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Peter has a problem. A problem he vehemently ignores and denies exists.
It’s just the adrenaline .
He tells himself, stubbornly ignoring the heat that pools in his lower abdomen whenever this not-problem arises.
And if the image of a gun pressed to his head, or even against his cunt, flashes behind his eyes when he jacks himself off– well, it’s not like it meant anything. Just a coincidence.
Because why would he have a thing for guns? They were dangerous and they’ve taken so many lives. A life.
Guilt churns in Peter’s stomach whenever he thinks about it for too long. He had seen research that had shown sometimes the brain will turn a traumatic event into a kink as a way to cope, but that wasn’t what was happening to him. Obviously.
(It definitely was, but he wasn’t quite ready to face that yet).
Regardless, Peter was currently facing a much different and much more important problem– breaking into Oscorp to find out what shady shit Norman Osborn was up to now.
The goal was stealth– Peter had an all too early shift the next day and he’d rather not be sore and healing from one or four subcutaneous injuries in the morning. He had studied the vent system from blueprints he had gotten from an… associate (Thank you, Felicia), and found an opening that would hide his exit from most cameras scattered in the halls.
He quietly pops the cover open, sliding it away before crawling out, sticking tight to the ceiling, slithering to the camera, preparing to quickly enact a feedback loop.
Before he gets the chance to even touch the tech, a soft thik! And swoosh! Sounds behind him and the lense shatters. Shot.
“Baby boy!” A familiar voice chimes from behind.
Peter closes his eyes, letting out a long breath. Of course Deadpool was here.
“Wade, what are you doing here?” Pete grits, jumping down and turning around to face the mercenary.
“Oh, you know,” Wade smiles from under the mask, the slits of his eyes formings crests the way they usually do when Wade is grinning. “Work,” He accentuates, tapping his pistol, silencer added, against his thigh.
Peter resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, fingers twitching with annoyance. He takes a breath, mouth opening to speak when the hairs on his neck stand, and the sounds of distant footsteps reach his ears. Pete curses under his breath, searching for a way to get both him and Deadpool out of sight– after all this was supposed to be a stealth mission.
Luckily, what looked to be a storage closet of some sort was cracked open.
“Whatcha looking for–”
“Shut up, just get in here,” Spidey interrupts, grabbing Deadpool and shoving him into the closet, a small oomph escaping Wade as his back hits the wall.
Peter squeezes in after him, the room much smaller than he had anticipated. He briefly considers just crawling back into the vents, but the footsteps are closer now, just around the corner, and he knows he has no time.
He shoots a web behind him, pulling the door shut. The cold metal knocks into his back, pushing Peter further forward as it clicks shut. A startled, but quiet, yelp slips from his lips, as the push from the door causes Pete to practically grind against Deadpool’s thigh, leaving him in quite possibly the worst position, as the mercenary’s pistol was now right below his crotch.
Peter internally cursed his Parker luck, lifting himself onto his tiptoes to try and keep the weapon from rubbing against his now very sensitive t-dick.
“Are you okay?” Deadpool whispers lowly, and God, he’s close.
Peter nods quickly, ignoring his rising flush because really this was not the time.
Multiple pairs of footsteps are heard just outside the door, coming to a stop as multiple voices convene– Oscorp guards, discussing the damaged camera and planning where to search.
Deadpool and Spider-Man stand tense and silent, breathing seeming all too loud. A pair of footsteps draw nearer, boots loudly thumping against the sleek floor. The two vigilante’s hold their breaths as the doorknob turns–
“Locked, no one is in here. You three, check the east hallway–”
The guard’s voice drowns out as the two let out a collective sigh of relief. The group of guards disband, leaving them in silence once more. Peter relaxes at the loss of imminent danger, dropping from his tiptoes, only to immediately suck in a breath as his dick presses against the pistol beneath him.
“Webs? What is it?” Wade asks, voice low despite there being no more lackeys in the hall— and god, that is really not helping.
“Nothing— Just—“
Wade moves, shifting in a way that drags the pistol against Peter’s clothed cunt, a strangled moan slipping through the arachnid themed hero’s mouth.
