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Don't Keep Me Waiting

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“Lick come out of Lemmy’s hollowed out mole or lick the rim of the men’s room toilet… after Tiny used it.” Weasel leaned his elbows on the bar and pointed at a large, bearded, leather-clad biker before squinting intently at Wade, who was decked out in full Deadpool attire, legs crossed on a barstool, chin thoughtfully in hand.

“See, this is your problem, Weasel. You’re not specific enough. You leave too many variables in the equation! Whose come is it? How did Lemmy’s mole get hollowed out? Is this a dead half-rotted corpse Lemmy we’re talking about or Lemmy before the great Headbangers Ball in the sky called him home?” Wade asked, gesticulating wildly, his voice growing more incredulous with every word. “May Satan rest his pockmarked, whiskey-guzzling soul, of course.”

Wade made an upside-down sign of the cross over his broad chest, and Peter rolled his eyes, taking a generous swallow of his gin and tonic, humming pleasantly at the hint of lime. For a bartender who owned arguably the shadiest establishment in town, Weasel could make a really great drink. His knowledge of cocktail ingredients was surprisingly encyclopedic. Of course, when Peter had tried to compliment him on this, Weasel had snorted unattractively and muttered, “Of course I do, you web-slinging, arachnid fuck.” 

“And don’t get me started on the toilet. Did Dopinder clean it after Tiny used it because that adorable package of caramel-colored delight is very thorough and besides all that, you’ve thrown out two options which, while they admittedly score high on the gross-out factor, lose major points when you think about how I’m basically disease immune—” Wade continued in a manic babble.

“Should the boy scout be here to listen to this? I think it’s past his bedtime.” Weasel jerked a thumb in Peter’s direction but didn’t look at him.

The relationship between Weasel and Peter was still rocky at best. Even on his most agreeable days, Weasel regarded him with tempered suspicion, his dark eyes beady and narrow even with the magnification of his round, black-rimmed glasses. Peter couldn’t say he blamed him; he was an unlikely candidate for patronage at Sister Margaret’s , and he was sure that, were it not obvious that he had Deadpool’s approval, it might not have been the safest place for him to spend even a few minutes. 

But walking into this place with Wade was like Moses parting the sea—well, if Moses had been a homicidal maniac with an itchy trigger finger who relished doling out bloody, bullet hole-ridden justice to the creeps and untouchable crime bosses of the world. No one really wanted to risk Deadpool’s wrath, especially not over something as paltry as the opportunity to rile up a baby-faced twentysomething who inexplicably kept company with the most notorious merc of them all. One guy had bravely (or stupidly, in Peter’s opinion) made a comment about Peter’s soft and pretty mouth on his first outing to the merc bar. Wade had nailed him to the wall with a hunting knife through the shoulder and left him hanging there like a gutted deer carcass in a hunting shed. Wade had wanted to keep him dangling there all night but had eventually submitted to Peter’s disapproving look, extracting the knife with a blood-curdling squishing sound that made the whole room wince.

“Sorry, fellas, but you know what the Spice Girls say! ‘If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.’ Very prescient advice, don’t you think? I have to protect my baby boy so just keep it respectful, and they’ll be no more stabby-stabby! It’s really not that radical of a concept!” 

The man had shakily nodded, groaning and trying unsuccessfully to stay on his feet as Wade gave him a none too gentle slap on the back, his skin pale and clammy as a couple of people helped him wobble away from the wall.

Were Peter and Wade friends? Was that really the right word for it? 

Sure. 

Friends. 

That’s why Peter was perched on a dirty barstool, melding with stickiness that didn’t dissipate no matter how much cleaning product you threw at it, listening to Weasel and Wade play the most stomach-turning game of “Would You Rather?” when he could be at home in bed with a good book or working on his dissertation or patrolling the streets as Spider-Man which yeah, why wasn’t he doing that— 

“I guess you would know. Aren’t you the scoutmaster for Troop #78?” Peter quipped, flashing a three-fingered salute. Wade giggled and gave Peter an affectionate pat on the back. Peter ignored the painfully acute way he felt every inch of Wade’s touch even through layers of clothes. 

Friends. Right.  

“I don’t even think it’s a contest, Weasel. You’re slipping. You’re supposed to be the sultan of sleaze, the governor of gross, the prince of pulp, the tycoon of trash—”

“Okay okay, if you can do better, why don’t you put your—”

“Wait wait wait, I’m on a roll! You don’t interrupt a roll like this!” Wade held up his hand and continued his alliterative rant. “The baron of the bawdy, the rajah of the ribald—oh oh oh! The count of crass! Eh? Eh?”

Wade whipped his head from Weasel to Peter and back to Weasel again, whining like a petulant child when he failed to garner approving laughter from either of them.

“I’m wasting my best material on two ‘friends,’” Wade brandished indignant air quotes with his gloved fingers, “who are looking at me with all the enthusiasm of the Broadway matinee crowd on a Wednesday. That’s because the median age of the matinee theater goer is ninety-five years old, in case you both missed that joke, which I’m betting you did because OH YEAH, YOU’RE AS ANIMATED AS VENTRILOQUIST DUMMIES TONIGHT!”   

Wade slapped the wooden surface of the bar, and Peter chuckled.

“Oh now you laugh, baby boy. I see it’s my wounded pride that gets you going. I’m hurt. Really and truly.” Even through the limited range of the mask’s expression, Peter could tell Wade was flashing his best exaggerated puppy dog eyes.

“Maybe you need to work some open mics, Wade. Polish your set before unleashing it on us. It’s a little rough around the edges.” Peter smiled and took a measured sip of his drink. Wade gasped, raising an astonished hand in front of his mouth.

