Work Text:
The call went immediately to an automated message, catching Peter off guard. “Hello?” he said dumbly into the phone.
You’ve reached Midnight Fantasies. To hear this message in English, please press 0 now. To speak to a female operator, press 1. To speak to a male operator, press 2. For more options, pr---
Peter pressed 2 and held his breath. Vivid images flashed through his mind as the line rang once, twice, three times. What would the guy sound like? Would he put on one of those fake, super cheesy porno voices? Too deep and peppered with “Oh baby”’s at all the right moments? Peter could feel his palms sweating; four rings now. Weren’t these things supposed to be quick? He was just about to press the End Call button when the ringing stopped and a perfectly normal, casual voice came through the line.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
Hey, how’s it going? Really?
He made himself take a breath. Unsure why, he’d decided halfway home that he would make an effort to disguise his voice. Call it the Peter Parker Paranoia - he wasn’t going to be calling a phone sex line where there was even the slightest chance that someone (for real though, who) would recognize him. “Hey.” He sat up a little straighter. “Um, it’s going OK. I guess.”
I mean, I’ve probably got a few broken ribs and I’ve ruined -another- suit and I’m broke and hate my boss and I just called a phone sex line out of frustration because I want to bone a dangerous schizophrenic mercenary but yeah, sure.
The voice on the other end laughed. “You’ve never called one of these before, have you?”
Peter felt his face heating up. “Is it that obvious?”
There was the sound of a microwave door being shut and then beeping - the slow, methodical rotation of cheap processed food cooking. A sound Peter was all too familiar with. “You do this as long as I have and you learn to spot the newbies.”
Peter laughed despite himself. “Must be my lucky night, then. Got myself a pro.”
The microwave beeped. Peter heard shuffling - the phone being cradled against a shoulder, and the door nudged shut. “I always thought operators worked together in an office, sort of like telemarketers? Cubicles, just -- pervy ones?”
Another chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m at home.”
Peter blinked in surprise. “Really? So you have a work line, and you just…”
“Yep. Got a special ringtone and everything.”
Against his better judgment, Peter found himself wondering what it was. Probably something ridiculous and cliche, like Barry White or R.Kelly. Or maybe the guy was a complete dork like Wade and had a Hello Kitty phone case and an Adventure Time ringtone.
Wade. Peter thought about their patrol tonight, the way Wade had looked leaning against the wall of the alley waiting for his arm to regenerate. “Those Skrull fuckers are fast, Spidey!” he’d said, all maniacal grinning and adrenaline. He should have asked him to come over, play some Xbox, maybe finish their Stargate marathon. Instead, he’d pushed down the flaring panic of arousal that spiked through him when Wade pulled him in for a bloody, sweaty, one-armed goodbye hug and webbed himself away before even shouting farewell over his shoulder, the smell of cheap Mexican food and kevlar thick in his throat.
He’d fumed as he swung through the darkness of NY. Jerk! Didn’t even wait with him. What the hell is wrong with me?
A lot, apparently. Considering he’d hardly made it through the bedroom window of his apartment before he was dropping to his knees, frantically rifling through the mess of papers and magazines strewn on his floor, searching for the innocuous ad he’d peeled surreptitiously off the wall outside of Frankie’s Pizza. He remembered seeing the faded red numbers as he smoothed the crumpled paper out on his thigh, his heart pounding, one hand trailing faintly over his chest as though he could still feel the ghost of Wade there.
Fuck.
Back in the present, Peter caught the last bit of what the operator was saying. “Yeah,” he said, no idea what he was even agreeing to. There was a slight pause and Peter’s fist tightened on the paper in his hand. Crap. It was obvious he’d been daydreaming.
“So,” the man’s voice slipped an octave lower and Peter felt his pulse quicken. Shit shit shit - he sounds totally hot. I can’t do this. “You called for a reason. My name’s Jamie, by the way.”
“Is that your real name?” He blurted, immediately feeling like an idiot. Why would they use their real names? Get a grip, Parker. But Jamie laughed and something about it put Peter at ease, made him stretch his legs out and duck his head, a small laugh of his own rushing out of him.
“Yeah ok, dumb question. I guess I’m just happy it’s not Don or Rico or something.”
“Oh, we have a Rico. Guy’s a real pro too! If you want I could transfer you.”
