It was yet another balmy summer night in Manhattan, New York.
The air hung stagnant and heavy with the smell of stale piss. Raised voices and honking horns echoed in the distance, pulsing in time with the heartbeat of the city. Grinning hugely beneath his mask, Wade Wilson took a deep breath, eyes closed, and reveled in it all.
It was good to be home.
The past two weeks had been a study in monotony. Kill a despot at a political ball here, single handedly slay an entire guerrilla faction there. Stupid, tedious shit. Though, despite the tedium and the fact that he would still be picking Amazonian leeches off of his ass for the next week, it had been a good trip all things considered. His offshore bank accounts were bulging at the seams and single-handedly bolstering the economic stability of Switzerland.
Plus, his benefactor gave him this really sweet tux as a part of the job.
Wade glanced down at the crisp lines of his three piece tuxedo and ran his hands reverently down his chest with a grin. The rich, Italian wool tapered to cinch in just below his massive lats and rest at his natural waist. White silk framed the frayed edge of his mask in a gentle flow that just screamed ‘money.’
The ostentatious get-up was just begging for a splotch of taco grease from a highly questionable food cart.
“Dressed up like a million dollar trouper,” he began to sing, sidestepping his way down the litter-strewn avenue without any particular destination in mind. The first rough note of his gravelly voice brought passerby up short, until they noticed the spectacle that was Deadpool in a tux and hurriedly gave him as wide a berth as possible on the sidewalk.
“Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper!” he continued unabated, attempting to break into a tap dance routine that ultimately landed him on the ground.
Brushing the dirt off of his trousers, Wade laughed uproariously and tried again with little success, finally settling for a graceless Charleston step instead. Quads that thick weren’t meant for delicate foot-work.
As he made his way down the avenue and rounded the corner, Wade came to an abrupt stop, leg comically suspended in the air. “I may not be a praying man, but I think I may have just found me some religion,” he purred, letting out a low, tuneless whistle.
Across the street, a young man methodically went about stapling colorful flyers to a derelict lamp post already so heavy with paper that it fluttered as cars passed. Every time he bent at the waist to retrieve another handful of papers, Wade’s heart threatened to explode from his double-breasted lapel.
“This must be what love feels like,” he whispered reverently as he watched the man’s jeans pull taunt over one of the most perfect sets of buttocks he had ever laid eyes upon.
Without hesitation, the merc strode across the street, dodging traffic, and sidled up close for a more diligent inspection.
“Are you butt-dialing me? Because, I swear, that ass is calling,” he remarked, staring unabashedly at the artful crinkle of material where the kid’s thigh met the swell of his ass.
The young man stopped in his tracks, one of the flyers still in his hands. Then he turned his head towards Wade. But only his head. His ass stayed right where it was, in plain sight.
Damn, this kid knew how to flirt.
His face was enough to distract from his glorious buttocks, though. Big, brown doe-eyes with delicate lashes framed the bridge of a long nose, leading down to full, soft-looking lips. Strands of brown hair fell over his high forehead, part of a thick, fluffy mess that made him not only the most beautiful, but also the cutest man Wade had ever seen in his entire life. Damn it. This guy was worth taking from both sides.
“It might be,” he replied, and even his voice was perfect in every way. “If you have what it takes to pick up.”
He held the flyer he had just taken out to Wade, as if this would decide whether his ass would be flirting back or not. One look at it made clear though why this was the case.
With Herculean effort, Wade broke eye-contact to study the seemingly innocuous flyer.
The smooth contours of a strikingly familiar set of assets, clothed in nothing more than form-fitting, red silk boxers, were the first thing to draw his attention.
It was a flattering picture, but paled in comparison to the real deal.
Beneath the image, rich red text flowed across the page, crafting the framework for some truly impressive innuendo. Wade murmured the ad aloud as he scanned it, pausing with a sly grin at ‘discreet companionship, just a phone-call away!’ He cleared his throat and idly adjusted his pocket kerchief.
“My name may have a permanent reservation on Santa’s naughty list, but this sure as shit feels like a Christmas miracle, Baby Boy,” he stated in a reverent whisper.
“If you want to get the bells ringing, you just have to say the word,” the young man teased. “Naughty lists are my specialty.” His puns and hitlines were close to Wade’s level of terrible, which was kinda attractive in its own right.
If this guy wasn’t worth spending money on, nobody in the entire world was.
“As it happens I’m free right now,” the Christmas miracle continued. “We’d just have to stop by the next store for lube and some condoms. If you even want to use any, that is. Maybe you like your presents unwrapped.”
The mercenary smiled so widely that his mask crinkled at the corners. This was entirely too good to be true. He sauntered closer and leaned against the advertisement laden light post, sure to cant his hips so that his body made a graceful S-curve in silhouette.
“You know, I’m all for supporting local businesses. How about we hash out the details over dinner. I’ve got a hell of an appetite,” he drawled, unabashedly trailing his gaze along the curves of the young man’s body. With a husky chuckle, he subtly readjusted his trousers and held out a gloved hand. “Name’s Pool. Dead.”
The other looked at the hand as if to decide whether to shake it or not. Finally he grabbed it and squeezed it rather hard.
“Peter,” he introduced himself. “But as much as I love Christmas dinners, I have to decline. I have very few rules, but one of them is to not play anyone’s boyfriend or pretend we’re dating. I only offer the gifts, not the turkey. So if you’re starving, you can go alone and call me when you’re done. I’d be happy to serve as the dessert.”
“Oh, Baby Boy, that ain’t the kind of meat this hot blooded Canadian is hankering for,” he retorted, continuing to shake Peter’s hand for an awkward amount of time despite the audible grind of his metacarpals.
Jesus, this kid had a hell of a grip.
“In that case, there’s a hotel just a few blocks from here. Maybe we should skip right to dessert instead. And on tonight’s menu: a Deadpool sundae with extra nuts,” he finished in a stage whisper, swiveling his hips and giving a lavacious wink for unnecessary emphasis.
Peter kept an impressively straight face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Either he was immune to really bad innuendos or he had a good control over his expressions. Or maybe both.
“Speaking of menus, don’t you want to know a bit more of what you’ll be getting into before we go anywhere? Maybe the things I have to offer aren’t on your Christmas wish list. Or maybe they are too expensive. Though I assume a man in a fancy suit like yours shouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“Oh, this old thing?” Wade squealed in an affected falsetto as he snapped his lapels. Shaking his head and laughing at his own outlandishness, the merc sidled up close enough to loop an arm around Peter’s waist and sink his hand into the kid’s back pocket. “Yeah, I gotcha. I think this should just about cover Santa’s expenses,” he said lowly, attempting to keep his words trapped in the tight, intimate press of their bodies.
It would put a serious damper on the night to have to knock together any local law enforcement heads.
He snuck in a soft squeeze, then reluctantly removed his hand from Peter’s ass, leaving behind a thick wad of bills.
“I guess so,” the teen mumbled, softly running his own hand over the bulge in his back pocket. It felt like more than enough to cover an hour. He and the masked man in the suit would probably spend a good amount of time together now.
“So you just bought the cat in the bag, huh?” he raised his voice a little. “Into surprises much? I hope you’ll like what Santa has to offer you. Because I don’t do refunds. I have to feed the reindeer, after all.”
“Careful now, any more of these holiday metaphors and I may just Kris all over your Kringle right here and now,” Wade retorted.
“Ah, ah, ah, hold it in the sack, big boy,” Peter shook his head and patted Wade’s chest. “Let’s at least get some privacy before we light the Christmas Tree.”
“Jesus, you are literally perfect,” Wade remarked as he cocked his head in wonder. “Alright, fuck it. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” With casual grace, he laced a finger through one of Peter’s belt loops and urged him to follow with a light tug.
The thin trickle of foot traffic around them began to build into a healthy flow of anonymous faces as they proceeded up the avenue. Discomfited by the press of unwashed bodies, Wade shifted his arm so that he could instead rest a hand on the small of Peter’s back.
The subtle intimacy of the motion didn’t go unnoticed.
