson.
Where had Peter heard that name before? It sounded so familiar, like someone he knew. He knew it had to be! Wade.... Wade Wilson ....
‘ Umfph ,” from his living room caught Peter’s attention, his eyes flickering back to the bloodied rose. He looked around his kitchen. On the end of the counter closest to the kitchen entrance Peter was standing in, where three white unlabeled packets similar in size and shape to the ones Deadpool had given Spiderman during their last high-stakes fight.
The packets on his counter.
The blood-soaked hand.
The name Wade Wilson.
Everything snapped into place for Peter just then, the answer to the question that’d been plaguing him for weeks finally having been answered.
Deadpool —Wade— wasn’t saying sorry for causing a ruckus at night and waking Peter up. Wade was sorry for breaking into Peter’s apartment most nights for the last couple weeks. Wade was sorry for getting caught in the act.
At first, anger bubbled to the surface.
Deadpool somehow knew where Spiderman —Peter— lived and what he looked like, a huge invasion of his privacy. Peter had been very clear whenever the topic of identity came into conversation, how adamant he was about keeping it to himself. And yet, here he was. Dragging a body out of his apartment after leaving bloodied roses day after day.
Deadpool had been lying to him when he brought up the break in the first time and every time after that. He knew it was him and instead of owning up to it, he acted like he would actually help Peter with his problem.
Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Deadpool saw Peter sneak into his apartment in the suit and put two and two together. But then why not tell him? Why not come clean about it?
Like a bucket of cold water being doused on him, Peter remembered the rose in his bedroom. He remembered thinking that whoever this was, was trying to flirt with him in their own sick and twisted way.
It felt intimate.
It felt meaningful.
Maybe Deadpool knew Peter as Spiderman wouldn’t take him seriously if he just up and confessed his feelings for him, especially with the amount of teasing he did.
The sadness crept in as Peter slowly started to realize that Deadpool didn’t feel safe enough with Peter to tell him of how he truly felt about him. Instead, he resorted to the roses and occasional gifts of essentials he noticed Peter was falling behind on.
Peter thought he’d be terrified when this moment happened, when the bridge between him and his friend in the suit would solidify at his identity being known to someone. He thought that when the band aid was finally ripped off, that it would truly be the end of the world as he knew it regardless of if he was in charge of that decision or not.
But nothing had changed.
Wade knew Peter’s true identity for some unspecified length of time and nothing had changed. The sun didn’t catch fire to the world below, pictures of him outside of the suit weren’t plastered on every newspaper NYC had to offer.
The world churned on as normal.
Peter’s life, save for the roses and panicked texts from Gwen, stayed par for the course.
Maybe this was really, truly, okay. Maybe he didn’t have to fight so hard to maintain his secrecy.
Or maybe Peter had always been okay with the idea of the red-leathered mercenary forcing his way into his life whether he had a say or not.
He thought back to just before he passed out on his bed. How he ran a hot shower and got off to the idea of Wade’s leather clad body behind him, whispering dirty words of temptation. Had Wade been there to hear him touch himself? Had he been waiting silently behind the closed door, listening to Peter climax to the idea of him?
Call it sick.
Call it twisted.
But Peter had to take a deep breath to center himself, blood rushing south in his body at the memory.
He put the phone back in his pants pocket, turning on his heels to re-entered the living room. By now, Deadpool —Wade— already had the man fully on the fire escape, ready to make his grand exit.
But he wasn’t about to get away that easy.
“Wade?” Peter called, his voice gracing the late-night air for the first time.
This was the first time Peter had ever used Wade’s real name and, of course, it was when he was dragging a body out of Peter’s apartment.
Again, his life was going pretty par for the course.
The mercenary paused as he crossed the threshold, the eyes of his mask going wide in reaction. He understood that neither Peter nor Spiderman had ever called him by his real name, even if it was easy to find and well known. Deadpool didn’t exactly fall under the same guise of anonymity that Spiderman did, but Peter never really looked into him like that. He chose to respect the relationship the two of them shared when they worked together.
Wade clearly hadn’t.
“What happened tonight?”
“Well — like I said before, I caught this guy sneaking through your window. I wanted to stop him before I disturbed you or before he did any real damage to your place. Ya’know the average thief today is pretty messy — just rippin’ and tearin’ into anything they can get their hands on —”
Peter nodded, stepping closer to Wade.
“Right, right. How did you catch him sneaking through my window?”
“I —uh, happened to be in the area.”
Wade straightened his spine, his hands planting themselves on his hips. From here, Peter could see the perfect sculp of his biceps and forearms carved by the light from just outside his apartment. He knew Deadpool was built like that from before, but seeing it under the new lense of intense lust made his knees weak.
