The boxes are arguing again.
[If we do this, Spider-Man may very well web-shoot us to his ceiling like last time.] Yellow Box gently chided, an edge of exasperation seeping into Deadpool’s thoughts.
/Promises, promises/ leered White Box, /That’s practically foreplay and the big guy knows it./
“How’d you manage to turn that into something dirty?” Deadpool wondered admiringly, grinning in approval and anticipation.
/Well, I am you./
“Good point.” He muttered, feeling immensely proud of himself.
And why shouldn’t he be proud? He’d just scaled frickin' Spider-Man’s swanky new apartment building under ice cold conditions through battering gale-force winds without even dying once, may he add. Or being apprehended by some overprotective Avenger. He was like some kind of sexy, gun-toting Romeo on a mission. Or like that douchebag, loser vampire who sparkled and stared a lot, or something less lame and more totally fucking awesome. And horny. And really, if Spidey didn’t want him to barge into his bedroom at night, he could at least make it harder. Like shut the window. Okay, lock it. Alright, lock it better. Fine! Deadpool was breaking and entering. But he did it so well.
It’s not as if his intentions aren’t completely honourable. There’s this new monster-thingy on the news that Spidey definitely should check out. It’s 100% real and not at all based around some questionable found footage discovered online that sort of looks like someone’s taped a cat to the back of a big dog, then used forced perspective to make it look ginormous. Who’d be that desperate to get Spidey’s attention?!
/Is the big guy even fooling you dumbasses?/
[We are deeply ashamed…]
“Shush!” And I can literally feel myself growing a vagina by even thinking this, but why can’t you be more supportive of my dating life choices? He internal monologued whilst crawling in through Spidey’s window like a nimble, pervy ninja.
[This isn’t a date, this is stalking…]
/This is madness…/ White box set up.
“This is Sparta!” It wasn’t nearly as satisfying whispering it, but the sight of a sleeping Peter Parker more than made up for it.
[Oh we’re gonna be on the news] moaned yellow box with sad inevitability, whilst white box seemed to be muttering something about ‘ass, ass, grab the booty, ass…’
Deadpool clasped his hands together, cocked his head to one side and practically curtseyed at the adorable sight before him. Gently curled round on his side, a shirtless, bed-headed Spidey, all snuggled into his pillow, covers puddled messily around him, just waiting for a big, strong merc of a man to-
[No! Stick to the plan boss…The terrible, terrible plan.]
Deadpool let out a dreamy sigh, like a dazed schoolgirl. He rubbed his hands together in a slightly unnerving fashion, practically giddy with excitement. Should of worn my best dress over the top of lucky red…
“Fuck the plan,” He murmured, before padding over to the bed.
And quietly slipping under the covers.
/Ass, ass, grab that booty, ass…/
Hell, he was cold. Peter, and his bed wasn’t. It had been a long, chilly climb. Spidey was his reward, his Everest peak if you will. Now climb that mountain!
The merc formally known as Wade lovingly took off his weapons and placed them gently on the floor. The katanas, his beloved boys, the big guns. Waking up next to a red spandex-y leather wearing creep would be alarming enough but at least he wouldn’t be an armed red spandex-y leather wearing creep.
He slipped in slowly, so as not to wake the boy up. He slid closer to lie on his side next to Peter, not even touching, mirroring his position and relishing the heat of his body. Peter’s steady breath didn’t even hitch as Deadpool - Wade Wilson, Soppy Romantic Extraordinaire – shuffled ever closer.
Peter was just so damn cute. Wade felt like a preening teenager. Such a young face, unlined – so unlike what lurked behind his own mask. Dark hair stuck up like a halo, and his lashes were so long. Damn he’s so pretty I could cry. Peter wore a little frown of concentration like a grumpy kitten, even in his sleep, still looking responsible. Incredible his narrow shoulders never crumpled under the weight. Full lips a perfect pucker with every exhale that made Wade picture doing all kinds of filthy things with. And to.
He was beautiful in a geeky - and okay, hot - kind of way. And then there was the knowledge that although he looked like an edible love muffin, there was all that strength and raw power hidden within that wiry frame. Peter could pin Wade down no problem if he’d let him (and boy would Wade let him). Plus he was quite the little boffin, with his special made web shooters and running his own business and the like (got rich without killing people and all – imagine!).
He was just so intrinsically good. Good people were usually so boring to Wade, but not Peter. He was endlessly fascinating, hard to understand how he always uses those powers to do the right thing all the damn time. That strong core of morals and kindness, mixed with an occasionally filthy sense of humour. He just needed someone like Deadpool to bring out the naughty side of him more. He’d seen it in his smile. In the way Peter can’t resist sparring with him. It was irresistible. Wade was drawn to him, admired him, wanted him. They filled each other out (dirty puns intended, at least on Wade’s part). Peter resisted, but Wade was sure he could wear him down eventually. He’d grow on him, like a sexy fungus and they would at least be friends. Super best friends. Super best friends with benefits… Peter could help him get better, be better.
