Today was the day that the universe decided to answer an age-old question. A question that Wade thought would probably only be answered on the day that one (1) Spider-Man died and the answer would be a very decisive no. A day that, frankly? Deadpool thought would never come. This day… was Monday night. (He didn’t explicitly say the sun was up, okay?)
It was cool out, just cool enough that it had Deadpool lamenting the fact that he couldn’t eat with his mask on. A rapidly cooling taco was in his hand and a natural source of sexual tension was sitting right beside the mercenary. The air smelled of his second-favorite taco joint and some kind of garbage from the alleyway beside them that could do little to inhibit the appetites of the two red-clad men on the roof.
Now… The question in question?
Could THE Spider-Man get any hotter than he already was?
Admittedly, Deadpool was more than just a little bit biased. Not by much, obviously, because how could you take one look at Dat Spider Ass ™ and not know that he was probably the hottest man to ever walk the Earth? How could you listen to his quips and hear his jokes and not laugh and wish he would just fucking step on you? (Just him? Okay, whatever, fine. He would admit that was a bit niche of him. Reluctantly. )
Basically, on a scale of one to ten, Deadpool would call Spidey the one, true thirteen. Specifically, because he was bad luck for Wade’s heart and dick. The kind of hot guy you could look at and if he so much as acted like he wanted head, you’d be on your knees in two-point-five. (Still just him? Jesus Christ, step it the fuck up, everyone else, you’re slacking in how desperate you are for this man.)
The point was: Spider-Man = Hot Tamale. Ass the kind of gorgeous that you might find yourself wanting to hyper fixate on it for months at a time and still get caught up in it when it catches the right light or when you stare for too long. Deadpool knew all of this from experience. After more than just a couple years of running around New York and, occasionally, the world with Spidey either at his side or on his mind, Wade Wilson was what you would call an expert in the realm of Spider-Man sexiness. He could write an entire Goddamn thesis paper dedicated to his jawline alone.
But today? Today was the day that Wade discovered that, even when he thought he knew all the sexy parts of Spider-Man, somehow, some way , the superhero found a way to leave Wade breathless and more than just a little hot under the collar (and under the belt) without even trying.
It all started two weeks ago on a night much like this one. On a different roof with Deadpool’s favorite Mexican food in hand, enough tortilla chips and salsa between them to fill their stomachs before they got to the rest of their food, and just little enough space that they would only have to lean over a little bit to press shoulder to shoulder with one another. Each time he reached for a chip, Wade’s arm would brush against Spidey’s and that wasn’t really important information, but it was a detail Wade felt needed to be added and stressed.
The night went like any other. It was early enough in the morning that it was closer to midnight than daybreak and they’d called it a night early, giving them enough time to catch the best Mexican restaurant right before the doors closed for the night. It was a good night, a damn good night. Wade had only been shot once and, otherwise? His only injuries were the occasional bruise that healed before it even had the chance to color.
Criminal activity was low, the night was young, and Deadpool had the perfect opportunity to go heart-eyes at his baby boy’s jaw and neck and tattoos where they just barely peeked out from below his suit and his lips (oh, god, that mouth ) without it being just a glimpse. Yeah, Wade liked the few times he could ogle the lower half of Spidey’s face. (He hasn’t actually seen all of the man’s face, but he could at least enjoy what he could get, okay?) He’s only seen that much a dozen or so times thus far and he appreciated the fuck out of it every. Single. Goddamn. Time.
That night was no different. While Deadpool’s mouth ran, his eyes had been busy focusing intently on Spidey’s tattoos, eyeing the hardly-visible lines that slid up along his throat, traced just barely over his Adam’s apple. Deadpool kind of just wanted to sink his teeth in right there, the desire burning low under his skin, simmering, but not quite boiling. He had been guessing in the back of his mind at what the dark colors could come together to be. Part of him wished he could get a good look at them, have Spidey take his suit off just so he could trace the lines of it with his hands.
