"Let's have some fun, this beat is sick," Wade sings breathlessly while Peter bounces above him.
"New material," Peter chastises, "seriously, get some."
"Oh baby," Wade groans, his palms squeezing Peter’s, ass spreading his cheeks wider while Peter rides his cock, "I'm pretty sure I am," thrust, "getting some," thrust, “right fucking now.”
"Predictable," Peter sighs, fucking back down on his dick, letting Wade's huge, rough hands guide him. "You're lettin' me down here, bud. I really thought your wit was on point. This has been subpar at best."
Wade grunts and flips them over so quickly Peter’s head spins like it doesn't even when he's webbing through the air. "Oh yeah, baby boy? How bout this? Is this dick subpar? Or am I giving you something you can feel?"
"Oh shit, don't stop, En Vogue, right there," Peter gasps when Wade hits his prostate dead on. He only gets the reference because Wade has an essential mix of sexy/angsty/cheesy 90s songs that he likes to play on repeat (when he isn't trying to educate Peter on songs from classic 80s films).
"That's right, honey, gonna let you know my love is real." Wade pants the words into Peter's neck and his heart flips stupidly. He’s well aware Wade is still quoting lyrics, but that word on his lips, directed at Peter... it's -- a lot.
Peter shakes away the sudden fuzziness at the edges of his brain and wraps his legs higher around Wade's waist, urging him to go faster, harder. Wade's mouth trails up to his throat, lips hot and wet and Peter's so fucking close, he -- he just needs --
His phone goes off.
It's the Super Secret ringtone.
On the Super Secret Phone.
Which can only mean one thing.
"Motherfucker!" Wade shouts.
"Ditto," Peter sighs and drops his legs.
"I know it's been a while since I unalived anyone, sweetums, but can I just have this one time pass? It doesn’t need to be an essential. No one will really miss Link, right? Besides, we can't have another sarcastic asshole running around, this niche is gettin’ crowd-ed, if you get my drift."
"No unaliving, especially the A-team,” Peter says, using his Spider-Man voice. Mostly all that does is turn Wade on, to be honest, but this is what he has to work with. “Now let's get moving, Lady Gaga, so I can get back on that disco stick and we can continue playing this love game."
Peter winces then, mostly at his own words rather than the act of Wade pulling out.
Nice going, Parker, stop thinking about the L word..
"Fiiiine," Wade whines, heaving himself up and heading for his suit. "I'll just unalive them in my minds."
"Thanks, babe, you're a real trooper," Peter grins, stretching out his legs and willing the remains of his erection that was mostly killed by the interruption to go down.
Since no one else will be right now.
Sometimes, being an Avenger sucked. Or didn't.
Damn, his inner monologue was on a roll. Wade would appreciate it. Maybe Peter will tell him on the way.
Wade's been with the Avengers for four months. The two of them have been together for five.
Their relationship consists of taco-based dates, a ton of sex, and, well, Avenging.
Both Peter and the team lost some street cred after Wade joined them, but whatever. Peter's more preoccupied with the fact that a) he told Wade his last name about a two months ago b) they spend a lot of time at Peter's place now, too c) he kind of wants to introduce him to Aunt May, and d) he's pretty damn sure he's in love. It's... a lot to take in. Also part of him feels like he's betraying Gwen, even though he knows that's stupid.
Peter knows Wade had someone too, that the nightmares he has some nights aren't just about the torture. He’s well aware of rampage of carnage on that bridge a few years back. But Wade hasn't offered anything up, and Peter's not about to pry.
Point is, they're both pretty fucked up, but it works for them, and more importantly they work, and Peter's not about to ruin it by bringing feelings into it all. At least verbally.
Wade is definitely a tactile person. He loves to cuddle, even likes being the little spoon, and of course there's his never-ending penchant for pet names, but beyond that they don't do things like buy gifts for each other. (For Peter’s 20th birthday a few months ago Wade put up a banner that said “Congrats on Surviving Those Angst-Ridden Teenage Years” and stood under it wearing a French maid’s outfit and lace thigh highs. Peter discovered a kink he never knew he had that night.).
They don't even use the word boyfriend, even though Peter knows that's what they are and uses it in his head all the time. Maybe Wade does, too. It’s a nice thought.
No one else knows about them, though, aside from a group of superheroes who would rather pretend they didn’t. Peter thinks about telling Aunt May all the time, especially when she asks him what he’s smiling about when he’s looking at his phone.
Fighting baddies with Wade always makes Peter think of those first few times together and how they'd end up making out on rooftops, high off adrenaline and giddiness after having far too much fun with bad puns and one-liners.
Tonight it's easy for Peter to forget that they aren't alone, especially with the earlier interruption and his brain still in ‘want to get laid’ mode. So after they've detained some of Loki's army (mostly unconscious thanks to Wade) in mess of webs (obviously thanks to Peter) he finds himself blindly tugging Wade forward by those stupid (yet surprisingly efficient) pouches on his suit and walking him backwards against a chimney.
"Why Bert, I'll have you know I'm a lady," Wade gasps and Peter isn't about to stop rolling up his own mask and then Wade's to bother asking. He’d rather put his mouth to something more useful than figuring out a pop culture reference.
Wade gasps into his mouth as Peter bites down on his lip and then his legs are around Peter's waist. Ever since Wade realized Peter could use that super strength during sex it's been a huge turn on for him. For them both, actually. Peter loves the height, weight and muscle that Wade has on him (god, he loves it multiple times a night, thank you very much) but there's something about big, bulky Wade Wilson hanging onto him for dear life while Peter fucks him into the wall (to the soundtrack of loud protests from his neighbors) that really revs his engine.
"Oooh, Spider-Man, fill me with your webbing," Wade moans, voice pitched high and breathy like a porn star. Peter snorts when he laughs, burying his face in the exposed skin of Wade's neck. He's never laughed so much during sex in his whole life. Sometimes he almost loves those moments of helpless, uncontrollable giggling more than the, well, web shooting if you will.
"Don't quit your day job, Jenna Jameson."
"Ooh kickin it old school, Spidey, I like it," Wade says appreciatively before grabbing Peter with both hands and kissing him deep and hard, taking this party from the pregame to the main event in two seconds flat. Peter is so good to go it's insane, hard and aching against Wade's thigh as he presses him more firmly against the chimney.