The two freeze again, though now for entirely different reasons. Peter can feel sweat drip down the back of his neck, and the burning heat of embarrassment permeate across his skin– the warmth likely exuding even through his mask. Despite the tensing of his muscles, a valiant effort– reflex really– to stay as still as possible, his thighs quiver and his breathing shakes, a mix of Peter’s want and embarrassment bubbling over.
Deadpool is quiet, a rare thing, and he remains stone still, the combination of such actions being so out of character it makes Peter’s throat feel tight and acidic.
The silence is thick between the two red clad heroes (more like a hero and a half), and the tiny confines of the closet suddenly feel as humid as a hot midsummer day.
Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when Wade breaks the silence.
“Did you… like that?” Wade murmurs hesitantly, shifting the slightest bit closer.
The pistol jostles against Peter again, and much to his further embarrassment, he whines.
“I–” Peter croaks, eyes wildly looking for anywhere to land besides Wade, but finding nowhere. The man was towering over him, pinning him, practically obscuring his entire view.
Wade hums.
“We’re gonna be in here for a while. I know those guards are still too close if you were wanting to slip out unnoticed.”
Unfortunately, Peter knows he’s right. Focusing his hearing he can in fact still hear guards moving at multiple points in the hall beyond the door. They’d be spotted practically as soon as they left the closet at this point.
“It’s okay if you want to move,” Wade continues, voice honeyed and low.
“What?” Peter practically gasps, hips jerking the slightest bit as if they were waiting for permission– just not from the body they belonged to.
Wade hums again, amusement slipping through as he slides his knee up, pistol now firmly against Peter’s clothed cunt. If he had the room, Peter’s head would have lolled back, instead his eyes flutter closed, hips grinding down to meet Wade’s movement.
“Fuck– Yeah, okay–”
“That’s it, Webs,” Wade leans to speak next to Peter’s ear. “You’re feeling better already, aren’t you?”
Peter groans, arms moving to wrap around Wade’s neck, if only to just use him as leverage to grind his hips further across the gun beneath him. He can feel his pussy soak through his suit, but he can’t be bothered to care about the possibility of dirtying Deadpool’s gun when it feels so fucking good. The cold metal was quickly warming, and the hard, sturdy metal felt delicious against his dick with every grind.
Deadpool lands his free hand on Spidey’s hip and moves his knee rhythmically to further press against the hero’s crotch, Peter whimpering at the enhanced pleasure, head dropping to rest on Wade’s shoulder. Heat pools in his abdomen, coiling and swirling, edging closer and closer to release. Pete quickens his pace, whining through panted breaths.
He was so close, hips jutting desperately, needing something more.
“Cock it,” Peter breathes.
Wade’s knee stills, though Peter continues his rutting as if nothing had changed.
“Webs, are you sure–”
Peter whines, gripping the kevlar beneath his hands harshly, pushing himself further into Wade’s body.
“Yes, please, please, I need it, ”
“Sweet mother of christmas eve,” Wade mutters under his breath before shifting his leg to properly sit beneath Peter.
The click of the safety turning off sounds beneath them, and Peter gasps, adrenaline flooding through his veins. He wasn’t entirely sure when Wade had flipped the safety back on, as it certainly wasn’t on when they were outside the closet, but he wasn’t complaining at the extra rush of pleasure the sound had given him.
“Stay still for a second, baby,” Wade murmurs, cooing praisingly when Peter complies.
His hand slips from Peter’s waist to his gun. Wade keeps his finger straight, mindful to not rest his finger on the trigger as he cocks the gun back. Peter shivers at the sound, and his hips resume their ceaseless movement as soon as Wade lands his hand back on his hip.
Peter pants open-mouthed, head light and dizzy, heat enveloping him. This was crazy. But god something about the very inherent danger of a cocked gun against his most sensitive parts was making him feel pleasure in ways he hadn’t felt before. He felt like he was floating, yet sinking from the fiery hot pleasure growing in his gut at the same time.
Adrenaline pumps Peter’s blood faster, heart thumping wildly in his chest, matching the erratic pace of his hips. His dick twitches with every grind, pleasure and fear equally as electrifying, coursing through his body.
“Fuck–” Peter moans, back arching off the door, thighs shaking as his high overwhelms him, pussy gushing with his spend and soaking his suit further. Wade rubs his hip soothingly through it, murmuring sweet praises in his ears as the arachnid comes back down to earth.
