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Wade naked was a sight to behold; something akin to the traumatised beauty of broken glass, a burnt out forest, a dilapidated building. It inspired awe in the most classic sense of wonderment and fear. He looked like he would fall apart into bones and dust if you touched him. He looked like he would outlast the end of the universe itself. Timeless and ephemeral, shockingly raw, uncomfortably real, Wade naked was an experience unique to all others.

Or so Peter thought as Wade stripped away his viscera covered costume in the centre of his tiny apartment and headed to the bathroom.

“Thanks for letting me shower here,” the now naked mercenary called over his huge twisted shoulder. “No running water at my place.”

That was probably meant to be a joke as Wade was currently “between places” as he said. Peter found he couldn’t be so light-hearted about being homeless. Probably because the idea scared him witless, even with how often it was a genuine threat for him. Maybe it was funny to Wade because it was just normal. That idea scared Peter too.

Water started running with the door wide open and there was nowhere in the lounge room Peter could be to not get a perfectly clear view of Wade stepping under the weak spray. Water ran down that rough, scarred skin, Wade let out a guttural sound of gratitude that sent shivers down Peter’s spine and all of a sudden he found himself in the kitchen, gasping into the fridge.

Once his face had cooled down enough Peter grabbed a can of soda, popped it and perched on his toes on the counter. After a job Peter always found he couldn’t calm down so perching was as close to relaxed as he got. Especially when they got bloody. They always got bloody with Deadpool.

It was a relief to pull off his mask. His hair fell into his face in a sweaty flop and when he raked it back with his hand it stayed. He really needed a shower. But the water was still running and if he listened carefully he could still hear those sounds Wade was making. He quickly stopped listening but they echoed in his head like the soundtrack to a porno.

He snapped on the radio in an attempt to silence his own mind. Upon hearing the news bulletin he was successful. The announcer was going on about the scene Spider-Man and Deadpool had just left. It seems like the fire that had gotten started had taken out the whole warehouse. And an incredibly massive shipment of drugs. Peter cursed to himself. If the drugs were gone those bastards they had spent all that effort on catching were going to get off scot free. Well, except the guy Wade had been paid to kill. That guy was dead.

Peter shifted uncomfortably before shaking his head and putting that thought in the shit-I-can’t-change pile. It was a big pile.

“Are they talking about us?” Wade asked bracing a naked hip on the counter, towel slung around his shoulders.

Peter nearly ended up upside down on the ceiling but managed to restrain it to a huge and embarrassing jump. Wade laughed, showing amazingly straight white teeth; a strange flash of conventional beauty. Like a flower in a warzone.

Heart thumping in his neck Peter said, “They don’t seem to know about you but they noticed all the guys tied up out front in webs.” Peter scowled to himself, “Looks like they’re going to add arson to Spider-Man’s rap sheet.”

“But the fire wasn’t your fault,” Wade said, his scarred face holding the look of innocently perplexed like the Hulk would hold a baby, with great discomfort to those watching.

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said, his tone indicating that it was as important to him as it was to the police.

“Man, your writers must have a persecution fetish,” Wade said and it was Peter’s turn to look perplexed. Looking at that face Wade smiled. “At least you’re pretty,” he said, running a rough hand over Peter’s cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing through his hair and over his ear.

The catch and drag of Wade’s skin sent shivers through Peter, gooseflesh breaking out up and down his neck. He resisted the urge to turn his head into that coarse hand and bite the palm by saying, “Right now I’m just sweaty.” He jumped off the counter and headed to the bathroom.

“You make it look good,” Wade called to his retreating back with a grin.

Peter pointedly shut the door behind him, trying to convince himself he couldn’t hear Wade laughing. There was no hot water left, but there was hardly any to begin with and Peter was glad for the wash of cold over his oversensitive flesh. He’d always been attracted to the wrong people. And there was no one more wrong than a costumed gun-for-hire with a scarred up body and a shaken up mind. Which was probably why all Peter wanted to do was leap out of the shower and into bed with the guy.

