Peter really, really wants the lilac pair. They’re just so pretty, lacy and sheer with enough structure to hold him in, and they come with a cute silk camisole to top it off. They’ll go so well underneath that short yellow sundress he’d saved up for months to buy as well, counting pennies and eating cup ramen every breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Biting his lip, he adjusts his laptop screen gingerly so the weak hinges won’t break even more through the layers of duct tape he has over them. At a better angle the screen displays the delicate purple hue of the lingerie even better, and God but does Peter want them.
The thing is though, they’re thirty dollars. And that’s forty dollars and thirty cents more than he has to spend at the moment.
Peter puts his forehead in his hands, staring down the price displayed on the lingerie website. He tries to tell himself that nobody’s going to see him in them anyway, it’s not like it matters. But it does matter, because Peter will see himself in it, and it feels like he hasn’t been doing enough for himself lately. His favourite forest green pair have a hole in them as well, so he needs to replace them, but damn it, Peter really can’t afford them.
Sadly, eating comes first before buying lingerie.
Shoulders falling, he carefully closes his laptop and flops backwards onto his bed, sighing.
“Next month,” he tells himself. “I can afford them then.”
A crackling next to his bed, Peter’s police scanner going off. Turning over onto his side, Peter frowns and listens in.
“10-29, near 175 Fifth Avenue, I’ve got freakin’ ninjas and Deadpool facing off here, it’s wild!”
“10-5, Officer, did you just say ninjas?”
“Yes, ma’am I sure did! 10-13, need assist with crowd and the goddamn ninja hoard!”
“10-4, assistance on the way. Hang tight.”
Peter’s already half in his suit, half out of his clothes and heading for his window by the time the last word is said. A few seconds later and he’s yanking his mask on and diving out into the sticky New York summer air.
The officer was not kidding about the ninjas.
Peter swings in and drop kicks the nearest katana wielding person he can find. “Sorry I’m late to the costume party! Seems like my invitation got lost in the mail!”
Backed up against a wall and fighting katana with katana, Deadpool shrieks happily. “Spidey! Oh em gee, I’m so glad you could make it!”
“Wouldn’t,” Peter dodges a stray ninja star, “miss it-” spins on his heel and fires a barrage of webs out into the hoard of ninja’s surrounding Deadpool, “for the-” then yanks one unlucky ninja back and uses them as a wrecking ball to clear the surrounding area, “world!”
Ninjas go flying and Peter finally gets a good look at Deadpool. Wade’s already cut up pretty bad, his chest and arms are a mess of blood and ruined leather suit and there’s a couple ninja stars sticking out of him, but he’s thankfully still in one piece. Four limbs all present and accounted for. Peter lets out a small, relieved breath and drops down into a fighting stance.
Wade makes a run for it in Peter’s direction and they stand back to back, eyeing up the remaining ninjas who are eyeing them up right back.
“What did you do this time?” Peter asks.
“Aw, what made you think I did anything?” Wade whines through his mask.
“Wade, come on, you’re Deadpool,” Peter laughs, “when have you ever not done something?”
“What can I say, it’s all part of my charm!” Peter can practically hear the silly grin Wade’s wearing on his face. He doesn’t have time to reply though, one ninja throws up a signal and he suddenly has far too many very sharp and pointy objects flying directly his way to waste any attention on talk.
Deadpool on his own was struggling but managing to stay afloat by sheer stubbornness, unlimited healing factor and horrific humour. With Peter on his side the ninjas admit defeat within mere minutes, the remaining few slinking off into the shadows, leaving a large number of their webbed accomplices stuck to various surfaces.
For half a second Peter has the mind to go after them, but ninjas and shadows are tricky, and he’s bleeding in a couple of places where he hadn’t been able to dodge the ridiculous numbers of ninja stars and katanas. He spots a slow one up on one of the roofs and propels himself up with a joyful whoop just to try, but by the time he gets there the ninja has long gone.
“Bummer. Things were just getting exciting,” he sighs and webs himself up onto a higher rooftop to watch the police set up a cordon around the webbed ninjas. They’d given up trying to free villians stuck with webs years ago and just opted to wait them out, which was really the only way for them to get free without Peter’s web dissolvant. And, well, Peter figures the ninjas deserve to spend some miserable hours stuck to the pavement getting heckled by passing citizens.
Smiling under his mask, Peter looks over his shoulder to see Deadpool pulling himself up over the ledge of his rooftop.
The man dusts off his ruined, bloody suit, pretends to slick back his nonexistent hair and then plops himself down next to Peter.
“What took you so long?” Peter grins, shuffling closer to Wade.
Wade huffs, swinging his legs out over the dizzying drop to the New York street below. Peter’s own feet don’t even reach halfway down Wade’s calves, and he tries not to think about how much bigger Wade really is to him. Because if he does his brain goes on a huge tangent that mostly just consists of single words like, huge, and muscles, and strong, and hnng, and that’s never very productive.
“Not everyone has a handy dandy mode of transportation like you do, baby boy. Some of us have to take the long way.”
Peter shrugs. “You could’ve hitched a ride.”
Wade turns to him, affronted. “I tried! But by the time I’d pulled my undies out of my ass, by the way I totally wore the wrong ones today, I spent the whole fight with a massive wedgie, totes not cool, you’d already gone- uuuh.”
Blinking, Peter repeats, “gone uh?”
Wade just kind of stares at him, his jaw dropped. He’s gone completely silent, which isn’t a good sign, because Wade always has something to say.
“What?” Peter says and follows Wade’s panda eyed gaze down to his hip, where a little bit of his suit is torn.
Dark red lace shows through the rip.