“My dear Peter,” Wade started, doing his best Scarlett O’Hara impression, “out of all my gentlemen callers, you are the most fiendish, the most dastardly, and the way you play fast and loose with my heart is gonna send me into a fit of the vapors.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Wade produced an accordion fan and began to fan his face with it.

“Ah fuck, can’t you give me a warning before the flirting starts? I’ve seen enough of your Sam and Diane routine to give me a lifetime of PTSD flashbacks. Romance the flying squirrel on your own time.” Weasel groaned and wandered off to take a drink order for someone at the other end of the bar, a greasy guy who looked like the lovechild of Steve Buscemi and middle-aged Mickey Rourke, a disturbing combo to behold.

There was a time when Peter had been in full-blown panic mode about Weasel knowing he was Spider-Man. It had happened very accidentally, Peter unmasked and in Wade’s apartment as Wade stitched up a gunshot wound that had torn clear through one side of Peter’s bicep and out the other, both of their expressions comically frozen as Weasel walked in. 

Wade’s reaction time was flawless. While Peter had remained stock-still, mouth gaping in a mixture of shock and pain from the half-stitched wound in his arm, Wade had moved in on Weasel. He pressed the katana blade to Weasel’s throat, the sharp metal glinting in the dim light of the living room, the other hand pressing a gun firmly to Weasel’s temple.

“I feel like I don’t need to tell you this, but just in case it wasn’t clear, you need to pull a Memento on what you just saw real quick like, Weas. I love you like a sixteen-year-old girl loves Harry Styles’s ass—well, okay maybe like I love Harry Styles’s ass—or anyone does, really? That man is a work of sexy art—the point is, while you’re my brother from another shady mother, even my love has its limits, capiche? "

A shaky, perspiring Weasel had nodded briskly, and, after a tense few seconds, Wade had let him go. Weasel had muttered something about “unnecessary theatrics” under his breath as he poured shots of whiskey for each of them, clinking his glass with Peter’s in a show of solidarity.

“Look, I know I’m not exactly the Monica to your Rachel, but trust me. I know if I ever let this info slip, Mr. Kreuger here,” Weasel had said with a gesture to a still skeptical Wade, “would slice me up and grill me like a teppanyaki chef. Probably display my corpse like installation art too because we all know you’re the Will Graham to his Hannibal Lecter.”

Wade had almost been more of a wreck over it than Peter, apologizing profusely and offering all kinds of outlandish things to atone, including committing harakiri despite it “not being worth a damn considering I’m the human equivalent of a salamander.”

Peter smiled at the memory. It was the moment he’d realized just how deeply Wade cared for him although… the nature of those feelings still remained a bit of a mystery. Especially after that night in the back of Dopinder’s cab… Peter’s smile faded into a frown as he ran over every detail of that night for what must have been the thousandth time. 

“Aw, I do love that smile, Petey. Hate when you put it away. Should let it come out more often. I bet it gets cramped all hidden away in there.” Wade poked Peter’s cheek with a gloved forefinger. “A beauty like that needs to breathe! You could stop wars with that smile. Cure cancer. World hunger. It’s got a very ‘I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing’ quality about it.” 

Wade leaned his elbow on the bar and propped his cheek in his palm, heaving a dreamy sigh as he looked at Peter. Peter’s heart thumped, his cheeks heated, and his groin throbbed. He had to get out of there.

“I-I have to go,” Peter mumbled without further explanation, rushing out of the bar and gratefully gulping lungfuls of the crisp autumn air. He didn’t turn around when he heard the heavy door creak open behind him, only turned his head skyward and took a deep breath.




***



“Hey, Petey, you okay? You looked kinda shook up before you sprinted out here.” Wade walked closer but didn’t put a hand on Peter’s shoulder the way he wanted to. Peter had seemed jittery all night, and Wade didn’t want to chase him away. His heart had sunk when Peter’s response to his compliment had been to immediately flee the bar, but it wasn’t as though he’d expected better. Wade might talk a good game, but when it came to all things romantic, his self-esteem scored a big fat zero. There had been that brief moment where it seemed like Peter might maybe, possibly, by some miracle in this ugly, piece of shit universe— 

No, you clearly imagined that. Remember how he reacted afterward? He doesn’t want anything to do with you.

Maybe he was just scared. I mean, you didn’t really ask him about it— 

His face said it all. Panic, disgust, all the usual things people go through when they look at us. He wanted to take it all back.

Wade shook his head and muttered “shut up” under his breath. Peter didn’t give any indication that he noticed Wade’s conflict with the Boxes, but then again, Peter had always been way more generous with Wade’s eccentricities (if you could call it that—the only other alternative he could think of was “batshit crazy behavior”) than most people. Peter was just… better and kinder than most people in general. It made Wade’s heart feel like the Grinch’s at the end of the movie (only the original old timey cartoon classic version, thank you very much) expanding until it broke the frame. 

“Do you mean it when you…” Peter turned toward Wade, his chocolate brown eyes shy and so sweet, it made Wade want to gather him up in his arms and carry him like a puppy. There was something so adorable and irresistible about a man as strong and fearless as Spidey being bashful. Peter was as tender as he was fierce, and that combination never ceased to slay Wade. “When you flirt with me?” 

“Oh…” That was decidedly not what Wade had been expecting to hear. 

Don’t tell him. 

Tell him. He’s ASKING. He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to know. 

People often want answers they’re not ready for.

“Oh you know, it’s just bros being bros, Petey.” Wade pivoted to the right, addressing an imaginary audience. “Am I right, guys? Can’t ruin canon with a little thing like reciprocated queer romance now can we, Marvel?”

“So you… you don’t mean it?” Peter gave him a shrewd look. 

