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Peter was crouched on a flat rooftop one night when his senses alerted him to a presence behind him. He sighed, but made no move to rise or leap into a defensive position. He knew who it was.
“Deadpool,” he said with resignation.
“Spidey! Wotcha dooooing?”
“Reading about microbiology.”
“Smarty-pants,” Wade said approvingly. “Are you a student when you’re not climbing walls? Or are you just a nerd?”
“Who says I can’t be both?” Peter retorted.
Wade laughed to himself. They both fell silent and Peter buried himself in his book. He could hear sounds of restlessness behind him, Wade’s boots dragging on the tiles, his leather squeaking as he paced around.
He became aware of something hitting him, more of a repetitive light tap on his tailbone, then the back of his thigh. Then his butt. He first thought it was rain, but glanced down and saw a gleam of metal on the roof.
“Are you bouncing quarters off my ass?”
“Trying to. You keep moving.”
“Wade, you know you don’t have to sit here with me? You could go and do something productive.”
“But spider-watching is my new hobby.”
“Look, can you just sit down and be quiet, okay?”
“But whyyyyy….?” Wade whined. Peter tutted. Honestly, teaming up with Deadpool felt like babysitting. Peter was forever having to tell him don’t do that, no don’t shoot that guy, Deadpool climb down from there...
Wade huffed out a breath but settled down, sitting criss-cross applesauce next to Peter.
“I’m bored,”
“So go find something to do.”
“Nah. I think I’ll stay here and bother you.”
Peter snapped his book shut. “If I hang out with you for a bit, do you promise to be quiet and let me get back to my book?”
“Maybe. What do you have in mind?”
Peter glanced around for inspiration, but there wasn’t much to look at. “Eye-spy?”
“Are you for real? That game’s a snoozefest. Don’t be boring, Spidey.”
Peter crossed his arms. “Well, do you have any better ideas?”
“Let’s play Rooftop Hide-and-seek!”
Perhaps Wade was rubbing off on him because the game sounded kind of fun.
He slung his book in his backpack and webbed it to a chimney. “Okay, I’m in!”
“Okay, so you count ten Mississippis and I’ll hide. Rooftops only, and the hider has to stay in place after the countdown, so no sneaking around.”
“Got it,” Peter said. He covered the mesh eyes of his mask with his hands. “One Mississippi, two Mississipi…”
The thud of Wade’s boots faded away.
“Three Mississipi, four Mississipi…”
The wind was picking up, he could feel it dancing about his waist like an excitable dog. There was a piece of sheeting on the rooftop, something that builders must have left behind, and it rustled in the breeze, sounding like it was coming from all directions.
“Five Mississipi, six Mississipi, seven Mississipi…”
As Peter counted, he listened out for the drag of scuffed boots on tiles or Wade’s breathless laughter but heard nothing over the roar of the wind.
“Eight Mississipi, nine Mississipi, ten Mississipi! Ready or not, here I come!” He sprang across the tiles, feeling them slide under his boots. But the Queens skyline belonged to him, he was its king and master and nothing could make him lose his footing.
He wasn’t Peter Parker, stumbling on tiling with the wind whipping by him. He was Spider-Man. He was a predator, stalking his prey.
“Deadpoooool….come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Nothing but the rustling of the plastic and the buzz of traffic far below him. Hmm.
He closed his eyes and centred himself, blocking out the rustling and the buzzing and the wind and everything. He hunkered down into his depths, into something warm and dark and safe, letting his animal instincts overtake him. His spider-sense.
Deadpool would probably consider this cheating but Peter considered it as himself having a natural edge.
He stepped over loose tiles and crept around chimneys, taking each step carefully, deliberately. His footsteps didn’t make a sound. He leapt silently from rooftop to rooftop, using his spider-sense like a metal detector, casting out that bubble of awareness, pulling in information from his surroundings.
The back of his neck tingled, the fine hairs rose as if stirred up by an invisible force. He felt it. Deadpool.
There was a huge heating unit a few feet away, and when he squinted at it, his spider-sense stirred up the hairs on the back of his neck. Gotcha.