Squeaking, Peter jumps up and slaps a hand over the tear, his face flaming red. “No, no, no- um- ohmygod-” He’s freaking out, this isn’t something he wants, he’s never told anyone, shown anyone, nobody’s supposed to know he wears women's underwear, he’s hardly come to terms with it himself, this isn’t- this isn’t supposed to happen-
Through his narrowing vision he sees Wade stand up and reach for him.
“-Breathe, Webs, hey, you’re okay, it’s fine, I’m not gonna tell nobody, I get it, sometimes a guy just wants to feel pretty, hey, Spidey, shh, you’re okay, breathe. Come on, take some deep breaths for me, that’s it, you’re doing great.”
Peter manages to inhale a proper lungful of air and backs up on shaky legs, bumping up against a brick wall behind him. Wade follows him, and Peter should be feeling trapped in but he just feels safe with Wade looming over him, hiding him from the world with his bulk.
“Uh- um,” Peter says, voice wobbly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I wouldn’t,” Wade promises, and for once he sounds completely serious. “You can trust me, baby boy. My lips are sealed, well and truly.”
Nodding, Peter squeezes he eyes shut and tips his head back against the brick, his breathing finally slowing to a normal rhythm. His hand is still firm over the rip, too firm, fingers digging into his own flesh and bruising his own skin.
“Hey, now, none of that,” Wade says quietly, placing a huge, broad palm gently over Peter’s hand. Peter goes completely rigid, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, and then slowly relaxes. Wade’s hand is firm and impossibly warm, even through their two respective suits.
Wade considers him for a second and then carefully, slowly, wraps his fingers around Peter’s wrist and lifts Peter’s hand away. Peter, wide eyed, can only watch as he allows it, and then holds his breath as Wade looks down and tilts his head.
“Pretty,” Wade says, voice low and private. They’re so close, Peter backed up against a wall and Wade towering over him, that Peter can feel Wade’s body heat. Peter takes a hitching breath, fingers twitching in Wade’s firm hold, and finds that his knees have gone weak for an entirely different reason.
“Can I?” Wade asks, gesturing.
And Peter can’t believe this, but he nods. “Yes,” he whispers. It feels like his heart is about to break a world record, that’s how fast its pounding, his pulse rushing in his ears.
Wade reaches down and gently tugs the bottom of the rip down further. An almost pained noise makes its way out of his throat when the skin of Peter’s hip is bared, pale against the deep, rich red of the lacy panties he’s wearing under his spidey suit, a little satin bow perched perfectly where a seam meets the waistline.
“Sweetheart-” Wade groans. He brushes his leather gloved fingers over the lace, the panda eyes of his suit transfixed. “Fuck.”
He sounds wrecked.
And then Peter’s brain finally catches up with what’s happening and starts freaking the fuck out.
He breaks Wade’s hold around his wrist and shoots forward, plowing Wade out of the way and streaking for the edge of the roof. He only hears the start of Wade shouting after him before he’s gone, falling through the humid New York summer night.
He fires out a web, his other hand firmly over his hip, and heads home.
Safe in his bed, naked and wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, the red panties flung into the far corner of his small, shitty room, Peter scours the internet for photos of his and Deadpool’s fight with the ninjas.
There’s already some posted up, and he scrolls through them, stomach twisting and hand planted over his mouth, but none of them point out or even feature the rip in his suit where his panties showed through. A couple of them might contain it, but they’re too blurry for anything to be made out, and the red blends in with Peter’s suit anyway, so if someone does see it they wouldn’t notice. It’s a small tear anyway. The only way Wade saw it was because he was so close to Peter and happened to look down.
Finally feeling like he’s not about to throw up, Peter gingerly closes his laptop and puts his face in his hands.
“What the fuck,” he groans. “Parker, what the actual fuck.”
Something vibrates in his bed. Cursing, he fumbles around in his sheets and manages to dig up his phone.
rly fucking sry im an idiot
h8 me if u want 2
i wont tell ne1 promise
sry sry sorry
Biting his lip, Peter replies.
I don’t hate you. It’s okay. Thank you for not telling anyone.
He gets a relieved emoji in response. And then another message.
ty i wont do it agn sry
Peter puts his phone down and tips his head back, making an incredulous sound at himself. Because for some inexplicable reason, he wants Wade to do it again.
The next time Spider-Man and Deadpool cross paths, Peter panics. He’s just finished helping the firemen pull a young girl from a bad car crash and he’s sitting on the sidewalk, letting himself breath for a second. There’s blood on his hands and soot over his suit and he just- he’s not having a good time. The girl is going to be lucky if she makes it. She might not think the same though, because her parents aren’t going to.
The emergency response team are giving him a wide berth, but some are throwing him some curious looks. So when his spidey senses tingle with awareness he looks up, expecting to see a fireman or police officer, but it’s Deadpool, holding his hand out.
Peter freezes in place.
“Hey, Spidey. Tough day?” Wade’s voice is soft and deep, tentative.
Peter blinks, looking down at the broad palm offered up to him. For a second he almost takes it, but a car door slamming jolts him out of his weird fugue state and he bolts again.
He doesn’t have to look back as he’s swinging through the air to see Wade’s slumped shoulders.
Peter feels like shit when he climbs through his apartment window later that night. Early the next morning, actually, would be more accurate.
He strips out of his suit and hops immediately into his shitty shower. For once the hot water tank doesn’t throw a hissy fit and he manages to have a whole five minutes of steaming hot water before it turns cold.
Even when it does, he stands under the spray for a while, letting the coldness numb his limbs. Then when he finally can’t feel his fingers he stops the water and dries off mechanically, padding naked into his room.