Was he upset? Was he relieved? What did he want Wade to say? For an earnest guy, Peter could be a bit guarded sometimes, and it definitely didn’t help that Wade was a prime candidate for Most Emotionally Stunted Man in New York. Between the Boxes and his own perpetual second-guessing, it was hard to know which voice to trust.

“Just pulling your Spidey chain, although I would like to pull your chain, amirite?” Wade waggled his nonexistent eyebrows beneath the mask, and Peter bit his lip (implanting all sorts of images into Wade’s head that made it even harder to focus on the conversation) and sighed heavily.

“You’re doing it again. Can’t you just be serious for a minute?” 

No, you can’t. Fundamentally not in your code, you impulsive moron.

Well, maybe you should learn to fucking try unless you want to chase him away like you chase everyone else away with one look at your hideous mug?

Wade hated it when Yellow and White teamed up, gleefully beating him down together. He mentally swatted them away, took a deep breath, and made a decision. 

“Maybe… it’s easier to tell someone something when you know there’s no risk of them ever saying it back.”

“Oh…” Peter looked down at the ground and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess I’ll see you around, Wade.”

Without giving Wade a parting glance, Peter turned on his heel and walked off into the night.

“What the fuck just happened?”

I think you fucked up, Wade.

Gonna have to agree with White here. We fucked up.

“Well, at least you have the courtesy to say we because I’m pretty sure you assholes had a huge, meddling fuck of a hand in this!” Wade shouted before charging back inside. He sat down at the bar and grabbed Weasel by the collar. “Buddy, I have a very important question to ask.”

“This better not be about hiding a body. I already showered once today. Not doing it again.” Weasel scowled down at Wade’s hand, and Wade let him go.

“Since when do I hide bodies? I’m proud of my handiwork, thank you very much. I’m with Villanelle on this one; clean kills are boring sauce. It’s about uh… do you think… well, I was sort of wondering if…” Wade wiggled his fingers in the air as if the words might come to him like fireflies.

“Are you the merc with the mouth or not, Wilson? Spit it out! I’ve got a table of angry Easy Rider wannabes in the corner that need to be dealt with.”

“DoyouthinkPeterlikesme?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are we in seventh grade?” Weasel leaned forward on the bar and cradled his head in his hands with a deep groan.

“Yes, we are! We never really leave the awkward tween years! The social humiliation scars follow us around until we die! I’ll be lying in bed agonizing over the time Billy Turner pantsed me until my last night on Earth. Now answer the question!” Wade slapped a firm hand against the bar, and Weasel looked up.

“Yes, he likes you. He ogles you like you’re Naomi Campbell circa 1994. It’s disturbing, and the fact that I’m a regular witness to your eye-fucking sessions is unforgivable. If you don’t actually fuck soon, your come’s gonna get backed up like a high pressure fire hose. You’ll be able to go on a job and pack nothing but your dick as a weapon.”

“But what if I kiss him, and he doesn’t—”

“He jerked off in front of you in Dopinder’s cab! How much more obvious of a sign do you need?!”

“He didn’t jerk off! He just… touched himself a little.” Wade gestured to his crotch, rubbing circles in the air above it. 

Weasel threw his hands up, and Wade shook his head.

“Okay okay, I get how that sounds, but it wasn’t like you’re picturing. You had to be there. It was much more… subtle.” Wade squirmed on the barstool as images of Peter flooded his mind, the way he’d licked his lips and smiled when Wade had told him he was cute when he blushed, Peter’s cheeks a lovely, kissable pink from the drinks he’d had on their favorite rooftop, a beautiful skyline view hidden away from prying eyes. 

Peter always seemed to relax up there, in his natural habitat high above the crowds of people wandering the streets below, wind whipping through his soft brown hair. They’d eaten tacos, and Peter had gotten tipsy in the most endearing, giggly way that made Wade want to hug him tight and never let go. 

And then afterward… in the cab… that pretty, flirtatious smile and a whispered “Wade” so throaty and full of intent that was hard to rationalize away. It had been more of a moan than a word, really, and Wade didn’t think his name had ever sounded sexier. Peter’s eyes had pointedly swept up and down Wade’s body, and then, so slowly Wade thought he might spontaneously combust, Peter ran his hand down his own t-shirt, over the flat planes of his stomach until his fingers reached his groin. He pressed his palm down once, hard, his eyes shuttering closed with the softest, sweetest whimper. Wade had been too dumbstruck, too achingly hard and scared to move lest he break whatever spell had been cast, that he barely got out a strangled “Peter” before the moment was interrupted by the sudden shrill ring of Peter’s phone, the secret Spidey business one that he couldn’t ignore under any circumstances.

After that, Peter had said his goodbyes with wide, clearly freaked out eyes that definitely signalled major regret. Obviously, Peter had just been drunk and horny and lost his grip on reality for a moment. That’s all.

“Haven’t you talked about this?”

“Not exactly,” Wade admitted sheepishly, drawing imaginary patterns in the surface of the bar.

“What?! That was weeks ago! This is—you know what? No. I’ve had enough of being the sassy best friend sidekick in the middle of your rom com.” Weasel got out from behind the bar and grabbed one of Wade’s leather-clad arms, dragging him out into the hall and halfway up the stairs that led to Weasel’s apartment. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, put it on speakerphone, and held it out between them. 

“Uh, Weasel? Really not a good time,” came the breathless reply after a few rings.

Wade started to panic, signalling a frantic no with his arms, waving around in the air with an urgency that only made Weasel roll his eyes and flip him the bird. Wade heard the unmistakable sounds of Peter deftly swishing through the air and rapidly firing his web shooters. 

“Yeah, here’s the thing, little dude. Wade needs to talk to you stat, and my sanity is hanging in the balance here so why don’t you pick a place to meet after you’ve wrapped up your nightly business, okay?” 

