Chapter Text
December 28th
It's fucking freezing.
Peter shivers as he swings across town. It's not even eight o'clock yet, but it has been dark for hours now, and the weather forecast threatened snow. If Peter lived in a slightly less shitty apartment, he would be longing to be back there, tucked up beneath a blanket and basking in the warmth of his central heating. Unfortunately for the criminals of New York, however, the heat in his apartment is busted for the second time in a month.
He's already saved a kitten from a tree tonight. The police needed some assistance catching a man who was attempting to flee custody on an electric scooter, and he's webbed up two separate muggers for them. He's starting to feel hungry.
The whole 'dinner with Deadpool' thing started in the summer. Peter hasn't told Matt or Tony- or anyone else for that matter. It's not that he's ashamed, not really, it's just… well, Wade is an acquired taste. He knows that, and he can't quite pinpoint the moment where he acquired that taste. All he knows now is that, if he's hungry on patrol, his instinctive reaction is to locate the Merc with a Mouth. Deadpool isn't always available- work takes him out of town for weeks at a time, and sometimes he just disappears without explanation. Mostly, however, Wade Wilson has become Peter's longstanding dinner date.
At first, Peter's own lack of funds may have encouraged the situation. He had worried that he was taking advantage of the merc, but Deadpool had waved off his concerns.
"I'm happy to be your sugar daddy, baby boy," he'd purred across the table, watching as Peter shoved a taco into his face inelegantly.
The memory still makes Peter blush under his mask. It isn't a sexual thing, this dinner arrangement. God knows Wade flirts with him incessantly, calling him nicknames and making innuendo, but there's nothing behind it. He never touches Peter, not even accidentally, despite the fact they often fight incredibly close together. Wade deliberately avoids touching him.
It would be fine, except that Wade is beyond hot. Sure, he's erratic and morally questionable, and at first that made Peter absolutely ignore the staggeringly beautiful body beneath the leather. As time went on, and Peter got to know him better, that was no longer an option.
He sighs, spotting Deadpool waiting on one of their usual rooftops. He's determined not to be a dork, and he's fairly certain he can pull it off if he pretends really intently that his relationship with Wade is just like his relationship with Tony.
"Merry Christmas!" Wade says brightly as Peter lands beside him. "Did Santa fill your stocking with anything interesting? Or were you too naughty this year?"
Peter snorts, reminding himself again that the smoky implications of Wade's words are meaningless. "I've been nice as always, Wade. I got some new sweaters."
"Looks like you should be wearing one now," Wade observes. He never removes his mask around Peter, but it's possible to tell when he's staring. "You're shivering."
"I think a sweater might not match the rest of my outfit."
Wade doesn't reply for a moment. Then he claps his hands together. "Let's go somewhere warm for dinner. Carla's?"
Carla's is their favourite restaurant. It's strange to think that they even have a favourite restaurant. There's something very casually intimate about it, especially considering they've never seen each other's faces and Wade doesn't know his real name.
"Sure," Peter says, his voice coming out just a hint too high-pitched to be truly casual.
Wade doesn't comment on this, and they make their way down to the street. Peter has thought several times that Wade could ride on his back and they could swing together, but there's absolutely no way he could suggest this to the merc without becoming so flustered he might spontaneously combust. Even if he somehow managed to get the words out, Wade would probably refuse. And if he didn't… well, the idea of Wade's hard, huge body pressed up against him is too much for Peter.
"What you thinking about?" Wade asks as they begin to walk down the sidewalk.
"Nothing," Peter says far too quickly. He feels Wade's eyes burning into him. "How- how was your Christmas?"
"Great! We stayed up all night and watched all the Lord of the Rings movies."
That we is the bane of Peter's miserable existence. Wade has mentioned we many times before, just lightly announcing it in conversation with no context. Peter has no idea who the person in Wade's life is. It could be a person of any gender- Wade has mentioned being pansexual more than once- and that's about as much information as Peter has. The we has been a thing for as long as Peter has been having dinner with Deadpool, so at least six months.
"That Frodo guy reminds me of you," Wade announces.
"What? Why?"
"Well, he's fucking tiny for one thing-"
"- I'm not a hobbit , Wade, I'm nearly five eight." Peter straightens to his full height indignantly, glaring through his mask up at Deadpool, who is unfortunately at least six inches taller than he is.
"Whatever my little cutie says," Wade snorts. "Also, he's just a good guy, you know, a bit boring in his morality but he does the right thing no matter what."
Peter feels something hot and fluttery in his stomach at the praise.
"He's also incredibly pretty. Like, those big eyes and innocent little expression are just made to be corrupted."
The heat is spreading lower down, and Peter swallows hard, trying hard to force the word corrupted out of his mind. "You have no idea what I look like under here."
"A man can dream, Spidey."
"Well, I don't look like Elijah Wood." Peter shakes his head. They're nearly at the restaurant now, thank god. He needs something to do with his hands. "If I'm Frodo, who does that make you? Gandalf?"
"Is this an age joke again?" Wade retorts. "I thought we'd established that you're in your twenties."
They had, in fact, established this. It was the one piece of personal information Peter had told Wade, and he'd done it because he was desperate to know how old the mercenary was.
"Yes, and you're, like, fifty or whatever."
Deadpool laughs. "I'm in my thirties, baby boy. Just old enough to be your daddy."
The words make Peter burn, and he's incredibly glad that they've reached Carla's so he doesn't have to think of a reply that isn't just yes, Daddy.
Wade holds the door open for him and they slip inside, immediately embraced by the hot, fragrant air of the restaurant. Carla herself is a formidable woman with dark eyes that sparkle when she sees her new customers.
"Wade! Spidey! Merry Christmas, boys. Come and sit down."