“I can walk on my own,” the escort remarked and brushed Wade’s arm off. “I won’t run away just because you’ve already paid me, no worries. And don’t forget to stop by the next drug store. I do the rough stuff, but lube is a must, or your sleigh won’t slide anywhere tonight.”
“Run away? As if you could resist this prime piece of real estate,” Wade scoffed in mock offense. “And, speaking of, do you really expect a hot hunk of ass like mine to roam the streets unprepared?” With that, he reached into the silk lining of his jacket pocket and pulled out a generous bottle of personal lubricant, flipping it idly in the air.
The affronted glances around them were so worth it.
“Well, look who put a plate with cookies out for Santa here,” Peter said, leaving the remarks about Wade’s irresistibility uncommented. “Then I guess we can go find the North Pole right away. Unless you want any special little gadgets to be involved. This came out of the blue, so I don’t have my equipment with me. Though I can assure you that what mother nature blessed me with works just fine on its own, too.”
Wade beamed at the way Peter’s coy smile kissed his cheeks with a youthful glow.
But, before he could respond, a man rudely bumped shoulders with the escort and continued on his way, muttering expletives. Immediately, Deadpool’s hand shot up to brace the small of Peter’s back and pull him close once more. “Rude fucker,” he growled at the retreating figure, eyes flashing.
As soon as his attention refocused on his companion, his broad smile returned.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” It sounded better than good.
Peter furrowed his brow though and twisted himself out of Wade’s embrace.
“Could you please stop that,” he requested. “I really am capable of walking on my own. And I can very well defend myself if needed to. Again: I am not one to play your boyfriend or behave like your date. If that is what you are looking for, maybe you should hire someone else.”
Raising his hands in supplication, Wade side stepped to put some space between them. “Shit, sorry man. It’s just instinct, you know?” he muttered, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets with perhaps more force than necessary. “Anyways, that’s it just up ahead.”
Peter looked up to eye the establishment Wade had chosen for them.
The hotel in question was a non-descript brick building on the corner of Lexington Ave. with a cloth overhang that read Ramada in bright red font. Faux wood siding gave the first two stories an almost homey atmosphere. Or at least much more inviting than the gaudy facades and cheap stucco that plastered the rest of the block.
It was a comfortable middle ground as far as hotels went in New York.
“Looks nice,” the young man nodded. “I hope you can afford this after you so generously paid me in advance.”
Wade’s rich baritone laugh rang out above the din of the traffic.
“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. I’m sure you’re worth every last coke-stained Benjamin,” he remarked, amused. “Anyways, did you even check to make sure that I didn’t just slip you a wad of singles?” With a sly smile, he casually stepped backwards into traffic. Tires squealed around him and thickened the air with the scent of burnt rubber.
Peter’s expression changed into a mixture of disbelief and the kind of annoyance you show towards someone who does really stupid things to get attention. Which honestly really fitted Wade very well.
“No,” he replied, following him onto the street where the cars had - thanks to Wade - already stopped by now. “I won’t just pull out a huge bundle of money here in public and count the notes. I will do so once we’re in private. Trust me, I will make sure you paid for what you will be getting. Should you still be alive then, that is.”
Still standing in the middle of the lane, Wade doubled over in laughter. “Still... alive,” he finally managed to choke out as he wiped away a non-existent tear.
The joke was completely lost on Peter.
Without warning, the sharp clarion call of a taxi horn abruptly pierced the mercenary’s warm glow at seeing his companion’s put-upon expression. With a growl, he slammed his hand on the hood and pointed a threatening finger at the driver, who merely gestured back with a finger of his own.
For a moment Peter thought about just turning around and leaving.
This guy was obviously insane. Then again he had paid him a huge amount of money without even asking twice and he was without doubt totally into Peter. So why let this opportunity of earning his rent and maybe a new laptop slip so easily? If this tuxedo-wearing weirdo got out of control, Peter could still very well defend himself. As long as Deadpool kept to Peter’s rules, there was no need to reject him.
He strode over to Wade and gently grabbed his arm, pulling him into the direction of the hotel.
“No need to prove to me what a strong and fearless guy you are,” he purred, letting go of Wade again as soon as he followed his tugging. “I’m already all yours. So stop wasting your energy on this taxi driver. You will still need it if you want to use the time you paid for to its full capacity.”
“Oh, methinks that sounded like a challenge. Don’t let this muscular physique fool you, kid, there’s plenty of stamina to go along with it. And believe me, time won’t be the only fuckin’ thing filled to capacity,” he responded cheekily. Sailing past Peter on the sidewalk, Wade hip-checked the bellhop and opened the door for him with a flourish.
“After you, beautiful.”
“I’m curious,” Peter admitted with a little smirk as he walked past Wade and entered the hotel lobby. “So far no one could keep up with my stamina.”
And even if it sounded like it, that was not a joke.
Rolling his eyes, Wade sauntered in after Peter and artfully leaned across the reception desk.
The harried receptionist glanced up and attempted to smile, though it faltered halfway. To be fair, the red and black mask was a bit offputting to people who didn’t know Wade, and downright terrifying to those who did.
“Um, hello…sir,” she rallied admirably, though the welcome sounded more like a question. “Welcome to the Ramada East-Side. Do you happen to have a reservation?”
The hope in her eyes was nearly tangible.
Wade took pity on the woman and answered simply. “No. But I was hoping you maybe had a single available for the night. Two adults, one bed, street view preferred but not necessary. Sturdy bed frame.” He let the implication hang heavily in the air and tossed a glance back at Peter with a salacious wink.
“Er… Let me just check if we have a free room available…” the lady stammered and began to click around on her computer screen while Peter just waited with his arms crossed, leaned against the silvery pillar close to the desk. He knew exactly how to play to the gallery. Then again, with his looks that wasn’t really hard.
“We only have one room left on the fourth floor,” the receptionist had to give in after a moment. The sound of her voice made clear that she would have loved every room to be taken rather than to rent one to the man in front of her. “That would be 204.30$ for the night, including continental breakfast and free Wifi. Shall I book it for you, sir?”
“Yeah, sure thing, toots,” Wade replied. The pet name rankled just as much as he had expected it to if the angry key-strokes were any indication.
“I’ll need to see an ID and of course a credit card to hold on file for any…incidental damages,” she stated with a snide pause.
Wade laughed good-naturedly and fished out a slim, silver cigar case from his jacket. He handed over the cards and attempted to wait. As patiently as he could, at least. The hotel was probably going to realize that there was a pretty horrific series of scuff marks on the front of the desk come morning.
“Alright Mr. Jack…Hammer,” she hesitated at the name and a tiny furrow graced her brow.
“Yeah, ma had a strange sense of humor. Just call me Weasel,” Deadpool informed her with a grin. Shaking her head, the receptionist glanced at the ID. “I’ll have to ask you to remove your mask, sir, in order to verify your identity.”
“Ha. That’s not going to happen, darlin’. Have you ever imagined what a Cabbage Patch doll would look like after being lit on fire and tossed into Schrodinger’s box for a night? Nothing pretty, I assure you.”
The scuff marks continued to pile up.
“Sir, I really must insist,” the woman said, patience stretched thin.
With a quick glance to make sure Peter was looking elsewhere, Wade pulled the mask up to his brow.
He returned his mask to its rightful place while the receptionist simply stared for a long moment, expression blank. Without a word, she handed the cards back and quickly retrieved the confirmation letter from a nearby printer. She slid the paper over along with a simple map of the building. “Alright Mr. Hammer, elevators are located in the lobby just across the way.” She indicated the direction with a freshly manicured finger and a pointed look. “Your room number is four eighteen and will be on the fourth floor to the left. If there is anything at all that we can help you with during your stay please do not hesitate to dial 0 on your room phone. I hope you gentlemen enjoy your stay.”
With finality, she set a matching set of key cards on the counter and excused herself into the back office.
Wade snatched up the pile of papers and leaned back on his elbows. “Well, we’re all set, Baby Boy,” he reported with a wink.
“Finally,” Peter sighed and pushed off the column. “You’re lucky that I only count the time from the moment the door closes and the rules are set.”
He made his way over to the elevator, assuming that whichever room they had gotten would surely not be located on the ground floor. Which was good. Somehow he felt safer in higher regions.