Wade started beating his forehead against the wall.

“Yeah, um…” Peter grunted and made a quip about usually only tying people up with their consent, and Wade smiled as he pictured Peter maneuvering between buildings with the grace of a gymnast and binding up a fresh batch of criminals. Wade was sorry he couldn't actually see it; he loved watching Peter in action. The precise, nearly dance-like choreography of it was always a good show. Plus, walking up to a crouched Spidey, that perfect ass on lewd display (spandex was truly a cruel temptress), made Wade’s stomach flip flop more than a pimply fourteen year old leaning in for his first sloppy kiss. “Whew! Okay, I’m done. I’m actually not far from Sister Margaret’s. You know that rundown gas station about four blocks away?”

“Yep, he knows it,” Weasel answered, giving Wade an unnegotiable stare. “Rooftop?”

“Always.”

Weasel hung up, and Wade crossed his arms, leaning back with a grumble.

“See, Weas? That stunt you just pulled? Classic junior high move!”




***



“Heeeyyy… you…” Wade winced, grateful that his mask could hide at least some of his mortification.

Smooth move, Wilson.  

“Hey, Wade.” Peter stood up, his lean, muscled body striding toward him until they were only a couple of feet apart. “What’s with the urgency? I get the feeling it’s not business, but… well, if it’s not that, why the hell was Weasel calling me?”

“Oooohhh, I was… indisposed at the time? Distracted? Had all my fingers cut off so I needed a little help using a phone while I waited for them to grow back?” Wade tried, each lie less convincing than the last, his voice breaking like he was riding the rocky slopes of puberty.

Peter just sighed and put his hands on his hips.

“Forget it. Just tell me what you wanted. I’ve had a long day.” Peter sat down on the edge of the building, legs dangling over the side, face turned away from Wade. Peter’s exasperation made Wade’s chickenshit impulse rear its cowardly head all over again, but then he reconsidered. Maybe this was the best time to do it. Just like it was easier to frame his affection as a joke, it was easier to say this without Peter looking at him. 

“Look… about what you asked me? I… I’m attracted to you. Like, make a Helga Pataki-esque bubblegum shrine of your head in my closet kind of attracted to you. I wouldn’t be obnoxiously hitting on you every chance I got if I wasn’t dying to see what’s under that very sexy, clings-in-all-the-right-places Spidey suit. But that said, I… don’t want to make you uh…” Wade bounced up and down on his heels, eyes searching the sky for something to focus on. The voices were rising from a simmer to a boil, and it was getting harder to shut them out long enough to form his own thoughts. “What I mean to say is that I mean it if you want me to?” Wade laughed nervously and paced back and forth. “No, that’s not right. I mean whatever you want me to mean? No, that’s not it either. If lovin’ you is wrong, I don’t wanna be right? I’ll do anything for love, but I won’t do that? I want you to notice me when I’m not around? Ain’t no sunshine when you’re gone? I’m getting off track here. I guess what I’m saying is—” 

“Wade—”

“No, no, wait a minute!” Wade held up a hand and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m the reference guy. This is what I do best. Just give me a minute, and I’ll think of the perfect—”  

“Wade.” A warm hand clamped down on Wade’s shoulder, and a bit of the tension eased out of his muscles.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of big white Spidey eyes. 

“Can we go somewhere a little more private for this?”

“Oh? Oh,” Wade said, grinning salaciously. He spun around, face to face with Peter now, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say Peter was looking rather charmingly coy.

“Oh, shut up.” Peter crossed his arms with a sigh. “I just… I want to look at you when I’m talking to you. Really look at you.”

“Okay…” Wade reluctantly agreed. Somehow that sounded even more intimate than if he’d said he wanted to take Wade home and fuck him.

Sounds serious. He’s probably about to kick your creepy ass to the curb so he never has to endure your shitty puns ever again. This is the Peter equivalent of “we need to talk,” and the talk ain’t gonna be good. 

“Want a ride?” Peter turned around, proffering his backside. The double entendre helped Wade to laugh off his anxiety spiral. Although Wade had made many, many requests for a Spidey piggyback ride, Peter rarely assented unless it was absolutely necessary, like “saving someone’s life” kind of necessary.

“Okay, now you’re just asking for a plethora of bad jokes!”

“Maybe,” Peter admitted with a shrug. “Come on. Hop on.”

“Oh, I’ll hop on something else if you know what I—”

“Wade.” 

Wade mimed zipping his lips and gently jumped onto Peter’s back, allowing himself a sigh of pleasure at the feel of Peter’s back pressed against his chest, his arms and legs hooked around him octopus style. He was a maddeningly sexy contrast of hard and soft, those cute round boy-next-door edges paired with the sculpted muscles of an Italian soccer player. Who the fuck allowed him to exist in the world like that? It just wasn’t fair.

Peter shot out a strand of sticky web, and then they were airborne, cool city air running past their bodies, the adrenaline of flying into the night sending a thrill up Wade’s spine. He kind of envied Peter’s ability to do this. There was a freedom in just taking the fuck off whenever you wanted to, swinging through the sky like you owned it. If he had that power, he knew he’d use it every time the Boxes got to be too much. It was like the concept of taking a country drive with the stereo blaring but on fucking steroids. Radioactive steroids. Wade nuzzled in Peter’s neck with a happy hum, basking in the heat radiating off his body, and for a second, he thought he felt Peter’s head lean into it, his cheek meeting Wade’s as they made quick work of the blocks to Peter’s apartment.




***




“I’m just gonna go get changed, okay?” Peter rubbed the back of his neck and then promptly dropped his hand to his side, trying to draw attention away from the nervous habit.

Wade nodded, and his silence made Peter even more nervous. Wade? Speechless?

