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Cross-Country Road Trip (Spice Up Ya Life!)

Chapter Text

For the record, Wade was not the one who thought it would be a good idea to drive from San Francisco to Queens.


“Babe, you know that I have a teleporter, right? All we gotta do is hook you up to my belt (heh), pile you up like a pack mule with all my stuff, and zap you back to Queens. Boom! Suddenly I’m all moved in.” Wade grinned and made jazz hands at Peter after relaying his genius idea.


His boyfriend, however, sighed as he set a box down in the hallway. The Deadhut had honestly never looked cleaner – mostly because all of Wade’s junk was either stacked neatly in boxes in the bed of the pickup truck parked at the curb (Peter’s doing) or piled in a heap in the Dumpster parked in the driveway (Wade’s doing). Initially, Wade had protested about bringing any of his junk from California to Peter’s place (“I’ll just buy more stuff, it’s fine!”), but Peter had kiboshed that idea (“It won’t feel like our place if it’s just my stuff and a bunch of new crap!”) and Wade had reluctantly agreed (“I guess I don’t really wanna buy new weapons anyway. And no way the little snots down the street get to play with my X-Men action figures!”). So with Peter’s help he’d packed up the Deadhut, freed Al for the millionth time, told Weasel to keep his storage locker just in case, and gotten ready to move to New York to live with his Petey Pie. But there was still a question about how they should get to the DeadSpiderHut.


[He was still workshopping the name. Shuddup.]


“Wade, even with super strength there’s no way I can get all your stuff to Queens in less than 14 trips, I did the math,” said Peter, rolling his eyes and nudging past Wade to pick up the La-Z-Boy like it was nothing.


“—of course you did the math, you little nerd—”


“--and according to Dr. Banner that much teleportation in a short amount of time is likely to cause some lasting side effects.” Peter finished. “Plus, I think it’ll be fun to go on a road trip. I’ve never been in a car outside New York before!”


“Lazy writing.” Wade muttered angrily to no one in particular. “Blatant fanservice. Unnecessary obstacles to advance the plot.”




“Nothing, sweet cheeks! You’re right. Road trip it is.” Wade swooped in and planted a giant sloppy kiss on Peter’s nose before running back inside to grab more boxes.




The next problem, obviously, was that Peter didn’t know how to drive.




“Okay, Pete, so this right here is a vehicle – most people call it a car, but this one is a truck so we’ll just keep it simple with vehicle,” Wade babbled, slapping a giant magnet on the side of the loaded truck and grinning at Peter. “The vehicle drives on the road, and you use the steering wheel to… steer.”


“Jesus Christ.” Peter honest-to-god facepalmed [oh-em-gee he’s so cute] and walked around to the driver’s side of the truck to where Wade was standing. “Just because I’ve never driven before doesn’t mean I’m an idiot – I have a degree in biophysics. Also I’m 23 years old.”


“Doing stuff to test tubes doesn’t mean you can automatically figure out the rules of the road, baby boy,” Wade pointed out, stepping closer to Peter as he continued, “but if you ever wanna do stuff to my test tubes—”


“Weak.” Peter grunted, but he was smiling as he said it. Yeah, Wade thought, this little dork loved him. As if reading his mind, Peter stood on the tips of his toes to give Wade a kiss on the cheek. “You know that was weak, right?”


“Yeah, yeah.” Wade grumbled, also smiling. Then he pulled a baseball cap out of nowhere and slammed it onto his head, clapping his hands together excitedly as he exclaimed, “SO! Ready for your first lesson?”


“Where—” Peter stopped himself mid-sentence and shook his head.


[The little spider is learning that Wade’s pouches are magical]


{They’re not magical they’re just—}


“Shut up, Pete just knows we’re weird at this point.” Wade growled.


“Yeah, speaking of weird,” Peter said, glancing down at the door of the truck for the first time. “Where did you get that magnet?”


Wade glanced down at the magnet in question. He looked back at Peter. “Well,” Wade cackled. “there was this douchebag driving instructor I met once who failed a kid because he didn’t put his blinker on to cross into oncoming traffic – said it was technically a lane change so he should have used his blinker and then failed him. Asshole, right? So I liberated one of his fancy magnets from his not-so-fancy driving school cars.”




“The kid was me, I was that kid. The asshole failed me. So I stole his magnet, whatever.”


“And you’ve had it ever since?”




“And the hat?”


“He was unconscious!”


“I’m not driving across the country with a magnet on the side of the truck that says Rusty’s Driving School – Where Safe Driving is No Accident.”


“Safety is key, baby boy!”


“That’s coming from you of all people?”


“Fair. Can we at least keep the hats?”


“Hats? As in plural?!”


Grinning like a madman, Wade pulled another hat out of a pouch on his belt. “One for me—” he pointed happily at the cap perched on his own head, which was emblazoned with Rusty’s logo and declared DRIVING INSTRUCTOR in big, bold letters. “—and one for you!” Wade thrust the other hat into Peter’s hands, this one adorned with a STUDENT DRIVER label.


Peter burst out laughing, just like Wade knew he would. “Okay, that’s hilarious.” Peter said, still grinning. “Yeah we’re definitely keeping these,” he said, jamming the hat on his head.


“EEEEK PETEY NO – It’s messing up your perfect hair!”


“Wade – no, get off of me – ouch!”


A few minutes (and a [way-too-quick] makeout session) later, when Peter had fully disentangled himself from Wade’s tackle, both of them settled in the cab of the truck, Peter in the driver’s seat.


“Okay, but for real, Pete – the gas pedal is on the right, break is on the left, use your right foot to push the pedals and don’t do anything with your left one because this truck doesn’t have a clutch—”


“Wade.” Peter said seriously, though he looked excited. “I got this. How hard can it be? I’ve played Mario Kart with you for years.”


“Uhh—” Wade raised his nonexistent eyebrows.


[Let the little shit figure it out on his own, then]


But we love him.


{Yeah, and he’s being a little bit of an asshole and won’t accept your help. Let’s just see what happens}


“Yep, exactly like Mario Kart.”


[This is gonna be hilarious]


{Good thing we’re just practicing in a parking lot}






“Can I have the keys?”


“Oh, yeah – hang on—”


Wade stopped himself from commenting as he handed over the keys and waited for Peter to figure out how to start the truck. To Wade’s surprise, Peter put the key in the ignition like he’d done it a million times before. Wade’s shock must have shown on his face, because Peter almost immediately said, “What? Did you think I’ve never seen a movie before?” Peter grinned as he turned the key—


--and the engine stayed silent.


“Oooh, look baby boy – I can roll down my window now, well done!”


“Uhh, Wade,” Peter said nervously, fiddling with random buttons on the dash. “What’s going on? Did I break it?”


Trying desperately not to laugh, Wade said, “Nah, Pete. You just gotta press the brake while you turn the key. See? Can’t believe everything you see in the movies.” Wade winked.


“All right, all right.” Peter grumbled, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. Peter flapped his hands at Wade as though that would fend off his boyfriend’s snark.


[Good luck with that, kid]


“And, uh, which one is…?”




“Left. Right.” Peter grinned and turned the key again. With a satisfying rumble, the engine turned over.


“YESSSSS!” Wade and Peter yelled at the same time, high fiving.


Wade couldn’t help himself – he started teaching excitedly. “Okay, now put it in drive – you gotta just move the stick to ‘D’ – oh my god so many jokes – yeah just like that! And we are MOVING!”


Peter got the hang of driving pretty quickly. But he’d been right – Peter was a 23-year-old with a graduate degree. Driving wasn’t going to be too difficult for him anyway. Sure, he almost flipped the truck and definitely lost half the boxes in the bed when he tried and failed to do a doughnut in the parking lot, but that didn’t mean he’d be a menace on the road.


[Spider-Man – he’s a menace!]


“Alright, ‘JJ’ cool it,” Wade growled. Then he turned to Peter and immediately felt his face light up. “So, are we ready to hit the road? Grab some pork rinds and some Sour Patch Kids and about eight chalupa snack boxes and get going?”


“Yes to pork rinds, big yes to Sour Patch Kids,” Peter says after putting the truck in park and getting out to switch seats with Wade. “but no Taco Bell in the truck—”




“Babe, your farts are so nasty after chalupas and we have like 3,000 miles to drive—”


[{He’s got a point}]


“I thought you loved my farts!” Wade yelled in mock outrage. “You said you loved ALL of me! Or was that a bald-faced LIE?” Wade also hopped out of the truck and met Peter in front of the hood. Grasping his boyfriend’s shoulders dramatically, Wade sank to his knees and tried to focus on his comedic begging and not on blowjobs.


[Unless begging leads to blowjobs…?]


{Not likely}


“I can love you and not want to spend three days with you in a truck full of chalupa farts, Wade.”


“So what you’re saying is…” Wade cleared his throat and burst into song. “You’ll do anything for love, but you won’t do that?”


Peter laughed.


“Still no on the chalupas, though?”


“Still no.”


“Not even for a blowjob?”




“What if you web me to the roof or something?”




Wade leapt to his feet in triumph. “I can live with that! Let’s get snacks and go!”


“I didn’t say yes, Wade!” Peter called through the windshield as Wade hopped into the driver’s seat. “Wade!”

Chapter Text

NEVADA – Total number of hours in the truck: 7

“Look, all I’m saying is I don’t see the point of soap that’s not antibacterial. Isn’t the whole point of soap to like… you know, kill the bacteria?” Wade drummed his hands on the steering wheel and bopped his head to the song thrumming through the radio as he made his very clever argument.