“Aww, don’t be like that, sweet cheeks. Anticipation is the best kind of fun! But, incidentally, so is immediate gratification. I’m not entirely sure what my point is,” Wade rambled on as he jabbed the elevator call-button. “Anyhoo, it’s room four eighteen. Low enough to keep good oxygenation for breathy moaning and high enough for those breathy moans to really carry.”
The whir of gears punctuated their conversation as they waited.
“Ah, so you’re a moaner? Or do you expect me to moan? Because if so, you will either have to tell me in advance so I can fulfill your wishes, or you have to be remarkably good. If you want to, you can tell me to do it and I will be nice and not let you know whether I only did it because you asked for it or whether you really were that great.” He winked at Wade and then gracefully slid inside the elevator which just had opened its doors with a bing.
Of course Peter would be the type of little minx to drop a bombshell like that and flounce off as if nothing happened.
“A moaner? Nah. I’m a fuckin’ screamer,” Wade disclosed with a chuckle after situating his ass on a decorative hand rail. “And I hope you plan on delivering on all of this hype you’ve been spouting. God knows you look good enough to eat. It had better not just be window dressing.”
Peter’s smirk would have suited a supervillain as he glanced up to Wade through his long lashes, his head tilted ever so slightly downwards to boost the effect even more.
“Oh, believe me,” he cooed. “After this night you will never think of sex again the same way as before.”
Wade merely grunted and let his head drop back to the elevator wall with a hollow thunk. Any more of Peter’s coy courtesan bullshit and this tuxedo was going to be in shreds on the floor.
Luckily, the ding of the elevator went off before he could convince himself to say ‘fuck the room’ and tear out the wiring on the elevator’s emergency access panel. With long, confident strides, Wade snatched Peter’s hand and promptly dragged him down the hall to the left.
Even though Peter hated intimate contact and holding hands was already out of his comfort zone, he had to grin. He loved it when guys went absolutely mad through his teasing and Wade seemed to be extremely affected by this behavior. Good. That usually meant more money in the long term.
So he followed Deadpool all too willingly to the room with the number “418” on it and waited with a smug grin for his client to open it.
Wade tried the key card three times without success before finally spewing a string of expletives and taking a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves.
This kid was going to be the death of him.
The rasp of the deadbolt as it retracted made a sound reminiscent of racking a pistol slide and with equal finality. As soon as the door swung open, Deadpool stepped back and gave Peter a playful shove between the shoulder blades. “Get to stepping, jailbait,” he sing-songed.
“Oof,” the boy huffed as he stumbled over the threshold. Not that the shove had him lose his balance, he had known it would come. This special sense he had warned him of things like that. But he had learned to ignore it when there was no real danger in sight, so people wouldn’t wonder about his strange reactions to things. “So you like it rough, huh?”
He stepped inside of the room fully, scanning it quickly before he strolled over to the bed.
“Is there any other way?” Deadpool gasped in mock surprise. He quickly kicked the door shut behind him and stalked across the room predaciously.
“That’s good, I like it rough. Actually rough is the only thing I do. Which brings me to my rules. There aren’t many, but cross them and I’m out immediately. First: I’m into anything hard, but I will not let anything make me bleed. Biting, scratching, do whatever you want, but one drop of blood and we’re done. Second: No affection of any kind. I will not kiss, cuddle, hug, massage or stroke you. If you can’t go without kissing, I have nothing against some biting and tongue-playing in the heat of the moment. But no smooching or any tender stuff like that. That’s all. Otherwise I’m up for pretty much anything, bareback or covered, you name it.”
He reached inside of his pocket and pulled out the bundle of money Wade had shoved in there. Giving it a quick count, he turned around to the merc, but not granting him a look.
“The money you gave me covers… I’m generous today, let’s make it 2 hours. And no, I will not stay for the rest of the night, so don’t even try it.”
He stashed the notes back in his pocket and finally looked up, meeting Wade’s gaze.
“Is everything understood? Or do you have any more questions before we let this hotel room have the night of its lifetime?”
Wade gaped openly at Peter, completely at a loss for words. That level of confidence spoke more for Peter’s skill than all of his prior innuendo-laden boasting combined.
It took a moment for Wade’s brain to reboot. The rerouting of circulation in a southern direction certainly wasn’t helping matters.
“Yeah, I hear you loud and clear. But…well, you have me at a bit of an impasse. You sure as shit wouldn’t survive my version of rough. So how about I let you take the lead and we’ll go from there,” he finally managed to stammer.
“Ah, that’s what a few guys have claimed already and I survived it every time. I’m far tougher than I look, believe me. You can just go for it and if it becomes too much, I will let you know. Don’t worry about me. Seriously. I’ve never been the one running out of breath first. So if you really like it rough and you want me to go all the way, I should maybe warn you that I can get very, very rough if asked for it.”
The look he gave Wade was challenging, but he already was sure the other would back down. Peter had superhuman powers and superhuman stamina. He could take and do things most people wouldn’t even dream of.
But while he appreciated the self-assurance, Deadpool wasn’t buying it.
Peter may be a successful businessman and a consummate escort to boot, but there was no way in hell even a man in the prime of his youth could stand up to Wade’s stamina. His healing factor was nothing to joke about, but Peter likely hadn’t had too many mutate customers in his short tenure as call-boy hottie extraordinaire.
“Petey-pie, these guns aren’t exactly for show,” he said instead, flexing his biceps.
Peter sighed and approached his customer, grabbing his shirt with his hand.
“I hate pet names,” he said. “So I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t use any.”
He let his gaze wander over Wade’s mask, studying it for a moment.
“You cover yourself pretty well, so I assume you don’t want to undress? Or is me taking off your suit something you would fully embrace?”
“That’s a big honking check on my ‘no-no’ list, bro. I suspect you want to keep your lunch right where it is. Plus, this tux is way too fly not to fuck in,” Wade said hurriedly, grabbing onto Peter’s wrists and holding them just a bit too hard in his panic.
Peter sensed the grip was harder than would be normal, but it didn’t bother him. Like he had said, he could take a whole lot. But he knew it meant that Wade was uncomfortable, so he answered to it.
“No worries,” he said calmly, letting go of Wade’s shirt. “I won’t do anything you don’t like. I’m here to please you after all, that’s what you paid me for. So how about I undress instead and you can then tell me what I can do for you, noble sir in a fancy suit.”
“That…that sounds really good,” Wade groaned, rubbing circles into Peter’s wrists in mute apology. The soothing touch was brief. After all, the last thing he wanted was to ruin his only chance at intimacy in recent memory by breaking Peter’s rules.
And what a chance it was. The kid was an Adonis, all sun-kissed skin and smooth lines. He was genuinely irresistible.
Wade rolled his hips forward and savored the friction between their bodies, causing a familiar heat to take up residence in his loins. “Uh oh, looks like somebody woke up Mr. Pool’s naughty parts. I guess my self-control just can’t hold a candle to a tough guy like you,” he remarked teasingly.
Peter grinned and pushed his own hips forward to meet Wade’s thrust and deliver even more friction.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing to your candle,” he purred darkly.
The merc let out an obnoxious imitation of an ooga horn and picked Peter up by the waist. “Let’s blow some minds,” Wade stated huskily as he backed up towards the bed.
He sat heavily on the blessedly firm mattress, Peter’s legs splayed on either side of his lap.
“Mmh, I’m really good at blowing,” the young man teased as he placed his arms over Wade’s shoulders. “Be it minds or candles, I don’t mind.”
He pushed his knees down against the mattress for support and began to rub his crotch against the other’s lap. He had to admit that it was fun to exchange bad puns and innuendos with Deadpool. It wasn’t often that someone could keep up with Peter’s terrible humor, but Wade seemed to be just as bad as him, if not worse.
Wade grabbed his hips to still them.
“Shit. You keep that up and my torpedo is gonna explode before I even get a chance to sink your battleship,” he groaned, sinking his forehead against Peter’s shoulder. So much for boasting about his sexual prowess. It had just been so long since intimacy was anything more than a five minute date with a stuffed unicorn and a well-used 1994 Playboy magazine.