His spidey-senses don't tingle because dammit it, they wouldn't, and it isn't until he hears the hard clank of metal touching down on the roof that he freezes and remembers that, right, they're working with a team of superheroes.
"Oh, come on!" Wade protests in his best Gob Bluth voice that he perfected during their Arrested Development binge watch on Netflix. Peter can't even properly appreciate it as he untangles himself from Wade and faces Tony, blush staining his cheeks pink. "Twice in a day, not cool, man. Not. Cool."
Tony's helmet flips down and he's already shaking his head. "Seriously, Parker? Now?"
Peter opens his mouth but Wade beats him to it. Peter really isn't used to someone being quicker on the draw than he is.
(No, not that way, jeez. You'd think he inherited one of Wade's boxes by osmosis.)
"Hey! Ixnay on the Arkerpay, Tarksay! There are baddies right over there! Are you new at this?"
Peter can't help the dumb thrill that shoots through him at Wade wanting to protect his identity. Tony is not as appreciative, glaring past Peter and at Wade. "I remember fondly when you were one of those 'baddies'. I remember when I didn't have to deal with teenage-like makeouts or arriving to rendezvous points with obvious boners."
"Hey now," Peter protests quietly because there was only one boner in question, thank you very much.
"Aww, poor Tin Man, can't hang with the times, longs for the good ‘ol days," Wade mocks. His mask is back in place and Peter can tell he's pouting underneath it. "Hate to tell ya, Metal Head, but this is the age of the anti-hero. It's all the rage. The Deadpool POPs and plushies are huge sellers! Papa's got a brand new bag and he's red and black and likes to fuck this webbed stud muffin here on every sur--"
"Enough! What did I tell you was the number one rule when you joined?"
Wade cocks his head while Peter facepalms. "Uh, don't talk about A-team Fight Club?
"The other one."
"Do not talk about A-team Fight Club?"
"Alright, stop!" Peter interrupts, rubbing at his temple. "No sexy times where you can see them, sorry Tony, won't happen again blah blah blah. Can we get out of here now?"
Tony narrows his eyes between them before heaving a sigh. "Cap's bringing the plane around now, we'll leave these lovely folks in front of the police station."
Peter nods. "Loki take off again?"
"Always. Thor's MIA already. But I'd honestly take that familial drama over --" he trails off, waving between them.
Peter rolls his eyes, just as Wade pushes off the chimney and drapes his arm around him. "Don't be jelly, Tin Man. It's so unbecoming."
Tony groans. "Argh, I'll meet you all back at the tower for debriefing, I can't take any more of this."
The helmet flips down and he takes off with a loud whirring sound.
"Was it something I said?" Wade quips after a beat, comedic timing impeccable as always.
"You're incredible," Peter sighs, rubbing his temple again.
"Mm, that’s what you said last night. Actually, that's what you said two hours ago. Gonna go to my head if you don't watch out, baby boy."
Peter sighs again but this time he's biting back a helpless smile. Sometimes he tries so damn hard to stay mad at Wade, but it tends to only last a max of a few hours, and one time about a day.
(That day sucked.)
Besides, this was basically Peter's fault for instigating it and then letting Wade climb him like a tree.
The sound of a plane whizzes above and Peter quickly reaches down, squeezes Wade's hand. "Let's blow this joint."
"And by joint do you mean my --"
"Oh my god.”
They don't sleep at one another’s places all the time, but they've definitely gotten into the habit of spending around four nights a week with together, and most weekends. Okay, so maybe it’s getting closer to ‘all the time’, whatever. . Wade's place is closer to campus than Peter’s hovel of apartment in Brooklyn (he’d moved when he got paranoid that people would link Peter Parker of Queens with Spider-Man; at least this way he isn't in the same borough as Aunt May) so he finds himself over there a lot more since the semester started. Peter’s come to savor the wonders of morning sex and the tremendous improvement it has on his days’ outlook.
Sometimes it all feels stupidly domestic and Peter will wake up with a panic attack in the middle of the night just from feeling Wade's strong arms cuddling the hell out of him, his body so damn warm.
He has to get up, sit on the fire escape, relearn his breathing. It hits him in moments like that how -- nice this is. His heart beats rapidly in his chest as he thinks about Wade and how he's got this gentleness behind the rough exterior. And how much of it he shows to Peter, how much of it is just for him.
He feels safe in the arms of Wade Winston Wilson in ways he never has before, and it's perhaps the most terrifying thing in his life, right up there with the damn ‘L’ word that he finds himself thinking about non-stop nowadays.
They go out on things that Peter supposes are dates. He insists on paying his own way; Wade only paid for him the first time they went out together after seeing one another's faces.
("I'm a gentleman and you're a starving college student."
“I'm not a starv --"
"Shh," Wade had said, cutting him off with a finger to his lips, "roleplay."
Peter had laughed so hard he couldn't possibly protest.)
One Saturday afternoon they’re coming back from one of those supposed dates: ice skating in Central Park because Wade wanted to show off his A+ moves.
(“Just wait till I get you one on one, baby boy. Get your mind out of the gutter, I’m talkin’ bout hockey. The sport that warms my maple syrup filled Canadian soul. Don’t let me tell you what I did with a zamboni once, honey, you wouldn’t approve.”)
It was kind of stupidly romantic. They'd held hands and drank hot chocolate and Wade insisted on doing the Dirty Dancing lift, because why not. So Peter’s feeling a bit giddy, if kind of cold, and he melts into the touch when Wade comes up behind him as he opens the door to his place, pressing back against his chest and into that warm, comfy looking hoodie. Peter wants to burrow inside him and never come out.
“Mmm, how about some afternoon delight?” Wade whispers, nipping at Peter’s neck and making him shiver.
Peter’s head tips back against Wade’s Chest. “Sky rockets in flight?”
“Oh, you know it, baby,” Wade breathes out, rocking his hips against Peter's ass, letting him feel his outline of his dick. “Locked and loaded and ready to launch.”
“Not so fast, Tiger.”
“Ah-ah-ah, I think you're stealing my lines now.”
“Maybe you should punish me for it,” Peter replies in what he hopes is his sexy and not awkward voice.