“You’d give up such a good paying customer?” Peter tried not to imagine dollar signs flashing by as the minutes ticked on. He hadn’t even looked at the rate in the fine print. All he’d been able to think about was getting Wade off his mind, out of the permanent space he’d taken it upon himself to rent in his head lately. Wade with his stupid mouth full of burrito and those dumb blue eyes that looked so goddamn sad sometimes. And because Peter is an idiot and a masochist, he eschewed the hundreds of millions of free porn videos and decided to light money on fire instead.
“It’s my job to make sure you’re a happy customer, babe.” Jamie replied, and Peter wasn’t sure why but something in the word babe made his breath catch in his throat. It sounded...familiar, almost. The arrangement, the way it rolled off the tongue and floated through the phone line.
“I’m not—I mean...” he faltered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t really know what to do. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“You don’t have to do anything. What’s your name, sweetheart? Makes it easier for me to talk to you.” There was a quick pause. “Doesn’t have to be your real name,” and Peter could hear the grin in the words.
Oh, what the hell. Tonight’s been completely ridiculous anyway. “Peter,” he replied. “It’s....” (my real name, but you don’t know that.) “It’s Peter.”
Silence. Peter cringed. “Oh man, that’s not your name is it?” He laughed nervously, silently berating himself for making the call in the first place.
“No.” Jamie finally replied carefully. “It’s not. My name’s not Jamie, either, but I keep it professional. It’s just…” Peter realized he was holding his breath as he waited for the answer. He could hear a hesitation in the other man’s words, could envision him trying to decide whether or not to tell the truth. “I know someone.”
Oh shit. That’s even worse.
“An ex?” Peter ventured. Jamie made a noise of disagreement. “I mean, ha, I definitely wouldn’t wanna have phone sex with someone named after an ex, or a, a family member or someth—”
“No, it’s good, It’s…hot.” Jamie cleared his throat, a pleased amusement in his words. “Peter actually happens to be one of my favorite names.”
Oh.
It should have made Peter laugh. It sounded like such a line, like something you’d hear the smooth-talking pizza delivery guy say while he lounged against the doorframe, one hip cocked, eyebrow raised suggestively. But it wasn’t. It was infuriatingly hot, and Peter closed his eyes and bit his lip and tipped his head back against the wall.
“Yeah? Ok, good.”
Jamie’s sexy voice drifted back through the line. “So what has you calling this number at this hour, Peter?”
Peter sighed. “Got a guy on my mind. A big idiot I can’t get out of my head. I just want to…relax, I guess. Convince myself I’m talking to him, maybe?” And because Aunt May raised him with manners, Peter hopes this isn’t rude to say.
More shuffling, Jamie laying down and rearranging himself until he was comfortable. Peter tried to imagine what his place looked like. “Tell me all about it. The taco can wait, babe.”
Taco? Really? Peter groaned and Jamie was instantly apologetic—he was sitting up fast, Peter could tell. “Shit, hey—don’t worry, I’d never eat on a call. Totally unprofessional! I mean, unless someone wants me to. Food kinks are definitely a thing!”
“No you’re fine, it’s just—big hot idiot? He’s obsessed with tacos.”
“You should marry him then, he’s obviously got great taste.”
Peter laughed. When he’d made this call, the last thing he’d expected was casual back and forth banter, quips and jokes and tacos. He’d just been consumed with the heat of Wade, restless with crazy ideas like texting him to ‘come over right now, need you’ with eggplant emoji’s and a fucking ‘xxx’ behind them. Ideas and desires that could ruin everything, jam a wrench into the heart of the friendship that had taken months of painstaking work to establish. Wade had been like a crazy ferret when they’d met—all reckless mood swings and no trigger discipline. Kill kill kill, make sexual comment about Spidey’s ass, order Mexican. Rinse repeat. Now, at least...
Well.
Now they had hundreds of hours logged together on their respective gaming consoles. They had unlimited fire-escape access to each other’s apartments. Wade had his own profile on Peter’s Netflix account and a permanent Deadpool-shaped crater worn into the leather of Peter’s couch that, when Wade was out of town, Peter slept in like a really sad dog. There were toothbrushes and shared loofahs and random sharp and really dangerous weapons that Peter would find when he tidied up, rubber chickens and itching powder, bloodstains that wouldn’t come out of the linoleum (and he didn’t really care if they ever did) and bags of pancake mix in his pantry.