After a few deep breaths, he regained his composure and took the opportunity to explore the dips and swells of Peter’s lithe body, gloves firmly in place. He slipped his thumb beneath the hem of Peter’s shirt and traced the crest of his hip bones.
“Now, as fuckin’ amazing as all of this is, there’s one teensy problem.”
“What? You’re straight?” Peter joked.
He kept still now, waiting for Wade to do or say something. He didn’t want to do anything that his client was uncomfortable with or didn’t want yet.
Wade laughed uproariously. “No, you little shit! Believe me, as long as I have a face, you’ll have a place to sit. The problem, though, is you are way overdressed for the occasion. ‘Cause that body is bangin’. I mean seriously. Pilates? Yoga? What’s your secret?”
Peter had to smirk. Yes, his body was really stunning, no question. It wasn’t due to any sports though. If Wade only knew what had made Peter this fit and well-built… But nobody did know and nobody would ever know and so Peter did not intend to tell him.
“Sex,” he replied instead, taking his arms off Wade’s shoulders to shrug the indigo hoodie-jacket he was wearing off his body. “Plenty of rough, heavy sex. So make it good, so I will keep my muscles.”
“You got it, kid. Let’s start with some stripperobics,” Wade replied, voice thick.
He watched the hoodie as it tumbled to the floor and reverently pulled Peter’s shirt over his head to follow. Each deep score of muscle that Wade had felt earlier stood before him in stark relief. Even in the sallow, artificial light, Peter was breathtaking. Every inch of his skin was flawless and dusted with an occasional smattering of freckles, as if he were nothing more than an otherworldly image of perfection constructed in Wade’s broken mind.
But, the warmth of Peter’s body and the deep, even cadence of his breathing so close was a blunt reminder as to just how real this was about to be.
He couldn’t quite believe his luck.
“Go ahead. You’re allowed to touch it,” Peter invited him with a crooked smile. “Or if you want to see the whole picture first, let me get up and remove my shoes and pants as well. I promise you, it will only get better.”
“Touch ‘it’? And what ‘it’ would we be referring to? ‘Cause there are a lot of ‘it’s that I want to be touching right now,” Wade replied, voice trembling imperceptibly.
With a smirk, Peter leaned in until his lips were right beside Wade’s ear and then whispered a husky: “Everything.”
Wade inhaled sharply and froze between Peter’s thighs. Expectant silence hung between them, punctuated only by the staccato beat of his heart.
“Off,” he growled, bursting into action and tearing at Peter’s fly with trembling fingers.
The escort laughed, sliding off Wade’s lap to stand right in front of him. He wore sneakers that weren’t tied all too tight, so while Wade fumbled with his zipper, Peter managed to get out of his shoes by pressing the tip of his foot against the other foot’s heel and pulling the limb out of the sneaker. His socks followed in quite the same manner. Good thing that Peter’s toes were so flexible. And sticky, if needed.
While Peter kicked off his socks and shoes, Wade finally managed to unbutton his jeans. Almost breaking the zipper in his haste, he yanked them down the kid’s hips . Only one thin layer of cotton remained between the merc and nirvana.
The boy stepped out of his pants with a smug smile and looked down at the man in front of him.
“You want me to get rid of them too?” he asked while he let his fingers slide down his own stomach, slipping the tips beneath the rim of his boxers. “Or do you want that joy for yourself?”
“Give me a minute here,” Wade murmured as he pressed his brow against the soft line of hair trailing down from Peter’s navel. After a brief moment, he slipped off of the mattress and knelt on the floor, eyes trained on the extra inch of revealed hip bone.
“Unwrapping your presents if half the fun,” he said before pinching the hem of Peter’s boxers between his masked lips and tugging downward.
Peter grinned as he looked down at the man with his boxers in his covered mouth. He had never seen someone being so utterly lost around him. This guy was so into Peter that it was almost sad.
“There you go,” he hummed as his crotch got uncovered inch by inch. “Merry Christmas, you naughty boy.”
He wasn’t hard yet, but to be fair it took quite some effort to arouse him. A few words and some brief lap-riding didn’t do the thing for him yet.
With a deft tug, Peter’s boxers pooled around his ankles and Wade sat back to admire his handiwork. And merciful heavens, what a view. Peter stood above him tall and radiant in his confidence. His body was lithe and as graceful as a dancer’s. What body hair he had was sparse, coalescing into a thin trail that meandered down his abdominals and directed Wade’s gaze to where Peter’s cock lay long and heavy between his thighs.
“Fuck,” Wade stated simply. All of the bluster, all of his typical verboseness came to a screeching halt. “I…umm,” he began hesitantly. “Can I?” He shook a loose fist beside his open mouth in the universal sign for sucking dick.
“Sure,” Peter nodded. “My dick is yours to command, so go ahead. Quite literally.”
The huge grin that Peter received in turn was evident even through Deadpool’s mask.
“Could you do me a favor though and cover up those gorgeous peepers? There’s nothing like a little sensory deprivation to open up the chimney flue,” Wade stated with a chuckle.
With the angle that Peter was standing above him, there was little possibility of the kid catching sight of Wade’s mottled skin. But he didn’t want to take any chances.
”If that floats your boat,” Peter shrugged.
Over time he had had people ask all kind of weird stuff of him, so being requested to close his eyes really was nothing odd. He probably would’ve done it anyway. He wasn’t one to leave his eyes open when receiving head from someone.
So, as wished for, he let his eyelids flutter shut and raised his head a little to indicate that he was really not trying to get a peek at whatever Wade was attempting to hide from him so badly. Clients had their quirks sometimes. It was his job to just roll with it.
And how could Wade resist an invitation like that?
Long, red fingers stroked down Peter’s stomach and dipped into the valley of muscle that swooped down to create a graceful line straight to his cock. His touch was delicate and measured at first, then grew more confident as he realized that Peter wasn’t going to say ‘stop.’ His eyes flicked up to ascertain whether Peter had kept his word before the merc pulled his mask up over his nose.
With one hand, Wade palmed the firm swell of Peter’s ass and directed the kid’s velvety cock-head towards his open mouth with the other. Anticipation set his nerves alight and threatened to smother the man where he knelt.
But, before he could second-guess himself, Wade insistently pressed Peter closer still and devoured his flaccid cock completely.
Peter gasped. The hot, wet feeling of Wade’s mouth around his member made him shudder softly. Quite a few people actually wanted to give blowjobs to Peter, but it was still rather rare compared to other practices and always felt a bit unreal to him. People paying him money to make him come instead of pursuing their own release was something he didn’t fully understand.
That didn’t mean though that he wasn’t going to enjoy it. Unless Wade was really bad at blowjobs, but to be honest Peter was pretty sure it was rather the contrary.
Sighing lowly he let his shoulders drop and allowed himself to relax. If this was how his client wanted to spend his bought time, Peter would do his best to make it good. As he always did. So giving in completely was what he would be going for now.
Above him, Peter’s gasps and sighs went unheard, overridden by the pounding in Wade’s ears. The merc’s palms began to sweat in his gloves and blood rapidly swirled down his body to cavort in his groin.
This was everything that he needed. The hot press of skin, the weight of a throbbing dick making his jaw ache. It wasn’t supposed to, but it felt like belonging.
Wade lifted his tongue to press Peter’s quickly swelling length into the roof of his mouth and angle the glans towards the back of his throat. Cheeks hollowed from the force of suction, he tightened his spit-slick lips around Peter’s shaft and pressed forward until the kid’s cock-head hit resistance in the wet heat of his throat. Suddenly, the minor resistance vanished and Wade’s lips hit the trembling plane of Peter’s groin.
A thin trail of spittle seeped down his chin and lingered in the ridges of scar tissue.
Peter had to moan in genuine surprise and pleasure. This man was good! Really good. He hadn’t even completely started yet and it was already most likely going to become the best blowjob Peter had ever received. Heat pooled into his lower regions at the feeling of his dick being pressed tightly against Wade’s palate and being seated so deeply in the other’s throat. His stomach contracted from anticipation.
“Oh my God…” he whispered.