After washing the grime off his worn-out body and wrapping himself in a towel Peter headed into the lounge room only to find Wade sprawled naked on his couch channel surfing. His legs were spread wide and Peter could see the misshapen form of his cock and balls and even the slightest suggestion of his shadowed entrance. Peter had never gone from tired to horny so fast. His head was spinning from the sudden rush of blood southward.

“P-Put some goddamn clothes on, Wade!” Peter spluttered trying to cover the view with his hands, even as he attempted to peer around them.

“My uniform’s a mess. And all of your clothes are too small. I’m kinda tubby,” Wade slapped his rock hard abs and Peter had a hard time knowing if the guy was joking or delusional.

“Wait a second,” Peter muttered, still trying to keep his hand between his eyes and the feast of temptation on his couch.

After pulling on some sweatpants Peter came back out and handed Wade the best he could do. The sweatshirt was pretty big; it swam on Peter whenever he wore it. Wade just managed to pull it on, the whole thing stretching across his chest so tight Peter found himself insanely jealous of cotton. It was long too but still not long enough to cover the man’s junk. He didn’t seem to mind though and went to sit back down.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! No naked buns on my couch anymore, buddy,” Peter demanded, stopping the decent of those deliciously tight buttocks.

“Buddy?” Wade asked with a small delighted smile that Peter chose to ignore. He thrust a pair of boxer-briefs at the man, so old the elastic had nearly given way. Wade held them before him doubtfully, “I don’t think these’ll fit, baby boy.”

Oh god, that pet name with his dick hanging out was not what Peter needed right now. “They stretch,” he snapped.

Still doubtful Wade pulled the faded black fabric over himself. They fit, but barely and Peter realised that, inversely, dressing Wade had probably been a mistake. Seeing the man straining to fit inside Peter’s oversized clothes, seeing his junk bulging obscenely in underwear Peter himself wore, watching him readjust himself every few seconds in the too-tight clothes had Peter salivating. He couldn’t stop staring at Wade’s shoulders and chest, the flash of skin at his hip and the ever so enticing bulge of his cock, which Peter had seen bare to the world only seconds ago. How the hell could someone be sexier dressed than naked? It had to be some kind of magic.

“Evil magic,” Peter muttered to himself dragging his eyes away from Wade for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to have kids after wearing these,” Wade said, indicating the briefs.

“That’s a blessing,” Peter quipped and Wade surprised him by laughing. Peter had forgotten Wade actually had a sense of humour. It was a nice change from Peter’s usual stalwart companions.

They flopped down onto the couch together, the television blaring about the amazingness of a hose that they could order right now for only five easy payments. Peter stopped to wonder when this had become a sleep over then thought of Wade’s gory uniform. Sighing he got back up.

“Hey, where you going?” Wade asked sounding adorably put out.

“Gotta clean the suits,” Peter answered heading back into the bathroom.

Both of their uniforms were thrown carelessly in the corner; he grabbed them, a tub he used for this purpose and a bottle of cleaner. He dumped the suits in the tub, sloshed some water in and poured in the cleaner, stirring it around with his hand. As he dried off Wade came in, his body seeming overwhelming and incredibly close in the tiny bathroom.

“What’s that?” he asked peering suspiciously into the tub.

“It’s homemade suit cleaner,” Peter told him, trying to ignore the smell of his body wash on Wade. “Leave them like that for an hour or so, let them dry, they’ll be good as new.”

Wade sniffed at the bucket. “Smells like apple-cider vinegar.”

Peter hummed agreement distractedly, trying not to inhale the darkly tempting odour of the man hovering in his personal space. He pushed past Wade, not letting his hands linger anywhere they shouldn’t and moved back into the lounge room. He flopped onto the couch again and let his head fall back. Wade plunked noisily down next to him and grabbed up the remote.

They sat in silence for a while, the TV flickering through stations so fast there was no way Wade could actually see what was on. Finally it flickered off and the sounds of the sleepless city filtered into the small room. Peter glanced at Wade who was still staring at the black TV screen looking tired and sad and exactly like Peter felt.