He opens his underwear drawer and picks out a plain pair of black panties, with the simplest scallop lacing. Biting his lip, he slips them on and looks at himself in the mirror, shivering.
They look- they look nice. It helps. If only a little bit, they help.
Letting out a slow breath, he turns away and curls up in bed. Tomorrow, he’ll text Wade and apologise. First, he needs sleep. A lot of sleep.
It’s not like Peter’s putting off apologising, it’s just, he’s suddenly got really busy, okay! College ups the ante with three major projects due, and the other dishwasher at work quits so Peter has to cover twice as many shifts because the bosses drag their feet hiring a new one. Not even Spider-Man can catch a break; the temperature in New York skyrockets to an all new high and Spider-Man is busy helping with all the consequent fires.
By the time Peter has a second to himself it’s been three weeks and he hasn’t heard a peep from Wade, which is not a good sign. The other man had been constantly blowing his phone up from the very moment Peter had trusted him with his number.
So Peter feels like an ass and settles at his desk to figure out a way to properly apologise to Wade. What he comes up with doesn’t seem like nearly enough, but it’s all he can rustle up and he hopes Wade will like it.
Web swinging through the city he catches the sound of sirens, gunshots and squealing tyres. He’s only a couple blocks away from Wade’s. Closing his eyes behind his mask, he mutters, “ of course, ” and abruptly changes direction.
Two hours later, seven bank robbers in custody and Peter only a little worse for wear, Peter lands lightly on Wade’s windowsill. He pulls out the tiny gift he’s made for Wade and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees its all in one piece. When he switches it on it still works as well.
Peter drops down into Wade’s apartment. It’s a little late to be making a social call, but by the amount of times Wade had texted him at god knows what hour Peter’s sure the man doesn’t sleep. Does Wade even need to with his mutation?
Peter steps over a discarded unicorn toy. Wade’s place is always a mess, but at least he’d cleaned up the worst of it when Peter had started coming over for tacos and game night every once and awhile.
“Wade?” He calls out tentatively.
There’s a crash from the kitchen and Peter jumps. Wade appears at the doorway in his Hello Kitty pjs and bunny slippers, his unmasked face slack with shock. “Spidey?” He asks, “I didn’t think I’d be seeing your cute butt around here anymore.”
Peter shifts a little on his feet, feeling awfully guilty at the dawning hope over taking Wade’s scarred face. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I was gonna apologise for running off on you the other night but I- well, life happened. College and my job and the fires and- uh, yeah. It’s no excuse for ghosting you but- I really was busy. I’m sorry. Um, I made you this to, apologise?”
He tentatively holds out his offering, blushing behind his mask. Blinking, Wade shuffles closer, and Peter has to tilt his head back to keep his eyes on Wade’s face, the man so much taller than him. If he doesn’t he’ll end up getting distracted by the way Wade’s chest and thighs strain against the pink material stretched over them, and now is definitely not the time for that.
Wade takes the little robot out of his hands and cups in his huge palms almost reverently. “You made this? For me?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, like this isn’t something that could happen to him.
“Yeah,” Peter coughs a little. “Um, I hope you like it.”
“I love it!” Wade holds it up to eye level, beaming. It’s a little, crude Deadpool robot, with its panda eyes painted on and slim nails on its back as two katanas.
Peter goes up on his tippy toes to reach up. “If you flip this switch, it-” The robot comes to life in Wade’s palms, red lights blinking and arms flapping up and down.
“Chimichangas!” It squeaks, and Wade almost falls over with how much happiness just blasts out of his expression.
“Spidey, I could kiss you!” Wade kind of looks a little teary. Peter’s face flames and he switches the robot off, settling back on his heels. Wade goes and places it in the position of honour on his mantlepiece, still looking like he can’t believe what’s happening.
“I am really sorry,” Peter continues, stepping up behind Wade. “You didn’t deserve me ghosting you like that. I totally forgave you for- um, for that. I just- I kinda freaked out.”
“It’s fine, baby boy.” Wade turns back around. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“You asked and I said yes,” Peter whispers.
Wade looks at him, his eyes considering. He looks cute in his PJs, and so handsome as well. Peter gets why he’s a little weary of being unmasked around people, with his scars and hairlessness and all, it can be a little off putting. But Peter has always found him gorgeous, and not in spite of the scarring. Peter thinks he could just take a step forward, pull his mask off and close his eyes, tilt his head back and offer his mouth. He wonders if Wade would take it with his.
But he doesn’t do that. Because it’s terrifying. Wade already knows one of his big secrets, if he knew both-
“Do you want me to touch you?” Wade rumbles. His brown eyes have gone molten.
Peter goes very, very still.
“Babydoll?” Wade takes a step forward. Peter shivers at the pet name, at how deep Wade’s voice is. “Do you want me to touch you? You in your pretty little panties?”
If Peter was a cat all his hair would be standing on end. Something in his stomach tightens and his chest heaves with quick, small breaths.
“Uh- um,” he stutters.
Wade takes another step forward. He reaches out and stops, his hand a few inches away from Peter’s masked face. And Peter can’t help it, he sways forward just a little, rests his cheek against the heat of Wade’s palm.
“Spidey,” Wade says, voice low. His thumb brushes under one of the eyes of Peter’s mask, and Peter’s heart does a thing in his chest.
And then all of a sudden, it’s too much. Peter takes a shaky step back, and then another, already missing the weight of Wade’s touch. “I have to- I have to go,” he stutters, wrapping his arms around himself.
Wade looks disappointed, but not surprised. “Sweetheart-” he starts, but Peter’s already out his window and gone.
When Peter wakes up the next morning there’s a box sitting outside his window on the ledge. Peter stands in his panties and oversized shirt, just looking at it.