“Peter? You still there?”
Peter blinked and his mouth fell open.“Holy shit, we’re dating.”
“Huh?” “We’re practically dating, and I’m worried about telling him how I feel?” Peter got up from the bed and began pacing, running a hand through his hair. “Jamie, I’m sorry. This was a total waste of your time, I sh—”
“Hey, it’s your dime. Sounds like you’ve got it bad for taco-dude. So why call me when you could have called him?”
Peter stopped pacing. He dragged a hand down his face and groaned miserably. “So many reasons. One, he’s kind of crazy. Did I mention that yet?”
“Crazy?”
“Yeah. I mean, not like” (talking to voices in his head, Parker? oh my GOD) “fingerpainting with his own poop crazy. But he’s, ah—so, I have an aunt.”
“Wow, that was a segue. Ok, go on.”
“And he’d be really really hard to introduce her to. Like, terrifying. First of all, she doesn’t even know I like guys but I mean, I’m sure she’s kind of figured it out by now, she’d have to be blind and dumb to not make that connection yet but her opinion matters more to me than anything and—”
“Peter, gonna stop you right there.”
“Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“You’re fine, but listen. When it comes to shit like this, there’s really only one thing that matters. This guy—is he a good person?”
That stopped Peter short. “He’s…well, I mean—”
Is he?
Peter remembered the first time a stoic Tony had taken him by the elbow and asked JARVIS to bring up the Avenger’s file on Deadpool. He remembered how Tony hardly touched his drink and just watched him, watched his eyes as they flickered over the screen, over the bodies. Mountains of bodies, really. Literally. Peter had gone home that night in a daze (he’d accepted Tony’s offer for a driver, even) and had collapsed on his couch like he’d been sucker punched and hadn’t moved until morning. He felt sick on violence, numbed to the sight of blood and unable to make the correlation between the Wade who brought him homemade chicken soup when he was sick, and the Wade who had decapitated more people than every Mexican cartel combined.
So, sure, Wade wasn’t your quintessential ‘good person’. He did shady, sometimes terrible things for money. He had a temper that Peter had seen flashes of that had left him shaken and rattled. And yet.
Despite a superhuman healing factor, Peter got hurt, sometimes really badly. In his life before Wade, those nights ended with him crawling back home to slump half-dead over the bathtub, barely able to perform the most basic of self to himself before passing out. Now he had countless memories of Deadpool carrying him home, gently cradling broken bones, those huge hands soothing instead of maiming, bandaging instead of beating. All six foot two, two hundred and ten pounds of lethal mercenary holding Peter like he was precious goods. Wade would murmur reassurances and all but tuck him in, and later, when Peter was couch bound and coming back from the worst of it, blow up his phone with text ‘check-ins’ that made Peter smile, even despite the poop emojis.
“Yeah.” Peter said quietly into the phone, pulled from his thoughts and back into his air conditioned bedroom. “He really is a good person.” Despite the thesaurus-sized rap sheet that might hint otherwise.
“Well there’s your answer.” Jamie said. “Now, you could stay on the phone with me, racking up your credit card for cringingly sub-par phone sex, or you could call big idiot and invite him over for tacos. And a blow job.”
A laugh burst from Peter. “Whoa, slow down! Maybe a few dates first?”
Jamie chuckled. “Take it from another big idiot with a fondness for mexican food - one date, tops. What do you have to lose?”
Something niggled at the back of Peter’s mind, a flash of his spidey sense that had been smothered by filthy daydreams and the anxiety of calling a sex line, but he shook his head and pushed it down. “Well, for starters, our amazing friendship that I’ve come to really depend on.” he mumbled. “But you’re right. I’m—I’m gonna call him.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Go get some!”
“Thanks for the—chat?” Peter laughed, blushing. So glad this guy can’t see my face right now. “I guess it’s not like most calls you get.”
“Eh, it’s a break from the monotony. Shit! don’t tell my boss I said that.”
“Thanks for convincing me, dude.” Peter said, already thinking about the text he would send Wade when he hung up. It would be the scariest thing he’d done all day, and he’d been in a fight with a mob of aliens. “I needed that little push.”
On the other end, Jamie made a fond noise. “Anytime, baby boy.” he said.
Wait, what?
Peter’s breath caught in his throat.
Oh my god.
