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“Webs! Give a brotha’ a hand?”
Peter had heard the thump-rattle of heavy combat boots on the fire escape for a while now. It’s taken much longer to reach the top than normal and he would be concerned if it was anyone other than Deadpool. There are multiple reasons why Wade could be taking forever to climb a fire escape; missing limbs, carrying food, carrying a corpse, just for the heck of it, etcetera.
With a sigh, Peter unfolds from his crouch on the lip of the roof and stretches. He turns to find Wade just managing to haul himself over the last few rungs of the ladder that leads from the top floor to the roof. “What do you need help with?”
“Ah, nothing really.” Wade gets to his feet and dusts off the ankle-length black dress he’s wearing. “It’s just a bitch trying to climb anything in this thing.”
He straightens and Peter mentally corrects his first impression. It’s not a dress, it’s a cassock. And there’s even a white collar clipped at the base of his throat. The whole outfit is worn over Wade’s usual Deadpool suit and the only visible weapons are his ever-present katanas. It looks ridiculous.
“’Pool.” He sighs heavily and puts every ounce of authority he can muster into his voice. “You can’t wear that. It’s sacrilegious.”
Wade cocks his head to the side; hands on his hips. “Are you Christian, Spidey?”
“No?” Not practicing, at least. But he did go to Church every Sunday with Aunt May and Uncle Ben for the majority of his childhood.
“Then what’s the problem?” Wade pivots and leans forward, curving his back to make his butt pop as he smooths his hands down his sides. “You can’t tell me that I don’t make this look good.”
Peter’s heart honest-to-God skips a beat and he has to look away. He’s suddenly too warm in the thin spandex of his suit, despite the cool evening air. Thank God for his mask hiding the flush in his cheeks.
“The Bugle is going to have a field day with this.”
“It’s Halloween, Webs. No one is going to care.” Wade crosses the rooftop so he can sling an arm around Peter’s shoulders, inadvertently showing off just how obscenely tight the cassock really is as it stretches over his chest and biceps.
How in the world is more layers of clothing affecting Peter worse than the skin-tight leather Wade usually wears? Both their suits leave little to the imagination and Peter has thus far been able to keep a good hold on his… appreciation… for Deadpool’s suit. Wade, on the other hand, makes his appreciation for Spider-Man’s spandex known far and wide.
“So, you gonna costume up too or am I rocking it solo tonight?”
“I’m a superhero, ‘Pool.” Peter clears his throat and steps away before Wade somehow notices that his temperature is starting to rise. “I’m costumed up all day every day.”
Wade makes a scandalized noise and puts a hand to his chest. “Spidey. That’s what makes today so special!” He spreads his arms wide and Peter’s eyes are immediately drawn to the stretch of fabric over his chest. “You can be anyone or anything!”
“And yet you chose a priest.” Peter gestures at him from head to toe. “You. The least religious person in existence. What was the logic behind that?”
With a hum, Wade steps in even closer. There’s only four inches of height difference between them, plus probably another inch with the soles of Wade’s boots, but it still makes Peter feel small. They’re both fairly fit people, though Wade is admittedly a little thicker than him; shoulders broader, chest wider. Peter both loves and hates those differences between them.
Probably the worst thing, though, is Wade’s voice. It’s much deeper than Peter’s – even when he purposefully pitches his voice deeper while wearing the mask. Like gravel and chocolate and it does things to Peter. Bad things. Things that Wade Wilson can never know.
The problem with that is the fact that Peter is trying to hide a monster crush from a world-renowned mercenary. From someone who’s job is to pay attention to even some of the most miniscule details. Despite playing the idiot a lot, Wade is anything but.
He must see something that Peter isn’t aware he’s doing, because Wade advances again; forcing Peter to back up until he bumps into the cool metal of the building’s air conditioning unit. Either he’s shrinking or Wade is pushing up on his tiptoes, but Wade is suddenly looming over him; one hand resting against the unit beside his head.
Wade leans in and Peter looks away, unintentionally holding his breath. It doesn’t seem to matter, because he can practically feel Wade’s lips against his ear through the two layers of their masks as that rough chocolate dips into an even deeper register. “Have you any sins to confess, my child?”
A shiver shakes through Peter from head to toe.
It doesn’t go unnoticed and gentle fingers cup under his chin, turning his head to look Wade in the eye again. “Well, baby boy?”
Peter swallows thickly and bites his lip. He glances down the length of Wade’s body and how the cassock clings to the shape of his waist. It looks unbearably good on him and Peter is definitely going to go to Hell for this.
He takes a deep breath and leans in, tilting his head just right and bringing their faces close enough that he can almost feel Wade’s lips through their masks when he speaks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Wade inhales sharply and the whites of his mask widen slightly.
With a laugh, Peter ducks out from under Wade’s arm and runs away (something he will deny to his dying day). He takes a running leap from the edge of the roof and slings a web at the corner of another building. “Keep up and I might just tell you!”
END