“Yeah,” Peter said slowly. He shoved another handful of Cheetos into his mouth and stared up at his own hairline while he crunched slowly.


[Sweet of him. He knows he can demolish your entire argument in a sentence. He’s just pretending to think about it to make you feel better.]


“But—” Peter continued after swallowing the Cheetos, his lips caked in cheese dust. “—if you think about it, not all bacteria are bad, right? It’s the same reason you don’t wanna use hand sanitizer all the time – because you end up killing the good bacteria that should be helping your immune system.”


“Hashtag not-all-bacteria.”


Peter laughed, which made Wade grin.


“I get your point, though, baby boy,” Wade said, pointing at himself dramatically. “Leave it to someone with a disgustingly overactive immune system to not think about shit like that.”


“Well, also—” Peter cocked an eyebrow and smiled at Wade in a way that screamed I’m a little shit – Wade knew that look well. “Degree in biophysics.”


“Ugh, I know that’s the second time in 12 hours you’ve mentioned it – you’re a goddamn genius, we all get it!” Wade tried to pretend to sound angry (he used to be so good at that!) but the effect was slightly undermined by the fact he was still smiling.


“I worked hard for that expensive piece of paper. Might as well flaunt it a little.”


Wade flapped a hand at him in what he hoped was a “poo-poo” kinda motion. Or whatever. “Oh, shit!” Wade yelled suddenly, punching Peter in the bicep. “YELLOW ONE!”


“Dammit – no fair, I was distracted by my own genius.”


“That makes… four for me? And how many for you, Petey?”


Peter grumbled wordlessly.


“What was that? Couldn’t quite catch it.”




Wade laughed. “You really suck at Punch-Buggy-No-Punch-Back, genius. And I’m the one driving.”


“Yeah, well, you have to look at the road. I’m busy looking at… nature. And stuff.” Peter griped.


“Uh—” Wade swiveled his head dramatically back and forth, pretending to look for the “nature” Peter was talking about. “You mean the highway? Or are you talking about all those miles of endless boring-ass desert surrounding the highway?”


“Swear to God, I saw a lizard thirty miles back.”








“Totally true.”


“For what evolutionary purpose would a spider ever need to sense a lizard?!”


“It came in handy when I was fighting… The Lizard. Also lizards totally eat spiders.”


“God-fucking-dammit,” Wade laughed. “Alright. Fine.”


Peter adjusted himself in the passenger’s seat so he was sitting cross-legged, leaning forward to grab another bag of Cheetos. “By the way, you want me to drive for a bit? It’s gonna be dark soon, figure you’ll want a nap at some point.”


“Nah, I’m good for now. Just starving, honestly.”


“I got ya,” Peter ripped open the second Cheetos bag and grabbed a handful. “Open up.”


Dutifully, Wade opened his mouth. Peter popped a Cheeto into it and waited for Wade to finish chewing before repeating the action. “I feel just like a baby bird!” Wade exclaimed.


“Luckily I’m not regurgitating a chewed Cheeto down your throat, though.”


“Oh, ew, no.” Wade said around another mouthful of puffy-cheesy-goodness. “I feel just like a baby Wade!”


“Also kinda ew.”


“True.” Wade opened his mouth again, waiting for another Cheeto. “No underage stuff in this fic, no ma’am!”




“Never mind. Hey, have you ever wondered what happened to Conan O’Brien? Like, where did that dude go?...”



UTAH – Total number of hours in the truck: 13

They got stuck in a traffic jam outside of Salt Lake City.


“Who taught you jockstraps how to drive? Pepper Potts’ slimy skincare line?!”


“Wade, what does that even— never mind.”


“I’m just saying these people drive like… disgustingly slow. Slow as Goop.”


Peter sighed and sank lower into the passenger’s seat. He was in one of those positions that Wade figured must be super uncomfortable, but Peter somehow made it look effortless as hell. Legs all tangled on the dash, back curled into the dip of the seat, neck at a weird angle, with his arms twisted above his head for some reason. The car was hot, they were out of Sour Patch Kids, and Wade’s patience was running razor-thin.


“They’re driving slow because we’re in a traffic jam.”


“Duh, I know that, babe – but I’m pretty sure it’s just a few CUMSTAINS at the front who are stopping us from moving – HEAR THAT? CUMSTAINS! ALL OF YOU!” Wade yelled out the window.


“Wade!” Peter hissed, sitting up suddenly. “Yelling at them won’t suddenly make the problem go away. And I’m pretty sure there are children in the car in front of us.”


Wade snorted derisively, but closed the window. “Well they should know what cumstains are, of all people. They basically are cumstains. Literally.”


“Okay, but just because your insults are funny – and maybe a bit accurate – doesn’t mean they’re gonna make the situation better.”


“Oh my God, Pete – did you see that? Did you see what that – that burned bottom of a bran muffin up ahead just did? The one in the Prius? He just fuckin’ – cut into the breakdown lane to pass everyone! What a—” Wade rolled down the window again. “HEY YOU! IN THE PRIUS! YOU’RE THE BURNED BOTTOM OF A BRAN MUFFIN AND I HATE YOU!”


Beside Wade, Peter seemed to be trying not to laugh as he rolled up Wade’s window. “Wade.” he said quietly. “I appreciate the more… child-friendly insults? But seriously, sometimes traffic jams just happen and there’s nothing we can—"


“Um, yeah there is – I could teleport up there right now and shove a katana—”


“Nope, that is not an option.”


Wade made a mocking face at Peter, who scowled.


{Real mature, DP}






“Wasn’t talking to you.” Wade growled, gripping the steering wheel tighter.


Peter frowned even more deeply, but seemed to accept that Wade was just being Wade. “Fine. Wanna talk about something? Might make the time go by faster.”




Yeah, Wade could hear it. He knew he sounded like a child. He just didn’t care.


“What about a game? We could always do ‘Title of Our Sex Tape’ –”




“You wanna just be grumpy?”




With a tiny [infuriating, smug] smirk, Peter slumped back down in his seat and stared silently out the window.



 “Okay, fine, I’m sick of being grumpy.”


“Cool. Can I drive now?”


Wade glared at his boyfriend. Maybe he wasn’t completely done being grumpy, after all. “Why?”


“Because you should probably get some rest before it gets dark, like I said earlier.”


{He wants you to take a nap because you’re acting like a 5-year-old}


“I’m not a 5-year-old.”


“Didn’t say you were,” Peter stretched in his seat, ruffling his hair into an even wilder state of fluffy frizz. “Just figured since we’re only sitting here doing nothing, now might be a good time for it.”


Wade glanced at the long line of unmoving cars ahead of them, which seemed to stretch for hundreds of miles along the endless highway. Slumping his shoulders and slamming his forehead dejectedly on the steering wheel, Wade sighed, “Yeah, I guess. But you wake me up as soon as we get moving, okay?”


“Yeah, yeah – just switch seats with me.”


Wade did as he was told, jumping out of the cab and jogging around the hood of the truck as Peter scooched along the bench seat to get to the driver’s side. After Peter had adjusted the seat and the mirrors [what a good little student!], Wade nodded approvingly and tilted his DRIVING INSTRUCTOR hat down over his eyes. “I’m serious, Pete,” Wade mumbled, already feeling his eyelids grow heavy. “wake me up when this nightmarish jockstrap-goopy-cumstain-burned-bottom-of-a-bran-muffin mess is over.”


“Just go to sleep, Scarface,” Peter said softly, squeezing Wade’s shoulder. “I got this.”


Wade was fast asleep before he even had enough time to come up with a snappy reply.



 Wade woke with a start some amount of time later to the sounds of Peter yelling at the windshield.


“Oh hell no – Just because you’ve got a fancy car doesn’t mean you get to drive like a douche!”


Wade sat up and whipped the hat off his head. He was slightly surprised to see that the sun had set completely and they were driving down the highway in the dark. He swallowed his angry comment about being woken up as soon as the traffic jam was over when he saw the angry look on Peter’s face.


“Uhh… Pete? What’s up?”


“Oh, hey Wade!” Peter said cheerfully, but his voice was still slightly strained. “Sorry I woke you up. Some asshole in a Porsche is driving way too fast and just cut off an 18-wheeler. Couldn’t help myself, I yelled at him a bit.”


Wade smirked at the hypocrisy of Peter having road rage too, but continued to keep his comments to himself. He was getting better at that. “How long was I out?”


“Meh, a couple hours maybe? I dunno—” Peter said absentmindedly. Then he started yelling again. “Oh shit, look! The guy’s pulling into a rest stop ahead!”




“So we can follow him and talk to him about his poor life choices. Well, Spider-Man can. Feel like it’d be a little silly, coming from Peter Parker.”


“Okay… but why?” Wade scratched his head in confusion, but noted they were already in the exit lane.


“Why?!” Peter exclaimed. “Because he’s being an asshole! He might hurt someone driving like that! We can teach him why it’s bad.”


[Oh my god he’s so naïve.]


Shh, this is one of the reasons why we love him.


“I dunno, Pete—”


“—good thing I’ve got my mask in the truck. Can you hand it to me, please?”


Wade sighed, but could tell he wasn’t going to talk Peter out of this one. Especially as they rolled into the rest stop and pulled up beside the Porsche just as a large man [with a truly douchey Uncle-Jesse-meets-Justin-Timberlake’s-frosted-tips haircut and an even more horrific pair of boat shoes] opened the door and got out. Without a word, Wade handed Peter the Spider-Man mask. “Don’t do anything I would do.”