Not knowing why Peter reached up and ran a hand over Wade’s bald, scarred head. “You keep it short,” he joked gently. Wade snorted, his hand chasing Peter’s over the top of his head. Their fingers bumped before Wade dropped his hand back to his lap. “I’ve been thinking of shaving my head,” Peter confessed.

“What? No way!” Wade’s refusal was surprisingly adamant. He grabbed Peter’s wrist and turned to look him fiercely in the eye. “If I had your hair I’d grow it down to my arsehole! I miss hair.” As if to emphasise his point Wade’s other hand came up and began carding his fingers thorough Peter’s still damp hair.

Peter had to repress his shivers at the feel of those bumpy fingers tracing his scalp. “You can have mine if you want. It gets annoying,” he said, his voice sounding a little too thick and catchy.

The hand in his hair turned into a fist that shook his head lightly. Peter couldn’t stop most of the whimper he let out at the feel of the tugging. “Doesn’t want to come off,” Wade joked and Peter laughed croakily. There was a long moment of stillness.

“Petey, don’t get the wrong idea, I mean, I’m not implying anything. The whole thing seems painfully contrived but that’s the author’s fault not yours. Stupid fangirls, am I right? But what I mean is I’m not saying you do or you don’t but I kind of get the feeling that maybe you do, ya know? So I guess what I’m asking is if you want me to or if you want to or if you really, really don’t because I get the feeling that you do and what I mean to say is I want to, too.” This sudden barrage of verbiage trailed off and all that was left was Wade looking at Peter with huge vulnerable eyes that made Peter want to kiss it better. Unfortunately Peter had no idea what Wade was talking about.

“I’m sorry, what?” was the best way Peter could put it.

Wade’s face crumpled like a paper cup making Peter feel like a complete jerk. “No, it’s okay, I get it. I wouldn’t want to either if I looked like that and you looked like this. I mean I don’t even like touching me,” Wade laughed in a broken way that made Peter’s heart hurt. “It’s cool, I mean just because it’s a fanfic doesn’t mean it’s PWP, am I right? Not all fans are hornbags, although I obviously am if I read that into the situation when you probably just wanted me to stop touching you. Sorry. I’m gross. I should probably go, like, go away now. You’d probably like that. Sorry,” as he babbled Wade managed to back his way across the room into a corner, looking around for an escape or possibly just wanting to look anywhere but at Peter who was watching him with a completely confused expression.

“Wade, Wade calm down,” Peter said getting up to follow the man. But as he took a step forward Wade flinched in a way that made Peter feel like a jerk again and he stopped. “Wade, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have to stop babbling for two seconds and tell me what you actually want before I can answer you.”

Wade swallowed visibly, his eyes dancing around the room. “I thought you wanted to kiss me. Or for me to kiss you. Or for us to kiss. Or something,” he said stiltedly, slowly hunching into himself as he said it.

Peter’s mind stopped briefly as all he could think was of pressing his lips to Wade’s, the wet slide of tongue that would follow, the touching, the rubbing. Then it roared back to life with all the reasons why he shouldn’t. As his brain frantically listed why it was a bad idea Peter walked across the room, slid a hand around Wade’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

Oh god had he wanted to do that.

The rough, patchy skin caught on his own chapped lips in a perfect sensation. He moaned loudly and gripped the stretched fabric of his sweatshirt pressing against Wade’s broad chest. He pressed their lips together more firmly, nipping at Wade’s mouth, lapping at it with his tongue. Then all of a sudden he realised that Wade hadn’t moved. That he was standing stock still as Peter molested his face.

Shit.

Peter should have realised that it was some kind of stupid joke. Perhaps Wade had noticed his staring and thought he’d have some fun at Spidey’s expense, not realising how badly Peter actually wanted him. Well, he certainly knew now and he obviously wasn’t too happy with the information.