Peter uncurled his spine and leapt…
“Spidey!” Wade gasped, getting the air knocked out of him by the flying, spidey missile.
“Found you!” Peter grinned.
“Jeez, how do you do that? Your powers are OP. Seriously,” Wade scoffed but he was laughing.
“It’s not me, it’s my spider-sense!”
“Balls to your spider-sense! I’m gonna spray some bug repellent on and then you won’t be able to do shit!”
“You wanna repel me? But I thought you looooved me,” Peter cooed, blowing kisses in Wade’s ear. Or where the ear would be, underneath the mask.
“Gah, can’t fuckin’ breathe, let me, hang on,” Wade grappled with his mask, managing to roll it up to his nose. Peter gazed down at him, letting his eyes trail over the rough, pink skin. It hadn't been so long ago that Wade had refused to let Peter see him unmasked. He would never admit this to Wade, but that scarred, mottled skin fascinated him. He ached to touch it. It looked…new. Unknown. Would it feel rough or soft and pulpy? Dry or moist? Did it hurt Wade? Were parts more sensitive than other areas? Was it softer it other places?
His mouth ran dry. He was staring and not saying anything, stop staring, Peter, Wade’s going to think you’re a total wacko—
“Spidey?” Wade said softly.
Peter didn’t hesitate any longer. He launched himself straight into that coiled red muscle, threw himself at Wade, with a joyful cry. Wade wriggled beneath him and they wrestled, Peter giggling madly, Wade rolling around, trying to get on top. He could be himself with this guy. They could goof off, joke around and there were no consequences. It wasn’t like this with The Avengers.
“Spidey’s in a good mood,” Wade crooned, grabbing at Peter’s shoulders so he could rub them. Peter relaxed a bit, feeling tension seep out of him. He loved that they could be rough with each other. Arm wrestles, rooftop games, they did it all. And Wade could take a beating. He shivered, as Wade’s hands slipped down his back.
“No going below the equator, buddy,” Peter joked. Wade chuckled.
“Hey, I’m just tryna get you to loosen up. God, you’re tight.”
“Okay, now I know you’re trying to make a sex joke when you’re supposed to be rubbing my back,”
“I mean, you’re straddling me, so—”
“Good point. I must say, I’m really impressed you don’t have a boner right now.”
“I’m wearing a cup. If I had a boner, you wouldn’t know,”
“Either that, or you’ve got a micro dick—” Peter said and flinched as Wade’s fingers crept to his waist. “Don’t do that,”
“Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No—” And then, because Peter was an idiot who didn’t know when he should keep his mouth shut. “—I’m ticklish—”
It shouldn’t be possible, but Wade’s white mesh eyes widened. “Oh shit, really? Spidey, you are so gonna regret saying that!”
The ensuing struggle might have looked like nothing more than boyish horseplay, but Peter was in it to win it. He did not want to be reduced to a giggling mess by Wade’s fingers and — no, not gonna continue that particular train of thought.
Peter was an excellent fighter but he worked better in wide, open spaces. He and Wade were rolling around and he couldn’t get enough leverage to break free. He could use his web-shooters, but Wade kept grabbing his arms. Wade rolled his body, pinning Peter down and he saw his mask had gone askew.
White teeth and angry, red skin. “Well, Webs, looks like I come out on top!”
“I could easily throw you off me,” Peter told him. “Super-strength, remember?”
“Oh yeah, for sure. Hey, mind if I have this?” Before Peter could react, Wade’s hands were tugging at his wrist. He felt the hard yank and then Wade was dangling one of his web-shooters in his face. Peter almost went cross-eyed, blinking at the clunky metal bracelet oscillating in his eyes.
“That’s not funny, give that back!”
“Spidey wants his webs? Okay then, he’ll get his webs back—”
Wade pulled on the trigger and a stream of liquid web sprayed out. Peter pressed him down on the tiling but those webs shot out as fast as a bullet and there was no time. Sticky, tangled ropes of webbing darted out and splattered wetly on his shoulder. Peter tried to sit up, but the mangled clump of webbing was already drying, glueing him to the tiles.