Anytime, baby boy.
Baby boy.
BABY BOY?!
Peter’s eyes bulged. He pulled the phone away from his ear and gaped at it, alarm bells screaming in his head while the room and all of NYC seemed to fade away to a pinpoint until all he could hear was his own voice, his spidey sense bellowing at the top of its lungs, screaming in his head after being ignored for so long—Parker, you fucking IDIOT.
“Wade?!” he squeaked into the phone, his grip threatening to crush the Samsung into little more than particle dust.
There was a deafening silence on the other end of the line. Then, “...Pete?!” it was no longer Jamie’s voice, and Peter couldn’t believe how easily they’d both fooled one another.
“Oh my god.” Peter dropped his arm and laughed humorlessly. He shook his head. “This is not happening, it isn’t.”
Wade’s desperate voice squawked insistently from the phone at Peter’s side. Slowly, numbly, he lifted it back to his ear and pushed a breath through his nose. He closed his eyes and counted to three. “Wade, what the fu—”
“Petey!” Wade interrupted, and he was laughing. The bastard was laughing! “Listen to me! Oh my lanta, shit, don’t hang up! OK?”
“I’m so glad this is funny to you!”
“Nooo, Pete, Petey, Webs. Shhh. Just let me—”
“Did you just shhh me?!”
“Yes. Now stay there, I’m coming over.”
“What?” Peter gripped the phone harder, his eyes widening in alarm. “Wade, no. Don’t you da—”
Click.
Peter stared at his phone in horror. “Oh holy shit.” he muttered, and then he was frantically tearing at his suit.
Wade was coming over. Wade was coming over, right now, after Peter all but confessed his undying love for him, to him! To a goddamn phone sex operator version of him!
Peter spun in a circle. Calm down, Parker. It’ll take him at least ten minutes to get here. In reality it would probably be a lot quicker, since Wade had never made the trip to Peter’s apartment with the knowledge that his age-old crush desperately wanted the D. The sound barrier might very well be broken in the process.
Peter flung himself at his dresser and began yanking out drawers, hauling out random items of clothing. An old band t-shirt, various pairs of sweatpants, a navy blue pullover hoodie with STARK emblazoned across the chest. “Fuck!” he cursed, hopping around on one leg as he began to wiggle out of the suit. “Haven’t even…goddamn….showered!”
There was no time. There was just enough time to swipe a comb through his hair, jam a toothbrush into his mouth like a savage, and smear a deodorant stick under both arms. It was all pointless anyway—Wade wouldn’t care if Peter was covered in tar and feathers. Spiderman was in love with him! Old Spice and Crest toothpaste were just icing on the unnecessary cake.
“You wanted this.” Peter muttered to his reflection over the dresser, dragging his hands down his face. He looked like shit. The worst of the bruising had begun to blossom across his cheekbones, and his bottom lip was split. “Huh.” He touched it gingerly. He hadn’t even noticed until now.
Then the window to his fire escape was being pushed open and there was Wade, fully suited up and standing on the balcony in the pissing rain, looking for all the world like a guilty puppy. A guilty puppy that was in a kill shelter for mauling numerous people, but still. He held up his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. “I miiiiiight have caused a car accident or two on the way here,” was what he said, but the first thing that registered in Peter’s mind was that he had his mask on.
He never wore his mask in front of Peter anymore.
“Get in here.” Peter motioned for him to come in. “You’re soaked.”
Wade ducked through the window, unfolding himself to his full height in Peter’s living room and holy shit, has he always been so big? “Yeah. S’really coming down out there,” he said, turning to slide the window shut.
“Um.” Peter hesitated, twisting his hands nervously in the sleeves of his hoodie. Wade was breathing hard, rain dripping off leather and puddling on the floor. He seemed to notice and lifted a foot. “Shit, sorry. Got a towel…?”
It broke the spell. “Oh, yeah. ‘Course.” Peter turned and walked to the bathroom, coming back with a dirty one from the hamper, the fact that it was very probably one Wade had used recently not lost on him. He’d probably sniffed it like a total weirdo creeper. He stood in front of Wade with his hand outstretched, towel hanging between them, face filling with heat. His eyes flickered over everything in the room except the mercenary in front of him while he willed his pulse to slow.
It’s just Wade. He’s been here a hundred times. Nothing is different.
Except everything, now.
“Peter.”