Finally, Peter relaxes, back returning to the door. Wade pulls the slick gun up his thigh as much as he can, letting Spidey rest without the what would sure to be an overstimulating feel of a gun beneath him.
Suddenly, the wet feeling between his thighs and the sweat sticking to his skin is overwhelmingly apparent. Almost as apparent as the fact Peter had just gotten off by humping Deadpool’s fucking gun like a dog in heat.
“Oh my god,” Peter murmurs mortified, hands covering his face, despite the mask already shielding it.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Wade soothes, thumb still kneading Peter’s hip.
“I can’t believe I just–” Peter glances up, and there on the ceiling of this godforsaken dark, dingy, and stupidly small closet, was a vent. A vent Peter could fit into. “Wade,” Peter quickly looks back down at the mercenary, “forget this happened.”
“What– Ow!”
Before Wade could finish his question, Peter had shot a web to the vent, yanking the cover off, the metal landing on Wade’s head. With some quick awkward crawling, Spidey had disappeared into the vent, leaving Pool alone.
A beat of silence.
“What the shit.”
Months go by and they don’t talk about it. Wade had tried, obviously, but Peter had shut it down quickly.
“You left me in that closet when it was still locked, you know?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I can remind you–”
“Nothing happened in that closet.”
Despite what it may seem, Wade did know when to stop pushing, especially when it came to Peter. The friendship they had grown was special, something genuine and rare. He wouldn’t risk that. He couldn’t.
Their relationship had grown in those months, Peter revealing his face and civilian identity, stopping by Wade’s apartments, crashing when he needed– and then when he wanted. It wasn’t unusual for Peter to just drop in whenever. The man enjoyed letting off steam by ranting to Wade about his asshole boss while eating what could be considered a meal for a family of eight– funded by Wade of course.
Wade enjoyed every moment, eager to spend time with what was one of the only friends in his life. And the only person who didn’t cringe away at the sight of his skin– at the sight of his face. It was refreshing. And the flirting was a bonus.
Yes, flirting. Peter never used to indulge his innuendos and lewd comments, but the hero had gradually started reciprocation and shooting off some of his own. Maybe Wade was rubbing off on him. Though he much preferred if he was rubbing him off –
Pervert.
“Shut up,” Wade mutters, waving White away as if that would do anything.
The anti-hero was cleaning his weapons, a multitude laid out across the floor in front of him. Multiple guns were included, his current focus was dismantled, allowing for a deeper and safer clean. For a moment, Wade lost himself in the monotonous movement of cleaning, rag swishing up and down the long barrel when–
“I swear to fucking god that man has no idea what a livable wage is–” Peter enters through the front door, raving about the Asshole Boss, before he freezes, eyes glued to the weaponry on the floor.
“Don’t mind the spring cleaning,” Wade speaks, dutifully not mentioning Peter’s clearly darkening eyes.
Are you seeing this?
Unfortunately.
“Speak for yourself,” Wade scoffs, returning to his cleaning.
Peter makes an odd noise– one Wade knows isn’t in response to his out of place speech. The red and blue hero had gotten used to that ages ago. No, this noise was more along the lines of a squeak… a whine?
Webs is horny! Do something!
Like he would want Wade of all people to tend to that.
A man can dream.
Wade grumbles, resolutely ignoring the two menaces in his head.
Peter shuffles awkwardly in front of him, his thighs briefly rubbing together.
“Maybe I should go, you seem–”
“Guns really turn you on that much?” Wade blurts, pausing his cleaning again.
Idiot.
Peter freezes in place, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.
“What–? I–” Peter stammers, face quickly reddening completely. His brows furrow, a flash of frustration. “Wade, that’s not–”
“Appropriate? I think we’re past that, Webs,” Wade chuckles.
Why are you still talking?!
“That’s not–”
“Peter, it’s okay. Everyone has kinks, but I’d rather you not leave just ‘cuz you’ve got the hots for firearms.” Wade says smoothly, shifting his eyes to the side, putting on his best trying-to-hide-that-im-insecure-and-want-your-company face.