Wade groaned in response to the broken little whisper and reflexively swallowed.
That in return made Peter moan again, louder this time. Jesus fuck! If the beginning was already this good, the end wouldn’t be far away…
Wade blindly guided Peter’s hands to rest on top of his head and in turn grasped the kid’s hip with one hand to stabilize him. Operation ‘give the gorgeous businessman the most powerful orgasm of his life’ was a go.
Tentatively at first, he bobbed his head in a series of shallow little thrusts, punctuated by firm undulations of his tongue against the vein on the underside of Peter’s shaft. The merc didn’t even draw breath, instead taking pleasure in the soft texture of Peter’s skin and the building pressure behind his eyes.
And oh, how genuine the gasps and moans were that he received as a reward. Peter was quite a good actor when it came to faking pleasure, but in this case it wasn’t even necessary. Wade was gifted!
Peter made good use of the hands on Wade’s head and clawed at the mask beneath his fingers. This night would pay out in more than just one way.
Spurred on by the telltale clench of Peter’s fingers on his mask, Wade began to fellate him in earnest.
He pulled back until the chilled air wrapped around Peter’s wet shaft, then sheathed him once more in the hot, humid press of his throat. Their rhythm slowly gained in intensity until each rough thrust began to rock Peter’s hips against Wade’s stabilizing grip.
Maybe he needed to curtail the enthusiasm, Wade thought to himself, bemused. It sure as shit would put a damper on the night if he broke the kid.
He pulled away, slow and smooth to lave attention to the head of Peter’s dick with an alternating series of suckling and firm sweeps of his tongue.
His ignored erection throbbed sympathetically where it was trapped in the confines of his straining trousers. But his pain was inconsequential compared to Peter’s pleasure. Even so, Wade took the opportunity to instinctively roll his hips just for the feel of a little hands-free friction.
He sunk back down on Peter’s cock, timing each deep draw with the rhythm of his own pistoning hips. Every rough, sucking pull brought Peter one step closer to his mounting orgasm if the kid’s moans were anything to go by.
Peter by now had forsaken all attempts to even only slightly still control himself and was meeting Wade’s movements with eager thrusts of his hips. Each of them was accompanied by a throaty moan, groan, or gasp. Shit, he hadn’t even known blowjobs could be that good. He might even learn some things from his client right here.
“I’m going to come…” he mumbled more to himself than to Wade, but then the next suck had him moan out loud again and he repeated: “I’m going to come!”
Wade smoothed a hand up Peter’s trembling thighs and cupped his tightening scrotum, pulling down gently to stave off his release and let the building pressure rise.
The burning fire in Peter’s loins had grown so hot that the rest of his body felt numb, pressure building up in his temples, his neck prickling in excitement. He would probably last a little bit longer, but he didn’t know whether Wade wanted to swallow or even taste his fluids, so he better warn him now before it would be too late.
The stuttered warning was appreciated, but completely unnecessary. The bitter taste of precome danced on the merc’s tongue, thick and perfect.
This was it.
With lightning fast reflexes, he gripped Peter’s buttocks and pressed him forward almost violently, forcing the kid’s dick into the clenching tightness of his throat.
That was enough to send Peter over the edge. With a loud, hoarse moan he bent over a bit and grabbed Wade’s head tight to support himself as his knees threatened to give way.
His orgasm hit him with blinding force and knocked all the air out of his lungs as his muscles contracted heavily. Cursing and gasping for breath, he let his hips jerk forward with each wave of release, shooting his come deep down Wade’s willingly offered throat. For a moment he thought he would actually collapse, but he managed to stay upright, even though his legs trembled. He couldn’t remember ever having had an orgasm this breathtaking. Literally.
They both stayed still for a long moment, relearning how to breathe.
Wade couldn’t help but grin around Peter’s softening cock. There was no way in hell those weak knees and desperate, panting breaths were a show.
Maximum fuckin’ effort for the win.
He leaned back, letting the escort’s dick slide from his lips with a slurp and tugged his mask back firmly into place.
“Holy fuck. You’ve got one hell of a lung duster on you, Baby Boy,” he rasped, praying that Peter didn’t object to the accidental slip of a nickname.
But Peter was far too high still to say anything to that.
“Told you I’m more than I look like,” he mumbled instead, letting his still shaky hands drop back to his sides. Dang it. He should have paid for that blowjob, not the other way round.
“So don’t even think you got me powered out already,” he added, even though his glassy eyes and sweaty brow looked like they were telling a different story. “I’m still good to go. And I assume you need some attention yourself now, if I’m not completely mistaken.”
Wade glanced down at where a seam had come loose on his tented pants front.
“Understatement of the century,” he commented under his breath. Still kneeling, he popped the slide clasp of his trousers open and readjusted himself so that his cock rested along his stomach to alleviate the pressure.
“I’m not so sure you’re ready to climb this corporate ladder, kid. You need a break first?” he teased as he rose from the floor and cracked his neck.
“The day someone fucks me into exhaustion is yet to come,” he claimed, already sounding pretty much normal again. “You paid for 2 hours and you will get 2 hours. The only breaks included will be the ones you’ll need yourself.”
Grinning slyly, Wade shucked his jacket and vest as he made his way back to the hotel bed. The white, silk undershirt stayed staunchly in place, however, buttoned all the way.
With a saucy wink he leapt back onto the mattress and tucked his hands behind his head to showcase the massive musculature of his arms and chest. Just to be an asshole, he pointedly lifted his hips where his still clothed cock stood tall and firm.
“If your legendary stamina is the holy fuckin’ grail that you claim, let’s say we get to pork swording the ham wallet,” Wade said with a deep, baritone laugh.
Despite this metaphor being seriously off-putting, Peter kept a straight face and strode over to the bed.
“If you’re indicating that you want me to ride you, I will have to ask you some questions before we start,” he said. He crawled onto the bed as well, right on top of Wade and stayed hovering above him on all fours, his face mere inches away from the merc’s.
“First: Do you want to prep me or do you want to watch me doing it myself? Normally I ask if my clients want me worked open already before we meet, but you know, I didn’t get the chance before you literally bought my services off the street. So we will have to do that now.”
All of Wade’s mental faculties shut down one by one. For a moment, he had let himself forget that this was no more than a business transaction for Peter.
“You…” he began, but the crushing tidal force of reality brought him up short.
Regardless of how much Peter obviously enjoyed Wade’s attentions, this wasn’t a romanticized rendezvous of star-crossed lovers. Wade needed to remember that.
“Umm, yeah. I…I want to do it,” he finally choked out.
Peter raised an eyebrow and ran one hand down Wade’s chest to soothe him a little, whatever the sudden problem was. He didn’t say anything to it though and instead leaned over to the edge of the bed.
“Then I better get the lube out of your pocket, huh?”
“That a euphemism?” Wade retorted, rallying admirably from his moment of introspection.
“For a change I meant that literally,” Peter smirked.
He leaned out of the bed far enough to grab Wade’s jacket and pull the bottle of lube out of the pocket. He was flexible and very well balanced, so the little stunt was no problem for him and he managed to even make it look really graceful.
Wade gaped openly at the smooth flex of Peter’s body and idly wondered if Olympic-level sex gymnastics were a thing.
With the object of his desire in his hand, Peter pulled back until he hovered over Wade again and gently placed the bottle on top of the other man’s chest.
“Now make my ass ready to swallow your big, thick cock,” he purred, bringing his hips down a little to let his crotch brush over Wade’s still trapped erection lightly.
Hissing in protest against the light touch, the merc grabbed Peter’s hips and turned his coy tease into a filthy grind. “Turn around,” he growled darkly, the threat of which was lost when he continued to hum the next few bars of Bonnie Tyler’s greatest hit.
That made Peter laugh again. This guy was nuts. It was a delight.
He wiggled himself out of Wade’s grip to obey and turned around, his small, round ass facing the older male now.
“He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast,” he grinned, looking back over his shoulder. “Though better start a bit softer. I can take a whole lot, but even I need a starter before we get to the real meat for the main course.”
Wade sat up slowly, letting the bottle of lube topple to the silver duvet.