Peter’s eyes snapped up to the white eyeholes of the mask. “Is it true?” Wade asked.
“You’re still dripping,” Peter mumbled.
It made Wade laugh. “Fuck it,” he said. “Tell me.” He took the towel and dropped it on the floor. He stood on it and half heartedly pushed it around in a few circles before kicking it off to the side.
“Really?” “You’ve seen my shack. Never claimed to be Cinderella! Even if I do look amazing in a dress. Now, I believe you have a question to answer.”
“Why are you wearing your mask?” Peter countered petulantly.
“Answer the question.”
Peter swallowed audibly and rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
Wade stepped closer and Peter could feel the wall of heat coming from him. His senses were invaded by all the smells that made Wade who he was - leather, hot sauce, gun oil. Sometimes blood and sweat, all of it combining into a heady aroma that made Peter lightheaded at the best of times.
“How long?” Wade asked softly.
“A while,” Peter said. “But, Wade, we have to ta—”
“Come here!” Wade squealed, crushing him in a bear hug. Peter tried to swallow the tiny whimper that escaped him but in the cage of Wade’s arms he was powerless to stop it. He snaked his arms around him in return and turned to press his cheek against Wade’s chest, listening to the thudding of his immortal heart.
“M’all wet now.” he protested, his words muffled by the intensity of the hug. Rainwater had soaked through his hoodie. He wasn’t sure if the goosebumps on his arms were from chill or the fact that he had never hugged Wade like this, never felt all the lines of his thick, powerful body pressed against him at once.
Wade finally released him, but he didn’t step back or take his hands off of Peter. Idly, he toyed with the hem of the hoodie, tugging gently on it and twisting the fabric this way and that with his gloved fingers. “So, now what?”
“Uh,” Peter started, and then they both looked at one another and started laughing.
“Fucking phone sex operator? Really, Wade?”
“Oh my god, you were so cute—”
“You’re such a brat!” Smack.
“Ow! Hey, it’s just a hobby! And it n—”
“A hobby? Isn’t that normally painting? Bird watching?”
“Do the voice! Pleeeease. Call me the big idiot again!”
It was too much. Laughing, Peter groaned and collapsed forward into Wade’s chest, his hands coming up and grasping Wade’s utility belt. He was hugged back immediately. “Seriously. This night is way too bizarre.”
Wade was positively thrumming with happiness. “Ain’t you used to bizarre with me, baby boy?” he said into Peter’s hair.
“This stretches it, even for you.”
“Doubtful. Hey.” Wade leaned back and, nimbly removing his gloves, tilted Peter’s face up with a finger to his chin. “Your lip’s split. Took a bit of a shit kicking tonight, didn’t we?” He paused. “You good?”
Peter shrugged and pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. “Think one of my ribs might be broken. Wanna trade healing factors?”
Wade laughed humorlessly. “Trust me babe, ain’t nothin’ in the world worth this curse.” With one hand he drew the pad of his thumb feather-light across the bruise under Peter’s eye. “Gotta be careful out there. Don’t need you gettin’ hurt. Already have too many people on my unalive list.” he mumbled something under his breath to the boxes, words like best thing to ever happen to us and gut them like a fish.
Peter’s skin burned like a brand where Wade had touched him. He snorted. “Aren’t you forgetting that I’m a lot stronger than you?”
“I mean, I don’t know about a lot.”. Wade mumbled. “Anyway, I’m the assassin in this relationship babe. These bad boys are licensed to kill!” Wade waggled a bald eyebrow under the mask and flexed while Peter tried unsuccessfully not to stare. The leather creaked and strained against his biceps.
“You’re ridiculous. You’re like a child.”
“Ridiculous sure, but let’s scratch that last part. Otherwise that makes all the times I’ve stroked it to dat ass really weird.”
Peter couldn’t help it, he laughed. Flirting was good, flirting was the norm. It was safe. It wasn’t scary conversations about feelings and mortality. It hopefully led to kissing, which led to sex, with no time for Peter to be an idiot and tell Wade that he was so fucking lonely every night in his bed, and that when Wade was on a job he checked his phone so often that it drove his friends nuts.
As their laughter subsided, both of them gradually became aware of the fact that neither was making to move away. At some point Wade’s hands had migrated around to the small of Peter’s back, where his hoodie had ridden up and exposed a gap of skin. Slowly, as though he were unsure if he was allowed, unsure if he was even awake, he stroked the backs of his knuckles against the skin there and heard Peter’s breath catch.