It must be, because less than a minute later he's ass up on his bed with Wade’s tongue fucking him into oblivion while he alternates between slapping and kneading Peter’s cheeks with his palms.
“Oh god, oh god, please,” Peter pants into the sheets. He's sweating, his hair is sticking to his forehead and he's still got most of his clothes on. His dick is aching and his body feels like it's on fire from the inside running out.
Peter presses back into him, riding Wade’s tongue. He wants to flip their positions, wants to sit on Wade’s face until he's sloppy and wet and his jaw is aching. Peter's never felt more filthy in his life and he loves it, craves it. He shudders when Wade slaps him again. “More, just -- fuck, Wade, I love this, I lo --”
There's a knock on the door that startles Peter so much he jerks backward before falling off the bed. He distantly hears Wade's “Ow my nose!” but tunes it out in favor of another voice.
“Peter? Are you in there?”
“Oh damn, oh shit,” Peter chants, doing up his pants and trying to fix the mess that is his hair. “Coming, Aunt May!”
“Not any more you're not,” comes a muttered reply to his left and shit, Wade.
Peter looks at him; he's still rubbing at his nose, his face is red, his eyes dark with arousal.
“I'm sorry,” Peter mouths, before whispering. “Fire escape, can you go out it? I -- fuck, that's shitty, right? I --”
Wade waves him off. “Don't worry your pretty head, gorgeous, I wouldn't want to show any of this off either,” he replies, gesturing to his face. And that's -- no, God, no.
Wade's turned toward the window and Peter grabs at the arm of his hoodie before he can get far. “Stay out there, okay? I don’t… want you to leave. I won't be long.”
Wade hesitates. There's a vulnerability about him that Peter hasn't seen since that first marathon afternoon of sex.
“Whatever floats your boat, bubble butt.”
Peter forgot that May was coming over for lunch. He can't believe he actually forgot.
“You seem preoccupied today, dear. And you were so flushed before, are you sure you're not getting a fever?”
“I'm fine, Aunt May,” Peter says, flushing more, digging into his carton of lo mein. He thinks about Wade, outside, thinks about how fucking cowardly that is.
“I -- there's something I need to tell you,” Peter says. He always thought that when he started that particular sentence to her, it would end with ‘I'm Spider-Man’ and not, “I'm seeing someone. A man.”
May’s known about his bisexuality since he was 16; it had been easier to come out as that than as a kid with superpowers courtesy of a radioactive spider.
“Oh, Peter,” she says, smiling softly and reaching for his hand. “I had a feeling there was someone.”
Peter’s cheeks feel like they're on fire and he hopes to god Wade hasn't cracked open a window and is hearing all this.
“Tell me about him.”
“Oh, um. He's -- well, he's older. Uh. He -- he's kind of shy about his looks, because of a uh, medical condition. That's kind of why I haven't… you know. His name is Wade.”
“I see. Well, I'd love to meet him, but I'll understand if that's not possible right now.”
Peter has no idea what is and isn't possible here. He just knows he doesn't want Wade thinking he's embarrassed of him. He's not. He's just really, really tried to keep this part of his life separate from the civilians he cares about. But maybe --
“That being said, you should invite him over for Thanksgiving, dear."
"He's Canadian," Peter replies automatically.
She laughs. "Well, I'm sure he wouldn't mind in that regard.... after all, he's been living in the states quite some time, I take it."
-- maybe it’s time to take another step forward.
"Yeah,” Peter concedes. “I can't make any promises, because of the other stuff, but I'll... you know. Ask."
“Good. I’m happy for you, sweetie. You’ve been so lonely after --”
She cuts herself off and Peter nods, rapidly, looking down at his food. They haven’t really talked about it in a while, but he knows she’s been concerned about him. It’s times like this that make him feel even worse and he finds himself wanting to tell her everything. He thinks about Gwen and what she would’ve thought about someone like Wade. She probably would’ve given him the courtesy of redemption, just like Peter did.
Maybe Peter can’t tell May everything, but he feels lighter having told her this. Like it makes it all the more real, like he's finally revealing to her important pieces about himself.
Now he’s gotta tell Wade.
In more ways than one, he thinks, and then shakes the thought away.
“Just because your Aunt nearly caught us in flagrante delicto doesn't mean you gotta go this far, pumpkin,” Wade says. They're lying in Peter's bed, having finished what they started earlier. Peter’s boneless and sleepy and really doesn't feel like fighting.
“That isn't why, it's just the push I needed,” he says around a yawn, meaning every word.
“Uh-huh. I'm just saying I'm not sure a nice older lady like that needs to be subjected to my one-man freak show. Have a heart, Petey! Or at least think about hers.”
“Shut up.” He looks up at Wade, can see the insecurities he's trying so damn hard to mask through the humor. “Look, I'm not gonna force you. But -- it'd be nice. And you should know by now I'm not one to do things just because I feel I have to.”
Wade doesn't say anything for a while. “Alright, but if she looks anything like Bea Arthur, I can't promise I won't toss you to the curb.
“Noted,” Peter says, biting his lips on a grin.
Wade leans down, fitting their mouths together in a slow, wet kiss that makes Peter’s heart stop and restart.
By the time he pulls away Peter’s got his arms locked around his neck and he's breathing hard.
"She doesn't even know I'm Spider-Man,” he blurts out, something unlocking in his chest and spilling open. “I just figured... it's the best way to keep her safe, you know? But at the same time that means she has no idea that I bla --" he cuts himself off, blinking rapidly.
Fuck. He’s really not ready for this conversation right now.
"That you what?" Wade asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"Nothing." Peter shakes his head. “Just -- baggage."
Wade pulls back a little, tilting peters chin up. "Hey now, Roger. I'm lookin’ for baggage that goes with mine."
Sometimes Peter mentally catalogues shit to look up on Google later because he doesn't always wanna go "what?" to Wade's random one liners. Peter has always considered himself well versed in pop culture, but Wade throws out things from every decade imaginable and a lot of times it's just hard to keep up.
"I'm tired," is what Peter says this time, an obvious escape route as he turns in Wade's arms, letting him spoon him. While he drifts off he thinks he hears Wade quietly singing, "I should tell you, I should to tell you," but he can't be sure.