It wasn’t even inherently sexual sometimes. Deadpool just wanted to touch him, listen to him talk about the meaning behind them. Did he have any drunken mistakes? A dick-next-to-his-dick level of abysmal embarrassment? Wade wanted to ask, but his mouth was preoccupied between shoving chips into his mouth and discussing what an octopus would be like with bones. (Wade claimed like a spider. He would still argue that.)
And, yeah, most of the time just getting a glimpse at those tattoos set a fire in him that wouldn’t go out no matter how late into the night and early into the morning he kept a hand around himself.
It was at about the point that Spidey was trying to argue the logistics of octopus tentacle bones that Deadpool noticed them. The light from a streetlight just a few yards from them helped. Little holes on his lower lip. They should’ve been obvious, thinking back, but most of the time they sat and ate when it was dark out because Spidey chose places that Deadpool would feel better about showing off the lower half of his face like the sweet, angelic, nice, gorgeous, sexy, hot as fuck-
Okay, Wade was getting off topic.
Spidey chose places that were low light after Deadpool showed some discomfort with showing off his face that much and they’d been having late night rendezvous on dark rooftops ever since. Even after Wade started taking his mask off completely, it stayed that way, more because it was an inside joke at that point that they only hung out on shady rooftops. (Something something, “What’s a shady place like you doing on a pretty boy like this?”)
That day, however, found them on a slightly better-lit roof and Wade almost couldn’t hear what Spider-Man was trying to say to him as he stared at those little holes in his lower lip with the intensity of a man hit with a revelation.
Oh, God , Spidey had piercings. His baby boy had piercings and Wade could die right there. He probably took them out so they wouldn’t get yanked out or snag on his mask when he swung around. Understandably. But that didn’t mean Deadpool would stop lamenting the fact that he wasn’t wearing them twenty-four seven. One glance at those little holes and some of Spidey’s little ticks started to make sense. When he licked his lips, he was probably checking for metal rings he was used to having in. When he caught his tongue between his teeth--
Fuck. Fuck, did he have a tongue piercing too? Everything about that had his lower stomach clenching in the best and worst way possible, a flash of desire sinking down his spine and settling in. Wade W. Wilson was suddenly very, very aware of how much he wanted to kiss Spidey at that moment.
He wanted to drag his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, see if he could taste the tang of metal where he knew it wouldn’t be. Lick his way over every square millimeter of Spidey’s tongue and see if he could find the telltale hole of a tongue piercing just so he could have some way to confirm. Just so he could imagine what it would be like to kiss him with it in and feel that tantalizing slide of body-warmed metal against his tongue and taste it for himself. He’s never really been with anyone with piercings before, but, fuck, if that thought wasn’t suddenly giving him the kind of problem in his pants that was hard to hide and made it pretty damn clear he was interested .
If Wade hadn’t “smoothly” bent his knee and rested his arm on it in an attempt to hide it, it would’ve been obvious. The porn-centered lizard brain part of his brain that was becoming his whole brain supplied him with an entire scenario where he was too late to hide it and they ended up having freaky Spider sex on the roof into the night. There was a lot more explicit detail in his brain and more than enough web-based bondage, but that wasn’t the detail to focus on.
The whole thing just gave Deadpool something to think about for weeks to come. Was he hyper-fixating? Oh, definitely. He was definitely hyper-fixating. From there, Wade kind of just assumed that that would be the only thing he would get in terms of seeing Spidey with piercings outside of his day and wet dreams.
That desire only intensified a hundredfold that specific Monday when Spider-Man rushed onto the scene during a firefight with the slight bumps on his lip in the tight mask and Deadpool was a weak man, so he badgered and badgered until they eventually wound up perched up on this comparatively brightly lit building with Mexican food and Deadpool’s pretty sure he’s never been so confused over whether his heart boner was bigger than his regular boner or vice versa.
Because Spidey looked cute with the piercings. They were hot, unbearably so. But they were cuter than Deadpool expected. One glance at his half-revealed face and Wade’s heart went crazy. He could feel that simmering heat from earlier boiling over and flooding his veins with something desperate and hungry. Wade legitimately felt like he might just fucking die if he kept looking at the loops-- plastic , not metal like he’d been expecting. They were a dark red, lifting up over a borderline pouty lower lip.