Peter pulled back, blushing hotly and feeling like a fool. “Sorry, I thought you said- never mind. Sorry,” this time it was Peter who was backing away. Before he could get to far a hand grabbing at the waistband of his sweats stopped him. Peter flinched expecting a punch.

“You kissed me,” Wade said in a flat voice.

“You said-” Peter started but was interrupted.

“You kissed me.” Peter looked up and saw a huge dumb smile on Wade’s face that should not have been as endearing as it was.

“You didn’t kiss back,” Peter pointed out.

The smile fell, replaced by a look of consternation that almost made Peter laugh. But he was too busy being pulled into a kiss by that point. It was hard and almost desperate, as though Wade was trying to make up for his lack participation earlier. The hand on his waistband slid around and down, slipping under the elastic to cup one cheek and squeeze. The other buried itself in Peter’s hair, tugging slightly as it had on the couch.

It was just as Peter had pictured. It was better than Peter had pictured. It was rough and coarse, the smooth wet heat of tongue almost jarring compared to the delicious texture of Wade’s skin. Peter clutched desperately at Wade’s neck, tugging at the fabric of his sweatshirt, wanting to feel that texture against his entire body.

Wade laughed into his mouth, “You just got me dressed.”

“Now I want you naked,” Peter huffed back shamelessly. He felt a shiver travel through Wade and was pleased by it.

Wade pulled his hands away to wriggle out of the sweater and Peter had to pull back to avoid getting elbowed in the face. Though it felt like that would only serve to turn him on more at this point. There was definitely something wrong with him.

Finally Wade was free. He dropped the sweatshirt to the floor and stood before Peter breathless from the struggle. Peter admired the view, the expression on his face felt wanting, hungry. He licked his lips and Wade whimpered but stayed where he was. Peter’s eyes travelled down to the borrowed underwear and he smiled greedily at the erection straining the fabric past its bounds.

 “You’re going to rip my underwear with this thing,” he said, grabbing Wade’s dick through the briefs, rubbing a thumb over the wet spot.

“Take them off then,” Wade suggested through a gasp.

“Soon,” Peter replied before dropping to his knees.

Wade’s hand settled shakily on Peter’s shoulder, as though he needed the help to stand as Peter sucked him through the fabric. Palming the wet cock Peter moved down to suck at his balls and Wade’s hand clenched hard. The feel of the twisted flesh through the fabric was sending fireworks up Peter’s spine and all he wanted to do was suck Wade until he came, right here in the living room.

Peter yanked the underwear down and away, nearly tripping Wade over with the force. Then that scarred dick was in his mouth and Peter was moaning like a cheap whore and he didn’t even care because he finally had his mouth where he had wanted it all fucking night.

“Rough,” Wade gasped and Peter nearly wrenched himself away. He hadn’t thought of his super strength as he just started manhandling a very sensitive part of Wade’s anatomy. But feeling him gentling his movements Wade shook his shoulders, “No rough. Like it rough.”

Of course he would. Relief made Peter feel a little light-headed. Or maybe it was the idea that Wade liked it rough. Just thinking it sent shockwaves through him. Peter tested his teeth against the coarse skin and only got positive feedback. He grabbed Wade’s balls and gave them a strong tug and the hands on his shoulders clenched again. A questing finger slid into him dry and Wade was coming hard into Peter’s mouth.

Peter spat into his hand then slid two fingers into Wade. He chewed on a hipbone and smiled almost evilly up at the man as he scissored them.

“Oh holy shit, Pete! Give a guy some time,” Wade gasped, but even as he spoke he rocked back into the sensation. His body was wonderfully relaxed and pliant.

“I want to fuck you, Wade,” Peter said and Wade groaned, nodding fiercely. “As much as I’d love to fuck you against the wall,” another groan, “the lube is in my bedroom.”

“Don’t need it,” Wade told him, pushing back strongly.

“I do,” Peter told him, pulling his fingers out and standing.

Wade’s look could have melted paint. Hoping he hadn’t pissed the man off enough for him to leave Peter dragged him into a filthy kiss to distract him. When he was moaning and rubbing against him again Peter lead him to the bedroom, slightly more agreeably.