Every year (or at least every year that Peter’s been around to know for sure) Tony throws a holiday party in mid-December at the Avengers tower. It seems like a foolish thing to do, begging for trouble, but that's Tony. Dinner with Aunt May didn't end in terrified screams or (many) inappropriate comments, so Wade must feel confident enough to attend another social event with Peter. Either that or he's saving up all his bad behavior for tonight. So they go as a couple.
They're only there a few minutes before Wade is prancing around and annoying essentially everyone. Peter’s still thrilled that the Aunt May thing went so well that he doesn't even care.
(“He seems kind of like a handful, honey, but then again you always did love a challenge,” she’d said. “I think you'll be good for him.”
Peter didn't tell her that he's kind of a handful himself. That he thinks he needs everything Wade gives him, makes him feel, even more than Wade might. Probably because he's not so secure that he actually believes her.)
Some members of the X-Men have shown up, along with the Fantastic Four. Peter's talking with Johnny while Wade's off by the windows catching up with Colossus and Negasonic Teenage Warhead. It doesn't look like a pleasant reunion, if his body language is anything to go on. Wade's in full gear, because he doesn't really feel comfortable in anything else, not around superheroes anyway. Or more accurately: superheroes that aren't named Spider-Man. Peter’s in his suit too, but that's because he's still got a secret identity to protect from some people in this room. Apart from Wade, no one else is in a costume unless they're like Peter and kind of have to be.
Peter excuses himself when he sees Wade break away and walk (stalk) out onto the balcony. He finds him leaning over the edge, staring down at the grounds of the courtyard.
"I've always wanted to drop a water balloon from this height," Peter says conversely.
"Damn, what a rebel," Wade replies but it's not as lighthearted as he’s clearing trying for.
Peter walks over and mirrors his stance, bumping their shoulders together.
"What up, Daddy-O?"
"Now there's a kink we haven't explored yet."
Peter snorts and waits him out.
"Eh, the big man's still pissed I decided to join Nsync instead of Backstreet. I told him this team had my Britney, so."
Peter rolls his eyes, biting back a smile even though Wade can't see it right now. "I thought you were a JC guy."
"Keep up, sugar butt. I said I'd bang JC. Obviously I'm Justin, you're Britney, Tin Man’s Chris with the weird, terrible facial hair. Link is obviously Lance, the Green Machine is Fatone, I suppose. The Captain is JC, but don't be jelly, doll. That leaves out Girl Spider-Babe and the literal God, but them's the breaks. The point is, we're clearly the power couple of this bunch."
Peter doesn't even try to tamp down the smile this time. "I suppose I could live with that," he says happily, looking out at the night, thinking about how much he liked the way the word ‘couple’ sounded on Wade’s lips.
Wade falls silent for a few moments. Peter tries not to worry about it, but it's not easy. He's pretty damn sure that conversation was about more than Deadpool not joining the X-Men, but he's also not sure how to ask more than he already did.
He’s still trying to figure out a way when Wade slides up behind him, his gloved hands smoothing over Peter’s hips.
“Remind me why we haven’t fooled around in this tower yet?”
Peter’s eyes fall shut and he leans back instinctively into Wade’s hold, shivering at the feel of Wade’s mouth on his neck through his mask. “Because cameras and rule one of A-team Fight Club?”
“That’s such a boring answer, Spidey,” Wade sighs, his hand sneaking down to palm Peter’s dick through the suit. “What about emotionally scarring Tin-Tin and the thrill of Jarvis’ non-human eyes watching.”
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for an exhibitionist,” Peter gasps as Wade strokes him, and then freezes when he realizes what he said.
Wade’s hand barely falters, but Peter still notices when it happens.
“When we’ve got a hot, young college boy to show off, how could we not be.”
Fuck. The voices must acting up.
Nice going, Parker, you numbskull.
“Wade --” Peter starts, and is cut off by one hand palming his ass while the other tries it's hardest to get Peter’s dick as a full-on participant.
“I wanna make you come, and I want everyone here to know I'm the one that does that.” Wade's voice is fierce, possessive. Peter shudders and tilts his head back.
“Yes,” Peter gasps, helpless against it, wanting it more than he should. Wade makes him reckless at times, and he welcomes it with open arms. The fact of the matter is, he hasn't felt this alive in years. He wasn't sure he ever would again.
Wade works him roughly through the spandex, the feel of his leather-clad hands intoxicating.
Peter’s sounds are broken, cut-off whimpers while Wade lets go a string of filth against his ear.
“Oh, shit, sorry!” comes from behind them.
It's Natasha. Peter didn't even hear her, Jesus Christ.
“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Wade says, his hand falling away. He doesn't even sound angry, almost impressed by this point.
Peter gets it. Between the two of them, they don’t even know that many people. So the fact that this ‘interrupted while trying to bang’ thing keeps happening either says a lot about their mutual luck or is indicative of just how often they have sex.
Well, it’s a lot. Between Peter being a 20-year-old male with a healthy sex drive and Wade’s healing factor extending to a short refractory period, they definitely ‘get their freak on’, as Wade loves say, a hell of a lot.
Sometimes he’ll catch Wade looking at him, like he still can’t believe Peter wants to touch him. Sometimes he feels Wade’s eyes on him when he thinks Peter’s asleep, or the uneven pads of his fingertips tracing feathery light over his cheekbones. Peter shivers at the thought and pulls away, clearing his throat.
He hears Natasha leave through the doors and turns in Wade’s arms.
“If we leave now you can model that dress I veto’ed tonight for me.”
Wade cocks his head. Peter wishes he could see his eyes. “I dunno if you deserve it. I would've killed in that shade of green. Keira Knightley, eat your heart out.”
Peter leans in close, letting their lips brush through their masks. “What if I modeled it for you. After all, I'm Britney, bitch.”
“Fuck, you've got me there.”
Peter smiles and pulls him through the doors, not letting go of Wade’s hand despite the eyes on them. He think he feels Colossus and Negasonic’s gazes most of all, and can't shake that earlier image of Wade looking almost vulnerable around them.