Not that it was hard to do, as he did really feel that way. But that wasn’t the point. Wade was scheming, pulling Peter right into his trap.
Peter takes a step closer, an apology almost certainly ready to fall from his lips before Wade strikes, looking back into Peter’s eyes, impish grin pulling across his cracked lips.
“And if it really is that much of a problem, I could always help you again.”
Oh my god. Can I leave? Do I have to be here?
Oh I love this author so much.
Peter chokes, turning his head to clear his throat.
“What?” Peter gasps, mimicking the first instance they had an interaction like this.
Wade shrugs, then returns to his dutiful cleaning as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Everything is out of the ordinary right now.
Peter takes a step towards Wade again, eyes scanning the across the weapons display slowly before landing on the barrel in Wade’s hands.
“It’s not usually this bad,” Peter says a bit breathlessly.
Wade looks up again. “What’s different?”
Peter bites his lip, looking Wade up and down, lingering on his hands and the barrel in it.
“It’s you behind the gun.”
Wade is up in a beat, barrel clanging to the floor. His scarred hands pull Peter towards him, capturing his lips into a heated kiss. Peter melts into it, moaning into the merc’s mouth, stumbling backwards from the momentum. The two hungrily gasp into eachothers mouths, moving further into the living space until Peter hits the back of the couch; he whines at the harsh contact.
Wade hums an apology into Peter’s mouth, hands moving to hoist him up, placing him on the top of the cushions. Peter’s legs wrap tightly around Wade, and he pulls out of the kiss with a sigh, eyes lidded and dark, staring at Wade’s lips.
“Can we do this in the bedroom?” Peter murmurs, gaze flickering back towards Wade’s.
Wade groans at the desperate and pouty expression on his partner’s face.
“Of course,” He supplies, stealing one more wet kiss from the arachnid before hoisting him up again, holding him close and turning towards the bedroom.
As he walks past the arrangement of weapons on the floor, he bends– Peter yelping at the change of orientation– and grabs another pistol-suppressor combo before righting himself again, marching to the king bed waiting beyond the bedroom doors.
Wade drops Peter onto the plush comforter, quickly leaning over him to bring their lips together again. He rests the gun to the side, safety on.
After a few minutes of exchanging hot breaths, Wade pulls back just slightly, his lips still brushing against Peter’s when he speaks.
“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”
“Wade, I could throw you across ten football fields if I wanted too,” Peter quips.
“Doesn’t matter, pick a safe word,” Wade tsks, raising just slightly to get a full view of Peter’s face.
Peter purses his lips, eyes glancing up briefly.
“Bicycle..?”
“Works for me.”
Wade rises, grabbing the gun, standing over Peter’s splayed form. He hums, scanning slowly over the lithe body beneath him. He raises the gun, placing it under Peter’s chin, tipping it up. Peter pants, eyes fluttering and his body begins to tremble.
“So reactive,” Wade comments lowly, dragging the gun slowly down Peter’s body, following the trail with his eyes, greedily drinking in every flinch and shiver to wrack the smaller man’s body.
Peter gasps when Wade suddenly removes the gun from his body, eyes quickly moving to follow its movement.
“We don’t need these do we?” Wade gestures to Peter’s clothes with the gun, waving it around haphazardly.
Peter shakes his head and brings shaking hands to his shirt, tugging it off before fumbling with the button on his jeans, fingers unwilling to cooperate. He looks up to where Wade is waiting, leaning on one of his hips, gun tapping against his thigh, impatient.
Pete shivers and finally unclasps the button, zipper quickly following. The jeans are discarded, falling to the floor with a quiet thud after being kicked off Peter’s legs.
Wade hums, leaning into Peter’s space again. He presses the gun between Peter’s legs, moving it up to his clothed clit, before gliding it back down again.
“You forgot something,” Wade comments before tapping the gun on Peter’s cunt, earning a jolt and delicious sounding whimper from the spider-themed hero.
“Sorry, sir,” Peter mewled– and if Wade didn’t have a raging boner already he definitely would have now.
By the time Wade manages to compose himself to some degree, Peter is fully naked, leaned back and shyly gazing up at Wade from behind his lashes. His legs are slightly spread, wetness already clinging to his thighs. He looks utterly beautiful.