Wade’s the only one who knows where he lives and could get that box there, unless one of Spidey’s enemies found out. Peter doesn’t think so though, if a villain had been outside his window last night his spidey sense would’ve gone off and woken him up in a panic. So, Wade it is.
Biting his lip, he unlatches his window and slides it up, picking the white box up and bringing it inside. He sets it on his bed and sits with his legs folded in front of it, and lifts the lid.
On top of the tissue paper there’s a note. Peter picks it up and smiles when he sees the cartoon drawing of Deadpool.
u got me sumthing so i got u sumthing. wuld luv 2 c u in dem, it reads in sparkly purple gel pen. no pressure xoxox
Frowning, Peter puts the note aside and unfolds the tissue paper. His breath catches in his throat and he sits back, hand over his mouth.
It’s a full set of lingerie. Delicate, white and lacy, it’s more than Peter’s ever been able to afford. It’s not just panties either, there’s a bra and garter belt as well, and sheer white stockings folded underneath them. Peter’s mouth drops open as he holds them up. He’s never owned a full set before. ( https://loungeunderwear.com/collections/intimates/products/josie-pink-lace-intimates-set reference if you want ;D without the pink accents)
Scrambling off his bed, he strips out of his sleep shirt and plain panties and pulls on the ones Wade bought him. They glide over his legs, the material impossibly soft, and settle perfectly on him, the delicate straps of the waistline fitting snugly up around his hips. Then he slips the bra on, struggling a bit with the clasps but being ridiculously flexible helps with that. Then comes the garter belt, the thin white lace resting against the line of his waist, cinching him in a little, and when he pulls the stockings on he holds his breath in his chest. When he clips them in he lets it out slowly and walks over to his mirror.
Everything fits perfectly. The cups of the bra gape just a little, but Peter doesn’t have any breasts so there’s no helping that. The garter belt gives the illusion of an even smaller waist, and the panties are sheer and leave nothing to the imagination, with thin straps that frame his slim hips lovingly. When he turns around the tips of his ears go red; the style of the panties are a lot more risque than he usually goes for. They’re in a thong style, the strap resting snugly between his ass cheeks, leaving everything out and bare. Turning back around, he slips his legs together, marveling at how soft the stockings are, how they make his legs look longer and slimmer.
Peter feels- he feels pretty. And small and vulnerable, like something to be cherished, wrapped in sheer white lace, the colour innocent but the style certainly not.
He stands there and stares at himself. Thinks about the fact that Wade knows where he lives, but has never poked around and found out who Peter was under his mask. How he’s huge and strong and crass, but never makes Peter feel unsafe or uncomfortable, about how he looms over Peter and touches him, but always softly. About how he always cooks the best tacos for his and Peter’s game nights, the way he’d cupped Peter’s cheek, the look in his eyes when he’d seen the panties Peter had been wearing under his suit. About how Peter always has to hold himself back from pulling off his mask, his suit, and letting Wade do whatever he wanted to him.
He makes a decision.
Peter takes the bus to Wade’s. He plays with actually using the front door for once, but he’s never done that and won’t start now.
Hey, you home? I’m just outside and wondering if you want some company. :)
Peter texts Wade, and gets a response right away.
ur jst in time 4 pancakes!!!
Smiling, Peter walks around to the alleyway outside Wade’s apartment, looks around to make sure nobody is looking, then jumps up and scales the brick wall, slipping in through his usual window.
Here goes nothing. “Wade?” He calls out.
“In the kitchen, honey!” Wade sing-songs out and Peter takes a deep breath. He stands in the kitchen doorway, seeing Wade at the stove, wearing a frilly pink apron with his back turned to Peter.
“Blueberry or chocolate chip?” Peter asks. He’s proud when his voice comes out steady, not betraying the fact that he’s two seconds from turning into a nervous wreck.
“Both, duh,” Wade slips the pancake off his skillet and onto an already loaded plate off the side. He picks it up and turns. “You want whipped cream with your- holy shit!”
Peter dives forward, saving the pancakes from becoming a sad disaster on the floor. He lets out a breath and sets them on the counter, turning back to Wade.
Wade’s got a hand slapped over his eyes. “Spidey,” he says. “You’re not wearing your suit. Or your mask.”
“Yeah,” Peter says, and this time his voice is a little shaky. “I’m not.”
“You should put it on, or I’ll see.”
“Wade,” Peter starts, and then stops. He takes a deep breath. “My name is Peter.”
Wade audibly swallows. “Are you sure?” He asks. “Baby boy, once you’ve done this, you can’t take it back.”
“I’m sure,” Peter whispers.
Wade slowly drops his hands from his eyes. Stands there, for a moment, his eyes closed, and then blinks them open.
He looks at Peter.
Peter looks back, a tentative, almost scared smile on his lips. “Hey,” he says, wobbly.
“Peter,” Wade breathes. He takes a step forward, lifts a hand, and then stops. Before it drops Peter takes it in his, feels the scarring and roughness of Wade’s skin, the warmth of him.
“You can touch me,” he says, his pulse racing. “If you- if you want.”
“Do you want me to?” Wade asks carefully.
Peter’s breath catches. Then, he nods. “Yes,” he says.
Wade surges forward, like he’s been holding himself back all this time, and gets a huge hand around Peter’s hip, the back of his head, leans down and kisses him.
Peter makes a broken sound, goes up on his tippy toes so Wade doesn’t have to break his back and wraps his arms around Wade’s neck. Wade licks into his mouth and all Peter can do is hang from him and take it, making small, helpless sounds.