“That alright?” Wade breathed, all traces of laughter gone and replaced with a husky tone that Peter had never heard from him.
“Mmmm.” was all Peter could manage as he melted even further into Wade’s space. It was more than alright. The combination of slick rainwater against leather sent a new wash of goosebumps across his body and he shivered. One of his hands drifted from Wade’s belt and crept toward his ass, where he shly gripped and squeezed. It made Wade’s hands flutter against his back and he heard a curse, low and quick and blown through gritted teeth above him.
“Wade,” Peter said, moving his head into the space between Wade’s jaw and shoulder. His heart was pounding so loudly he swore he could hear it. You regularly jump off skyscrapers, Parker. Just say it. “I wanna kiss you.”
The fingers at Peter’s back curled into claws and Wade made a completely undignified whine low in his throat. “Pete, I—”
Peter’s hands moved to Wade’s throat, to the seam that kept him hidden from the world.
Snake quick, Wade’s hands shot up and closed around Peter’s wrists. “Don’t.”
Peter could hear the mounting panic in his voice and it doused his arousal. The corners of his mouth turned down. “What the hell, Wade? You haven’t worn it around me in months.”
Wade’s grip had strong intentions but it was tenuous. Peter could feel the fine trembling through his arms. “...that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I knew you were into me.” Wade laughed miserably and pressed their foreheads together.
“Wade, I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” Peter started, keeping his voice soft and reassuring as he slowly began to break the grip Wade had on his wrists. “Think about it - how many times have I seen you without the mask now? It’s just routine between us these days. Would I want to kiss you if I didn’t like what I see?”
For once Wade was silent. He shrugged, not unlike a pouting child. Peter rolled his eyes and gave him a gentle shake. “I love everything about how you look. I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me for so long that I’m ready to jump out of my skin.”
“You’ve been waiting for me?” Wade shook his head wonderingly. “Babe, I wanna kiss you. I want to do so many things.” Peter gasped as Wade rocked their bodies together, the sudden press of his hardening cock unmistakable against Peter’s thigh. Oh, so this is happening. Like, right now. “Trust me. But...can’t I keep my mask on?”
“No.” Peter said simply, his next words shocking him with their audacity. “Because if Wade Wilson is finally going to fuck me, I’m damn well going to see him while he does.”
“Christ, Petey.” Wade exhaled, and then he was lifting Peter as though he weighed nothing and turning, pressing him hard against the wall.
It was with a bit more force than intended - Peter winced and then laughed as his head bounced. “Ow.” Wade cringed. “Shit, sorry baby boy. Guess I’m pretty excited.”
“So that’s a yes?” Peter wasted no time wrapping his legs around Wade’s trim waist and hooking his ankles together at his back.
“To fucking you?” Wade nuzzled his face into Peter’s neck, breathing hard. “Uh, yeah. That’s a hard yes.”
“Mmm, it is.” Peter agreed with a roll of his hips.
“Oh my god, you’re a dork. You’re my favorite.” Wade was simultaneously groaning and laughing and Peter decided it was the hottest sound he had ever heard in his life. He wanted to make Wade laugh like that again, all night if he had his way, and then he wanted to watch his face flush with pleasure and hear his name spill off his lips as he came.
“This,” Peter said, leaning forward and mouthing at the mask’s seam. “Off. Now.”
“Can’t you just settle for my hot bod?” Wade said, and when he laughed it was shaky and still nervous but at least there was humor in it.
“Wanna taste you.” Peter rubbed his face cheek to cheek with Wade, trailing his lips and teeth over the mask until he got to an ear and then he licked, finding the lobe through the fabric and biting down. Against him, Wade jerked his hips helplessly. One arm came up beside Peter’s head, bracing against the wall, while the other held him just under his ass. Gloved fingers stroked and squeezed until Peter was dizzy with it, desperate to get the mask off and taste mottled, scarred skin.
“Ok.” Wade said, panting. “Cause you’re like, a fucking hostage negotiator or some shit.” He drew back and nodded and then there was the rustle of leather and velcro and finally, finally those eyes that made Peter forget about death and heartache and responsibilities were looking at him, shining and open and painfully vulnerable.