Peter winked at Wade before pulling the mask over his face. “Be back in a minute.”


Wade blew his boyfriend a kiss and rolled down the window to listen. Just in case. He also started searching around the cab of the truck to find his Deadpool mask. Just in case.


“Excuse me, sir,” said Peter in his best Hero Voice.


[We hate that voice]


{Only because it’s not really Pete}


[And because Pete doesn’t need a stupid macho voice to be our hero]


“—couldn’t help but notice you were driving pretty dangerously back there. Are you aware of how long it takes a vehicle to stop at such high speeds?”


 “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” Porsche-Man snarled.


“What the—” Peter whipped around angrily to share a “can you believe this guy?!” glare with Wade, who shrugged and went back to pulling on his Deadpool mask. “I’m Spider-Man. Obviously!”


“Never heard of ya.” the man said, squinting down at Peter and moving back toward his car.


“Do you ever watch the news? Hear about the giant goblin monster that attacked New York a couple years ago?!”


“Wasn’t that like… Hillary Clinton or something?”


Peter opened his mouth to let loose an angry retort of some kind, but before he could do that the dude started turning away.


Wade saw {yep, even from a distance, through the mask} Peter’s jaw tighten. The man stepped behind Peter to open the Porsche’s driver’s side door. “I don’t appreciate masked weirdos following me into rest stops. Now if you’ll excuse me—” Then the man spat at Peter’s feet. That was about Wade’s limit.


Before the guy could do more than place a finger on the handle, three very well-placed bullets smashed into the side of the car, one after another in a perfect line above the man’s hand. The man shrieked in fear and threw himself on the ground.


“Apologize to the masked weirdo!” Wade yelled, gun still pointed steadily at the man on the ground.


The man, still cowering from between his fingers, peeked over to catch a glimpse of Wade, who was leaning nonchalantly out the window of the truck. “Deadpool?!” he gasped.


“The one and only.”


“Oh, of course you know him.” Peter groaned. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”


“You’re the friendly neighborhood  Spider-Man, babe,” Wade said softly, not lowering the gun. He turned back to the man on the ground. “You! I said apologize!”


“Sorry! Sorry! Sorrysorrysorrysorry!” squealed the man, still crouching on the pavement. “I’ll never do it again, I swear!”


“Wade…” Peter said warningly. Wade knew that tone. It was deceptively soft.


“I’m not gonna shoot him.” Wade snorted. “I’m just gonna… make sure he doesn’t drive like an idiot anymore. RIGHT, IDIOT?”


“Yes yes yes! Sorry!”


“And doesn’t spit at my boyfriend.” Wade added.


“Never again!”


“Alright, he’s scared enough,” Peter said, walking back to the truck where Wade was still sitting in the passenger’s seat. “Easy, tiger.”


Wade grumbled quietly but put the gun away. The man scrambled to return to his car and drove off in a puff of burned rubber and squealing tires. Wade turned back to Peter as his boyfriend got back in the driver’s seat and removed his mask.


“And you said I had road rage, eh?” Wade guffawed, leaning back in his seat again. He couldn’t stop the giant grin that crawled its way across his face.


“Shut up,” Peter hissed, going slightly pink. “Guess it’s another thing we’ve got in common.”

Chapter Text

WYOMING – Total number of hours in the truck: 26




“YOU can’t die! I’m gonna die!”


Wade shrieked in terror and attempted to throw himself against the door of the truck. “Fuck! It came right at me!”


“WADE, Jesus, you’re still driving!”




Wade kept one hand on the wheel as his other hand flapped desperately around his own face. In the passenger’s seat, Peter had flattened himself against the window, fingers sticking automatically to the glass behind him and eyes widened in terror. The truck swerved dangerously as Wade got a little too enthusiastic with his arm-flapping. A nearby driver honked angrily at them as she shot past the truck.


“Open a window!” Peter yelled. “Open all the windows!”


“I’m busy! You do it!”


“My fingers are stuck!”


“Then relax!”


You fucking relax, Wade!”


“Motherfucking—” Wade ducked dramatically, still attempting to keep his eyes on the road as he cowered [bravely] behind the steering wheel. “Where’d it go?!”


“Shitshitshitshitshit – don’t move—”


“NOT HELPFUL!” Wade ignored Peter and shook his head wildly. The truck gave another lurch as Wade pulled the wheel haphazardly in his panic. Both Wade and Peter crashed against the side of the cab again and more people honked angrily.


“We gotta pull over—” Peter shouted, still plastered to the side of the cab.


“Just unstick and open the window!”


“I can’t!”


“—then talk to it! Don’t you have, I don’t know, some kind of… bug-telepathy or something? Tell it to stop being an asshole!”


“That’s Ant-Man!”


“God-fucking-dammit—fine, hit it with a web-shooter!”


“What part of ‘I’m stuck’ are you not getti--?!”


Wade interrupted Peter’s angry retort with a scream of fear. He slammed his foot on the brakes and the truck screeched to a stop, right in the middle of the highway. Still muttering under his breath, Wade leaned down to pull a handgun from under the seat. “If you won’t shoot it, then I will – plug your ears!”




The rest of Peter’s sentence was interrupted by five loud gunshots blasting through the roof.


“Christ, Wade – put that away before you hurt someone!” Peter yelled. Wade heard him take a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to pry his fingers off the glass.


“Need more bullets…” Wade grumbled, fumbling under the seat once more for a box of ammo. Wade was so busy searching for the box that he almost missed the sound of the windows being rolled down. Wade popped back up to look at his boyfriend, who had finally managed to unstick himself from the window. “You did it, baby boy!”


Peter kept his eyes on the ceiling of the truck, then said through gritted teeth, “Not yet. Do you see the little fucker?”


“Nah, I’ll scare him out, though!” Wade said excitedly, cocking the gun and pointing it at the roof of the truck once more.




Wade pouted, but lowered the gun. With a gasp of horror, Wade glanced at the roof of the cab and screamed, “FUCK, THERE IT IS!”


Both Wade and Peter ducked as low as they possibly could and waited. Cars continued to zip by outside, the continuous drone of their engines sometimes punctuated by an angry honk or the occasional shouted insult. After 30 seconds of hearing nothing inside the truck itself, Wade cautiously picked his head up and looked around the cab.


“Pete…” Wade whispered, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “It’s on me.”






Peter poked his head up and stared at Wade. “Shit.”


“It’s okay, I’m gonna open the door and—”






“It didn’t hurt that bad.” Peter said, raising his eyebrows judgmentally. “And look! I killed it!”


Wade scowled, rubbing his ringing temple angrily. “Didja have to slap me to do that, though?”


“I just saved our lives from a vicious wasp!” Peter exclaimed, wiping wasp guts on an abandoned McDonald’s bag. “You’re welcome.”


Wade snorted and sat up in the driver’s seat, slamming his foot on the gas to get them back up to speed. “Ugh. Whatever. I hate wasps.”


“Me too.”


“Thank God it wasn’t a cow in here, though, right? That would’ve been even more terrifying.” Wade said, shuddering involuntarily.


“What the--?!”


NEBRASKA – Total number of hours in the truck: 34


Of all the things that had the potential to end Wade and Peter’s relationship—


--{the fact that Wade used to kill people for money, the fact that Wade and Peter had been enemies for so long, the fact that Peter had definitely been with hotter people, the fact that—}


[Alright, they get it.]


--it was Wade’s inability to give driving directions that almost broke them up. Of all the stupid things.


“No, Petey, I said go THAT WAY!”


“Jesus Christ, Wade –“ Peter groaned and smashed his forehead against the steering wheel in frustration as the truck blew past yet another necessary turn. “We’ve talked about this. You have to say left or right—”


“I was pointing!”


“I’m not looking at your hands, you idiot, I’m watching the road!”


“If you’re gonna call me names I’m not talking to you anymore.”


“Fine!” Peter spewed. “Fine.”


They drove in silence for approximately five minutes before Wade [predictably] spoke. “You gotta make a U-turn.” he said shortly. Wade’s arms were crossed against his chest, his feet planted angrily on the dash. He knew he looked like a brat having a temper tantrum, but he didn’t care. He was pissed off and he wanted Peter to know it.


“I know.”


“Then why aren’t you turning around?”


“I’m looking for a safe spot to do it.”


Wade snorted derisively but didn’t bother pointing out that the deserted, flat highway wasn’t going to miraculously become more safe anytime in the next 100 miles.


“What?” Peter said. His tone was quiet but vaguely challenging, like an old lady who knew she had just said something racist and was waiting for someone to call her out on it so she could yell at them. Peter got that tone occasionally when he was dealing with stupid, cowardly villains who wouldn’t make the first move. Wade snorted again. If Peter was looking for a fight, Wade would give him a fight.


“Nothin’.” Wade sank lower into the passenger’s seat.


“Not ‘nothin’ you clearly wanted to say something.”


“Yep, just an FYI that in about eight kilometers you need to take a right.”


“Kilometers? Seriously?”


“You do the math. You’re the one with a degree and everything.”


“God, Wade, you are so petty sometimes—”


“Yeah? Well at least I’m not a snobby snob snob—”


“So I’m a snob because your directions make no sense? Okay.”


“Any idiot can figure out what I mean when I say GO THAT WAY!”


“Fuck—” Peter slammed on the brakes as he approached the turn for the second time that day. The truck skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust, the cab filling with the unmistakable smell of burned rubber. Peter turned and glared at Wade, still stopped in the middle of the road.