Wade wanted to touch, but that would be bad. And Wade knew he was bad, but not bad-bad, you know? He has his limits, and also didn’t fancy having to regrow his hands once Spidey woke up and got stabby with him. He’d be mad enough just seeing his new bunk mate…
The merc knew he had to wake him. Some freaky creature was rampaging down town. They could go investigate together, like Mulder and Scully with all the Unresolved Sexual Tension (yes, I’m on to of all your dirty little fanfic labels you unclean things you!). Of course, he’d rather stay snuggled up to said love muffin, but hey, you can’t have it all. So with a heavy heart, Wade ever so carefully placed a gloved hand on Peter’s shoulder, tapped him three times, slowly, gently.
“Baby boy…Time to wake up,” He cooed, sounding more relaxed than he actually felt, anticipating a foot to the face and not in a nice, wholesome foot fetish kind of way either. “Wake up little Spider. Work to do. Could be a new monster, could be a wacky pet store hybrid – who knows? But we’re excited!”
Admittedly, he didn’t speak very loudly, or try too hard to rouse his Spider pal. And thus was instantly rewarded by the unprecedented sleepy mumblings of Peter Parker as he nestled closer, wrapped his arms around Wade’s firm middle, and pressed flush against him.
“No…” Peter murmured, winding in closer.
“Uhh…” The hesitant noise slipped from Wade’s mouth unsolicited.
[As does everything else]
Luckily, or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, Peter didn’t wake up.
“Oh jumping Jesus on a jackrabbit,” Wade blurted out as the young, warm, nubile Spidey nestled closer. All that smooth bare skin and warmth and hot breath travelling down his chest. Pelvises making contact and YES! That is his penis thank you! Half mast at least, giving him the salute of champions.
“Fucksake!” Cursed Wade though it strangely sounded like approval as well. He let out a strangled groan as Peter’s hair tickled at the seam of his mask, his wonderful, warm soapy smell simply mouth-watering.
“If this is a test, I fear I may fail!” Wade cried dramatically, and really, what had he done to warrant such sweet, sweet torment? Okay, he climbed into a good friend’s bed uninvited, but still. He could see no way out of this that didn’t end with him being kicked in the face whilst suffering from a serious case of blue balls. Better to subtly enjoy it now and deeply repent later.
/There could be spanking. Punish us Master Parker rawr! /
Wade moaned, held his hands – and angled his crotch - awkwardly away from Peter as his conscience bravely, and valiantly battled against his roaring id, clawing his way towards rationality and reason, his natural enemies. The boxes gibbered away madly, practically lost in a blur of wantwantwant…
And Peter’s face was pressed into his neck and sighing…A breath that travelled all the way down his body, blood following, pooling south.
Oh shit, I am a bad man, a bad man…
“Spidey…might not wanna DO THAT!” He coughed out as Peter’s hips found his own, rocking subtly against him in an increasingly familiar rhythm (though not familiar with this particular fellow…at least not in reality anyway).
His hands ran down Wade’s back, gripping, pulling him closer as Wade tried – admittedly not very hard – to pull back a little. Peter snuggled in, sighing happily, the final attack on Wade’s senses. Who knew that holding Peter Parker could feel so natural? That he’d feel so right, even if the situation is so, so wrong.
“Sweetie, you do not want to be doing this…” He gasped out, allowing himself a small act of weakness as he buried his face in Peter’s mad hair. When else would he get the experience? He smelt like coconuts. Who knew?
He resolved to pull away, not wanting any part of a dub con fantasy. Well, maybe a little. Once Peter’s hands found his butt, of course, resolve left with a frantically packed suitcase labelled ‘See Ya!’ cackling manically all the while.
He gripped rather forcefully, Wade could argue in a court of law that he couldn’t possibly break free, Peter was lying on one of his arms. That barely-tempered hero strength being put to good use – finally! Wade would clap his hands with glee, if he weren’t so scared of waking his delightfully handsy friend. Peter pulled him closer, groping, kneading, hard enough to bruise as he lined their hips together, grinding sinuously in his sleep, moaning in Wade’s ear. He seemed intent on rutting against Wade like an animal in heat. It was..well, ridiculously hot, and took all of Wade's willpower not to shamelessly return the gesture.
“Aw fuck. Have all my dreams come true?” Panted Wade, allowing himself this, this one moment. He groaned into Peter’s hair, battled not to rock back, though it seemed he already had and twice as hard, saliva pooled in his mouth. “Is ScarJo gonna burst in with a tub of jelly too?” He talked to distract himself, to stay in control as he carefully shucked off one glove so he could place his hand on the smooth surface of Peter’s shifting hip. He brushed the side of his hand against it, barely tracing the curve of that glorious, unfairly tempting ass of his dreams.