It’s hot and wet and overwhelming and Peter loves every second of it. Wade ends up grabbing him around the hips with both hands and lifts him, and Peter wraps his legs around Wade’s waist, pasting himself to Wade’s front and getting as close as he can. Wade groans as Peter squeezes his thighs around him and grabs two handfuls of Peter’s butt, squeezing.
Peter yelps into Wade’s mouth, his face bright red. Wade chuckles and takes a step forward, depositing Peter onto the kitchen table and fisting his hand in Peter’s hair. Peter mewls as he tugs and goes with the pull obediently, tipping his head back and keening as Wade leans down and fastens his mouth to his throat. He sucks a deep, dark mark into Peter’s skin, Peter gasping and squirming the entire time, and when Wade pulls back he gives it one last little kiss that makes Peter shiver.
“Fuck, I knew you were gorgeous,” Wade groans, looking at him. “Odin’s tits, look at you, baby boy, fuck. You’re like something out of a wet dream.”
Peter flushes to the tips of his ears. Wade moans as he ducks his head, looking at Wade under his lashes. “So fucking cute, shit,” Wade says, and kisses him again.
Peter does his best to keep up, twining his tongue with Wade’s, but Wade is overbearing, almost forceful, his mouth unrelenting, biting at Peter’s lips and tongue, making Peter’s lips puff and redden. He gets a hand up under Peter’s shirt and freezes when his hand encounters lace.
He breaks the kiss, taking a step back. Peter whimpers, swaying after him, and manages to catch himself on the edge of the table before he falls off.
“Baby boy,” Wade croaks and swallows.
“You said you wanted to see me in them,” Peter says.
“Fuck,” Wade says. “Oh fuck. Okay. How is this- holy shit what did I do to deserve this, no, don’t say anything, I don’t wanna ruin it, nothing this good ever happens to me. Ever. Baby boy, Peter, fuck,” he groans and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.
Peter watches him, his own eyes wide.
When Wade opens his eyes again, he’s regained his composure. His face is set and serious, his stance strong and shoulders tense. Peter’s eyes go even wider.
“Into the bedroom,” Wade orders, stripping his apron off.
A shiver goes down Peter’s spine, igniting every nerve ending with a small, excited spark. He slips off the table, stumbles a bit, his knees weak, and heads towards the door he’s pretty sure leads to Wade’s room.
Just inside the door, he takes a second to take the room in. It’s a little messy, like the rest of Wade’s place, but somehow at the same time a little bare. His eyes catch on the big king sized bed in the middle of the room and he bites his lip.
Behind him, Wade makes an impatient noise and grabs a handful of Peter’s butt, squeezing hard. Peter makes an embarrassing squeak and stumbles in further, turning around to face Wade as the back of his thighs bump against the bed.
Wade’s grinning and Peter blushes. “Did you have to?” He asks, rubbing his butt.
“Baby boy, of course I did, that juicy peach of an ass is just begging for it.”
If anything, Peter goes even more red. “Perv,” he grumbles.
“I’m not the one wearing lingerie,” Wade points out, and Peter raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not the one who bought me lingerie,” Peter fires back, and Wade grin widens.
“Touche, sweetie.” He takes a step forward and Peter has to tip his head back to keep their gazes locked. “Now, honey, I have a feeling about how you want this to go. I could be nice and gentle and worship your pretty little body, which is honestly no skin off my back, but I have a little bitty inkling that tells me you don’t want me to be nice.”
Peter’s eyes go wide as saucers.
Wade takes another step forward, his smile dangerous. The late morning light peeking through the curtains highlights his scars in sharp relief, brightens the golden flecks in his eyes. Peter holds his breath without meaning to.
“I think, you want somebody to take control,” Wade purrs, “someone to hold you down, and even though you could break free you won’t, because that’s where you want to be. All spread out under me, helpless, and mine.”
Peter’s entire body shakes. His fingers twist in front of him and he’s so, so hard in his panties already, his stomach tight and skin goosebumping.
“Wade,” he whispers. “Please.”
“That’s all you had to say, baby,” Wade smiles. “Now go on, strip. Let me see you.”
Hands shaking, Peter grabs the bottom of his shirt and lifts it over his head. He lets it drop to the floor and looks down so he doesn’t have to look at Wade, fumbling with the button of his jeans. He gets it undone and unzips the fly, then remembers his shoes and toes out of them before slipping his jeans down and stepping out of them.
Then he’s standing in front of Wade in his panties, bra, garter belt and stockings, as vulnerable as he’s ever been. He can’t look at Wade, he just looks down at the floor, and even though he’s hard he’s scared. He’s never let anyone see him like this. This is something that’s always been his own secret, his second biggest one, but one he keeps for pleasure, not out of necessity. Now Wade knows both.
A finger curls under his chin and tips his head up. Peter breathes and looks up, lips parting as Wade thumbs over the bottom one. The thumb slips into his mouth, pinning his tongue, and something about that, and the heat in Wade’s eyes, the awe in them, makes him relax. It’s so easy to give up control to Wade, so easy when nothing else in Peter’s life ever is.
“So pretty,” Wade rumbles, and Peter feels himself go red again. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Peter. Look at you. Fuck I could just eat you up.”
Peter makes a sound, fingers twitching by his sides, and then he yelps as Wade pushes him backwards. He tumbles back onto the sheets, trying to prop himself up on his hands, but Wade climbs up between his thighs and pushes him down flat with a big hand on his chest.
“Hands above your head,” Wade orders, and Peter gulps, obeying. “Keep them there,” Wade says, and Peter nods, wrapping his fingers around his other wrist.
“Good boy,” Wade praises and Peter has to close his eyes, whimpering at what it does to him.