Wade smirked. “See? You’re gettin’ it.”


“Okay, that’s it—” Peter shoved the gearshift into Park so hard the end of the stick actually broke. He angrily unbuckled his seatbelt, threw his door open, leaped onto the asphalt, and slammed the door again behind him. The window shattered.


“Stop breaking my truck!” Wade yelled after him.


“Stop being an asshole, then!” Peter screamed back, stalking to the side of the road.


Wade also unbuckled his seatbelt and left the truck. “It’s super unsafe to leave a car parked in the middle of the road, Peter!”


Peter laughed coldly, throwing his hands up angrily and rounding back on Wade. “Move it, then! I’m done driving. You’re terrible at giving directions and you won’t take responsibility for it, so I’m done.”


“Entitled motherfucking millennials –“ Wade muttered, marching angrily to the driver’s side door with his fists clenched hard enough for his nails to make his palms bleed. He ripped open the door, scattering broken glass everywhere, and jumped inside. “—expecting me to be a fucking GPS—”


“You’re a millennial too, asshole!”


“Shut up!”


“Make me!”


“Maybe I will!” Wade screamed through the broken window. He watched Peter pace back and forth along the shoulder of the highway, kicking up dust and practically vibrating with rage. Wade pulled a short dagger from his boot—




—and it was promptly pulled out of his grasp by a well-placed web. Peter caught the dagger deftly in one hand, face turning red with a fresh wave of fury. “That is over the line, Wade!”


“What?!” Wade yelled, genuinely confused. “Give me back my knife!”


“Oh, so you can threaten me with it again?”


“No, dummy, I’m gonna use it to fix the gearshift! Jesus.”


“Oh.” Peter seemed to physically deflate. He started walking slowly back toward the truck, shoulders hunched sheepishly. “Uh—okay. Sorry. I, um---"


“You seriously thought I would threaten you? With a weapon?!”


“Wouldn’t be the first time.”


“Yeah, when I’m Deadpool, and even then only when we were enemies!”


“I know, I know – I was angry and not really thinking about it—”


Wade frowned. He dropped his head as Peter approached the side of the truck. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe, Webs – we both get angry sometimes but you know I wouldn’t actually try and hurt you, right?”


“Dude, you’re pretty unpredictable—” Peter smiled sadly. Wade flinched. “But like I said, I wasn’t thinking it through all the way.”



Peter placed a hand gently on Wade’s arm, trying to reassure him. “Honestly, even if you did threaten me, I’m not worried about it – pretty sure I could kick your ass.”


Wade raised his brows and laughed. “Seriously? No you couldn’t.”


“Pretty sure I could.”


“Whatever. Just get back in the truck.”


Peter grinned and kissed Wade on the tip of the nose. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and called you names and broke the truck and thought you were threatening me with a knife.”


Wade grinned back, grabbing Peter by the front of his t-shirt to keep him close enough for a real kiss. “Sorry for being terrible at giving directions. And yelling at you. And calling you names. And being kinda threatening with a knife.”


Laughing quietly, Peter brushed a piece of broken glass off himself and handed Wade his knife. “We’re a hot mess.”


Wade shoved the knife into the console as a makeshift gearshift. “At least we put the ‘hot’ in ‘hot mess,’ though.” He jumped out of the driver’s seat and left the door open for Peter.


“What are you doing?” Peter asked, eyeing the open door suspiciously.


Wade shrugged. “Figured the only way for me to get better at giving directions is to actually practice it. If you’re still cool with driving.”


Peter hesitated, making Wade’s heart drop to his toes, but eventually said, “Yeah, okay.” Peter got back in the truck and turned the key. He waited for Wade to settle into the passenger side again before asking, “Okay, navigator. Now what?”


“Well—” Wade pulled a gigantic map out of one of his pouches and studied it for a minute. “Okay. I’m not gonna lie we are a tiny bit lost because as you know I’m an asshole when I’m angry and so I let you take a few wrong turns—”




“—BUT it’s gonna be alright because I totally know how to get us back on track. We need to find our way to I-80 again, and that shouldn’t be too far away. Pretty sure we’re on the 6 right now, which switches over to 34, then we make a few turns and we’re on 80. But really we should just find signs that say ‘Omaha is this way’ because I’m bad with numbers. Pretty sure I have dyslexia, it’s fine. Speaking of highway numbers, do you think there’s an I-69 out there? How many people a year do you think get arrested for public indecency on I-69? Road head on I-69 must be an absolute epidemic and of course now it’s on my bucket list—”


“Wade.” Peter said softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “We’re at an intersection. Do I need to take a left or a right?”


Wade looked at the map again. “Left.”


IOWA – Total number of hours in the truck: 40

“So this is the future birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk, huh?”






“Janeway was so much better, though.”


“Yeah, let’s go.”


ILLINOIS – Total number of hours in the truck: 45


It took a long-winded admittance that Peter is the best at mini golf, three shameless-bribery-cherry-Slurpees, an oath that Wade would try to watch Battlestar Galactica again without making mean comments, and one entire 20-minute makeout session where Wade didn’t utter a single bad pun, but Peter finally agreed to let Wade try riding on the roof.


“Let it never be said that I, Wade Winston Wilson, am above petty bribery!” Wade yelled, leaping onto the roof before the truck had even fully stopped moving.


Peter rolled his eyes as he parked the truck, already eyeing the family nearby who was clearly judging them from inside the rest stop. “I don’t think anyone would’ve ever said that anyway, Wade.”


Wade whooped excitedly as he planted his ass on the top of the cab. He was wearing his full suit [“so the harsh midwestern wind won’t hurt my tender epidermis! And also so we don’t get arrested. No one would dare pull over Deadpool on the top of a truck!”], katanas and strings of grenades and knives and everything. Wade wiggled happily on the cab as Peter stood on the driver’s seat with his own mask on. “This is gonna be so freakin’ fun! Ican’twaitIcan’twaitIcan’twaitIcan’twait!”


“Babe,” Peter said quietly, chuckling as he primed his webshooters. “I know you’re excited but stay still for like… four seconds so I can web you up there.”


Wade obediently kept his ass on the truck, sitting crisscross with his hands in the air like he was on a rollercoaster. “Yessir! On it. Still as a statue while baby boy ties me down. Not for the first time, either. Wink wink. Pete, babe, do you think we can do some bondage stuff when we get to your place? Like, as soon as we get there? Because I’m not gonna lie this is getting me all hot and bothered—”




“Yeppers, okay, you’re right you’re right you’re right – no boners on the truck! Maybe boners in the truck later, though…? RIGHT sorry there are kiddies nearby. I’m just so EXCITED!—”


Peter grinned as he finished with the webbing. “Okay, test it out. Don’t want you flying off or anything.”


Wade began to vibrate excitedly, wriggling back and forth to test the fortitude of the webs. “Yeah, the last time I fell off a moving truck the road rash was so bad – I couldn’t sit on my ass for days.” Wade smirked as a mother walking by with her child gasped and hurried away from the truck.


“Alright, that seems pretty secure. I think I know what the answer will be, but I still gotta ask: You definitely wanna do this, right?” Peter asked, still tugging on the webs to triple check they were secure.




[And that’s what we call enthusiastic consent, kids – more on that later!]


“Okay,” Peter smiled softly and kissed Wade gently on the mouth. “What do you say if you want me to stop?”


“Pork and beans!”


“Good. How fast am I gonna go?”


“No more than 75!”


“Right. Am I gonna go faster if you ask me to?”




“Even if you beg and promise to give me blowjobs every day of the year?”


“Would that work?!”






“If you fall off, are you getting back on after you heal?”


“…also no.”


“Alright, let’s get going, then.”


Wade squealed excitedly and raised his fists in triumph. “YES!”


Peter kissed Wade one more time before jumping back down into the cab. The truck rumbled to life beneath Wade, who continued yelling excitedly as they pulled out of the rest stop and started gathering speed along the on-ramp. People were clearly gawking at him from inside the safety of their own cars, but Wade didn’t care. He was too busy yelling happily at the top of his lungs.


“WOOOOOOOOO! This is way more fun when no one is actively trying to kill me! It does kinda make me wanna play GTA, though. When’s the next one coming out, anyway? Man, I feel like Princess Jasmine! A WHOLE NEW WOOOOOOOORLD! Wait, no, I feel like Rose DeWitt Bukater! DON’T LET GO, JACK! Nope, hang on, I feel like a Florida Man! All of them at once! A GTA-playing, Princess Jasmine-carpet-flying, Rose DeWitt Bukater-cruisin’, Florida Man-making-questionable-choices-ing, badass! YEEEEEHAW!”


Wade stopped talking for a second and heard Peter laughing happily below. He grinned at the sky and continued giggling, screaming, and babbling until Peter said it was Wade’s turn to drive.

Chapter Text

INDIANA  – Total number of hours in the truck: 48

As it turned out, 48 hours was about 42 hours too long to spend in a truck together.


{Even with my beloved Petey-Pie}


[Even occasionally doing really awesome things like riding on the roof]


Halfway through Indiana, they hit a thunderstorm so fierce that Wade lovingly nicknamed it “Sasha” and prattled aimlessly about how much he’d like to fight it with his sai blades [somehow].


“You’re saying that you want to stab this thunderstorm?” Peter asked incredulously. Wade was mildly surprised to find that Peter was even listening.