Peter flushes, a soft and embarrassed whine sounding from his lips as he glances away. Wade figures he must have said that last part out loud. He presses the tip of the gun to one of Peter’s thighs, pushing it to the side, guiding Pete’s legs to spread further apart.
Once splayed wide enough to Wade’s standards, the merc drops to his knees, kissing the inside of Peter’s knee. Peter’s breath quickens, staring down at the man between his legs, watching as Wade trails wet kisses all the way up his thighs– gun temporarily discarded on the floor to free his hands, both of which were holding Peter’s legs apart and kneading at the plush skin.
“Wade, what are you–” Peter cuts himself off with a shocked yelp that melts into a moan, teeth biting into his lip as Wade licks up his cunt.
Wade tongues up Peter’s folds, pausing to suck on Peter’s dick, moaning around the swollen clit, before retreating back down to savor the flavor of the slick coating the hero’s pussy. Peter moans loudly, collapsing completely back onto the bed, back arching off the sheets as Wade eats him out with vigor.
“Sir, please–” Peter whines, rolling his hips against Wade’s lips.
Wade pulls back, nipping at Peter’s thigh.
“What do you need, babydoll? Use your words.”
Peter lets out something between a huff and a sob, clit aching and throbbing, slick wetness dripping down his thighs. He hoists his legs over Wade’s shoulders, heels digging into the mercenary’s back at the same time he shoots a hand down to grasp at Wade’s head, pulling him back onto his pussy; He moans wantonly, grinding his hips against Wade’s open mouth, keeping him in place despite the harsh grip Wade had grown, bruising his hips. The coil of heat in his abdomen tightens, and his frantic grinding loses its rhythm. Wade latches onto Peter’s dick, sucking harshly, a hot rush of white hot pleasure surging through Peter’s body, his body tensing, thighs shaking and eyes rolling back. A warm flush of wetness runs down his cunt, coating Wade’s lips and dripping down his chin.
The high starts to wane, Peter’s body collapsing, limp and panting. Wade pulls back and licks his lips, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
SLAP!
Peter jolts, yelping, his cunt puffy and red, stinging from the slap Wade had just landed on it.
Before Peter can even question Wade’s action, the merc has his face in his hands, leaning over him and pulling their faces close.
“I told you to use your words , not take,” Wade growled.
Peter gulps, eyes wavering, icy fear crawling up his spine– a sharp contrast to the way his cunts heats up in interest, already greedy for more attention.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I–”
Wade shoves Peter’s face away, cutting off his apology, a grunt taking its place from the impact of his face to the mattress.
“That’s not good enough,” Wade picks the discarded gun up, sliding a hand over the barrel and suppressor. “Bad boys who don’t listen get punished.”
Wade drags the gun up Peter’s thigh, all the way to his wet cunt, rubbing the silencer between his folds. Peter shivers, whimpering at the cold metal.
“Sir–” Peter chokes as the suppressor rubs against his dick a way that sends a sharp electric shock of pleasure through his nerves.
“What? Don’t think you can take it?” Wade mocked, faux cooing.
Peter shakes his head, “No, I can– I can take it,” He says, looking up at Wade through half lidded eyes.
Wade smirks, leaning to give Pete a quick kiss to the cheek.
“Put your feet up here,” Wade taps the mattress, and Peter quickly obeys, legs bent and spread on either side of him, presenting his pussy.
Wade opens his bedside table, shuffling through the random bullshit inside the drawer before grasping a bottle of lube. He returns to Peter, and pops open the bottle. Pressing the gun against his cunt again, he pours the lube near the top of the firearm, letting it drip down the suppressor and onto Peter’s folds. He moves the gun, turning and sliding it, thoroughly lubricating it, Peter panting and whimpering quietly all throughout.
Wade’s hand joins the gun at Peter’s cunt, slicking up his fingers with the wet mix of slick and lube there. He circles around Peter’s entrance, smirking at the hitched breath Peter takes.
Peter lets out a low and drawn out moan as Wade slowly presses his finger inside, pumping and curling his finger up, brushing against the smooth spot of his walls. A second finger quickly joined the first, and then a third. Peter moaned freely, eyes squeezed shut, hips jutting into Wade’s hand sporadically, an uncontrollable reflex to chase the pleasure the merc was giving him.