No one knows that Spider-Man is dating Deadpool, aside from that room of superheroes (and even a few of them were blissfully ignorant). And definitely no one knows that Peter Parker is dating Deadpool, aside from a select few individuals.
Every time they go out together in public (when not patrolling) it's always in civvies, so they're definitely seen together (okay, so Wade’s hoodie is usually up in place of the mask, but still). Yet the amount of people that matter who know that Peter Parker is dating Wade Wilson doesn't even fill up one set of fingers. It consists of Aunt May, Blind Al (Wade introduced them shortly after Thanksgiving and Peter has been trying not to think about what a big deal it probably was) and Weasel, who he's meeting for this first time tonight.
Wade’s told him about Peter, apparently. He hasn't told him he's Spider-Man.
“He might be under the impression I picked you up in a strip joint.”
“Should I be flattered or offended?” Peter asks as they enter through a large, heavy door, Wade holding it open for him despite the fact that Peter is arguably stronger than him. He’d been sufficiently briefed about Sister Margaret’s, and Wade promised it’d be a safe space. He rarely hangs out there any more himself, except to see Weasel. Even now they're going on a random Tuesday night (after tacos, of course) when it shouldn't be too crowded.
“Flattered,” Wade responds after a brief pause. His voice sounds far too heavy for what Peter thought had been a light conversation.
It's a few days before Christmas (Peter got Wade a Spider-Man plushie, despite the fact that they don’t seem to ‘do’ gifts) and the place has one string of lights around the bar to commemorate that fact. Otherwise, it’s dark and shady-looking.
“Damn, man, rob the cradle any more?” a man behind the bar shouts as they walk up.
“Weasel, I presume,” Peter says, laughing and shaking his hand.
“I promise he's legal in all the ways that matter most,” Wade says solemnly.
“Except drinking,” Weasel guesses correctly. Either that or Wade told him.
“When's that ever stopped you, man,” Wade says, punching Weasel in the shoulder.
Wade seems different around him, like he doesn't have to… posture as much. It makes Peter kind of happy and irritated all at once.
“So this is the joint, baby cakes,” Wade says, throwing an arm around him. He's got his hoodie up like usual and knocks back a shot after sliding one over to Peter. “The dead pool is up there,” Wade says, nodding at a large board above them.
“The deadpool's right here,” Peter whispers, leaning in close and nipping at Wade’s earlobe. He knows it's an obvious display of possession and maybe even a little uncharacteristic, but Peter feels he needs it right now. He’s well aware Weasel poses no threat, but he also knows Wade more than Peter does and -- well, Peter wants to know everything about him and he doesn't want to have to ask the Avengers for a fucking file in order to do so.
“You know it, baby,” Wade whispers back. He looks down at his glass, smiling a little while Peter looks up and sees the name Wade Wilson is still on the board. Something breaks a little in his chest.
The mood thankfully gets lighter after that. Weasel is hilarious and tells a bunch of stories that leave Peter rolling. Wade keeps his arm around him the whole time and Peter shivers a little when he can feel Wade's eyes on him as he and Weasel talk. The few times Peter looks over at Wade he sees there's no arousal in them, but something else. Something that makes Peter’s mouth go dry and his stomach flip like those nights he lays awake while Wade looks at him when he thinks he's sleeping.
Peter excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and also to get some air into his lungs. When he comes back he hears Weasel saying, “-- tulations man, haven’t seen you this happy since --”
“Don’t,” Wade says, voice short and deadly.
Peter never really hears him like that, not even when they're fighting baddies.
He watches Weasel open his mouth and then close it again as he catches sight of Peter.
“Heya Peter Piper, you wanna another beer?”
“Sure,” Peter shrugs, reclaiming his seat next to Wade. Wade doesn't acknowledge him. His eyes are far away, seemingly caught on something behind the bar. Peter tries to follow his gaze, but can't see anything of interest.
“Bet I could whip your ass in pool,” Peter says, just to say something.
Wade Wilson doesn't talk in one word sentence. This was, like, next-level bad.
He shoots a glance at Weasel, who throws him a discreet shrug.
“I dunno, bet I could hustle you pretty good, Wilson,” Peter says slyly, knocking their shoulders together.
Wade snorts, but doesn’t say anything. There were so many things he could’ve said to that.
This is basically DEFCON 2, Parker.
Peter tries a few more pathetic attempts at conversation that fall short, and then he’s just sitting there in awkward silence, trying to figure out where the hell all this went wrong.
Wade’s got one hand in his pocket, seemingly fiddling with something. Weasel had walked off to help someone else. When he returns, Wade removes his hand abruptly from his pocket, slapping it down on the wood.
“I need a cigarette,” he announces, grabbing Weasel's pack from where it’s laying on the bar.
“You don’t smoke,” Peter calls after him, flatly.
Wade spins around, raising his arms up. “Yeah? Well, what am I gonna get? Cancer?”
Peter stares after him blankly, lips parted, as he spins back around and stalks out the back door.
Weasel gives him a sympathetic look when he faces the bar again. “To the honeymoon stage never ending, huh? And how that’s complete B.S.”
Peter clinks glasses with him. It hits him that he can’t even legally be in this place for a few months. It makes him feel stupidly young and out of his element, suddenly.
“Yeah, right,” he mutters.
His body is coiled with tension and unease. They don’t have these types of fights. They fight over what to watch on Netflix and how much Wade can hurt a baddie and why killing people is Wrong with a capital ‘W.’ This, though, makes Peter feel out of sorts, like he can’t quite gain his footing, and he doesn’t even know why.
“Eff this,” he mutters, downing his drink and heading toward the back way where Wade disappeared.
“He’s certainly not with you for your mouth!” Weasel calls after him, cheerfully. “Wait, that came out bad...”
He finds Wade leaning against the wall of the building, one leg bent as he smokes.
“What up, Chicken Butt,” Peter says.
“What are you doing here?”
Oookay, then. This is gonna take work.
“Um, hi,” Peter waves goofily, hoping it’ll get a smile. “I’m Peter Parker, you invited me out this evening?”
Wade lets out a loud, annoyed groan. “Here, with me, in the grand scheme of things and all that jazz. Look, baby boy, we’re pretty great sexual chemists and I love burning my bunson with you, but a bright, young beautiful thing like you’s gotta be interested in something more than a little sexual healing.”