Wade wanted to sink his teeth into it.
Wade did some research to figure out what kind they were since he last caught sight of the little holes in his lip, both on the right side of his mouth right next to each other. Spider bites. Of-fucking-course he had spider bites. What a fucking nerd .
“All I’m saying is if Bigfoot fought Mothman, Mothman would wipe the floor with Bigfoot. But, somehow, people don’t think this is a universal constant. How wouldn’t Mothman kick Bigfoot’s butt? It’s Mothman.” Spidey said with an indignant sniff, talking through the taco in his mouth and Deadpool’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with him than he was in that moment.
“Right? It’s like people just don’t get that Mothman is the best fucker out there. they’re basically the Batman of the cryptid world. I dare someone to give me a cryptid that could go toe-to-toe with Mothman sans weapons and still be able to kick their ass. But that’s a fake ass dare because guess what? You can’t find one. Mothman’s a badass, end of story.” Deadpool scoffed, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated shift of his head just to make the eye roll more obvious than it was, though his gaze only seemed to flash back to Spidey’s mouth just in time to catch his tongue slowly drifting along his lower lip and--...
Wade didn’t know it was possible to be jealous of a tongue or a lip, but he wanted that to be his tongue or his lip, either or. He wasn’t picky.
“Bigfoot’s got his own things going on, trust me, but I’m pretty sure he’s like… the hippy that lives in the forest and eats Jack Links type, y’know?” Spidey swallowed down the rest of his taco and Wade’s eyes followed his Adam’s apple as it tightened and swallowed. Was it getting hot out here? Deadpool’s pretty sure it’s getting really fucking hot out here.
“Do they get in the way?” Wade asked spontaneously, his brain-to-mouth filter all but nonexistent and the curiosity starting to weigh on him too heavily for him to focus on anything other than that. The second most important question in his entire life.
The look of confusion that spread over Spidey’s face, even visible with half of it covered due to the way his eyebrows furrowed so perfectly on his forehead, was borderline laughable. Deadpool would laugh if his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest, confused whether it should pump blood straight down or up to add to the blush dusting over scarred cheeks. Spider-Man seemed to give up on trying to guess the context of the question because he flashed through the five stages of grief before settling back on confusion.
“The,” Wade hesitated for a second as he tried to think of how to phrase it right, “lip piercings. Do they get in the way? C’mon, baby boy, don’t leave me hanging. I’m hella curious and you’re about the only one that can answer me. Or… Well, I could probably go out and ask someone else, but-”
“Wade.” Spidey cut him off gently, voice calm and even and not snippy and Wade’s heart and dick were fighting for dominance because, wow, did he love it when his baby boy said his name, but, fuck, he just wanted to listen to Spidey talk in that tone of voice for hours. He could fall asleep listening to that voice. “Get in the way of what?” His voice sounded just a tad too oblivious, a smidge too innocent to be natural and Wade could almost swear he saw the corner of his lips quirking upward.
“Y’know. Just… In the way. In everyday life. Eating, drinking… Mouth things. Lots and lots of mouth things.” Wade knew he was being suspicious, but he was getting to the point. He would get there eventually and Spidey knew that too, the patience rolling off of him and the quirk to his lips both sexy and amused. “Like… Okay, example! Does it get in the way of kissing? Obviously the second most important lip thing of all.” He said it. There we go. Nailed it. Real smooth. (He’s pretty sure he murmured all of that self-encouragement under his breath, but who’s to say?)
Now, Deadpool was half-expecting some kind of mild disgust or something because his self-esteem was shit and that was clearly a half-flirt from him. He flirted all the time, sure. And Spidey usually took it pretty well. (Not the only thing he could take well, probably-- Not the time, lizard brain.) But that didn’t mean Wade wasn’t prepared to get some kind of negative reaction.
What he didn’t expect?
The way Spidey’s lips slowly, carefully curled, the corners of his lips pulling up into one of the slyest smirks Deadpool has ever seen and, damn, that was going in his spank bank for years -- “Wanna find out?”