“Well, the sai aren’t really for stabbing—” Wade said coolly, blinking rainwater out of his eyes as it dripped annoyingly through the bullet holes in the roof. “I thought I told you that?”


Peter stayed silent. His jaw tightened slightly and his hands fidgeted in his lap absentmindedly. Not a great combo, in Wade’s experience.


“Sorry, I know you’re not really into my weapons—”


“It’s okay, I wouldn’t expect you to know everything about how my webshooters work.”


“That’s a relief.” Wade laughed, but even to him it sounded hollow and forced. They sat in a rare and uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. The air between them seemed to crackle with tension, and Wade had a feeling it had nothing to do with the thunderstorm raging outside. He kept his eyes fixed carefully on the road, determined not to get distracted {for once} as the sky darkened and the rain plummeted to the pavement. Wade increased the speed of the windshield wipers.


“Wade, do you think we should pull over? I can barely see.”


“Well luckily you’re not the one driving.” Wade didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. He really didn’t.


Peter snorted, but Wade didn’t bother sparing a glance at his boyfriend’s face. He could feel the annoyance radiating from Peter in waves. “That’s my point. I can barely see, and I’ve got superhuman vision.”


“It’s fine.” Wade said curtly, clicking to the next highest speed on the wipers. “I’ve got superhuman assassin eyes.”


“That’s not—” Peter sighed. “I’m just saying it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s not like we have any reason to rush, we can pull over for an hour or two, get some sleep, wait out the storm—”


“In the truck? That doesn’t sound particularly comfortable.”


“Since when have you cared that much about comfort?”


“Since I’m getting old and my back hurts sometimes!”


“You are not getting old,” Peter retorted. Wade could practically hear him rolling his eyes as he said it. “your back hurts because have a ‘profession’ that constantly puts you in physical danger and sometimes literally kills you.”


Wade gritted his teeth and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “Don’t be dramatic.”


“Oh I’m being dramatic?! You’re the one with the windshield wipers going a million miles an hour because you can’t see and yet still refuse to pull over!”


“Are you fucking—” Wade’s patience, which ran thin on a good day, was officially gone. He yanked the wheel suddenly and jerked the truck into the breakdown lane, narrowly avoiding a nearby car who swerved out of his way, honking angrily. Wade slammed on the breaks and brought them to a full stop on the side of the road. “There. Are you happy now?”


“Not particularly.”


{The little shit!}


[I should punch him, or at least shove him through the windshield, or maybe just toss him outside into a puddle and drive away—]


“No.” Wade murmured aloud, his teeth still clenched hard enough to make his jaw ache.


“No what?” Peter spat. His arms were crossed angrily across his chest. Wade pushed the idea that Peter looked like a freakin’ toddler out of his mind as quickly as possible.


“Just— shut up for a minute. Jesus, Peter.”


“I’m sorry, what did you—?!”


“Oh my God, I fucking NEED A MINUTE.” Without waiting for a reply, Wade unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out of the truck, slamming the door forcefully behind him on the way out. The duct tape/plastic wrap combo they were temporarily using as a “window” shook violently as the door crashed to a close. Wade walked to the front of the truck and sat on the pavement, his back leaning against the bumper, glaring headlights warm on the back of his head. The rain beat down from above and pooled in dark galaxies under his feet. Wade huffed an angry breath and slumped his head against his knees.


This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t them. Petey and Wade were chill! They were fun and easygoing and never took anything seriously. So what the fuck was this? Why couldn’t they even get through a couple days together without fighting about – ugh – directions and windshield wipers and who can see better in the rain?


 Wade fought back a grunt of frustration, pushing down the impulsive, anxiety-induced thoughts that swam menacingly through his mind.


{It’s because you’re not good enough for him}


[You ruin everything –]


Incapable of love—


{You’re unstable, what made you think you could handle this All-American-White-Picket-Fence life?}


[Did you really think it could last?]


You think you can live together? You can’t even drive together for a few days—


“STOP!” Wade yelled out loud, curling more tightly into himself.


“Wade.” a voice nearby said softly, cutting through the pounding of the rain and the screaming in his skull. “It’s Peter.”


“I know who you are – I’m crazy, not stupid.”


“I don’t think you’re either of those things,” Peter said, his voice still unbearably gentle. “Do you still want space?”




“Cool.” Wade felt the soft brush of Peter’s hoodie against his arm, the soaked fabric scratching dully against his scars. Peter sat beside Wade on the pavement and leaned against him heavily. “You know whatever you’re telling yourself right now isn’t true, right?”


“You don’t even know what I’m thinkin’ about.” Wade spat. He wasn’t in the mood for some touchy-feely talk about whatever screwy shit was going on inside his head.


“Yeah, true. But I know you pretty well by now. So I can make a good guess.”


Wade turned his head to give Peter the most skeptical look he could muster. He was somewhat satisfied to note that Peter’s hair was dripping wet and plastered to his concerned face.


“You don’t believe me?” Peter said. “Fine. Tell me if I’m wrong. You think moving in together is a huge mistake because you’re just gonna mess this up anyway and this just proves it because we can’t even handle a few days together so how could we possibly spend every day and night together and the whole thing is pointless anyway because how normal could your life possibly get, right?”


“…okay that was actually surprisingly accurate.”


Peter smirked. “Told ya I know you pretty well.”


“Or you just know that because you’re thinking exactly the same thing.”


“Ugh, don’t be paranoid,” Peter said, rolling his eyes again. Wade opened his mouth to angrily reply, but Peter beat him to it. “Yeah, yeah, I know – you’re always paranoid. That’s one of the reasons I love you.”


“Uh—” Wade started.


“No, hang on,” said Peter, setting his jaw with determination. His eyes flashed dangerously even through the downpour. “It’s my turn to talk, then you get your turn. Alright. So you think moving in is a mistake because you’ll mess it up anyway – so what? Worst case scenario we stop living together and take some space. After four years do you really think your living habits are gonna surprise me? Or that suddenly I’m gonna realize I don’t like you because you annoy me sometimes? Dude, you’ve been annoying me as long as we’ve known each other – and I know I annoy you too – it’s what makes us… us.”


Wade grinned at that. “Yeah, you do know how annoying I am. Remember that time I took a vow to speak only in Pig Latin for like a week? I thought you were gonna sic the Hulk on me after day three.”


“That was the worst.” Peter agreed, quirking the edges of his mouth into a slight smile. “See? Weird shit like that is what makes us good together. And that’s not gonna change when we live together. Next problem (according to you): we’re fighting already, so how is it gonna be when we see each other every day, right?”


“Yeah.” Wade’s shoulders slumped.


Peter snorted. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but we’ve literally been fighting since the moment we met. Seriously. Remember what happened the first time we met?”


Wade grinned. “I threw you out of Ken Ellis’ car off the Queensboro bridge. ‘Course, I thought you were just some innocent bystander at the time—”


“—didn’t help your case at all—”


“—and I totally thought Cable was gonna rip me a new one for killing a dude—”


“—yep. And look at us now.” Peter grinned and punched Wade affectionately in the bicep, thankfully using none of his Spidey strength. “Point is, we fight sometimes. It happens. We’re just similar enough and just different enough to bicker like an old married couple. We always have, that’s another thing that won’t change once we move in together.”


“Yeah. I kinda love fighting you – we always have awesome makeup sex.”


“Aaaaand yeah, there’s that.” Peter kissed Wade lightly on the cheek. “Okay, last major concern: there’s no point because your life is too weird to ever have a semblance of normalcy, yeah?”


“Right on the money.”


“Babe.” Peter practically whined. “I hate to point out the obvious yet again, but news flash: we’re masked vigilantes who run around in spandex and fight aliens and mutants and supervillain geniuses and guys who make themselves into goblins and octopuses and lizards and all kinds of weird shit. Our lives are never gonna be normal. We work well together because they’re not.”


“Okay, but what if you wanna give all that up someday?” Wade asked. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll— that I’ll be able to have a regular Joe Schmoe life.”


Wade.” Peter leaned his head against Wade’s shoulder. “Since when would I ever ask you to guarantee me anything about the future? We’ll figure it out as we go. For now – and for foreseeable future – I like us. I like how we spend our time. I like the weirdness and the fighting and annoying shit. Do you?”




“Then what’s the problem?”


“I’m worried that one day you won’t. Or I won’t.”


Peter nodded. “Fair. But we can’t predict the future, so unless you wanna get Dr. Strange in here—”


“God, no, that guy is the fucking worst.”


“He’s not that bad—” Peter stopped and laughed at the look on Wade’s face. “Okay. Anyway, point is, we don’t know what our lives will be like down the road. And that’s kinda my favorite part about this whole thing: that whatever happens, I know I get to spend the future with you.


“Oh, Petey, you big sap.”




“That’s my line!”


Peter laughed. “So what do you think? Still wanna live together? Or at least try it?”


“Yeah,” Wade felt his lips twist into a crooked smile. He kissed Peter’s temple. “But I can’t promise I won’t try out Pig Latin again. Just for a bit.”


“You’d better not—”


“What are ya gonna do about it, Parker?” Wade said teasingly.


Peter grinned and leapt to his feet, offering a hand down to help Wade up. “Probably something petty and stupid and annoying,” Peter replied casually.


Wade beamed and kissed Peter quickly on the mouth before heading back to the driver’s side door. “Good.”


OHIO – Total number of hours in the truck: 52

The rain had the audacity to follow them all the way through Indiana and into Ohio.






“I—uh—” Wade stopped before he could make himself look like even more of an idiot. “Nothin’.”