But he fought to keep himself together.
“You happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
Another step.
“Yep,” was all the mercenary could say as he swallowed, watching Peter move closer to him.
“Did you happen to see how the man got into my apartment? The window is usually locked and it doesn"t look broken.”
“Well, he...um—”
“ And...” Peter looked around the floor as he stepped closer yet again, his eyes drifting back to Wade. “The knife over there is probably how you got that wound on your chest. But how did he get your hand that badly? Aren’t you a skilled fighter?”
Incriminatingly, Wade moved his bloodied hand behind him, almost like it’d erase itself from Peter’s mind. Or, like he was ashamed of it. Like a child caught with the cookies from the cookie jar.
Peter took a final step, his body mere breathes away from touching red leather. He had to look up at the anti-hero, his brown eyes searching for something in Wade’s. He hoped Wade was blushing just as hard as Peter imagined he was, his entire focus being on the man in front of him and the glaringly obvious truth.
He reached out, Wade’s breath hitching when he thought Peter was going to touch him. Instead, his hand missed the mercenary altogether, choosing to touch the glass and pulling the window shut, locking him and Wade inside.
Peter and his masked intruder.
The man outside could be delt with later.
“Did you know your DNA is in the New York City’s criminal database?”
Wade’s face dropped, a look of embarrassment spreading beneath the mask. Peter looked further, a smile beginning to turn on his lips. He’d caught Deadpool red-handed, literally, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
“Spidey —look,”
Wade dropped to his knees in front of Peter, the eyes of his mask big and pleading. The motion took Peter by surprise, backing up slightly to allow Wade the room. He actually looked remorseful for his actions, the burden of what he’d been doing behind Spiderman’s back probably weighting on him like a ton of bricks.
But Spiderman wasn’t here.
Peter had to remind him of that.
“ Shh shh , he’s not here right now. I am. And you want to know what I think?”
Wade eyed Peter’s hand, drifting through the air to land on top of his head. He stroked the leather softly, Wade nodding along to Peter’s question.
The man could almost laugh. The merc with a mouth rendered speechless at his approach.
Maybe Peter was a little intimidating.
“I think you’ve been working so hard to take care of your baby boy. I think you deserve some recognition, some kind of reward. Does Daddy want his reward?”
The groan expelled from Wade beneath Peter’s hand was sinful, eliciting something evil inside the other man. Peter had fantasized about Deadpool’s affectionate name for him and how it’d sound as he thrust into him from behind, wrapping his gloved hand over his cock. Now, with the way Wade’s head threatened to lull underneath Peter’s hand, he had confirmation that he wasn’t the only one to do so.
Peter’s fingers began to play with the hem of Wade’s mask, a silent look of a plea down at him. Wade paused, but nodded anyway, the leather slipping up and off his head entirely.
He’d seen Wade’s skin before when they’d eat food, or when his suit was torn in various places during a fight. He knew Wade was covered in divots and scars from a time before he knew Spiderman. He didn’t care.
Big blue eyes looked up at him with the most adoration he thinks he’s ever seen before and all for him. Wade was beautiful.
And desperate, his face searching Peter’s for a sign for them to continue.
When Peter smiled down at him, Wade’s hands where on his legs making him fall backwards and onto the floor of his living room. Peter caught himself on his elbows, startled by Wade’s sudden dominance.
“You’ve been such a good boy,” Wade hummed, crawling up Peter’s body. He stopped, his face the closest it’s ever been to Peter’s. “Tell your Daddy what you need.”
Peter bit his bottom lip trying to conjure up a thought, any thought really. He could feel every thump of his heart against his chest, every particle of blood rushing like lightning in his veins. The small puff of breath between Wade’s words made Peter’s senses do backflips, his fingers digging small crescent moons into his palms.
“ You. I need you, Wade.”
There wasn’t a fact in the world more true, Peter thought, than that. He’d envisioned Wade so many times in his head, more times than he wanted to admit. He’d secretly even hoped that his intruder was Wade simply for the fact of being caught like just now. Peter, honestly, couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been.
Wade smiled a devious smile, his non-bloodied hand running up Peter’s pajama covered thigh. He squeezed at his hip, moving impossibly closer. His lips brushed over Peter’s as he spoke.
“What do you say?”
Peter could almost whine, every hair on his neck standing on end. He sunk fully to the floor, his eyes rolling back as he felt the back of his head rest against hardwood.
“Please.”
“Please, what?”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
“Please Daddy,” Peter made sure to say while looking Wade in the eyes.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby boy.”