“You like that?” Wade rumbles, hand wandering over Peter’s chest. He palms over one of the cups of the bra, squeezing like Peter’s chest is fuller than it actually is, and then slips his fingers under the lace. Peter jolts as he pinches his nipple, rolling it between his fingers and lightly digging a nail into the pink flesh. “You like it when I call you a good boy?”
Whining, Peter nods. He’s so, so hard, leaking into the lace covering his dick, turning the sheer material even more translucent. He squirms and spreads his legs wider around Wade, panting as Wade plays with his nipple under the bra, brings up his other hand and rubs his palm over Peter’s other pec. The lace digs into Peter’s nipple and he throws his head back, moaning.
Wade just watches his expression and then pinches both of Peter’s nipples at once and Peter’s eyes fly open, a cry escaping his mouth. He never knew he was so sensitive there, other people who he’d slept with had never really paid much attention to them, but now he knows that he’d been sorely missing out.
“Wade-” Peter gasps out, but the rest of what he was about to say is swallowed up by Wade’s mouth as he swoops down and kisses him. The wet sound of their mouths and tongues fill the otherwise quiet room, and Wade breaks the kiss to mouth down Peter’s throat, sucking another mark next to the one he’s already left, and then kisses down Peter’s clavicle and chest, taking one of Peter’s nipples into his mouth and sucking at it over the sheer white lace of Peter’s bra.
Peter squeaks, his own hold on his wrist tightening, and then he moans, his dick leaking steadily now into his panties. Wade hasn’t even touched him down there and he feels like he’s about to burst.
Wade bites and Peter’s back arches as he gasps, his nipple sore and swollen. Wade gives one last suck and then moves down Peter’s tummy, kissing over the garter belt and down to the panties. Peter tries to keep watching him but can’t and just stares at the ceiling, chest heaving.
“What a sight,” Wade sighs happily, finally running a finger over Peter’s cock. Peter moans and presses his hips up, trying for more, but Wade tsks and holds his hips down with his big hands.
“Stay still,” Wade admonishes. “Be a good boy for me, Peter.”
Biting his lip, Peter nods, and then gives a broken keen as Wade leans down and mouths over the wet lace covering his dick. He does his best to keep his hips still, twitching in Wade’s hold, and can’t help the tiny squirm when Wade gets a couple fingers under the panties to stroke at his balls. Wade doesn’t seem to mind that though, and sucks at the head of Peter’s cock, making Peter moan. And then those fingers on his balls go searching back further and brush over Peter’s hole and Peter almost comes.
He just ends up gushing more pre-cum, his toes curling, and Wade chuckles. He pulls back and Peter whines, desperate, “no, no, Wade, please- ”
“Shh, don’t worry your pretty head baby, we’ll get there. But I just wanna know, has anyone eaten you out before?”
“Ohmygod,” Peter breathes. “No. No one has.”
“Then you’re in for a treat,” Wade grins and flips Peter over. Peter gasps as his dick rubs over the sheets underneath him, but then Wade is pulling his hips up until he’s on his knees, chest still pressed into the mattress. Peter has only a second to prepare himself for what’s about to happen before Wade is tugging aside the string of his panties and licking a broad, hot stripe over Peter’s hole.
And then Peter kind of loses his mind as Wade nibbles at his rim and then sticks his tongue into him. He mewls and keens into the pillow, drooling everywhere, pressing his hips back into Wade’s tongue and hands, wanting so much more. Wade goes at him for what feels like forever but isn’t long enough, until Peter’s hole is puffy and swollen and Wade’s saliva is dripping down into his panties and he can’t possibly not come.
“Wade,” he manages to gasp. “Wade, please, oh god, I’m gonna- I’m gonna come. Can I? Oh please can I?”
Wade slurps at him and then pulls back for a second. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come when you need.”
And Peter sinks a little further into the mattress, moaning in relief, and then gasping desperately when Wade goes back to eating him out. A finger suddenly wriggles in beside his tongue and Peter cries out, feeling his stomach tighten and thighs tense, and then it brushes over his prostate and Peter is gone.
He sees white as he cums, spurting his release into his panties and gripping his own wrist so hard it bruises. Wade keeps licking him through it, fingers still bang on Peter’s prostate, and when Peter finally goes lax and collapses he pulls back and flips Peter over again.
Peter looks up at him, brown eyes dazed and mouth soft, his cheeks flushed bright pink.
“Gorgeous, honey, that was amazing, you did so well,” Wade murmurs, leaning down and sharing Peter’s taste with him. Peter doesn’t know what he did well but he’s not complaining, and he does his best to kiss back but his entire body feels like jelly and his brain is mush.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” Wade says as he draws back. “Is that okay?”
Are you kidding me? Peter tries to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is a garbled mess. Blushing, he tries to hide his face in his shoulder, but Wade chuckles and puts a huge hand over his jawline and neck, not letting him.
“Can’t talk yet? I’m flattered,” Wade grins, and Peter doesn’t know how he’s keeping his composure when he must be so hard in his pants. Wondering, he looks down at where Wade is kneeling over him, and his eyes go huge when he sees the massive bulge between Wade’s legs. Is Wade even going to be able to fit?!
“Like what you see?” Wade winks, and grinds his cock down between Peter’s thighs. Peter is soft and sensitive there and he lets out a broken keen, but rolls his hips up into Wade.
“ Fuck, ” Wade gasps, grinding down again. He grabs Peter’s thighs and spreads them further, fingers digging into the soft, sheer material of Peter’s stockings as he ruts into him a couple times.
There we go, Peter thinks, not so composed now.