Peter directed Wade to the tiny, creaky bed and rummaged through a draw for a condom and some lube. Finding both he quickly rolled the condom on feeling a little embarrassed when Wade sat up to watch. Then he climbed over Wade and settling between his thighs felt damn near perfect. Licking his lips in anticipation Peter drizzled a long line of gel over his finger and Wade’s butt before sliding a finger inside.

“C’mon, Spidey, ya had two in there before. We’ve gone backwards,” Wade complained, rocking roughly into Peter’s hand.

Peter shut him up by quickly jamming in another finger. The strangled noise Wade made was a bit too amorous to be anything but encouraging so Peter started pumping and scissoring roughly. Wade matched his pace, hands over his head resting on the wall between the bars of the bedstead. Soon the big man was panting and Peter was starting to feel a little breathless too. Not bothering with a third finger he moved to press his cock against that waiting hole.

A small part of his brain pointed out he should prep a little longer but it was mostly drowned out by the sound of blood rushing through his ears, his frantically beating heart and Wade telling him to just fucking do it already. Peter slid so easily into Wade’s body it was like he was made for the purpose of being fucked.

Peter’s head fell forward onto Wade’s broad, scarred shoulder and he just sat there panting. Wade’s restless hands roamed from his head to his arse, his coarse skin sending shivers through Peter, rippling his skin into gooseflesh. “C’mon Peter. Fucking move,” he rasped into Peter’s red flushed ear.

“Who’s driving?” Peter joked shakily.

“No one, right now,” Wade complained. He smacked Peter’s arse hard. “Move.”

Peter slid out long and slow, hovered just short of fully out, then slammed back in hard enough to make Wade’s teeth click. “That’s more fucking like it,” Wade said placing his hands against the wall again. “Just like that, Spidey. Fuck me like you mean it.”

The pace wasn’t fast but it was deep and hard. The sounds coming from Wade’s mouth were positively obscene, low and guttural, starting somewhere well below his belly and rolling out of him in a growl that made Peter’s toes tingle. His raised his knees and squeezed Peter between his massive thighs, purring about how good it was, his voice jolted by the brutal thrusts. He clenched and writhed and basically acted out every dirty fantasy a man could have.

Peter whimpered his rhythm started to stutter. He shifted his hips to that angle that made Wade moan like something dying and just let go, driving forward mercilessly. With the pace and how hard it was he couldn’t grab Wade’s dick like he wanted to so he gasped, “Touch yourself. Gonna come, wanna watch you.”

Wade complied, dragging a hand away from the wall to fist his cock. Watching all that scarred flesh touching and pulling in that perfect rhythm made Peter loose it. He slammed in hard enough to almost make his own pelvis ache and came, folding over Wade in a taunt bow.

“God, Wade. So fucking perfect,” he groaned right into the man’s ear.

A strangled sound and hot streaks painting Peter’s stomach signalled Wade’s second orgasm. Peter moaned at the tightening around his oversensitive dick and thrust weakly a few times, making Wade jolt and moan in return. Slowly, slowly they spiralled down together.

Finally Peter pulled out and tied off, throwing the condom in the possible direction of a bin then fell half on Wade, half off the bed. They lay there gasping, as Peter tried to remember what his fingers and toes felt like. Wade’s hands tentatively crept up Peter’s back, as though fearing being shrugged off. Peter sighed contentedly and kissed Wade’s neck. The hands settled more firmly and Peter smiled to himself.

“Contrived or not, I’m happy with the outcome,” Wade commented idly.

Peter decided to ignore whatever that was and tried to shift onto the bed more. But Wade seemed happy to have him as a sweaty human blanket and wouldn’t budge.

“We’re not going to be able to have any more showers tonight, I doubt the tank could take it,” Peter realised out loud.

Wade shrugged. There was more comfortable silence then Wade asked hesitantly, “Maybe we could share later? To save water.”

Peter grinned and heartily agreed.