[Stupid, stupid, stupid]


{Seriously? You can’t even express your feelings to the guy you’ve totally been in love with for like… four years?!}




“Okay.” Peter turned to stare out the window again. Wade tried to refocus on the road.






“Um…  Did I ever tell you about the time I went to an alternate universe and met an evil version of you that had eight limbs and really gross long hair?”


Peter laughed and turned to face Wade again. “…no you did not.”


Wade launched into the story (laying on a little extra thick just how disgusting and creepy the evil!Spider-Man doppelganger really was) with bravado. Wade’s attention drifted occasionally even as he was telling the story, and he could tell that Peter wasn’t listening the entire time either, but as usual Wade’s mindless prattle was a good distraction from whatever real [sappy] {girly} shit Wade had been about to say.


But the more Peter smiled, the more he ruffled his hands through his hair, the more he gasped in all the right places and flashed his eyes angrily when Wade mentioned some self-esteem issue or another and laughed at one of Wade’s references—


—the more Peter acted like himself, like the guy Wade was in love with—


—the more Wade could feel himself relax, settling into their familiar roles and routines. Then he realized he didn’t need to say any sappy girly shit because one of the many wonderful things about Peter Parker was simply that he got Wade.


With an almost absentminded sigh of contentment, Wade kept one hand on the steering wheel and slowly started inching the other hand toward Peter. He spread his fingers wide and gripped Peter’s thigh, pressing his thumb carefully against the muscle of his boyfriend’s outer quad. Wade continued talking, but Peter momentarily went tense. Hoping he hadn’t just royally screwed everything up, Wade began to draw his hand away. Instead, Peter clasped a fist over Wade’s retreating hand and slowly brought Wade’s palm back to his thigh. Smiling quietly to himself, Wade squeezed his hand against Peter’s quadricep and was rewarded when Peter sighed and held Wade’s hand tightly against himself.


They drove like that for 40 miles.

Chapter Text

PENNSYLVANIA – Total number of hours in the truck: 58


“Hey babe?”


“Whassup, Pete?”


“I just realized we never had our makeup sex after we yelled at each other and stuff. During the thunderstorm.”


Wade squealed and clutched his face dramatically, which made Peter yell something about keeping his hands on the wheel blah blah blah. Wade grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the right, cutting through three lanes to just barely make the nearest rest stop exit.


“Baby boy you are absolutely right – how could I have forgotten?!”


“I mean, we’ve been pretty busy. Like, driving. And stuff.”


Wade flapped his hands dismissively at Peter and pulled into the rest stop still going about 60 miles an hour. The dark and deserted parking lot pressed around them, one spot illuminated by a single flickering streetlamp and the truck’s lowbeams. “Alright, Pete, drop your pants – this is gonna be awesome!”


“Jesus, Wade – I didn’t mean we had to do it in the next 10 minutes. And it definitely doesn’t have to happen in the truck.” Peter rolled his eyes and [sadly] did not begin dropping his pants.


“Why not?” Wade pouted, already fumbling to take off his own belt.


“Because we can just get a motel room or something.”


“Seriously? You see a ton of motels around here?”


“…that’s fair.”


“What about on the truck?”


Peter groaned, but not in the sexy way {yet}. “Yeah, I guess. But only because there aren’t any motels around and because I really want you to suck my cock right now—”


“—oh my fucking god—”


“—but you’re not allowed to complain about your back afterwards. And if we get caught and thrown in jail for public indecency, we’re using your money to bail ourselves out.”


“Cool, I’ve always wanted to have sex on the hood of a truck in Pennsylvania!”

“…no, you haven’t.”


“…no, I haven’t. But doesn’t sound like something that’s just bound to come up in a game of Never Have I Ever someday? City of brotherly love – my ass!”


Peter laughed. “Just…get out of the truck and go wait for me. I’m gonna try and find the lube.”


Wade squealed in delight again and kissed Peter briefly on the cheek. “God, I love it when you get all bossy with me—!”






Wade fumbled with the door latch and stumbled as his feet hit the pavement. He slammed the truck door and sped around to the hood, his pants already dangling around his knees, giggling like a little kid.


[Not the best sexytimes simile, bro]


{Don’t blame Wade – blame the writer!}


Waiting oh-so-patiently for Peter to join him turned out to be harder than Wade thought. After about ten seconds of waiting silently by himself with his pants down {Wade never pretended he was a saint, okay – ten seconds is a looooong time when your dick is out}, he decided to start jerking himself off. Just a little bit. He leaned heavily against the warm bumper of the truck as he fisted himself lazily, adding a slow twist to the end of every few random tugs just to keep things interesting. He let his eyes drift closed, allowing himself to get a little lost in the moment. No harm in making sure he was good and ready for when Petey arrived, right?


“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter’s voice growled suddenly against Wade’s ear.




Wade’s hands shot up beside his ears in a sign of surrender so fast it was like Aunt May herself had caught him in the act.


{Seriously with these similes? It’s bad}


“Sorry,” Wade mumbled, opening his eyes. “You didn’t say not to—”


“—but I didn’t say you could, either.” Peter said, his voice low and dangerous. He used just a touch of super strength to turn Wade around and pin him against the front of the truck with one hand splayed against the small of Wade’s back. “Maybe I wanted to get you off with just my mouth.”


“Oh, yes—please do that—”


Wade couldn’t see Peter’s face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. “Begging already?”


“It’s been a long coupla days.”


Peter’s mouth widened into a full smile against Wade’s shoulder, pressing gentle kisses into Wade’s hoodie. His hand stayed on Wade’s lower back, pinning the bigger man easily against the truck. Suddenly Peter grabbed Wade’s hips and pulled him around to face Peter, pressing his ass against the bumper instead. Wade gasped and looked down at his boyfriend, wanting to touch but unsure what exactly to do with his hands—


“Hands behind your back.” Peter commanded. Not for the first time, Wade seriously wondered if Spider-Man could read minds. “Just relax, Wade.”


“Damn, I can’t wait for you to fuck me – or me to fuck you, I’m not picky— either way I definitely want someone to do some pounding—” Wade said, his words jumbling together slightly as he got more excited.


“Ah, sorry, I couldn’t find the lube,” Peter said, sounding genuinely apologetic. He kissed the scarred flesh of Wade’s throat as an apology. “so no pounding tonight.”


“Aww, but you can totally go in dry with me babe, not like it’s gonna hurt—”


“We’ve talked about this,” Peter’s voice went serious. “just because you can heal doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. So no.”


“But I like getting hurt when you fuck me! You know I—”


“Not like that.”




“I said no, Wade. Red.”


Wade went silent. If Peter was invoking the color system, this was really real. Like, no-room-for-debate-real. “…okay.” he said finally.


“Don’t worry,” Peter whispered against Wade’s neck. “If you’re very, very good, I’ll make it up to you.”


Wade quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”




“Tell me more.”


Peter chuckled and gripped Wade’s waist tightly, pushing Wade against the truck more firmly. The warm metal dug against Wade’s back but he barely noticed – he was way too focused on what Peter’s mouth was doing. Between sloppy kisses along Wade’s jawline, Peter was murmuring, “Well, you already know I wanna have my cock so far down your throat that you can feel me every time you swallow—” Wade moaned. “—and I was also hoping to get you hard just using my voice and maybe a bit of tongue, but clearly—”


“You can get me hard!” Wade said in a rush. “Here, I’ll kill this boner so fast it won’t know what hit it – dead kittens, Donald Trump’s saggy ballsack, rotten fruit—”

“Stop.” Wade stopped talking immediately. Peter continued, “You’re hard and you’re gonna stay that way. The question is: What are you gonna do to get me caught up?”


“Anything,” Wade breathed, swallowing thickly as Peter’s hands roamed down from his waist to squeeze his ass. “anything.”


Wade could practically feel the way Peter quirked an eyebrow at that. “Interesting.” Peter said slowly, moving his hands back to Wade’s hips. Using the momentum of his body weight, Peter pulled Wade around so their positions were swapped, so Peter’s ass was the one against the truck’s bumper.


Peter ground his own hips against Wade’s as he kissed a line of bruises along the side of Wade’s neck. Wade moaned and barely stopped himself from grinding back against Peter. He’d be good, he’d be the best damn boyfriend the world had ever seen, he’d follow every single instruction Peter told him until the end of time, no questions asked—


“Good to know,” Peter chuckled against Wade’s throat. “but that seems a little excessive.”


[Did I say that out loud?]


“Yeah, babe.”




“It’s okay,” Peter mumbled, still keeping a tight hold on Wade’s hips. “I love you in all your weird, quirky glory.”


“Love you too,” Wade murmured back, fighting to keep his hands clasped behind him like Petey had said. He just wanted to touch— to reach out and take Peter’s dick in his hand and make him feel so freakin’ good, just like how Petey made Wade feel all the time—


“You can touch.” Peter said firmly yet gently.




“You’re saying everything out loud, babe.”




{Well, then.}


Without losing another moment, Wade’s hands shot out from behind his back and began fumbling with Peter’s belt. He was barely able to stop himself from ripping the offending strip of leather into shreds and couldn’t stifle an excited cackle when he felt the buckle loosen. Wade barely maintained his focus enough to move on to the next obstacle (the button of Peter’s jeans) as Peter cupped Wade’s erection through his own pants, squeezing Wade’s balls gently and making Wade moan desperately as his hands clawed at Peter’s jeans.