“Did…did you just Bonnie Tyler me back?” he asked reverently. “Holy fuck, how much would it cost to marry you?”
The joke was in poor taste, but Wade didn’t particularly care. Peter was absolutely perfect.
His eyes wandered downward to where the kid’s pert buttocks rested on his trousers, and marveled at the contrasting colors.
“Ah, sorry, but marriage is not on my menu,” Peter apologized. “I only sell the milk, not the cow. But I deliver whenever you feel like drinking something white and tasty.”
Wade laughed and smacked Peter’s ass sharply. “Get down there, you fuckin’ tease,” he ordered, pressing the man down so that his face hit the linens and his ass swayed in the air above Wade’s aching crotch.
There was no way for Peter to crane his neck back pressed into the bed as he was. So Wade took the chance to slip off one glove and expose the scar riddled hand beneath. Leather and spandex didn’t exactly make for the most comfortable of anal intrusions.
The sharp pop of the lube bottle opening felt like the firing of a cap gun. He impatiently poured a liberal amount into his hand and pushed it around the textured surface. He knew from repeated experience that those raised ribs of skin had a lot more surface area to coat.
Intent on his task, he leaned forward and spread Peter’s buttocks wide. Everything about this kid was trim and well kept, his undercarriage being no exception.
Wade eagerly probed Peter’s anus with one slick finger and gently swirled the excess lube around the tight, pink pucker.
The boy hummed lowly.
“I’m tight, but I work open fast,” he informed Deadpool, closing his eyes because there was nothing to see right now anyway and also because it helped him relax. He usually noticed too much with his eyes open to blend it out.
“But if you enjoy fingering me, you can take all the time you want.”
“Jesus. I would spend all night knuckle-deep in this tight ass if I could, but I’m damn near ready to explode already,” Wade groaned.
He slowly eased in a single finger and sunk into the grasping heat of Peter’s body. He could feel exactly when Peter finally melted into his touch, the moment punctuated by a breathy sigh.
Wade shifted slightly behind him and pushed in a second finger.
The kid was right. He stretched open like a dream, soft and pliant around Wade’s admittedly thick fingers.
“You can fuck me any time now,” Peter murmured after a while, pressing back against Wade’s hand with soft, rocking motions. “I can take it…”
He was growing hard again and his spine began to prickle from the feeling of being penetrated. He surely wouldn’t mind some more fingering, but he knew Wade really needed to get off and he knew his own body well enough to be certain he was ready for it.
Wade pulled out his fingers and wiped them absently on a pillowcase. Preparation could have been more thorough, sure, but it was at least adequate. He would trust Peter’s judgment in this.
With dexterous motions, he managed to unzip his fly just enough to free his trapped erection and give it a liberal coating of lube. Task complete, Wade let go of his dick and allowed it to smack against his tensed abdominals forcibly enough to make a loud slap. While he may have been full of shit on his best days, Wade wasn’t exaggerating about the extent of his sexual fortitude. Peter had no idea what he was in for.
“Ready to holster the meat gun?” he asked, voice husky with need.
“Shoot me,” Peter replied.
Maybe he had no idea what was coming, but Wade in return had no idea how very well Peter could take it. But soon enough both of them would be smarter than before. And they would both be enjoying it very much.
Blood pounded in Deadpool’s temples, reflected in the heavy pulsing of his straining cock.
Without reservation, he grasped Peter’s waist between both hands, oblivious to the missing glove, and pulled the kid back to rest on his massive pectorals, lining him up.
This close, Wade took a moment to breathe deeply at the nape of his companion’s neck and marvel in the rich, fruity smell of Peter’s shampoo. With the scent of Peter in his nose and the taste of him lingering on his tongue, Wade gave into his need and pulled Peter down onto his dick with one hard thrust.
The escort moaned out loud. Wade’s shaft was even bigger than his already large fingers and it spread him open even wider. It wasn’t unpleasant though, quite the contrary.
He arched his back a little and placed both of his hands on Wade’s lower arms. He wasn’t quite sure whether Wade wanted to fuck him or expected Peter to ride him, so he kept still and waited for either orders or movements from the other. While he did that his breathing was short and shallow to not distract himself with his own breath.
He was completely dedicated to the moment and expectant of what would follow it.
Beneath him, Wade felt like he was going to shake apart from the intensity of it all. The tightness pressing in from all sides and absolutely devouring his cock was too much. The first stirrings of orgasm were already building behind his eyes.
He had to take the edge off.
Without warning, he peeled his hands from where they were gripping Peter’s hips hard enough to bruise and instead folded Peter’s thighs to his chest. Peter gave a surprised sound at this, but didn’t protest.
The merc used his weight advantage to collapse backwards to the bed, Peter’s back lying fully on his chest and stomach, and began to pound out an absolutely punishing rhythm.
He dug in his heels and increased his pace despite the protesting squeal of the bed frame.
The harsh, powerful thrusts made Peter scream in both surprise and ecstasy. He had been prepared for something rough, but not that rough! Wade hadn’t been lying when he had warned him about his level of “going at it hard”. But Peter hadn’t been lying either. He could take this. He in fact enjoyed it even.
Gasping from the thrilling violence of Wade’s motions, he grabbed the sheets on either side of the merc’s body and held on tight to cope with the feeling that set every fibre of his body ablaze.
Equally as lost to the sensation, Wade’s nerves were set alight with bolts of pleasure that shot straight into his groin in near painful pulses. Within half a dozen thrusts he was there, nearly sobbing his relief as the first waves of release finally crashed over him.
Hot ropes of come splashed against Peter’s insides, punctuated by Wade’s short, strangled shout.
The younger male moaned at the feeling and writhed a little. The fingering and hard pounding had aroused him again and now this made his body jumpy from the rising lust. He didn’t want Wade to stop right there already. But he was here to make Wade happy, not himself, so he didn’t say anything and just bit his lower lip to force himself to calm down a little.
“Fuuuuuck,” Wade groaned. He laid there bonelessly, taking Peter’s weight with ease.
“Don’t worry, kid, I ain’t no minute man. Just had to ease back the ol’ doomsday clock,” he finally purred into Peter’s ear. Within seconds his flagging erection began to rapidly swell once more while still embedded it Peter’s tight heat.
Peter had laughed at the joke, but now shuddered and moaned lowly in disbelief. What the… Not even he himself with his healing factor managed to be hard again this fast! Did this man have special powers similar to Peter’s? Maybe that explained his mask. If Peter could, he would hide away behind one as well.
But now was not the time to think about that. He owed Wade his full attention. And it was hard not to, given Wade was still seated inside of his ass with his generous girth.
“Alright then,” he hummed back. “Show me what you got.”
Wade grinned hugely. “Nah, that’s my line. I want to watch you ride me, Baby Boy.”
Peter grumbled lowly.
“Stop with the nicknames,” he told Wade again and pushed his legs down that were still held up against his chest. Then he swung himself upright effortlessly, wiggling his hips a little to position them just right.
“You want me to go like this?” he asked over his shoulder. “Or you want me to turn around?”
“I could watch that sweet ass all day long, but yeah. Turn around. I wanna’ see you fall apart,” Wade sighed. Peter was an absolute dream.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but you won’t see anything like that,” Peter stated with a smirk.
He carefully turned himself around until he faced his client and braced himself on the other’s chest. With his head cocked to the side, he smiled down at him in challenge.
“So, you sure you want me to give everything I have? Maybe we should establish a safe word for when it becomes too much for you,” he mocked.
Wade took a moment to admire the man seated on his cock, rising up like a marble statue. He wanted so badly to run his fingers through that unruly mop of hair and absolutely devour the kid’s slightly chapped lips.
Instead, he leaned up to grab the back of Peter’s neck and pulled him down with one powerful motion until their noses touched.
“Hit me with your best shot. Pat Benatar, Crimes of Passion album, 1980,” he whispered.
Peter grinned widely. Alright. This man had no idea what he would be getting into.
Despite his bent-over position, he began to roll his hips harshly. Flexibility was a blessing and he knew how to use it.
“Let me go so I can sit up,” he whispered back. “Unless this is already enough for you.”