Wade must see some kind of amusement in his eyes because he growls and holds himself back, gritting his teeth. He strips his shirt off and Peter bites his lip as the glory of Wade’s scarred chest and shoulders and six pack are revealed. He wants to touch but Wade hasn’t said he can move his hands so he just lies there as Wade reaches over and rummages in his bedside table. He pulls back with a bottle of lube in his hand that he uncaps as spreads over his fingers, and then he’s reaching down between Peter’s legs.
Peter’s mouth drops open when he realises that Wade’s going to finger him open and then fuck him with his panties still on. Whining, he throws his head back as Wade tugs aside the soaked string of his panties again and sinks a finger easily into him. The lube is cold but Peter doesn’t care, all he wants is to be filled up.
“More,” he gasps, “please, Wade- oh, ” he gasps as another fingers makes its way into him. Peter’s oversensitive from just coming, soft and pliable, and he squirms and pants as Wade holds him down with a big palm on his tummy, stretching him open and then finally getting a third finger into him.
Peter’s getting hard again in the mess he’s made of his panties. His legs kick a little and he arches his back, tilting his hips into the press of Wade’s fingers and egging him on.
“Eager thing, aren’t you?” Wade rasps, curling his fingers and rubbing against Peter’s prostate. Moaning, Peter nods.
“Please,” he begs, “please, I need you, I’m ready, ah-”
But Wade just keeps pumping three fingers into him. “I think you’ll find I’m in charge here, baby boy,” he purrs, looking down between Peter’s shaking thighs and enjoying the sight of his fingers disappearing into the pink, wet hole of Peter’s entrance. “You’re just gonna have to lie there and take what I feel like giving you.”
Tears sting at Peter’s eyes. “Please,” he pleads, toes curling. “Please, Wade, fuck me.”
Wade’s eyes go dark and the grip he has on Peter’s thigh tightens enough to rip Peter’s stockings a bit. “Well,” he says, voice rasping, “when you ask like that.”
And then those fingers are gone, and even though Peter knows that it has to happen for Wade to get his cock into him, Peter still whines and chases them with his hips. Chuckling, Wade pinches his thigh a little and Peter settles back against the sheets, watching as Wade unzips his pants and drops them just low enough to pull out his cock.
If Peter thought Wade was huge, he wasn’t right, Wade’s even bigger. Peter’s mouth drops open and his toes curl at the sight of it, his mouth watering. It’s easily the biggest he’s ever had, huge and veiny and scarred like the rest of Wade, the head bulbous and leaking pre-cum down the side of it.
Wade slicks himself up, his hand almost looking small around his dick, and then hitches Peter’s legs up around his waist. Peter grips the sheets above his head in anticipation as Wade shuffles closer, pulling aside the string of Peter’s panties and nudging the head of his cock against Peter’s hole.
“If I hurt you, tell me to stop,” Wade rasps and Peter nods his head desperately.
“I will, Wade, please, uh-” The rest of Peter’s words are lost as Wade presses forward, splitting him open. It’s a tight fit, three fingers stretching him might not have been enough, but even though Peter’s in lingerie and more than a foot shorter than Wade and like a third of his weight, he’s still the strongest in the room, and he just arches his back into the burn and keens to the ceiling.
“Fuck, babe, fuck,” Wade groans, sinking inch by inch into Peter’s tight heat. When he bottoms out he just sits there for a second, huge chest heaving as he hunches over Peter.
And then Peter gives an impatient wriggle and Wade growls, eyes flashing as he gets a hand around Peter’s throat, presses one of his thighs up against his chest, pulls back and then slams back in.
Peter wails as his insides part around Wade’s cock, fingers ripping apart the sheets he’s holding onto for dear life. Wade sets a hard, heavy pace, shoving into him almost painfully, his grip around Peter’s throat tight but not tight enough to cut off his air supply. The tears gathering in Peter’s eyes spill over and he sobs up to the ceiling, trying to roll his hips into Wade’s thrusts but ending up getting pushed up the bed by the force of Wade’s hips instead. He has to brace himself against the headboard as Wade fucks him, the sloppy sounds of Wade’s cock slamming into him filling the room, along with his crying and moaning and Wade’s low grunts.
“Fuck, Peter, you’re perfect,” Wade pants, going up further on his knees and bending Peter in half. The new angle means Wade basically batters his prostate, and Peter’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his mouth gaping open soundlessly. Wade tries to reach between them to grab at Peter’s cock, but the panties get in the way.
Wade growls, gets his fingers under them and rips them away. Peter moans loudly as Wade gets a huge hand around his aching cock and starts stroking him almost painfully fast. And holy fuck Petr is so happy that he’s getting fucked right now in Wade’s bed, his hands above his head and only dressed in a white lacy bra, gartner belt and stockings, sobbing to the ceiling. This is easily his new favourite activity.
Wade’s hips start to stutter and his grip around Peter’s throat shifts up further onto Peter’s jaw, jamming his fingers into Peter’s wet and open, drooling mouth. Peter chokes and then his back arches as Wade shoves home one last time and groans as he cums deep into Peter.
As the wet heat floods into him and Peter stares up at Wade’s pleasure contorted face through his wet eyelashes he can’t help but fall over the edge as well. He keens high pitched as he spills over his stomach, hips twitching as Wade makes small, little grinds into him, his insides pulsing around Wade’s cock, milking it as they both orgasm.
And then Peter is heaving large gulps of air, collapsing back into the sheets. He whimpers as Wade pulls out and reaches for him, but Wade makes a low sound and slams his wrists back above his head.
“Did I say you could move them?” He asks, and Peter shakes his head.
“I thought you wanted to be my good boy,” Wade tutts.
“‘M sorry,” Peter whispers hoarsely, tears wet on his lashes.