That’s a first, Peter thought as he made his way to the bedroom, heart racing like a bird trying to beat its way out of his chest. 

It was nothing new. 

Wade always made him nervous. 

Deliciously, enticingly, addictively nervous. 

Everything about him—how uncompromisingly bold he was, that broad chest Peter wanted to bury his face in, the way he flirted so smoothly, making Peter blush without fail, the way he was there for Peter whenever he needed him, fiercely protective and disarmingly kind in a way Peter never would have expected—made Peter dizzy. Being around Wade was like spinning around on a carnival ride in the summer. It was a head rush; it was terrifying and thrilling; it was everything all at once; and even though you were scared to step foot on it at first… once you finally made the move, you found that you couldn’t stop coming back.

“I want you to mean it. I really, really want you to,” Peter announced without preamble as he entered the room. So much for being smooth.

Wade was sitting on the couch, legs jiggling up and down, mask held tightly in his fidgeting hands, and when he met Peter’s eyes, his jaw dropped. After what felt like an eternal silence, Peter cautiously walked closer, sitting down next to him. 

Rendered speechless twice in one night. 

That had to be some sort of record. Peter was sure he should be getting a trophy for that. 

“Um, Wade? Did you hear me? Can you say something? Anything? Please? I—you do mean it, don’t you?”      

Wade let out a long, anguished-sounding exhale and shook his head vigorously. He turned toward Peter and grabbed his hands, all of his previously frozen gears seeming to come to life at once.

“Jesus titty-sucking Christ, of course I mean it. Have you seen your ass? Or talked to you? You’re perfect, Spidey. You look like what some closeted gay sculptor in the 1800s would make, getting all horny in his studio watching nude models because he can’t have butt sex because he’s scared of getting sentenced to ten years hard labor, and I don’t mean the good kind.”

How Wade managed to deliver such diatribes without running out of breath, Peter would never know. 

“Thanks, I think?” Peter smiled down at their joined hands, grateful for Wade’s touch even if it was through a layer of leather.

“And then, as if that wasn’t enough,” Wade continued, “as if God needed to make it more cruelly apparent that she is a mastermind creator of torturous perfection, you’re also the sweetest, most thoughtful, considerate fucking dude on this planet. You’re so noble, it’s goddamn ridiculous. It’s enough to make a guy swoon to death, sweetcheeks. You’re like if that Norman Rockwell American family bullshit actually existed. It’s almost like you were written specifically by some old white dude who was trying to capture his narrow, dumbass idea of American goodness. Hint, it’s straight and white,” Wade whispered, cupping his hand around his mouth and turning to the side. “You think things through and you care about the consequences of what you do and you’re a good friend and you’re… you’re everything I’m not, Peter.”

Wade’s voice turned solemn at the end, his eyes meeting Peter’s hesitantly, a sadness in them that made Peter want to kiss him until he smiled.

“You called me Peter.” Wade had a tendency to stick to jaunty little nicknames. Peter could count on one hand the amount of times he’d used his given name without dropping the r and adding a y.

“Yeah, well… I’m staring into your pretty eyes right after waxing poetic about your many perfect attributes so it only seemed right.” 

“I’m really happy about everything you just said, like… do a cheesy Judd Nelson fist pump kind of happy but… if you feel this way, why didn’t you say anything after um… you know, that night in the cab?” Peter cursed his voice for going weak and high. Suddenly, the room’s temperature went from comfortable to unbearably hot.

“I don’t know! You just—you looked so panicked when your phone rang and that lovely misty lusty-eyed thing slipped away until you looked really fucking ‘scream queen before the axe comes down in the third act’ kind of scared. I thought…” Wade dropped Peter’s hands and leaned back against the couch. “You were having that ‘oh shit, I was about to hookup with a fucking contract killer who talks to voices in his screwed up head’ moment. And then you never mentioned it again, so I figured I was right.”

“You never mentioned it again either!” Peter threw up his hands with a frown. “I assumed you panicked because you were just joking with the flirting all the time, just—you know, being you , and then I’d taken it seriously and made you feel weird and ruined everything so I just… figured it was best to let it pass. But then you started flirting again, so I got confused.”    

“Damn, I know miscommunication is pretty much the mother of all tropes in fanfic, but we really suck at this, don’t we?” Wade smiled, and the sight of it made Peter feel like the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

“I’ll make sure to tag it when I put this up on AO3.”

“I love it when you get my jokes, baby boy.” Wade sighed fondly and removed his gloves, running one hand along Peter’s cheek. Peter grabbed his wrist and kissed Wade’s palm, moaning softly at the first touch of scarred skin against his lips. He’d clocked so many fantasy hours imagining what Wade’s skin would feel like under his mouth, his hands, his chest. “Fuck… I shouldn’t be ready to shoot like a fucking rocket from a touch that small, but here we are.”

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled. “Take comfort in knowing it’s the same for me?”

Peter lifted his leg and slung it over Wade’s lap, shifting until he straddled him, his hands resting on Wade’s broad chest. 

“Whoa… hi there, Spidey,” Wade gasped, licking his bottom lip ever so slightly as his hands settled on Peter’s hips, his eyes sweeping up and down his body with a hunger that made Peter rock impatiently in his lap.

“Call me Peter.”

“I’ll call you anything if you keep grinding in my lap like that, baby. What would you like? Beyoncé ? Daddy?”

Peter’s cheeks reddened without his permission, and while he hoped Wade would miss it, he knew that kinky bastard wouldn’t let it go.

“Oh wow, look at that pretty blush. Have to admit I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m not one to look a gift kink horse—just gift kink? It’s smoother that way. Let’s go with that—in the mouth.”

“Ugh, I wasn’t expecting it either, but can we just forget it, please?” Peter brought a hand over his eyes and let out an embarrassed groan.