Peter smirked at the confidence of the man on top of him. He’d hoped for all the trouble Wade had caused him, all the mental gymnastics really, that he would hold up this promise.
“You better.”
Wade closed the gap, kissing Peter like a man lost in a desert for years finally being gifted water to drink. Peter closed his eyes, moaning at the contact. Wade’s lips were textured but heavy against his own, making his hips move with need.
Bucking upwards in search of friction got Peter nowhere, Wade’s chest moving away from him.
“So needy for me,” Wade cooed.
Peter fought a pout, needing to be rid of so many clothes between him and Wade. And almost like he could read his mind, Wade snuck his free hand up Peter’s shirt, teasing the skin on his belly with his fiery touch.
“I was so worried,” Wade said in between kisses to Peter’s mouth and chin. “So worried that I might’ve scared you. I just knew—I never thought—”
“I know,” Peter drew back and held Wade’s face with both hands, his brown eyes so close to Wade’s baby blues. “I know, Wade.”
And he did, but Peter couldn’t think about that right now. He’d mull it over after, his mind too busy following Wade’s heated touch up his chest.
Peter’s shirt was tossed to the couch besides them, his bare back meeting the floor with a little haste. The air knocked out of him but he quickly popped his head up to look down his body at Wade, who was hooking his fingers into Peter’s waist band and pulling.
Cool air hit his exposed skin, a bubble of desire ringing through him as Wade eyed his body with a hungry stare. It’s like he didn’t know where to look first, so Peter whined and pressed his hips into the floor.
“Too many clothes, Wade.”
Wade’s gaze met Peter’s, a new, feral expression Peter had never seen before upon him. Then he was reaching behind him, undoing clasps that held some of his arsenal of weapons together. He zipped the front of his suit open, unbuckling his belt to free his lower half.
As he undressed, Peter watched as he exposed new skin. Wide expanses of chest and abs he’d never seen before. But the bulge in Wade’s suit drew Peter’s attention even more. If he was anything like what Wade had bragged excessively about, he’d be the biggest Peter would’ve had, or even seen, in his life. And he watched Wade’s cock spring out from his suit, dropping down with weight.
Peter swallowed hard, his eyes raking back up Wade’s form.
Unable to stop himself, Peter dragged Wade down to him, needing to feel Wade’s body against his own. It was too much and also not enough just looking at him. He needed to touch and feel the weight of the other man.
And he did. Each slide of textured skin against his own soft form felt like a jolt of bliss through Peter. He couldn’t help grinding himself into Wade, couldn’t help the desperately pathetic noises trickling out of him.
“ Fuck— so good for me,” Wade gritted out through his teeth.
Wade’s hands found purchase along the ground, caging Peter into his larger frame. He hissed through his teeth as one of Peter’s hands clung to his shoulder, the other trying to wrap around both of their cocks dripping with precum. But Peter’s hand was too small to jerk them both together.
Peter let out a groan when Wade moved away from him, his head moving down his body to plant a trail of kisses. Soon, Wade’s face was aligned with Peter’s ass, his hands moving to the underside of Peter’s knees to open him up.
“Goddamn. You are absolutely stunning, baby boy.”
Peter’s face flushed deeply at the praise, his cock hardening even further at being spread open. Wade let one of Peter’s legs go, a cracking sound coming from where he’d placed his belt down. Then a lubed finger was probing against Peter’s rim.
Peter’s neck arched back when Wade inserted the second finger, the stretch feeling so good but not enough. He dug his nails into his skin, needing Wade to prod the spot inside of Peter that would make him see stars.
But no sensation came. Instead, Wade filled Peter with another finger, scissoring them open and closed as they thrust into him. Peter’s cock rested heavy against his hip, the tip leaking all over him but he didn’t care. The full feeling Peter needed was there, but nothing else. He opened his eyes and looked down at Wade, the other’s gaze entirely fixated on how his fingers slid in and out of him.
It was erotic to watch Wade be so aroused by him, but he needed more.
“Please,” Peter ground his hole against Wade’s fingers. “I need you now.”
He didn’t know what he’d do if Wade had truly insisted opening him up further. He didn’t want to be bad by any means, but he was getting painfully close and the action hadn’t even started yet. He hadn’t even gotten to take Wade’s cock and he’d be damned if he was cumming without feeling it first.
As if hearing his thoughts, Wade backed off and slicked his cock up with the remaining moisture on his fingers.
“So desperate for me. I’ll be what you need, I promise.”