Peter’s speechless for a moment. “Is that all you think this is for me?”
Wade shrugs, before blowing out slow rings of smoke. “I mean, I know I’m quite the catch. Not everyone can make men, women, and children recoil at the mere sight of them. And let's not even get into the body count numbers! You’re with the most famous Merc around, baby.”
Peter moves to stand in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting out his chin. “Is there a reason we’re having this conversation again? Don’t you think it’s, oh, six months too late? Been there, done that?”
Wade laughs and it sounds ugly. “Not my fault you’ve forgotten who’s warming your sheets at night, Spidey. Figured you could use a refresher course.”
“Bullshit. You haven’t killed anyone for a while, even before we started up, and you know I don’t care about the scars --”
“Maybe I care!” Wade yells, startling him.
Peter snaps his mouth shut and regroups. “Okay,” he says calmly. “Okay, and you know what? That’s fine. You can care, hell, you should. What happened to you was messed up. But I knew what I was getting into the second I touched down on that damn rooftop.”
Wade shakes his head, but Peter continues. “I see a lot of myself in you. Don’t even think about it,” Peter warns when he sees Wade’s mouth start to open, the start of the obvious dirty joke right on the tip of his tongue. His jaw snaps comically shut. “And, well, I see a lot of you in me, too,” Peter continues before holding up a finger in warning. “Still a no.”
“You’re killing me here, baby,” Wade groans.
Peter smirks before sobering. He’s really trying to deliver a heartfelt speech here. This is that scene in the romantic comedy. It’s even starting to rain and everything (of course it is).
"Look, I know humor is a big part of your deal, okay? A defining characteristic, if you will. It's one of mine, too. And I know that it doesn't make us any less real, but I also know that sometimes it masks that realness with something else and --" Peter cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. "My point is, Wade, you can be real with me, okay? I'm not gonna bolt. I’m not just here for sex, as admittedly great that sex is. You think I couldn’t get that anywhere? I hadn’t even slept with anyone in a year before we did it. Because I didn’t want to."
Tell him everything, he thinks. Now, do it now. But he can’t make his mouth continue yet. He needs to hear something back, first, before he exposes himself completely, strips away the remaining shields.
Wade's silent for so long that Peter’s sure he's fucked up. He's still smoking, head turned to the side and staring out toward the street while the rain starts to come down steadier. Peter can only see his profile in the hoodie, the hint of streetlights causing a soft glow around them.
"I love you more than tacos, burritos, and chimichangas combined, baby boy," is what he finally says, stopping Peter’s heart in the process.
He turns his head and meets Peter’s gaze head-on. He doesn't look happy, which is so fucking wrong Peter wants to scream. "How's that for real?"
Peter swallows. "Considering you've made literal charts and graphs for me outlining your love of all things Mexican, I'd have to go with pretty gosh darn real."
Wade chuckles, shaking his head. Peter watches as he tosses the cigarette to the ground and rubs at his face roughly, before groaning into his hands.
"Until tonight I haven't come here with anyone else besides Vanessa and I thought I could handle that, but apparently not. And right, I've never even told you about her so here comes the narratively convenient backstory for the purpose of this particular slash fic exposition scene, hold onto your horses, young Padawan.”
Wade takes a deep breath, head tilted up toward the sky. “We kinda beat the odds, Nessa and I. Had our own anti-hero big screen blockbuster ending complete with a wide shot and the soft dulcet sounds of George Michael playing on the soundtrack. But never trust the sequel, baby. Because suddenly our girl is getting kidnapped and Weapon X'd herself and she's got this slick new name and barely remembers us and we spend the whole time chasing one another around the globe, fighting and fucking but mostly fighting even though I'd rather not, thank you very much. Little known fact but I'm a lover not a fighter, okay? And then the time traveling douche-canoe I thought was my compadre unalives my main squeeze just as she's remembered us."
Peter's mind is racing at the frenetic speed in which Wade is talking, struggling to keep up, to process. He wants to reach out a hand but that's probably a bad idea what with how Wade is now coiled in on himself, arms over his chest and hunched against the brick of the building like he wishes his hoodie would swallow him up. He continues on in a manic-like ramble.
"And then he fucks off to another dimension again and I spend the first year trying to track that dude down but time travel ain't easy when you're working with a pretty subpar technology and Multiverses pretty much suck. Ran into you-but-not-you a few times (don't worry, baby, never knew your name or saw your face, you can't fake a reveal like that) developed myself a nice, safe little infatuation, returned back revengeless. And then the fuckin’ X-Men try to get me in their band once more, this time because I could use a way to work through my grief or some After School Special bullshit like that, but I've had my fill of those particular mutants and I'd probably wanna kill One Eye and Miss Grey on principle, so I fucked off, spent a lot of time blowing my own brains out and wishing it'd finally take, until I decided to go straight (or as straight as a pansexual motherfucker like myself could go, amirite?) by joining the Avengers. Mostly because of the tabs I kept on you from afar. Real you, this time. And then you show up before I can even ask them and boom, baby, it's like thunder, lightning. Gonna knock on wood, Amii Stewart. And there's my mouthful. And sadly I’m not talkin’ about my dick, so start backing away in horrified silence any second now, honey."
Wade still isn't looking at him. Peter’s feeling a lot of things right now, some surprise but mostly hurt and anger on behalf of Wade. But that’s not going to get him anywhere right now.
Time to pony up, Parker.
"You're looking for baggage that goes with yours?" Peter says, not giving him a chance to answer. "Well, you don't have the market on narratively convenient confessions, buddy."
So he tells him. About Uncle Ben. About embracing his powers and becoming Spider-Man to prevent anything like that happening again. About Norman. About Harry. About -- Gwen.
"I couldn't -- I mean, I thought I did. I chose her, I saved… but it. The fall and the way I -- I'm responsible, you know? Me. I was done with it afterwards, but. I dunno, I kept hearing her voice my head. So I kept going and then the Avengers were like hey, join our boyband, at least get the cops off your back a little bit. And that’s what I did and I’ve been going through the motions there, and at work, and a school until you waltz in with your Beyonce and your burritos and make me laugh more than I think I ever have in my life. So there's my sob story, Wade. We’ve both got one. Which brings us full circle because: still not bolting."