“Okay…This is where we wake up.” He mumbled regretfully, wanting nothing more than to furiously grind back and maybe shove his hands down Peter’s pants. He could worship that butt. Write volumes of epic poetry in honour of its peachy, firm roundness, so perfect in spandex. If he could marry a butt…
He let his hand slip a little, grazing Peter’s rump, gripping his fingers into the soft roundness, smooth, perfect and full. Goddamn. Peter moaned approvingly, a sound that shot straight down to Wade's cock. Wade had to bite his lip to not lose control. Okay, so he didn’t have the willpower of a freaking saint. It was so damn hot, Peter was practically panting, making his neck damp through the suit. He could feel his wet, gorgeous mouth against his throat, his cock pressing insistently against his own. His head was spinning with bad decisions and all the nasty, wonderful things he could do to Peter if he’d just-
“Wake up!” It came out strangled, mournful and most importantly, loud.
/Holy fuck he is waking up and all!!!/
[Prepare to die. Again.]
First of all, the hips froze. Then the deadlock around his waist loosened. Then that sleepy, pliant body suddenly stiffened against him, as though a current had ran through it. Wade removed his hands, held them both away in surrender. Offered an uneasy smile from underneath the mask as that mop of a head moved back to peer up at him.
The doe eyes opened as reality sunk in.
“Eep. Hey Spidey.”
“W-what?” Peter’s voice was logged with sleep. “W-Wade? What? I mean, what were we, was I just doing?” Alas, there was the magical moment between sleep and wakefulness, where Peter’s muddled mind seemed completely at ease with just going along with the programme. Something incredibly /pathetically/ hopeful bloomed in Wade’s chest as those rich brown eyes searched his confusingly, scanning his mask, his face hovered closer, lips seemingly searching for his, his hips pressed forwards one last glorious time.
“What Petey? What?” Wade murmured softly, even pushing his mask up a little, just in case. He gently held Peter in his arms once more, and he made no move to get away, limbs still wrapped loosely around the mercenary, warm, sleepy and pliant.
Then reality hit. The confusion faded as awareness returned, the hips moved away.
“Wade…Please tell me what you think are doing.” The voice was frighteningly calm, and filled with a clarity that wasn’t there before. He withdrew, gradually, reminding Wade forcefully of a cobra drawing back to strike. Ah nuts.
“Uh…Snuggling?” Wade answered hopefully.
“SON OF A BITCH!”
Peter threw the covers off before pushing Wade off the bed as hard as he could.
“Oof!” Wade grunted, the wind knocked out of him, sprawling awkwardly on the floor. “You know, I wouldn’t throw stones babe. You were the one who got all gropey!”
Peter crouched on all fours on the bed, like a furious tiger. “Did you touch my ass?”
“Alright guilty as charged - OW!” That alarm clock to the head really hurt.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Peter shouted, wrapping the sheet once more around his underwear flaunting self, as if to preserve his dignity.
“So you had a night time stiffy - big whoop! Even heroes need love too, little Peter is no exception!”
“WADE! WHAT THE FUCK?” He managed to dodge the lamp. And the boot, hopping round the room, chuckling gleefully.
“Okay! Sorry, I’m sorry! Big Peter,” he winked, forgetting the second boot as it hit home and definitely left him with a concussion.
[We had that coming.]
“I am sorry." He graciously added, still smiling under the mask though so it didn't count.
/No you're not./
"No you're not." Growled Peter.
"I'm really not," Wade conceded cheerfully. "To be fair, I only got in your bed to wake you up gently and considerately.” He protested mournfully, unconvincingly.
“Yeah I’m so sure. You’re a real gentlemen you piece of-“ Peter may have muttered some swears then but Wade couldn’t quite hear as he was dying from the adorableness of it all. Peter was bright red to his roots, still hiding his crotch. Wade would offer to help him out if he wasn’t certain such a proposition would end in his own cold blooded murder. And he wouldn’t stay dead for long. Peter would get to kill him again.
“Anyway, when you’re done stuffing your dignity and sexuality back into the closet, we’ve got work to do, oh precious Ennis to my Jack.”
If Peter got the Brokeback reference he sure didn’t let it show.
“You’re no fun,” Pouted Deadpool, shoving his mask back down fully, before folding his arms and leaning against the window for support, far away from the fuming young man who was currently trying to fry his brain with a look alone.
“Think you’ve had too much fun.” Muttered Peter crossly, "You can't just!" He burst out, sighing frustratedly before gathering his Spider-Man suit off the floor, so it wasn’t all bad. And he still had the sheet clutched around his hips.
A mischievous smile spread beneath Wade’s mask as Peter sadly sloped off towards the bathroom, shoulders sagging, ass perfect as ever. Peter may be swimming deep in de-river-nial, but Deadpool, the one and only Wade Winston Wilson, gave Spider-Man a stiffy. Aint no one taking that achievement away from him anytime soon.
And there was always the rest of the night to Mulder and Scully it out of course…