“God, Wade—” Peter rocked his hips forward to meet Wade’s touch. Wade smiled as he shoved a hand down the front of his boyfriend’s pants, confidently pulling Peter’s half-hard dick out of his boxers. He stroked Peter a few times, languidly, enjoying the sight of Peter’s lidded eyes and exposed throat as he tipped his head back happily, the glare from the headlights reflecting dully on his pale skin. Wade couldn’t help himself – he started babbling, just like he always did when he was really excited.


“Baby boy I—fuck— this is so awesome, you’re so awesome, I’m gonna make you cum your brains out I love you so much—you can just do whatever you want to me, I swear to god, everything feels so goddamn good—”


“Quiet.” Peter said sharply, his face going from blissed out to focused in about a nanosecond. Wade obediently went silent, but continued stroking Peter’s cock, a little faster now, feeling his boyfriend getting hard in his hand.


“Can I—?” Wade started to ask, licking his lips and nodding down at Peter’s erection. He dipped his head and made limited eye contact with Peter as he asked. “Please?”


“Please what?”


“Please, sir?”


“There it is,” Peter grinned and moved his hands to Wade’s shoulders, shoving down with enough super strength to force Wade to his knees. Wade gasped happily and gripped the back of Peter’s thigh with one steadying hand, using the other to pull Peter’s cock completely free of his boxers.


“Dear Father, who art in heaven, we thank you for this meal—”


Somewhere far above, Peter let out an exasperated laugh. “Don’t bring God into this.”


“I’m just saying Grace before I have the privilege of putting such a delicious and holy cock in my—”






“Suck my dick.”


“Yessir.” Wade smiled, then didn’t waste another moment before swallowing Peter down in one easy motion. Wade could feel how Peter instantly relaxed – how he leaned a little more heavily against the truck, how his thumb was tracing a leisurely circle into the back of Wade’s head. Wade moved his hands up to clutch Peter’s ass instead, and he felt a surge of electric happiness as he felt up that Spidey-butt, using the motion to pull Peter’s cock deeper down his own throat.


“Oh fuuuuuck yes,” Peter sighed. Wade glanced up to see the look on Peter’s face, but instead could only see his boyfriend’s throat, the rest of his head thrown back like he couldn’t physically hold it up anymore. Wade grinned around the dick in his mouth and started to pull back to make a snide comment, but before he could move more than an inch Peter [possibly using his Spidey senses – abuse of power!] gripped the back of Wade’s head harshly and shoved himself fully down Wade’s throat again.


Wade snorted out a laugh and burrowed his nose in the tiny hairs at the base of Peter’s cock. “Wade,” Peter’s voice had the hint of a growl that told Wade he was starting to get annoyed. “did I say ‘just kinda sit there with my dick down your throat’ or did I tell you to suck my dick?”


Repressing the urge to take his mouth off Peter long enough to reply [that wouldn’t make Petey happy, though], instead Wade hollowed his cheeks, pulled some air into his lungs through his nose, and sucked.


“Good boy.” Peter growled. Wade melted.


Using one hand on the back of Peter’s thigh to steady himself and the other to keep Peter’s dick in place, Wade pulled his head back to the tip. He flicked his tongue under the head of Peter’s cock and twisted his hand at the same time, just the way he knew Peter liked it. Wade was rewarded by Peter’s soft “ahh—ah—fuck" above him as he tasted the salty tang of precum. A shock of pleasure jolted through Wade’s entire body, his own erection twitching excitedly at the sound of Peter falling apart.


Wade grinned [kinda – his mouth was full of cock] and swirled his tongue around the head of Peter’s dick before swallowing his entire length down Wade’s throat in one smooth motion.


“Oh, oh—" Peter gasped, digging his nails into Wade’s shoulder. His voice was unsteady as he panted, “That all you got?”


Wade moaned, the challenge ringing in his ears. Without hesitating, he started bobbing his head enthusiastically, sucking and swallowing and swirling his tongue with reckless abandon. Wade set a punishing pace, and before long his jaw was aching and his throat burned. Tears prickled at the corners of Wade’s eyes as he forced Peter deeper down his throat, gulping thickly around a groan of pleasure. Wade felt his thighs begin to shake, but whether it was because of the effort of kneeling on the pavement or from his own excitement he didn’t know.


Slowing down for a few moments so he could refocus, Wade almost lost his composure completely when he looked up at Peter. His boyfriend was looking like a wet dream [seriously – Wade was pretty sure he’d had sex fantasy dreams exactly like this] – eyes lidded, cheeks flushed, biting his lip and fisting one hand in his hair like a fucking porn star—


—but it was the sounds – Christ, the sounds he was making. That’s what was making Wade lose it. Peter was gasping out these tiny, breathy moans, like he wanted to scream but was just barely holding back. And occasionally, if Wade put just the right amount of pressure with his tongue—


“Ngh—Wade—” followed by a shaky breath.


Wade knew exactly what he needed to do.


Wade pulled his mouth away from Peter’s dick, which made Peter moan in frustration. Wade sucked a hickey into Peter’s inner thigh, chuckling against the mark as Peter mumbled something about Wade being a little shit.


“Babe, have I ever told you that your banter gets really weak when you’re turned on?” Wade rambled, resting his chin against Peter’s thigh, mouth just out of reach of his penis. “Like, one minute you’re this adorable snarky badass and then BOOM you pop a boner and it’s like you’re every other uncreative bastard. For example, you just called me a little shit, but—”


“I swear to God, Wade—” Peter hissed.


“Hmm?” Wade raised his brow innocently, placing gentle kisses around the base of Peter’s cock.


“Are you trying to piss me off?”


“Little bit, yeah.”




“Don’t worry about it.”


Peter grunted angrily and slumped against the truck. “Well, it’s working.”


“Not yet, it’s not.”


Frowning slightly, Peter looked down at Wade with an unasked question in his eyes. Wade moved to continue kissing Peter’s inner thighs, but was stopped by a commanding hand on his chin. Peter pulled Wade’s face up roughly and growled, “Look at me.”


Wade shivered with excitement. His dick twitched as he looked up at Peter, who was still holding his chin and forcing his face upward.


“If you want something, you need to ask for it, Wade.”


Swallowing nervously, Wade moved to pull his face away from Peter so he could look down. In response, Peter moved his hand to the top of Wade’s throat, his thumb and forefinger pushing Wade’s jaw roughly to keep his face turned toward Peter. Wade gasped and tightened his grip on the back of Peter’s thigh as a rush of arousal pulsed through him.


Peter smirked. “Do you want something?”




Peter tightened his grip on Wade’s jaw just slightly, digging into the delicately scarred skin of Wade’s throat. “Tell me.” he commanded.


“I want you to fuck my face. Rough.” Wade gasped. “Please.”


“Good boy.” Peter grinned at him. Wade’s knees quivered. “Ready?”


“So fuckin’ ready.”


“Three taps means stop. Understood?”




“Two taps means slow down. Understood?”




“Good boy. Are your knees okay or do you want me to find something soft for you to kneel on?”


“Knees are fine.”


“Wade?” Peter’s voice got gentle for a moment.




“If you want something… all you gotta do is ask.”










“Can you fuck my face now, please?”


Peter laughed gently, then knelt briefly in front of Wade to kiss him slowly on the mouth. “That was perfect. I’m so proud of you.”


Wade’s heart ballooned in his chest and for a moment he felt like he was floating. Peter stood, his erection bobbing enticingly in front of Wade’s face. Without warning, he closed his mouth around Peter’s cock again and swirled his tongue around the head enthusiastically. Peter gasped happily and Wade felt his knees quake.


“Hold my thighs.” Peter ordered gruffly. Wade immediately clutched the back of Peter’s thighs like they were a lifeline. At the same time, Peter placed both hands on the sides of Wade’s skull, keeping his head firmly in place exactly where Peter wanted it. Wade wasn’t going anywhere {not that he wanted to} and neither was Peter. He didn’t need to worry about anything, because Peter was in control and Peter would take care of him and Wade was going to make Peter feel so good while he was taking care of Wade—


“Focus.” Peter’s voice cut through the noise in Wade’s head. Wade looked up at Peter and took a deep breath through his nose. “Good. Relax your jaw.”


Wade relaxed his jaw. Peter held Wade’s head in place as he finally finally started moving his hips. Just a little at first, the head of his penis bumping slightly against the back of Wade’s throat with every thrust. Wade moaned as Peter slid past his stretched lips, too gently, a wet languid slide. Wade dug his nails into Peter’s thighs and attempted to push his head forward to take more of Peter into his mouth.


“Stop.” Peter said sharply. Wade went still instantly. “I know what you want – don’t worry, you’ll get it. We need to warm up first, babe.”


Wade grunted in annoyance as Peter slowly pushed his way to the back of Wade’s throat again. He knew Petey would get him what he needed, but Wade wasn’t exactly known for being patient. He wanted it now. Looking up at Peter with desperate eyes, Wade tapped the back of Peter’s thighs once. Peter let go of Wade’s head and let him pull his mouth off Peter’s dick.


“Petey,” Wade rasped. His voice was already hoarse [dick too bomb] with arousal. “I need—I’m not patient enough—just, nghh, please—”


Something changed in Peter’s face. Wade knew he had him now. “Please.”


“Since you’ve been so good using your words—” Wade groaned and Peter pulled his head back into position, Wade’s mouth closing around his cock once more. With a contented sigh, Peter pushed himself all the way down Wade’s throat. Wade closed his eyes and released a blissed-out moan around Peter’s cock, shaking with ecstasy as Peter pulled his head forward to go even deeper.