Wade finally looks at him and Peter doesn't see pity in his eyes. He doesn't expect to. There's no room for pity on either of their ends. What he sees is mirrored sadness and hurt and more importantly the dawning realization that neither of them are in this alone.
"We could get shirts made. On Redbubble. That's a thing. ‘Life After Love’ tees. We could cut Cher in on the profits. Or combine our franchises into one film. The body count is always less in the third one. Spider-Man/Deadpool 3: no girlfriends harmed in the making of this film as our heroes are now boning one anoth --"
"I love you."
Wade comically whips his head to look in both directions and then back to Peter.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Peter rolls his eyes and steps in closer, wrapping his arms around Wade's neck even as his heart is hammering in his chest. "I love you more than truth, justice and the American way."
"Like any respectable Canadian, your patriotism does nothing for me, Captain America. And I fail to find that as real as my love for Mexican food, just sayin’."
"Oh my god! I love you, Wade Wilson, you irreverent maniac! That better?”
Turns out it gets less terrifying the more he says it.
Wade blinks a few times, the rain pounding down around them. "Well, now, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Peter's laughter is swallowed up by Wade's mouth, lips cool and slick from the rain.
He smiles into it the whole time, his heart still skipping beats, and feels Wade’s lips curved against his in return. When Wade pulls back he’s dangling something between them. A key.
“So. Uh. Another reason I went all freaky-deaky tonight was -- we were gonna ask you something. Well, me and Whitey were. Yellow thought it was a terrible idea but Yellow kinda sucks. But he realized I was doing it around Christmas and where we were and he didn’t like that because he says maybe I should feel guilty and started telling me you didn’t really want this but -- we know that’s bullshit now, right?”
Peter nods slowly, eyes on the key Wade’s holding up.
Holy shit, Parker, this is happening.
“So, um. You’re mostly over at my place all the time anyway and you live in a dump that you can barely even afford, baby boy, so how bout we Love Shack it up.”
Totally, absolutely happening.
Peter kisses him, closing his hand around Wade’s and feeling the metal of the ring kiss his fingers.
“Yeah, yes,” Peter whispers against his lips. “Let’s do that.”
Wade groans and lifts him up before spinning them so Peter’s back against the wall.
“This is so cliche,” Wade says as his lips trail over Peter’s jaw and down his neck. “And wet. And cold. No one thinks about that when they write makeouts in the rain, baby.”
“Shut up, Wade,” Peter groans, and pulls him in for another kiss.
They’re grinding pretty intensely, Peter gasping into Wade’s neck while he sucks whats sure to be a nicely colored hickey into his skin, when the door beside them opens.
“Oh, good, you’re not killing each other.”
“Jesus, fuck, mother cunt bastard shitstick!” Wade shouts, dropping Peter’s legs and punching the brick of the building. “Ow! Fuck!”
Weasel’s trying not to laugh. “Now this one has a mouth on him,” he says, pointing a thumb at Wade.
“Oh, don’t I know it,” Peter quips.
“Mmm,” Weasel hums. “Well, I was just making sure you two crazy kids weren’t fighting so I’ll be moseying.”
“Good,” Wade grits out.
Now it’s Peter’s turn to hold in his laughter.
Weasel looks between them, then back at Peter. “I’ve given him blowjobs, you know.”
Peter narrows his eyes.
Weasel holds his gaze, stone faced, before busting a gut. "Relax, Pied Peter, I'm talkin' bout the drink. That's cute though, you're cute."
"Mmhmm, as a button,” Wade murmurs, wrapping an arm around Peter. "And now we’re gonna Marvin Gaye and Get it On so I'll settle my tab next time, pal-o-mine." He walks them off down the alley while Weasel yells, "You always say that, man, and you never do!"
Wade's too busy kissing Peter’s neck to respond.
“How’d multiverse me like you, anyway?” Peter asks when they're in a cab, their hands all over each other.
“Pretty much ignored me,” Wade replies, sucking lightly on his neck, “I was pathetically into it.”
“Well, he sounds like an idiot,” Peter says decisively, loving the smile that forms against his skin.
"I’m so tempted to turn my phone off," Peter gasps against Wade's mouth. They've crashed through the door to Wade's apartment, shoes and hoodies shed in a wet heap on the floor as they stumble their way through his living room. Soon to be their living room, fuck.
"I so wish you would," Wade groans, nipping at Peter's bottom lip before closing his mouth over his jaw, hands dragging hard and heavy on his ass.
Peter's gasp turns into a broken, high moan when Wade's lips trail lower, his head tipping backward, giving him unfiltered access to his neck. His fingers bite into Wade’s shoulders as he sucks harder, coaxing out louder moans.
"Fuck, baby, the sounds you make," Wade breathes against him, making Peter shiver. "They'd kill a lesser man."
"Good thing I got you then, eh?"
Wade laughs. "We'll make a proper Canadian of him yet," he mutters, probably to the boxes. Aside from tonight, they've seemed to be a lot quieter lately. Peter counts that as a win. "Yeah, damn straight," he says, hoisting Peter off the ground.
Peter doesn't realize right away that Wade is replying to his own comment (too distracted by Wade manhandling him because hnnngh) and then laughs into his neck as he's carried toward the bed. "Not hardly."
"Oh I dunno," Wade says loftily, pushing his hips up against Peter to press against his dick, "I think some hardly."
He's dumped onto the bed while in fit of giggles and pulls Wade down on top of him.
"If anyone interrupts us this time, I can't vouch for their fate, sweetums," Wade pants into Peter’s neck as they roll around on his mattress, pulling at one another's clothes until they're all thrown in a jeep on the floor and Wade is back on top of him. “This is post-agreeing-to-move-in-together sex. I'm not letting you out of this damn bed for 24 to 48 hours. Give or take forever."
"Mmm, and to think Weasel thought the honeymoon stage was over."
Wade stills above him, pulling back from where he was doing very appreciative things to Peter’s nipples. "Baby, if you mention Weasel again there's gonna be only one gun ready to aim and fire tonight, I'm just saying."