Wade leans down and kisses him. “Can’t stay angry at you when you cry so prettily,” he says against Peter’s lips and sits back on his heels to observe the ruin he’s made of Peter.
Peter stares up at him, his mouth red and swollen and brown curls a mess on his head. There are tear tracks down his flushed cheeks and marks bitten into his neck, the entirely of his throat red from Wade’s grip on him. His nipples are pink and irritated under the white lace of his bra from Wade playing with them, his slim chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Cum is smeared over his flat tummy and over his softening cock, soaking into the garter around his tiny waist. And his hole puffy and red between his splayed thighs, well used and leaking lube and Wade’s cum.
Licking his lips, Wade reaches down and fingers up the white globs, pushing his spend back inside Peter. Peter whines and squirms, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Wade, I can’t-”
“You can’t?” Wade murmurs, transfixed on Peter’s hole. “Can’t what, honey?”
Whimpering, Peter tries to close his legs, but Wade easily keeps them open, raising his eyebrows.
“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, pausing with his fingers inside Peter.
Panting, Peter shakes his head. He’s tired and sore and fucked out, but if Wade wants to keep going, he’s on board. Peter doesn’t think he can say no to the man, not when he makes him feel this good.
Smiling, Wade leans down and kisses him lazily. “Good boy,” he whispers, and the words send sparks racing down Peter’s limbs.
Fingers pinch at his oversensitive nipple and Peter jerks, whimpering, but then Wade is pulling back and turning him over onto his stomach. All of Peter’s sensitive parts rub over the sheets and he whines, sore, but Wade pays him no heed and yanks up his hips.
Peter’s eyes open in shock from where they’d fallen closed and he only has one second of protest before something familiar is pressing up against the mess of his hole.
No way, he thinks, and then he can’t think anything as Wade’s cock spears him open again. A thought manages to drift through his mind, something about Wade’s healing factor and subsequent refractory period, before everything falls away as Wade starts to fuck him again.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Wade groans as he watches his cock disappear into Peter’s body. He thumbs the stretched out rim, enjoying the sound of his cock squelching through the cum he’s already spilled into Peter, the helpless, breathy cries forced from Peter’s throat every time he thrusts forward. “You’re taking me so well,” he praises, and because he can he gives one of Peter’s butt cheeks a slap.
A handprint blooms on the pale skin and Peter sobs, tensing around Wade. Wade grins and grabs the back of Peter’s garter belt, using it as leverage to fuck the living daylights out of the boy beneath him. His other hand goes down and grips the mess of curls on Peter’s head, forcing his head to the side so Wade can watch him cry. And Peter does, so prettily, his expression mindless as Wade uses him.
Wade’s balls start to tighten again and he leans down, mashing his mouth awkwardly to Peter’s open and gasping one, moaning deep in his chest as he cums again into Peter. Peter mewls as he’s filled again, Wade’s cock pulsing deep, and whines, the sound almost pained as Wade pulls out.
He feels Wade’s cum leak out of him, two loads spilling down the back of his thighs and soaking into the top of his stockings. Something in him quivers at the thought Wade is going to finger it all back into him again, and he’s not quite sure if it’s want or worry, but Wade just carefully turns him onto his back and drops kisses over his face.
“You okay, baby boy?” Wade asks, his voice husky. Peter doesn’t even try to talk, just makes a noise that he hopes gets across how fucking amazing he feels at the moment, sore and used and thoroughly fucked, a mess in his lingerie.
Wade smiles, smoothing Peter’s curls away from his forehead, looking a little relieved at Peter’s dazed and happy expression.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’m just going to go get some water and something to clean you up with. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he adds as he slips off the bed.
As if Peter can even think of moving.
Before long Wade is back, holding a glass of water and a washcloth. He makes Peter sip a couple of mouthfuls first before wiping the mess off of Peter’s stomach and between his thighs, and then climbs back into bed, pulling Peter into his arms.
Peter snuggles in happily, sighing as he settles on top of Wade’s amazing chest. He wriggles his toes, humming as they don’t even come close to reaching Wade’s, and drops an unconscious kiss on Wade’s scarred skin.
Wade strokes a hand through his hair, and even though it’s only early afternoon, Peter slips into a contented sleep.
“My panties,” he pouts, later, as he picks up the ripped and cum stained slip of material off the carpet. He’s still in his garter belt and stockings, his bra gone, replaced with one of Wade’s hoodies that hangs past his fingers and halfway down his thighs.
“Aw, honey, don’t be sad,” Wade comes up behind him, gripping his hips and resting his head on top of Peter’s.
But Peter kind of is. Wade bought them for him and they mean something. They were also probably super expensive, and matched the rest of the set.
“I’ll buy you another pair,” Wade tries to placate him, and Peter grins and turns in Wade’s arms, going up on his tippy toes and offering his mouth up to the much bigger man.
“You gonna be my sugar daddy?” He whispers.
Wade’s eyes go dark and he leans down, grabbing two handfuls of Peter’s ass and squeezing. “Baby, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
They start making out, but before things get too hot and heavy Peter’s stomach rumbles and Wade pulls back, laughing at the embarrassed look on Peter’s face. Wade picks him up easily and carries him into the kitchen and they eat cold blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes sitting on the counter together. The late day sun streaks in through the kitchen window, the air is warm and pale golden hued, and the sounds of birds and everyday New York are quiet in the background. Peter’s wonderfully sore and feeling well used, completely unashamed sitting next to Wade in his lingerie and oversized hoodie as Wade feeds him bits of pancakes from his fingers. And as Wade leans forward and licks a smear of chocolate off Peter’s cheek, Peter laughing and pushing him away, Peter doesn’t think he could ask for anything more perfect.