“I’ll let it slide because I don’t wanna spook you while you’re looking all delectable and blushy in my lap, but we’re definitely coming back to it later like— hard. Die Hard. With a Vengeance.” 

Peter felt a hand prying his fingers away from his eyes, and then there he was, smirking triumphantly with glittering hazel eyes and a jawline Peter was dying to mouth along mindlessly, kissing and licking lower and lower until he’d covered every inch of Wade’s skin with his tongue.

“So I guess um… now would be the part where I kiss you, yeah?” Wade’s voice was irresistibly husky and low, both of them panting in anticipation. Peter’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, his sensory hyper-awareness almost too much with Wade near him like this, his heat under Peter’s hands, his breath puffing against Peter’s mouth, the little flecks of green and gold he could see in his irises this close up. 

“Please, Wade. I want you.” Saying the words out loud made Peter’s blood pump thickly between his legs, the ache of his erection almost painful, the heat of his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It made it real in the most terrifying and exciting way.

“Why?” Wade whispered, his face so close to Peter’s that it felt like he was speaking the words into his mouth, sharing breath, sharing space, the distance between them so small yet still unbearably far. Peter needed him close, needed him inside him, against him, around him, just everywhere right now.      

“Because you’re everything I’m not,” Peter responded with a cheeky grin, pleased when Wade’s solemnity broke to leave behind a beautiful smile.

“You say all the right things, Peter.” Wade closed the distance between them, his lips just barely brushing Peter’s, a teasing touch that made him whine. Wade licked a long hot stripe up the middle of Peter’s lips, and Peter shuddered, his grip on Wade’s shoulders turning hard enough to bruise. He felt like he’d crumble into ash if this teasing went on any longer, but just when the kiss turned heated, Wade’s tongue mapping every corner of Peter’s mouth, he pulled back, grinning as Peter chased his lips.

“Stop it.” Peter hated how pathetically desperate it sounded, the words coming out like helpless whimpers.

“I may or may not have cried to Call Me By Your Name every night this week. There may or may not have been gallons of ice cream involved. A terrible emotionally masochistic decision on my part, but it did have the added benefit of making me fantasize about recreating Elio and Oliver’s first kiss.” Wade squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “God, normal people don’t admit embarrassing things like that, do they? I don’t know where my sense of shame and embarrassment went, but I’m pretty sure I left it lying on the floor of the Weapon X lab.”

“I like you shameless,” Peter whispered, leaning in to nibble at Wade’s earlobe, pushing the collar of Wade’s suit down to expose more of his neck. Peter shuddered at the sensation of the rough grooves under his tongue, tracing the dips and ridges, grateful for the fact that Wade couldn’t see his face. He was still really self-conscious about how much he wanted this. Surely it wasn’t normal to fantasize about Wade’s scars so much. It was… a weird thing to be into, right? Still, Peter kept lapping at them, barely conscious of the fevered motion of his hips in Wade’s lap and the unrestrained moans he was letting out. He felt possessed, drugged, pulled too damn far under to pop back to the surface, but then Wade’s hand pushed firmly at Peter’s shoulder, and the spell was broken. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

Peter pulled back, giving Wade some room to breathe, and tried to quell the anxiety welling within him at the sight of Wade’s frown.

“No, no, you—you’re perfect. As always. I just…” Wade’s gaze darted around the room, avoiding Peter’s eyes. “I don’t think I should take this off.” Wade gestured to his suit.

“Well, uh… sort of hard to do the things I’d like to do if you’re still wearing that,” Peter said in a sultry tone, giving Wade what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he ran his hand down Wade’s chest. But Wade’s expression didn’t change, and Peter started to worry. “Wade… it’s okay. I’ve seen your face. I might not have seen the rest of you, but I know what you look like.”

“Seeing my face and seeing the ten miles of hard, pothole-filled road underneath all this are two different things. I’m telling you it’s like an alleyway in a bad neighborhood the city won’t pay to have repaved. Children could puddle jump in these craters.” Wade’s humor might have returned, but Peter saw through it. He knew Wade well enough to tell when he was joking to cover up something darker, and the flicker of concern in Wade’s eyes, the tightness of his jaw, let Peter know that all was not well in Wade Wilson land.

“Look, Wade, when I say I don’t care, I mean I really don’t. When it comes to your scars... it’s not like I think you’re beautiful in spite of them. I don’t like this idea that someone is being so great by deigning to overlook them. This isn’t Beauty and the Beast . I’m not going to be rewarded by you turning into someone else’s idea of a prince, and I don’t want that. I don’t want you to be anything but you. I’m not looking past them. I see them, and I see you. I want to see you. It’s not like that stupid editorial by the guy who wanted a pat on the back and an award for loving his ‘curvy wife.’ I hate when people frame it like that.” Peter stroked Wade’s cheek, running his fingers across his scarred lips. Wade smiled slowly, his hand curling around Peter’s wrist.

“Yeah, that guy was a clueless fucking tool. Peter, you’re… 

“I’m actually really… fuck I don’t—it sounds wrong. I want to tell you, but—”  

“Tell me,” Wade interjected, his head tilting in curiosity as he waited for Peter to come clean.

Peter bit his lip and sighed. So this was it. Date one—well, he wasn’t sure if this qualified as a date, per se, but whatever it was, it felt like The Beginning of Something—and Peter was already going to confess this? He considered it for a moment, and Wade waited patiently, didn’t say anything as Peter wrestled with his internal conflict, weighing out the options. He wanted to assuage Wade’s worries, but he also didn’t want to seem like the creepiest of creeps.   