“You creep!” he yelped, but there was no venom to his words. That’s what you get for dropping your guard around Deadpool.
Before he could struggle further, Wade had pressed the shooter and spat out another stream of webbing. Peter’s other shoulder was stuck fast and he sighed.
“You think you’re really clever, don’t you?”
“I do,” Wade said happily. He cocked his head. “It’s kind of nice, seeing the awesome Spider-Man trapped by his own design,”
“Hoisted by my own petard,” Peter agreed, giving an experimental wriggle. Nothing. The webbing held him in place. At least he could move his arms and legs.
“I always wondered what that means. What’s a petard?” Wade’s gloved fingers patted down Peter’s webbed shoulders to his biceps.
“It’s a kind of old-timey bomb. What are you doing?”
“Huh. I always assumed it was like a fancy sword or something. What am I doing? I’m seeing where you’re ticklish, Webs,”
Wade wiggled his fingers up and down Peter’s arms while the hero lay there impassively. He had learnt that it was better to let Wade have his fun and get bored. It was only when Wade’s fingers ghosted down his sides that Peter twitched.
“Ooh, twitchy, wittle spider!”
Wade dug in deeper and those twisting, dextrous fingers battered at his sides until Peter was squirming and gasping. Feather-light fluttering at his sides, prickling gooseflesh rising on his skin. Peter laughed helplessly, a bubbling chuckle that was several pitches higher than his normal speaking voice.
“Uncle, uncle! Ugh, stop it, Deadpool, quit it!”
“Ticky, ticky, Spidey!”
“I mean it, stop — oh — ” Shit, no. He was getting hard. There wasn’t a worse time for one of his random boners. He still had the libido of a teenager. Thank God for his cup, at least it would conceal the growing bulge—
Wade leaned over him and his knee brushed Peter’s thigh. He couldn’t bite back the sigh that spilt from his lips. Wade cocked his head but the mask veiled his expression.
“Webs?”
He tossed to the side, screwing his eyes shut. He felt rather like he did when he was a child, playing hide-and-seek with his aunt and uncle. He used to hide and close his eyes. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.
“Webs, please talk to me. Did I hurt you, man? I was just playing, I didn’t mean to — I don’t know —”
“I like it,” Peter mumbled, and Wade went very still. “When you tickle me. I get really…sensitive.”
Wade was silent for a long moment. Then — “Can I…?”
“Yeah.” His voice cracked. “Do it. Whatever.”
Those creeping fingers returned to him, brushing against his face, worming up under the hem of his mask to tickle his neck. Peter thrashed a bit, cringed and if anything, his dick got harder. Just the thought of those strong, leather-clad fingers made him tremble.
He didn’t realise he was lifting his hips up, rutting into nothing, until Wade noticed. Those impassive white eyes watched him for a few seconds, then, that shiny black glove was working its way down Peter’s waistband.
Wade’s gloved hand was hot, and smooth, thick leather that clung to Peter’s skin, soaking up the sweat.
Wade didn’t just take him in his hand. Peter had always assumed the merc would have a crushing grip, those thick fingers curling around and squeezing. But no, Wade was light and delicate, his fingers barely brushing Peter’s aching cock, and Peter did everything he swore he’d never do…he was impatient, he begged, he barely recognised his own voice because it was something strained and reedy.
Wade was merciful. He took pity on Peter, grabbed him hard, wrapped his fingers around him and brought him off in several, jerking tugs. Peter whined, his body cringing, flushed with shame and he felt a jolt in his navel as he spilt into Wade’s palm. Soon, too soon, the euphoria drained out of him and all he felt was cold and sticky. And wet.
“Webs…?” Wade muttered, and at least he had the decency to straighten Peter’s clothing, tuck him back into his pants. Peter deliberately didn’t look at Wade. He wasn’t sure he could handle that, right now. He felt clumsy. Foolish and sleepy from sex, he didn’t trust himself to say the right thing.
“Use your katana, Wade. Cut the webbing off me,” Peter said, and he thought he heard Wade sigh.