Just to be a contrary asshole, the merc dug his heels in and bucked his hips with one powerful, unexpected thrust that made Peter’s arms give. The kid collapsed against his chest and Wade couldn’t help but burst out laughing .
Peter grunted instead.
“Oh, you wanna play it hard?” he growled. “I will ride you so hard then that you can’t even move those damn hips of yours afterwards anymore.”
Wade shoved him back upright and ran his palms up Peter’s firm thighs. “Sounds nice,” he responded fondly.
The young man only snorted. Then he supported himself against Wade’s chest again and started to move at an inhuman speed. His hips smashed down on Wade’s rapidly, harder than humanly possible. Peter used all his strength to slam himself downwards and he had lots of it. More than that though he had his speed, but he held that back a little just yet. He wanted to be able to go even harder later, just to mess with Wade as soon as the merc would think Peter had already shown him his full ability.
Still he moved incredibly quick already, staring down at Wade with a fierce look. He would bring this man to stop joking and would make him scream Peter’s name instead.
The drag and pull of that slick slice of heaven on Wade’s dick was nearly too much to bear. The speed and ferocity of Peter’s gyrating was surely superhuman. Mutant? Mutate? Fuck it. He didn’t have enough blood in his brain to care one way or the other.
Every rolling press of Peter’s body coaxed Wade that much closer to the precipice. It took all of his effort to keep his eyes open and take in everything that was Peter.
The kid really was beautiful. Sweat meandered down his lightly toned chest and glittered in the low, fluorescent lighting like tumbling gemstones. It was also wetting his hair and making some locks stick to his temples and forehead, causing the mess on his head to look even more mussed. He was breathing heavily, sometimes gritting his teeth or biting his lower lip to subconsciously fuel the force of his hip-movements.
He was a fierce, sweaty piece of art.
The force and speed with which he moved Wade’s cock in and out of himself of course didn’t go without effect on him too. Pressure was building up in his loins, his own member was aching for attention, but there was no time to take care of that. Not until Wade was a moaning, gasping wreck beneath Peter and was knocking himself out with the intensity of his release.
Grabbing Wade’s shirt tightly and pressing his knuckles against the man’s chest, Peter began to roll his hips even faster than before, having to groan and grunt lowly from the effort. It wouldn’t be Wade watching Peter falling apart. It would be the other way round or nothing.
Wade could do nothing but scrabble at Peter’s waist and take it.
Thighs trembling, he threw his head back and moaned as if he were dying. Once more, orgasm dug its claws in deeply to his belly and swept through him unbidden. His fever hot seed seeped out between their joint bodies and soaked into the pressed wool of his slacks.
But he refused to stop, slapping Peter’s ass and urging him onwards. The pain of friction on Wade’s over-sensitized flesh abated quickly and blood rushed to fill the vacuum in his cock.
Peter groaned, but kept on going.
He had quite some stamina and he wouldn’t stop yet, letting Wade have the triumph of wearing Peter out. He had promised him to fuck him as hard as he could, so he would do that. And so he kept pushing his hips up and smashing them back down harshly at immense speed, ignoring the burning in his back and thighs that had to work hard to keep this up. They would recover soon enough.
Making Wade lose it was Peter’s first priority right now.
Wade’s veins were singing with endorphins, but his mind cleared quickly after the brief moment of afterglow. Judging by the harsh, gasping breaths above him, Peter had to have been wearing down.
Nobody could possibly keep up that pace for very long.
The merc eased up onto his elbows and sat up fully, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and forcibly bringing him back to a more sedate pace. The kid’s neglected cock ground into the space between the silk of Wade’s shirt and his own slick stomach.
“Hey, take a break. I’ve got you,” he murmured against Peter’s heaving chest.
The escort made a wheezing sound, but shivered from the sensation of his aching erection finally getting some attention. It sent a hot stinging through his entire spine and made his temples burn. He wanted more of it.
“I’m fine,” he claimed, trying to rock his hips harder again, but was restrained by Wade’s grip.
“I told you there won’t be a break unless you need one and I mean it.”
Wade rolled his eyes. “Well, would you look at that…cock titan and sex god extraordinaire, Captain Deadpool, is calling a timeout,” he retorted with a sly grin. “You’ve conquered me with your legendary sexual prowess; I just can’t go on any longer.”
Peter scowled at him for a second. He knew Wade was just playing, trying to get Peter to take it slower. He wasn’t stupid, after all. But Wade was his client. And when Wade asked him to slow down, he would do so.
“Alright…” he muttered, obviously unhappy, and stopped his movements, even though his cock basically screamed for him to keep on rubbing it against Wade’s stomach. “Whatever you want…”
Holy fuck, that pout was adorable.
Without warning, Wade took advantage of Peter’s laxity to upend him and flip him belly first onto the bed in a textbook grappling maneuver. All of that military training certainly came in handy for something, at least.
He quickly shoved Peter’s knees apart and knelt between them, yanking the escort’s hips back so that his ass swayed tantalizingly in the air. “Time in!” he called out teasingly before lining himself up with a loose fist and burying himself in Peter’s heat once more.
Peter’s extra sense warned him before the “attack” even happened. Yet he suppressed the urge to defend himself before his reflexes could kick in.
As Wade entered him once again, he moaned out loud. His hole was well used by now, slick from the two loads the merc had already shot into it, but it would take a lot more to overdo it. It could take some more.
“Dick move,” Peter panted, grabbing the sheets tightly. “Literally.”
No matter how exhausted or insulted he was, his humor wasn’t lost yet. He could still make terrible puns, even when being fucked into oblivion.
“Not yet, it ain’t,” Deadpool retorted with a bark of laughter. He planted one arm just in front of Peter’s shoulder to keep him in place and reached around his waist with the other to attend to Peter’s weeping cock.
The kid’s dick sat hot and heavy in his hand, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart.
Peter took a loud, shaky inhale and then held his breath. His erection was begging for this touch and he wanted Wade to pump it with his fist just as hard as he had pounded Peter’s ass before. But he didn’t say that. Instead he kept completely still, his body trembling from anticipation.
“Tell me how you like it, Peter,” Wade ordered softly.
The other man hesitated. For a moment he pondered whether to tell Wade the truth or to tell him what he probably wanted to hear. But then he thought that Wade probably did want to hear the truth, so he sighed lowly and then said: “I want you to fuck me dizzy and jerk me off til I scream.”
Wade’s only response was a guttural groan.
He leaned to the side to fish around in the pillows and managed to locate the abandoned bottle of lube. Apparently he had forgotten to recap the stupid thing if the stained sheets were anything to go by. But, regardless, there was enough left to fill his palm sufficiently. Wade retook his position fully atop of Peter, making a firm fist and resting Peter’s cockhead just at the entrance of his curled fingers.
“Yeah. Fuck. I can definitely do that,” he answered finally.
Wade rolled his hips forward, simultaneously sheathing himself to the hilt and sending Peter’s neglected erection bucking into the hot, tight tunnel of his hand.
A loud, hoarse moan was the response.
“Fuck, just like that…” Peter mumbled. “God, that feels so good…”
And even though he said that very often during work, this was one of the few occasions where he actually meant it.
Wade latched onto Peter’s encouragement and began to move in earnest.
With brutal efficiency, he slammed into the pliant body beneath him hard enough to press Peter’s face into the comforter. The squelching and wet slaps of their coupling were absolutely filthy in comparison to the oddly quiet hotel room. Well, quiet apart from Peter’s moans and panting.
After some time, Wade’s arms began to tremble from the overwhelming force of their shared need. The fire lancing through his stomach and quivering abdominals was as torturous as it was divine.
Peter was just in the same boat. It wasn’t only the tight tunnel of Wade’s fist that made his body grow hotter and hotter and the pressure in his lower regions harder and harder. It was also the incredible skill with which he managed to hit just the right spot inside of Peter with every harsh, forceful thrust. The tension that built up from this double pleasure felt as if his entire body would burst any second. He was reduced to throaty screams and moans, to sweating and trembling, to clawing at the sheets and letting himself be rocked back and forth in synch with Deadpool’s movements. It was close to being too much for him, but only close. It still felt good.