“God, Wade, you feel so fucking good—” Peter gasped, his voice already sounding as wrecked as Wade’s. He pulled back before thrusting his hips forward again into Wade’s throat. Wade whined, his lips vibrating slightly around the stretch of Peter’s cock. Peter started moving his hips to a steady rhythm, pulling in and out of Wade’s throat and gasping slightly each time. Wade moved his hands to Peter’s ass, clutching the soft cheeks and urging Peter deeper with every punched-out breath.


Peter took this as a sign to speed up, finally pumping his hips the way Wade wanted all along. Wade could barely breathe as his throat pulled and pushed against Peter’s dick, his nose shoved clumsily into Peter’s pubis bone. Above him, Peter was gasping tiny “ah”s into the darkness, his head tilted back as he pushed his hips forward.


The buzz of arousal that had been playing around the edges of Wade’s mind suddenly burst into a roar at the sight of Peter coming apart above him. He groaned happily and Peter pistoned his hips harder in response, starting to lose his rhythm as he pushed himself harder down Wade’s throat. Wade’s face tingled and went numb as his climax built, heat pooling in his groin and threatening to explode as Peter sputtered, “You’re so—so fucking good—God—fuck—I’m gonna cum—”


Wade pulled himself forward as Peter lost all sense of rhythm and just started thrusting into Wade’s mouth with chaotic pleasure. In moments, Peter was cumming with a shout and hot salty liquid filled Wade’s throat. Peter continued fucking Wade’s mouth through his orgasm, and Wade grunted as his own climax spilled out of him in hot waves. Stars seemed to shimmer momentarily in front of his eyes as Wade’s body rippled with pleasure before every inch of him turned to jelly. He slumped on the pavement, gasping for breath as Peter pulled out of his mouth.


“Wade—you okay? You good?” Wade was pleased to note that Peter was also struggling to breathe a little. Peter knelt beside Wade in front of the truck and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.


Wade gave a quick thumbs up. “So good. So fucking good.” He grinned and pulled Peter in for a kiss. Peter smiled against his lips before breaking away to drag Wade to his feet.


“Whoa – hang on,” Wade yelped as he collapsed against Peter instead of standing on his own.


“What’s the matter? You sure you’re okay?” Peter asked worriedly, steadying Wade against him by the waist.


“Feet are asleep.” Wade grunted with a quick smile. “Carry me?”


Peter rolled his eyes, but scooped Wade over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. “You’re not sneaky, y’know. I know you’re just being lazy.”


“How dare you!” Wade called from over Peter’s shoulder. “I’m old and my feet are asleep. Also, is this really how you carry your very talented boyfriend who just gave you the most magnificent blowjob in a goddamn parking lot in the middle of the night?!” Wade gestured so wildly Peter almost dropped him. “Bridal style!”


With another blatant eyeroll and a slightly-amused sigh, Peter swung Wade around so he was lifting him by the back of his shoulders and knees instead. “You are a ridiculous human.”


“That’s why you love me.”


“Yeah, yeah,” Peter grumbled, walking toward the passenger’s side of the truck. “you know I do.”


“Aww,” Wade kissed Peter on the nose. “and I bet you won’t even make me drive now. Because I’m so good at blowjobs. And because my feet are asleep.”


“No, I’m not letting you drive because you always pass out after sex and I’d rather not die in a fiery post-coital wreck tonight, thanks.”


“Petey Pie you know me so well!” Wade squealed, settling into the passenger’s seat with his feet on the dash. He yawned exaggeratedly as Peter got into the driver’s side. “Thank you, love you.” Wade said sleepily, his eyes already starting to drift closed.


Wade could hear the smile in Peter’s voice as he put the key in the ignition and said softly, “Love you too, you giant dork...”


Wade was asleep before he even fully heard the last word.


NEW JERSEY – Total number of hours in the truck: 61



































Chapter Text

NEW YORK – Total number of hours in the truck: 63

When they finally {finally} [FINALLY] made it to Queens, Wade parked the truck halfway on the curb and sprinted to the walkup before Peter could even say a word. He made it all the way up the stairs before he realized he didn’t have a key yet. Luckily, Peter was already behind him, learning casually on the railing like he lived there.




Shut up.


“Forget something?” Peter smirked, twirling a ring of keys around his finger like a cheesy 80s villain. Wade grimaced. Peter walked forward so they were both standing in front of the apartment door. “Why’d you run up here so fast? Don’t you wanna walk in together?”


“Well, yeah,” Wade said sheepishly, staring fixedly at the floor. “but I’m just so excited! This is our place now! I don’t even need to ask to come in!”


“Since when have you ever asked to come into this apartment?”


“Touché. But now you can’t yell at me about not asking!”


Peter snorted, then moved past Wade to fit the key in the lock. “Wanna do the honors?”


“Oh boy, do I ever!” Wade practically yelled, grabbing the key as Peter laughed. He unlocked the door and burst inside the eerily silent apartment with a flourish, Peter following close behind.


“I, uh— I made some extra room for you,” Now it was Peter’s turn to be sheepish. Wade, for once, wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead he was staring slack-jawed around the apartment like he was seeing it for the first time.


“Petey, where did all your stuff go?!”


“I told you,” Peter said simply. “I wanted to make sure it felt like our place. So, I got rid of a few things so you’d have enough room for all your weapons and action figures and dresses and stuff.”


“You got rid of your stuff… for me?”


“Well, some of it.” Peter fiddled anxiously with the keys in his hand, not meeting Wade’s eyes. “Most of it was junk anyway. It’s really no big de—”


Before Peter could finish the sentence Wade had crossed the room and pulled Peter into a tight bear hug, lifting him up off the floor in his enthusiasm and planting giant wet kisses on the top of his head.


“Ugh—Wade, what—?!”


“I’m just so happy, Petey Pie!” Wade squeezed him harder, making Peter wheeze. “You really do want us to move in together!”


Peter wriggled out of Wade’s arms with an annoyed expression on his face. “Duh, you idiot. We just drove across the country for like three days, how could you think I don’t want to move in with you?”


“I dunno, it’s just hitting me right now I guess,” Wade said breathlessly, wandering around the room to look at everything again. “I mean, you got rid of your stuff for me.”


“Yeah, you got rid of some stuff too. It’s not a big deal, and it’s only fair.”


“I know.” Wade said quietly. It was a lie, though – honestly, he had no idea what was expected or fair in these situations. This was the first time he had ever moved in with anyone where it wasn’t a purely transactional arrangement. Or where the other person didn’t make him feel like he was intruding.


This apartment was theirs.


“Wanna go get your stuff? We’re parked pretty illegally—”


“Yeah…” Wade replied absentmindedly. “Gimme a minute.” He meandered over to the threadbare futon that served as a couch and plopped down in Peter’s usual spot.


“What are you doing?” Peter asked suspiciously, also walking over to the futon and giving Wade the stinkeye. “That’s my spot.”


“Nope. Not anymore. It’s our spot, Spider-Babe.”


“It’s my spot and you know it.”


“Fight me for it.”


Peter grinned. “I will.”


Also grinning, Wade challenged, “Come at me, then.”


He laughed as Peter pounced on him, straddling Wade’s waist in a way that was determinedly not a fighting stance and kissing him deeply in a way that Wade sincerely hoped Spider-Man didn’t do to his enemies in real life.


Wade couldn’t help but smile as he ran his tongue along Peter’s bottom lip, making Peter gasp and grind their hips together enticingly. This was new territory for them – being together all the time, sharing things, figuring out how to exist in the same space – that was also incredibly familiar. They knew how to fight, how to make each other laugh, how to bring out the good parts of the other one. They knew how to exist together. They could do this.


“We can do this.” Wade muttered with a soft smile against Peter’s lips.


“Have sex on the couch? In my spot? I mean technically we could, but we don’t really have time—”


“No, babe—” Wade sighed and pulled his lips away from Peter’s neck. “I mean like, we totally got this whole moving-in-together thing. On lock. We can do it.”


“Oh,” Peter grinned. “Fuck yeah, we do.”


“…but now that you mention it, what are the odds we’ll get a parking ticket in the next, I dunno, five to seven minutes?”




“Jesus, you’re a nerd,” Wade laughed, moving his hands to cradle Peter’s ass. “I love it.”


“I know you do,” Peter kissed Wade intensely for a moment, with teeth and tongue and roaming hands that had Wade grunting softly and arching up into Peter’s touch—


“Alright, let’s go unload the truck.” Peter interrupted, jumping off Wade and already running for the door.


“Wha—Parker, you’ve gotta be kidding me!”


“Like I said, we’re parked illegally, and statistically—”


“Petey, I’ve got a boner.”


“Suck it up,” Peter said with a grin, opening the door and beckoning for Wade to join him. “Trust me, everyone on this street has seen weirder things than a guy with a boner moving boxes. Welcome to New York (it’s been waiting for you)!”


Wade grumbled and struggled to his feet, trying to think unsexy thoughts to kill his hard-on. “Can’t believe you’re denying me sex – and singing Taylor Swift at me – at the same time. This is a new low for you.”


“I’ll make it up to you later.”


“That a promise?”


“With a Golden Girls marathon and enchiladas on top.”


“You sure know how to get a guy going, babe! Let’s roll.”


Peter laughed and followed Wade, who was sprinting down the stairs at top speed, singing the Golden Girls theme song at the top of his lungs.


They could do this.