Wade’s fingers leave Peter with a dirty wet sound, Peter whining at the loss. Wade hums and coats the suppressor of the gun in more lube for safe measure before pushing it against Peter’s soaked entrance. Peter whimpers, hands curling in the sheets, muscles flexing at the pressure pushing against him.
“Relax, babydoll,” Wade murmurs, caressing Peter’s knee.
Peter takes a deep breath, allowing his muscles to relax again. Wade pushes again, the suppressor popping into Peter’s pussy.
“Ohhh, fuck,” Peter moans, head falling back.
Wade continues thrusting the suppressor inside, and Peter trembles, feeling his heartbeat throb through his cunt, pussy gushing with wetness, eagerly taking in the intrusion. Wade pulls the silencer back until it’s nearly entirely out, before pushing it back in. Peter chokes on a moan, drool slipping from his lips as Wade continues to fuck him with the gun, the room echoing with sounds of sin.
Heat coils up in Peter’s gut for the second time that night, deep and guttural in a way it wasn’t previously. His eyes roll back, back arching, hips rolling with Wade’s thrusts of the gun, so so close before–
Wade pulls the silencer completely out, pulling a sob from the man beneath him.
“Please sir, I’ve been good, I’ll be good, I need it please–”
Wade shushes Peter’s ramblings cooing at him.
“Don’t worry babydoll, I’m gonna get you there,” He promises, wiping the tears from Peter’s face.
After Peter’s sniffling subsides, Wade pulls back, detaching the suppressor from the pistol, leaving just the standard firearm. He lathers it in lube, despite the residual wetness that was already there.
Wade puts the barrel at Peter’s cunt, leaning in close next to his ear.
“I think you’ll like it better this way, won’t you, babydoll?” Wade coos, before pushing the pistol in.
Peter squeaks, gasping at the hard and uneven metal being pushed inside him. It was nowhere near as long at the suppressor that had been previously inside him, but it felt more dangerous. More intimate somehow. Wade mouths at his jaw as he continues working the pistol inside him, Peter moaning and whimpering with every movement.
Wade pumps the gun in and out, and Peter starts seeing stars. Tears and drool make a mess of his face, falling over flushed cheeks and off his chin. Wade nips and licks at his neck, almost overwhelming for the unraveled hero.
And then Wade brings his free hand to Peter’s dick, rubbing the swollen clit in circles, doubling the pleasure. Peter shakes, whimpering through sobs, begging incoherently.
Click.
Wade flips the safety off, and that minute movement, that quiet little sound sends Peter over.
Heat envelops him quickly, head thrown back with a choked moan that sounds more like a high pitched yelp. His walls clench around the metal inside him and squirt gushes from his pussy, soaking both the pistol and Wade’s hand in his spend.
Wade slows his thrusts until Peter is twitching with overstimulation. He pulls the pistol out, and Peter collapses practically instantly, panting into the bedsheets.
“Be right back,” Wade murmurs, kissing Peter’s tear and sweat soaked cheek, before quickly making his way to the bathroom.
He snags two towels, wraps the dirtied gun in one, and wets the other one. He hurries back to the bedroom, grabbing the discarded and used suppressor, adding it to the towel with the gun before putting them to the side.
Wade sits next to Peter, running his fingers through his curls while he uses the wet towel to clean him up some, wiping the slick and wetness away.
“You did so good,” Wade murmurs, “You feeling okay?”
Peter nods and hums, “More than okay,” He responds, voice hoarse, but his lips pull into a dopey smile nonetheless.
Wade returns the smile as Peter moves to rest his head on Wade’s thighs. He glances up, noticing the bulge still very apparent in Wade’s pants.
“You gonna let me take care of that?” Peter asks, sending an impish grin up at the merc.
Wade huffs a laugh.
“You seem spent, Spidey. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Peter grunts, sitting up and leaning on his hands.
“This is nothing, I’ve fought Kingpin in worse states than this,” Peter pouts.
Wade laughs again, shaking his head.
“How about, we go take a bath, and we’ll see what happens there?” Wade suggests.
Peter closes his eyes and hums, debating– then nods.
“Deal.”