“Hey,” he said softly, “there you are.”
“Ta-da.” Wade smiled humorlessly. “Your boner kill, Sir.”
Peter tightened his thighs and squeezed Wade’s waist, grinding himself shamelessly against the bigger man. “Does this feel like it’s going anywhere?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. His expression buckled when Wade thrust back hard with a growl, shoving him an inch up the wall.
“Hopefully it’s going somewhere, yeah. Like my mouth, or my ass. Either’s good with me. I mean, I dunno if you’re a top, something tells me you’re not, but I can bottom if that’s what you want, babe.”
“Never topped, but—” Peter said, his breath high in his throat.
“Wait, wait. You’re not—?”
The look on Wade’s face was priceless. Peter laughed. “I’m not new to this, no, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Holy tap dancing Christ, Pete.” Wade closed his eyes and groaned. “And here I thought you were the innocent one. Well, that’s not entirely true. Sometimes I like to imagine that you’re into some weird shit, like licking Mad Dogg hotsauce off my—”
Peter was sliding his fingers into the top of Wade’s suit. “Oh my god, you’re babbling. It doesn’t matter—I don’t even ca—jesus christ why is this suit so fucking hard to get off?!”
“Just rip it. I’ve got like fifteen identical pairs at home hanging in my closet. Ok, more like thrown in a corner and this is the nicest one that doesn’t have hot sauce and blood stains on it, but it’d give me spank bank material for years.”
“Like I said, ridiculous.” Peter muttered, and then with little to no warning Wade’s suit was being torn down the middle with a sound that made him curl his toes in his boots.
“Holy fuck.” Wade whimpered. Peter grinned at him, albeit a bit sheepishly before smoothing his hands over the expanse of skin now available to him. “Much better. Mmm, you’re so warm.”
Wade’s chest rose and fell quickly under Peter’s hands. “Kinda hard not to be.” he swallowed. “You’ve still got way too many clothes on.”
“Let’s fix that?” Peter murmured against the shell of a misshapen ear. “bedroom.”
Peter’s bedroom was nothing special - it had broke uni student written all over it. Standard double-size mattress, no fancy sheets, overflowing laundry baskets. A single nightstand with his glasses, some textbooks and a glass of water stood beside the bed. Dear god please don’t tell me I’m out of lube, Peter thought desperately as Wade carried him toward the door.
This is happening. Peter’s mouth was everywhere on Wade that he could reach as the mercenary walked them, blindly, toward the bedroom. It was no surprise that Wade knew the way as easily as Peter did, after all, how many times had Peter woken up in the middle of the night to find Wade sprawled out on the bed beside him, half of his bulk hanging off the edge, mask shoved up to the bridge of his nose, snoring? Always far enough across from him that it was safe. No homo. Bros, right? Vividly he remembered the time he’d opened his eyes and felt Wade’s arms wrapped around him from behind. Momentarily confused and blindsided, Peter had gasped in alarm. Wade had shot up from behind him like he’d been electrocuted.
“Aww fuck, Pete, my bad.” Wade’s voice was groggy with sleep as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “didn’t mean to wake ya. Sorry about, um…”
Wait, Peter had wanted so badly to whisper. Please stay? But the words wouldn’t come as he felt the mattress dip and rise. Shamefully, half asleep and frozen with embarrassment he’d listened to Wade’s footsteps cross the room and hesitate in the doorway.
Wade’s laugh was painfully forced. “It’s cool, I wouldn’t wanna wake up next to a barnacle like me either.” and Peter had pressed his face into his pillow and thought; but I’ve never felt so safe.
Now Peter laughed as Wade kicked the door to the bedroom open with just a little too much enthusiasm—there was going to be a definite mark in the wall. “Whoa cowboy, take it easy. I need that door.”
“Where we’re going, we don’t need doors.”
“Did you just quote Doc Brown? That’s pretty much the unsexiest thing ever.”
“Pete! Christopher Lloyd is a sex machine. You just know he got all the pussy in the eighties.”
Peter groaned. “You’re about to get a whole lot of nothing if you don’t shut up.”
Laughing, Wade tossed Peter onto the bed. Thank god I washed the sheets yesterday, Peter thought as he shimmied up the mattress and propped himself up on his elbows. Wade was watching him with hooded eyes, his gaze roving over Peter who felt a hot flush crawling up his neck.