“Okay, well… let me start by saying that I don’t want you to think I’m fetishizing something that brought you so much pain. I know…” Peter took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, the warm sensation of Wade’s solid thighs underneath him grounding him. “I know what they mean , and that’s why I feel fucked up about this sometimes. I don’t want you to think I don’t know what they mean, okay? What they put you through, what you’ve lost, I’m always aware of that. God… I must be sick or something.” 

“Peter,” Wade whispered, and the melodious sound of his name on Wade’s tongue made the air in the room seem a little lighter. Wade lifted Peter’s chin until they were eye to eye. “Tell me.”

“The first time I saw your face, I... couldn’t stop thinking about the way your body might look. And that became…” Peter paused, but Wade nodded encouragingly. “Thinking about licking and biting them just... worshipping your body and memorizing every little curve, every design, every raised patch, every inch of it. I wanted to—I want to—know what your scars feel like under my mouth. It’s… really fucking embarrassing how much it turns me on to think about it.”

When Peter stopped talking, he realized both of them were breathing raggedly, Peter’s fist clenched in the material of Wade’s suit, his hips involuntarily undulating in his lap again. Wade’s pupils were blown-wide, the intense look of misgiving erased to give way to pure lust.

“Jesus fuck, baby boy…” Wade sounded breathless and awestruck, and it made Peter’s cheeks hot, his blood boil.

“Is it too weird?” 

“Are you kidding me? This is me you’re talking to. King of the kinks. Prince of the perverts. I love all sorts of things—kinky as a Dom for hire, vanilla as an old biddy in a sewing circle—although let’s face it, sometimes those are the ones you have to watch out for, whole closets full of fetish gear hidden behind a wall of memory quilts. You don’t have to hide from me. And besides this is seriously fucking hot, Spidey.” Wade dipped his hands underneath Peter’s t-shirt, stroking over his stomach and chest. Peter arched into the touch with a desperate little moan, the relief of Wade’s hands on his skin like a drink of cold water on a summer day. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Have you been touching yourself, coming all over your hand thinking about licking my scars?” Wade licked along the length of Peter’s neck, his hands slipping down Peter’s back and into his jeans to cup his ass, hauling Peter impossibly close, their chests flush, Peter’s knees bracketing Wade’s hips.

“Yes. You have no idea how many fucking times I’ve thought about it.” Peter tugged impatiently at Wade’s collar, and Wade grinned so lewdly, Peter had to bite back another wanton moan.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty, perverted little head. We’ll get to it.”




***




FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

I don’t know… I’m still saying this could go really fucking south in a second. Did you forget who we ARE— 

DON’T LISTEN TO THAT COCK-BLOCKING ASSHOLE. GET YOU THAT SPIDEY BOOTY. DID YOU HEAR WHAT HE JUST SAID?!

Yeah, because it usually goes so well when we just go for what we—  

SPIDEY. BOOTY. TAGS: SCAR PORN, MUTUAL PINING, 9K, FRIENDS TO LOVERS. Be like Shia LaBeouf and just dooooo iiittt.

“Both of you can shut the fuck up because I am wwaaayy too preoccupied right now,” Wade said as he sat naked on Peter’s bed— JESUS CHRIST WE’RE FINALLY HERE —watching him shed the last of his clothes to reveal lithe muscle and pale skin. Peter crawled on top of him, gently pushing Wade onto his back, and licked his lips, hungrily eyeing the marred canvas of Wade’s skin, eyes jumping everywhere like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to kiss first. He looked up at Wade with tender eyes, seeking permission, and Wade nodded. Peter smiled gently, that vibrant Christmas lights smile, and bent down, licking across a cluster of scars just below Wade’s right shoulder.    

He watched as Peter made his way down Wade’s chest, making good on his promise to trace every scar with his tongue, lightly teasing Wade’s nipples with the tips of his fingers as he lapped at a jagged ridge to the left of Wade’s belly button. Wade was transfixed; Peter looked almost drunk, eyes heavy-lidded, face flushed, moaning and rutting against Wade’s thigh like he could come just from this, just Wade’s rough skin under his mouth.

Most people couldn’t stand the sight of Wade’s scars, but Peter was worshipping them like they were the most precious things in the world. It stirred something inside Wade that he wasn’t sure he wanted to confront right now, something overwhelming that made his chest tight and his eyes well up.

For once, everything in Wade’s head was silent. No voice but his own.

Peter was panting so hard, he was nearly hyperventilating. Wade swept a hand through Peter’s hair over and over again.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, Petey-pie. Give yourself a minute, yeah? Goddamn… how are you so deadly but so tooth-rottingly sweet?”

“Ditto,” Peter said with a dreamy smile, catching his breath as he ran his hands down Wade’s sides.

Wade started to protest, but every clever quip died on his tongue when Peter dipped his head and swallowed Wade’s cock, sucking him like he’d been dying to do it for months—and maybe he really had; Wade still couldn’t believe how utterly ecstatic Peter looked, how blissfully turned on he was—bringing him too close to the edge too fast. Peter’s mouth was so hot and tight, his wicked tongue hitting all the right spots, making Wade’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Wait wait, stop.” Wade gently tugged at Peter’s hair, shivering with pleasure when he saw Peter pulling off his cock with a wet pop, lips glistening and red. “Come here.”

Peter crawled up Wade’s body, his forearms coming to rest on either side of Wade’s chest, and Wade pulled him in for a kiss, both of them groaning as their bodies slid together, heat against heat, so close Wade couldn’t feel, hear, or smell anything but Peter, Peter, Peter all around him.

“This has been way,” Wade kissed Peter’s neck, “too,” then bent down to take a nipple in his mouth, “one sided.”

Wade flipped them over until Peter was on his back and mouthed his way down Peter’s torso.