Groans from the two men filled the air around them when Wade slid home inside of Peter. Every inch of his body felt like it was tottering on the edge of climax as he watched Wade’s body flex under the pleasure. He’d always imagined what Wade might look like naked and exposed like this, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the real thing.
The real, very thick thing sliding back into him, his neck arching back and the top of his skull digging into the floor. Peter’s eyes lulled shut, too lost in the feeling of Wade pressing inside him and hitting all the right spots.
Then a weight was on top of him, Wade, as the other picked up a brutal rhythm. Wade’s hips snapped flush against Peter’s drawing back out to immediately slam back in. It was hard and fast, like Wade was also close to his own orgasm.
“Baby—Peter— fuck, ” Wade huffed right next to Peter’s ear.
Peter opened his eyes, his hands finding balance on Wade’s large and scarred shoulders.
“How long?” Peter choked out, a single moment of clarity coming to him before his climax.
“How long...” Wade slammed his hips into Peter’s to punctuate the question. His brain kicked out a thought just quick enough to understand what Peter was asking him. As he spoke, he continued to thrust back into Peter. “I followed you home the night we met. I’ve been thinking about your ass ever since.”
Wade followed him home.
Peter didn’t have time to unpack how that made this situation even that more arousing because he was going to cum any second from the way his stalker was pounding into him.
“ Fuck .”
He pressed his forehead into Wade’s, exchanging air like it was the last time they’d breathe again. Peter heard himself begging, a string of ‘ please please please ’ filtering between the small space between them. He didn’t know what he was asking for really, Wade already fucking against his prostate the hardest he could.
“You’re even prettier like this than you are in my dreams, baby boy. You look beautiful falling apart on my cock.”
Peter felt himself drop head first off the cliff, the flood of his orgasm meeting him like crushingly brutal waves. He knew what an orgasm was on a biological level. The orbitofrontal cortex turns off, the firing squad of neurotransmitters flood the body with oxytocin, dopamine, and vasopressin.
But this. He knew nothing of this till it hit him.
Peter fell apart under Wade, galaxies blooming in front of him. His untouched cock spurted his release between the two of them, their bodies already slick with sweat from the exertion. Wade talked him through it, whispering sweet praises as his rim squeezed against Wade’s cock. His thrust became erratic, his own body on the brink of release.
“Where — ?”
“Inside me.”
Wade shutter as he came, ropes of release painting the inside of Peter. The release of serotonin made them feel like puddles on the floor, bliss wracking through their bodies.
Peter was the first to speak after Wade pulled out of him. He watched as he rolled to the side, careful not to knock against the coffee table.
“Do you fuck everyone you stalk?”
He knew the answer, he just wanted to make the air around them feel lighter.
“No, you’re the only one who gets to feel and see this gross amalgamation of a body.”
Peter shook his head, the corners of his mouth tipping up into a smile. Despite the nature of their situation and how pissed he’d been initially, he was glad they could joke together afterwards just like they normally did. Because nothing changed in Peter’s life.
Well maybe one thing did.
Maybe his unresolved feelings for the man next to him would have a place to live.
“That’s an SAT word,” Peter noted. “Though, I don’t like that.”
Wade turned to him, meeting his eyes. “What? SAT words? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart scientist here?”
“Wha —” Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again, watching Wade cringe a little bit. So, the stalking did go a little beyond Peter’s looks and address. “No, I mean how you talk about yourself. I don’t like it and I don’t agree.”
“Oh,” Wade’s gaze drifted from Peter for a second before he refocused on him.
They would have a lot to talk about over the course of the next few days, but right now Peter’s back was starting to hurt. He wasn’t a teen anymore and working part time as a super hero had definitely impacted his body, sometimes to the detriment. But Wade had also fucked Peter hard into the hardwood. That’s what he’d blame it on.
Peter started to stand, lowering a hand to Wade. He looked at it with surprise, probably not anticipating Peter to have such kindness towards him after what he’d done.
Again, more talking in the days to come. But for now —
“Let’s go to bed. I’m tired.”
Wade grabbed ahold of Peter’s outstretched hand, following him to the bathroom to wipe themselves off and then to the bedroom.
Peter nestled himself into Wade’s side, breathing in his heady and intoxicating scent. Then, just before drifting off, a thought popped into his mind.
“Wade, is the man still outside my window?”
Wade froze, probably pondering what he was going to do.
“Yes.”
Peter nuzzled further, the bones in his body melting into Wade’s body heat.
“How did he get in here?”
Peter felt Wade sigh before he heard it.
“I stayed a little longer than expected and he followed me in. But I —”
“Will take care of it in the morning?”
“Will take care of it in the morning.”