She seats them in their usual booth, the one in the corner out of sight of the windows. Peter leans back comfortably, feeling warm for the first time in several days. Carla bustles off without taking an order; they always have the same thing.
"Tell me about these sweaters," Wade says suddenly.
"The ones I got for Christmas?" Peter watches as Wade nods. It's a strange question, but conversation with Wade is like this. "One is green cable knit, and the other is a black turtleneck."
"I bet you look beautiful in green."
"You don't know what I look like," Peter points out again.
"Just you, in the mask, green sweater and nothing else…" Wade says dreamily.
Peter kicks him lightly under the table, which is about the extent to which their physical contact ever goes.
Wade laughs and changes the subject. "Did you visit family?"
"Yes. How about you?"
"No, we just stayed in. It was a quiet one for us." Wade doesn't appear to realise how much his words sting Peter, because he leans back and continues. "I've been absent a lot this year. Definitely trying to make up for it over the holidays."
"Oh yeah? Does that mean you won't be at Tony's party?" Peter tries so hard to keep the question light.
They're interrupted by Carla bringing their usual order- a jug of water, pork tacos, chicken enchiladas and bean quesadillas. Peter's mouth waters as they thank her.
Wade pushes his mask up to his nose and shoves half a taco into his mouth before replying. Wade is embarrassed about his skin; he's made that clear for years, not just in the few months that he's been friends with Peter. Peter always tries hard not to stare because he knows it would upset Wade. The skin beneath the mask is oddly scarred and pale, but that isn't why Peter wants to stare. Deadpool has a fucking beautiful jawline and the most delicious lips Peter has ever seen. When he smiles during their dinners, Peter's heart stops. Wade has the most charming smile.
"No," Wade says finally, after swallowing. "I need to stay in this year."
The New Year's Eve party was a longstanding tradition. Peter attended for the past three years, and he definitely saw Deadpool there for two of those years. They were some of the only guests who arrived in their costumes.
If Peter was really honest with himself, he'd been harbouring a bit of a fantasy that this year, he would be able to go to Wade (now that they were friends) and ask him to step outside onto the balcony, away from the eyes of people who didn't know his identity. Wade would look down at him longingly and bring his enormous hands to Peter's face, slowly hooking his fingers beneath the mask and lifting it before kissing Peter at the stroke of midnight.
Pathetic, really.
He forces himself to push his mask up to his nose before reaching for a taco. It's delicious as always, hot and just the right amount of spicy. Wade watches him chew it. Peter knows that his own jawline is far less impressive than Wade's- even with his superpowers, he still has the sort of chin that would be infinitely improved by a beard, if only he could grow one.
"What about you?" Wade asks. "You going to the party?"
"Sure. I've not got anything else to do."
"Thought you maybe had a girlfriend or someone to spend the evening with."
Peter blushes. "I'm, er, not into women, Wade."
"Oh." Wade has gone very still. "Oh. Thank you for telling me that."
Peter shrugs. "It's no big deal. I don't have a boyfriend, either."
The atmosphere at the table has changed, although Peter would struggle to explain how. They never talk about anything personal, not really. Wade's own commitment to a secret identity is nonexistent, but he respects Peter's desire to keep his private life separate from Spider-Man.
Neither man speaks for a few moments, instead eating in silence, but Peter knows that Wade's inability to be quiet outweighs any social awkwardness he may now feel.
"How come you don't have a boyfriend? You've got the hottest ass I've ever-"
"Wade, shut up!"
"I'm just saying! Even if your face is somehow unappealing, your ass more than makes up for it."
"Wow."
“I thought you were pals with Daredevil. He’s a good-looking guy. Sinful ass, frankly.”
Oh, god. Wade is now apparently trying to set him up with other men. Peter feels his fantasy of Wade finally realising how he feels and making out with him at midnight vanishing.
“He’s straight, I think. Also, not my type.” Peter is trying so hard to keep the words light, to keep a smile on his face. He eats quesadilla with a furious focus.
“What’s your type?”
Peter chokes on a mouthful of food and coughs indelicately. “Um. Older guys. Bigger.”
“Like Thor,” Wade observes unhelpfully.
“No. Well, kind of, but less-”
“Or someone more funny. Someone with a great sense of humour, powerful daddy vibes and a mildly tragic backstory that only makes him more loveable.”
Peter blinks at Wade. Is he…? Could he possibly…?
“Tony Stark! Ah, I should have guessed.”
“No. Ew, no.” Peter shakes his head. “He’s like a dad to me- an actual dad, Wade.”
“Oh.” Wade scratches his neck thoughtfully. “Steve Rogers? I mean, I think he’s in love with the Winter Soldier, but with your twinkish good looks I’m sure you can-”
“I’m not a twink,” Peter says.
Wade completely ignores him. “I mean, he is gorgeous. Why wouldn’t you-?”
“Wade. For god’s sake, Steve isn’t my type either. Can we just drop it?”
“We know plenty of older, bigger guys. Surely one of them is your type.”
“You are.”
Peter wishes he could shove the words back inside the second they escape him in a frustrated huff. They hang in the air over the empty plates, tangible and heavy. He feels like his entire body has turned to stone, unable to move, barely able to breathe, as Wade stares at him.
Oh, god. Fuck. Peter’s fucked up his friendship with Wade. He’s made things impossibly awkward. Wade is part of a we already. He doesn’t want Peter.
“Spidey,” Wade says finally, his voice very small.
“I’m gonna go,” Peter says, the words escaping before he even realises he’s going to say them, which seems to be a theme of the past five minutes. He scrabbles out of the booth, pulling his mask down.
“Wait.” Wade is getting to his feet, too, but he’s never been as fast as Peter, and he’s not even standing up properly before Peter is out of the door and swinging off into the night.
Fuck.