Wade heard a low keening noise distantly and it took him nearly fifteen entire seconds before he realized that he was the one making the noise. It came from the back of his throat, his face burned, and, oh, yeah , he made a mess of his pants. He wasn’t sure if he just jizzed his own pants or if that was just a whole lot of pre, but he was definitely still hard and the way his baby boy was looking at him was making sure of that.
Spider-Man’s sly smile sprouted into a shit eating grin and Wade couldn’t fucking breathe. “Wait…” He stumbled a little bit getting that word out, but it was out, “Seriously?”
Spidey shifted closer, just close enough that Wade could feel the brush of warm breath over his face, his lips trembling under the sensation. Oh god. “Seriously.” Oh fuck.
Wade took absolutely zero time to close the rest of the distance, hand clamping down on the back of his baby boy’s head to pull him in, drag him closer. He’s pretty sure one of the salsa cups went tumbling down with the jostle, but that left his mind entirely when their lips slid together none-too-smoothly, just a little too rough because their teeth tapped together, (it was perfect) but the edge to Deadpool’s desperation bled away as Spidey’s hands came to rest solidly on his chest. He waited to be pushed away, but lips moved against his, the other’s head tilted to deepen it that little bit more, and Wade’s entire heart squeezed.
Warm hands slowly brushed over his chest, one taking a firm hold of the strap that cut across Deadpool’s torso just to yank him in closer. The heavy kiss melted into a more careful one, finesse starting to trickle in while they found their rhythm. Wade let his tongue glide against the two pieces of plastic, teeth catching against them and dragging Spidey’s lower lip into his mouth just so he could map them out with his tongue.
Wade swallowed down the quiet groan Spider-Man sounded against his lips greedily, licking tracing the two pieces of plastic before all but licking his way into the other’s mouth. His tongue traced over the roots of his teeth, sliding along the barely there gap where his jaw started to relax and, soon enough, Wade’s tongue found the next little part of his fantasies.
A hot tongue glided against Deadpool’s and he let out a noise he didn’t even know he could make as a little solid ball dragged against him. Spidey tasted like decent Mexican food and coffee and heat and-
Spider-Man jerked against him, shifting them a little bit so they tipped back onto the roof and their lips came apart and no, shit, please-
With a slight flail, Deadpool found himself with his back against the graveled roof, legs still caught on the side, a whole lapful of Spider-Ass, and lips found his again in an apology kiss, fluttering against his mouth a few times while Spidey spoke. “Sorry, we,” His baby boy cut himself off with a lingering slide of their mouths together once more, adding a sharp bite against Wade’s lower lip that had Wade absolutely fucking aching. “We were starting to fall off. I figured this was probably better than over the-” Spidey fumbled with his words for a second.
Deadpool drifted down, tracing his jaw with his mouth, his hands back to work brushing from his knees, up his thighs, tracing over his hips and pressing solid along his sides. He was addicted. Could people be a drug? Because Spider-Man was Wade’s heroin-meth-weed-Xanax with the added benefit of doing absolutely wonderful things to his body instead of fucked up things.
“Edge.” The superhero sighed out, his own hands falling onto Wade’s shoulders. His head lulled to whatever side the mercenary needed to get his mouth over his throat, thoughts hazy and desire spiking as teeth sank against his Adam’s apple. “Shit, Wade -”
“Yeah, they definitely don’t get in the way.” Wade quipped, grinning against Spidey’s throat and slowly let his hands trail to the man’s most important asset. (Haha, good one.) Shit, he never wanted to wash his hands again. Said hands rested on the other’s ass and Deadpool was pretty sure he saw God for a minute there. He’d do the catholic cross gesture if he wanted to even dare remove his hands from where they were. (He didn’t want to, to be clear.)
Spidey tensed just barely, the whites of his mask wide no doubt like the eyes underneath before that sexy little smirk drifted up and, yeah. Wade was gonna fucking die today.
“Mmh, baby boy, say my name like that again. I gotta commit it to memory.”