Peter’s vocalizations were enough to set Wade’s salient thoughts into swirling chaos.
It was incredibly rare to meet someone who could match Wade’s fortitude in the sack after his Weapon X transformation. Though, to be fair, the list of Deadpool’s conquests of the sexy kind was pretty fucking short.
But even so, Peter was an absolute beast.
Realizing that the kid would never allow his own release until Wade had been satisfied, the merc bit down sharply just above Peter’s scapula and let go of his restraint. He moaned his pleasure into the mouthful of mask and flesh and incrementally tightened his grip on Peter’s cock.
As the first hot pulses of his come filled the clenching tunnel of Peter’s body, the merc swept his scarred thumb over Peter’s slit, gathering up the dribble of precome there and adding it to the lubricant against his palm.
“Come for me, Baby Boy,” he mumbled into Peter’s skin. “Come now.”
Peter wanted to call Wade out for the nickname again, but it was completely impossible.
The hot tension inside of him finally exploded and he shot his seed all over Wade’s fist and the mattress beneath him. His body convulsed heavily from the intensity, all of his muscles finally letting go of the pressure.
A loud scream accompanied Peter’s release and he actually tore a hole into the bedsheets. As soon as his spasms were over, his body went limb and began to tremble from exhaustion. Finally someone had managed to fuck Peter to his limit.
Wade braced both arms against the mattress so as not to crush Peter with his massive bulk and took in great, heaving breaths.
As the haze of orgasm slowly faded, he glanced down at the fucked-out man beneath him. Peter was absolutely breathtaking with his flushed cheeks and the unruly mop of hair that was so far beyond ‘mussed’ that the description for it had yet to be invented.
“How did I get so fucking lucky?” he managed to gasp.
Only then did Wade realize that he had been so caught up in the throes of passion that he had forgotten to put his glove back on after preparing Peter.
Whining like a wounded animal, he snatched his hand back from in front of Peter’s face and quickly pulled out of him with a wet pop.
Deadpool’s silly, ostentatious clothing was glued to his skin with a sudden nervous sweat. It would be a cold day in hell when Peter would ever give him the time of day again after having seen that.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he hissed as he quickly tucked his spent cock back into his pants and frantically hunted for his missing glove.
“What is it?” Peter asked, letting himself flop down onto the bed. Had he know what Wade’s problem was, he would have laughed. As if he hadn’t felt how rugged the skin of the hand pumping his dick only seconds ago had been. But actually that had been a great addition to the already overwhelming sensation. The texture of Wade’s skin had made the handjob even better.
The merc gave up trying to find the slip of leather among the unruly linens and pillows. Instead, he folded his knees beneath him and shoved his bare hand in the tight press of his massive quads. “Shit, sorry you had to see that. I just…you with all those curves and me with no brakes,” he stuttered in apology, refusing to make eye contact.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Peter replied. Which was a lie. Of course he knew what Wade meant. Apparently he had some issues with his skin and wanted to hide it away. That was probably why he was wearing the mask and had refused to take off his clothes. And had asked Peter to close his eyes during the blowjob. So maybe he really was a mutant or something after all. Sometimes they did look different than the majority of people.
But the truth was that Peter didn’t care. He was curious, sure. But he didn’t want to get invested in Wade’s private life. In his fears, problems and sorrows. That was far too intimate. He only was a client. And Peter made sure to keep his clients on a safe distance.
Peter’s lack of acknowledgement was perplexing to say the least.
Confused, Deadpool glanced up and stared at his escort’s decidedly unimpressed expression. “Uhh…sure,” he responded, playing along.
There was a flash of red next to Peter’s thigh as he shifted, which Wade quickly retrieved under the pretense of laying down beside him. He covertly re-donned the glove.
“Sooooo…does Benjamin and his four friends cover post coital cuddles?” he asked with a raised brow.
Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead with the side of his hand.
“No. I told you I don’t do affectionate stuff. That was part of the rules. You’re lucky already that I’m still here, after you basically bombarded me with nicknames even though I told you I don’t like that.”
“What if I sweeten the pot with a reward card for a free Fro-yo treat?” Wade drawled.
But sadly Peter didn’t seem to be interested in glorious free food.
“I said no,” he repeated, sounding slightly pissed. He hated it when people tried to ask for stuff he had told them was not going to happen.
“Okay, okay, geez Louise! I was just playin,’” Wade muttered, collapsing back to the bed. “So, how does this work? Do I wander the streets in a catatonic haze combing each and every light post for another chance peek of the glory that is your ass? Or, can I get yo digits?”
“My number is on the flyer I gave you, if you still have it,” the boy answered. “But I can also just give it to you if you want. But I will tell you in advance that it doesn’t matter how often you hire me or how much you pay me. My rules stay the same.”
Wade moaned dramatically and turned away from Peter. “Well, there goes my ‘Pretty Lady’ fantasy. How could you be so cruel?” His shoulders shook with quiet laughter.
Peter began to become annoyed by the man beside him. Not because of his stupid jokes, but because of the way he treated Peter’s rules. He was outright ignoring them, at least the nickname one, and tried to get Peter to abrogate the others. And he made fun of them.
But Peter didn’t find that funny at all. His rules were there for a reason. And this reason was nothing to laugh about.
“The movie is called “Pretty Woman”,” he corrected Wade as he sat up. “And I am not Julia Roberts. But not even for Richard Gere I would change my rules. If you have that fantasy, go out there and search for another escort. I’m sure there’s plenty of my colleagues who don’t mind being cuddled.”
“Sweet fucking fluffy biscuit shits,” Wade exclaimed, waving his hands frantically and sitting up quickly enough to make his head spin. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I just have this condition you see. Whenever I wear fancy tuxes I’m imbued with the magical ability of acting like a royal asshole.”
“Then how about you don’t wear one next time,” Peter suggested, his expression showing slight anger.
“You got it! Seriously, Peter. I’ve got nothing but respect for you, your profession, and your ridiculously fluffy hair. I’ll behave. I didn’t actually mean any of the nickname shit,” Wade exclaimed.
“Ah, thanks. Your approval is all I’ve ever needed in life. Without it I would have changed my job and my haircut immediately.”
It probably wasn’t smart to get outright pissed at a client who had already announced to consult him again, but Peter had his pride. That maybe was a bit too big for his own good sometimes. He’d rather lose Wade as a client than to ignore his annoying behavior just to get more money. Smart or not, he could very well live with that.
That anger was entirely evident in Peter’s voice. To Wade it sounded like ‘goodbye.’
“Ouch,” he replied simply. Sure, he was used to fucking up all of the good things in his life, but this was probably a land speed record. He collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the slowly revolving ceiling fan. “Well, thanks anyways, kid. My money case is in my jacket. Take whatever you need for cab fare. Shit, take the whole thing.”
“I don’t need money to make up for your sorry behavior,” Peter huffed. “And I can pay for my own cab ride. You paid me for my services and that’s all the money I’ll have from you. That’s how my job works.”
He scooted over to the edge of the bed and got up. His shaky knees had already recovered, but he still felt a bit weak.
“I will use the shower before I leave,” he stated, already on his way over to the bathroom. “See if you can find that flyer while I’m in there. If not, I’ll give you my number when I come back. Though you better make sure you remember my rules before you give me a call and to burn all your tuxedos.”
With that he closed the door behind him a bit louder than necessary and cut off any potential reply from Wade.
“Wait, what did he say?” Deadpool asked the popcorn stucco ceiling, confused. Did Peter just give him a second chance?
Wade loosened his bow tie and reached beneath his mask to pull out the folded flyer that he had reverently placed there for safe-keeping. The escort’s number stood out in stark relief against the flowing red text.
With a burgeoning smile, Wade tucked the flyer back into his mask and made to retrieve his discarded vest and jacket from the floor. Dried come and lubricant stretched and popped against his skin as he walked, but it was only a minor discomfort in the face of his quickly brightening mood.
Peter had given him a second chance.
He quickly folded Peter’s clothing and placed it on the bed along with a hastily scribbled note.
With that, he left the suite and quietly eased the door shut behind him.