“C’mere.” he whispered. Wade’s chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths. Silent, Peter watched him as he slowly unbuckled his katana holsters, laying Bea and Arthur with reverent care against the wall. His hands were trembling as they paused in the air, hovering unsure over his belt.
Peter knew what he needed to do. With a gentle smile, he pushed himself up off the bed and walked on his hands and knees to the edge of the mattress. “Wade,” he said, sitting down so that Wade stood between his legs. “I want to see all of you.” he pressed his forehead against Wade’s stomach and felt skin twitch. “Need to feel your skin against mine.”
The suit was torn down the middle, ending in frayed ruin just above his navel and exposed most of Wade’s chest to the darkened light of the bedroom. Peter had never seen any of Wade’s skin except his hands and face. He’d imagined it plenty of times, what a body ravaged by cancer and torture would look like. Now, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and his vision was filled with divots and scar tissue upon scar tissue, he just wished they’d turned the light on.
“Baby,” Wade whispered, his voice choked. Peter slid his hands up Wade’s chest and nuzzled his face against a wall of absolutely perfect abs.
“Mmhm?” Peter raised his face and locked eyes with Wade as he opened his mouth and ran his tongue dangerously close to Wade’s navel.
“Jesusfuckingchrist.” Wade’s skin jumped at the touch, his body bending over on a spasm as he simultaneously tried to edge away and grab the back of Peter’s head to hold him closer.
“I want to make you feel good, Wade.” Peter whispered, leaning back to look up at him. “but I don’t want to scare you off.” Wade’s hands had settled onto Peter’s shoulders. “we don’t have to do anything if, if you don’t want to.”
All the merc’s earlier bravado had seemingly vanished in the face of reality. Not for the second time that night, Peter marveled at the two very different sides of Wade’s personality and how they could exist so closely together.
But Wade laughed. “Pete, I might be crazy but I’m not stupid.” with gentle pressure, he pushed until Peter was leaning back and started to crawl up the bed with him. They ended up with Peter on his back with Wade propped up on his forearm beside him, bodies pressed close. He looked down at him and paused as he thought of what to say. “Just...it’s been a while. And I never thought…” he ran a hand reverently over Peter’s hip and shook his head with disbelief.
God, the way he’s looking at me. It did things to Peter.
“Been a while for me too. And I don’t know why you didn’t think I’d be into you.” Peter trailed off, suddenly shy. “I’ve only acted like a total idiot around you for months now.”
Wade shrugged. “Thought maybe you were having your spider time of the month or something. Existential crisis. S.A.Ts. No?”
Peter wound his arms around Wade’s neck and pulled him closer, laughing. “Spider time of the month? What the hell even is that?”
“I have always wondered if you shoot webbing out of your ass.”
“Quit talking and fucking kiss me, and maybe I’ll show you.”
++++
Later, when Wade is asleep and tangled up in Peter’s sheets like some battle bruised vision, Peter indulges in the rare opportunity to watch him. Wade is a black and red tornado at the best of times, and it’s not often that Peter can really look, take in every little detail that makes his heart break just a little at what no one else can see.
“I can feel you staring at me.” Wade mumbles, and Peter flushes a bit at that.
“Sorry, you’re just…you’re beautiful, you know that?”
Wade snorts into the pillow. “You already got me into bed, Pete. You don’t have to butter me up.” but underneath the affected nonchalance there’s a shyness, a quiet ache of happiness that hurts Peter.
“You know I don’t say things just for the sake of saying them.” Peter says in response. He rolls onto his side and scoots up against Wade, makes a soft little noise to encourage an arm around his waist. Wade pulls him in easily, strokes a rough hand down Peter’s hip.
“Had you saying a lot of things tonight.” he murmurs into Peter's ear, and Peter giggles, flushes and buries his head into his pillow to muffle it.
They don’t talk after that, just delight in the closeness of one another. There’s no impatience, no hot rush to touch, to taste. Peter feels so impossibly safe in the circle of Wade’s arms, could even pretend for a moment that he’s made up of delicate lines and breakable bones, a small thing to be protected and held in the palm of a hand. A person who is cared for, unburdened of responsibilities, tucked in and forehead-kissed.
“I’m really glad you’re here right now.” he whispers just when he thinks Wade is asleep.
Wade smiles against the back of his neck. “Me too baby.”