“You’re not the only one who’s been logging fantasy hours on this. I have a really pressing need to lick this beautiful tummy for oh… an hour? Maybe two?” 

Peter let out an adorable laugh as Wade licked at his stomach, stroking his strong thighs, floored at the notion that he was allowed to do this, that Peter wanted him to, that he could touch and touch until they’d both had their fill. His skin was every bit as soft and kissable as Wade knew it would be. Wade nosed at the crease of his thigh, inhaling that sweet, clean scent had he’d come to know as distinctly Peter, a hint of post-fight musk still clinging to his skin.  

“As much as I love that idea, I don’t think I’m patient enough right now. We’ve been waiting too long. I wanna make you come, and I wanna do it now.” Peter’s tone came out low and commanding, almost a growl, and Wade was powerless to resist. He gladly let Peter haul him by the shoulders, his legs squeezing Wade’s hips, his calves linking behind him, locking Wade in place. Peter wrapped his hand around Wade’s cock, and Wade reached between their sweat-slick bodies to grasp Peter’s erection, gasping at the sensation of his hand around Peter, the weight of his cock warm and heavy and perfect in his hand.

“Peter,” Wade whined as Peter’s hand sped up, his grip just tight enough to make Wade bite his lip and buck his hips, knocking their hands together as he tried and failed to keep up with Peter’s rhythm, too overwhelmed by Peter’s fingers on his cock, his ardent mouth on Wade’s neck.

“Baby, you feel so good,” Peter whispered, his lips dragging across Wade’s ear, and Wade’s brain short-circuited.

HE JUST CALLED ME BABY HE JUST CALLED ME BABY HE JUST CALLED ME BABY.

That’s all that was running through Wade’s head as he spilled over Peter’s hand and on his stomach, his whole body shaking as Peter sealed their mouths, kissing him breathless. It didn’t take long before Peter was following him, moaning Wade’s name as he threw his head back, his hair sweaty and disheveled, his cheeks rosy, his eyes squeezed shut.

Wade didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful than Peter Parker coming in his hand, panting and writhing underneath Wade’s body, their legs intertwined, messy heat pooling between them.

Wade collapsed on top of him, nuzzling in Peter’s neck, and Peter didn’t push him off. He just pulled him closer, kissing his scarred shoulder. 

“Sorry, we didn’t… do more. I know handjobs are kind of the ‘rushed high school fumblings’ way to do this, but I just needed you. And I like having you close,” Peter said, squeezing Wade even tighter. 

“Bite your perfect, sexy tongue, Petey. That was fucking incredible, and anyone who doesn’t appreciate a good ‘I have to have you right the fuck now’ handjob is an ungrateful asshole. You almost killed me just by touching my cock. Pretty sure if we’d gone dick-to-ass tonight, I would have just crumbled into dust like Moldy Voldy in The Deathly Hallows . We have to work up to that if you still want some Wade left over to fuck.”

Peter chuckled and lifted Wade’s chin to kiss him. Wade didn’t think he’d ever get over how marvelous it felt just to have Peter’s lips on his. They fell into a comfortable silence, hands lazily stroking down arms and backs, sharing soft kisses as drowsiness overtook them both.

“So…” Peter said just as Wade was drifting off in his arms. “Just to be clear though… you do want me to fuck you… I mean, in that way?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Wade teased. “Let me make it abundantly, undeniably clear: yes, Daddy, I want your cock inside me.”

“Jesus Christ, Waaaddee. I told you to forget about that!” Peter groaned and slung a forearm over his eyes, but he was laughing all the same.

“And I told you we’d come back to it later. Back like my baby got back,” Wade said, turning them onto their sides so he could playfully slap Peter’s ass. “I’m sorry—my Daddy got back,” Wade amended.

“Aarrgghh.” Peter buried his face in the pillow.

“So you’ll give my scars a tongue bath more thorough than the prissiest kitty cat, but you’re still embarrassed about this? You are too fucking adorable for words, baby boy. Cuter than a kitten falling asleep in a baby bassinet.”

“It’s just… it feels so stupid. I’m the twinky one. I’m like a decade younger than you. You’re the one built like a brick shithouse.”

“Well, I never! Language, young man,” Wade joked, placing a hand to his chest in faux outrage. “Petey, that’s why it’s so fucking sexy! Yes, you are a smol, pretty, baby-faced boy, but as we’ve already established, you’re deadly as fuck. You could snap a man’s neck with those thick thighs and not even break a sweat. I’d be honored to call you Daddy. Don’t go getting all heteronormative on me, sweetcheeks. Let’s subvert expectations. I’m all about that.”

“Okay… we can try it…” Peter relented, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Try it, he says, full well knowing he’s gonna dive head first into this kink and never come up for air,” Wade said, tickling Peter’s sides. “A week from now, you’ll be shibari binding me and suspending me from the ceiling. We’re gonna plunge down the kinky waterslide together. I see you, Peter Parker.”

“Have I ever told you that you can be really annoying?” 

“You love it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I really do.” Peter beamed at him and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek, pulling Wade back on top of him.

“Petey?”

“Mmm?” Peter mumbled sleepily.

“Not that I don’t love falling asleep in your arms, but maybe you want to shower first? We might wake up to a lot of… crust.”

“No… I don’t mind… I sort of like the idea of you falling asleep with my come on you,” Peter whispered, his cheeks growing pink again.

“God, you are so fucking depraved, and I am so here for it,” Wade groaned, his cock filling out again. He was too comfortable and warm and sleepy to do anything about it, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before they woke up for round two. He could wait. In fact, waiting could be a lot of fun for Wade. 

“Be a good boy, and go to sleep,” Peter replied, his eyes closed but a mischievous little smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, Daddy,” Wade said, falling asleep with the widest grin plastered on his face.