Peter mimes zipping his lips and Wade pouts. "Now, now, I wouldn't go that far," he says, voice pitched low as he bends to lick his way from Peter’s sternum and down over his abs. "Wanna hear that filthy mouth you like to pretend you don't have."
"Wade," Peter gasps, hands clutching at the sheets as Wade moves lower, breath hot over his stomach and making him shiver. He lets out a low, shuddering moan when Wade's tongue licks a long slow, swipe up his dick.
"Tell me what you want, baby. Wanna give you the Red Light Special all through the night."
Peter huffs out a laugh, drags a hand over his face. "Oh, God." He arches off the bed when Wade swallows him down without preamble. "Oh, fuuuuuck. I can't -- can't think when you do that."
No one’s ever made him feel this way. Like every bone in his body was liquified, like every single nerve-ending was thrumming with pleasure that's almost too much to handle. With Gwen it was love, that's for damn sure, but it was also almost innocent in their coupling, despite the sex they'd have.
With Wade, it's so dirty sometimes that Peter finds himself blushing in class as he replays all the things they said to each other, all the places that Wade put his mouth and tongue and dick.
"Don't think, then, so overrated sometimes." Wade's voice filters through and Peter realizes he was doing exactly that, despite his protests.
"Slow," Peter gasps, when Wade starts sucking him again. "Want it slow. Take -- take your time. With everything."
It's not like that often. Aside from that first afternoon together, it's more often than not frantic, bordering on desperate. Wade definitely explores Peter’s body and loves it and Peter does in return (at a less frequency than he’d like) but there's still always something else there in the room with them. Like they think it could be the last time. Like they're trying to hold onto this new fragile thing that could be snatched away by any number of extenuating forces.
Like maybe their past was always in the room, too, looking over them.
Things feel different now. They feel different. They're giving this their all, no take-backs.
Peter knows what he wants Wade to do -- make love to him -- but he feels way too cheesy using those terrible words, even though they'd probably delight Wade to no end.
“I'll make love to you, if you want me to,” Wade sing-songs, and god dammit what an irreverent, lyrics-quoting, mind-reading asshole he's dating. You couldn't time that shit better.
“Only if you don't sing about it,” Peter says, face heating.
“I can't promise that.”
Peter groans and pushes his head back down, running his hands over the bumps and crevices of Wade’s scalp that he could memorize by now.
Wade goes, sucking him all the way down and rising up slowly before taking him in again. He sets a torturously slow pace that Peter can't even complain about, because he asked for it.
Wade takes him right to the edge and then pulls off completely, pressing a finger to Peter's lips when he starts to protest.
“Gonna make you beg for it.”
“Shit,” Peter whispers. Wade swoops down to kiss him, wet and slow, rolling over and tugging Peter down on top of him. They make out like that, Wade’s hand snaking between their bodies, stroking Peter slowly, so fucking slowly until he’s right on the precipice again. He withdraws just as Peter’s balls are tightening, tossing him back over onto his back.
“Please,” Peter whispers, voice shaking as his body trembles. His lips feel raw, his neck is covered in hickeys, and he's so thankful it's winter because facing Aunt May for Christmas dinner and not being able to wear a turtleneck would be pretty problematic. “Wade, please.”
Wade’s finger touches his lips, tracing his mouth. “Please what, baby boy?”
“Put your dick in me,” Peter glares.
Wade’s eyes flash before he smirks. “I'm beginning to think I'm the romantic one in this relationship.”
Peter huffs out a laugh. “What gave it away? The love song serenades? The pet names? The snuggling?”
“Damn, Petey, you'd better step up your R-game, I'm blowin’ you out of the water.”
Peter pulls him down for a kiss. “Noted, now will you --”
“Stick my P in your A? Put my sausage in your bun? Insert my meat between your --”
“You've lost any hand you had,” Peter sighs.
“Don't think so, got some right here,” he says, holding up his fingers which somehow have a tube of lube in them. “Baby it's yours, if you want it.”
Peter rolls his eyes but still laughs helplessly.
He rolls onto his stomach, flexing his ass purposely and looking back over his shoulder. “Well?”
“Sister Christian, oh the time has come,” Wade breathes, voice dazed.
Peter grips the pillow and buries his head in it, giggling.
His giggles die off on a gasp into the fabric as Wade’s tongue maps a path down the center of his spine, firm hands on his ass pulling his cheeks apart as he slowly makes his way downward.
“Gonna use my mouth first, if that's alright with you,”
“Yep,” Peter says, rubbing his face against the pillow as he nods. “All good here.”
“Are you sure? I mean, you seemed like quite the eager beaver before. And I did promise my hand, so --”
“I swear to fucking God, Wilson, if you st -- ohhhh, my god.” Peter trails off on a moan as Wade teases around his hole in light, barely-there strokes. “Yeah, love your mouth.”
“I get that less than you'd think,” Wade says, pulling away to nip at Peter's cheek before sliding his tongue past the ring of muscle.
“Oh, oh,” Peter cries out, white-knuckling the sheets and pushing backward. Wade holds him off, keeps it as slow and maddening as everything else he's done tonight and once again Peter knows he can't complain, it's what he wanted; Wade taking him apart, the two of them having nothing but time.
Peter's a whimpering mess by the time Wade pulls away and then he’s pressed up against Peter’s back, kissing him everywhere and sliding a slicked up finger inside him.
Peter's entire body shivers when Wade gets a huge hand around his dick again for the first time in what feels like forever.
“Do it, please,” Peter whispers, pushing his hips back against Wade and letting out a sob when his finger brushes over his prostate.
“Since you asked so nicely,” Wade quips. Peter can hear how heavy he's been breathing, can feel how hard Wade is against the back of Peter's thigh.
When he finally slides inside, easy as anything like Peter's body was made for it, Peter nearly cries in relief. Wade’s pressed all up against his back, the two of them on their sides. His lips are hot on Peter’s neck, his large hands framing Peter's hips as he fucks in deep and slow, letting Peter feel every inch of him. He fucks him slowly, so slow that Peter loses track of time and space and everything in between.
“That how you want it?” Wade gasps, like he's barely holding it together himself. “You have any idea how good you feel, baby boy? I could do this all night long.”
Peter covers one of Wade's hands that's on his hips, squeezing. “Put your money where the Merc with the Mouth is.” Peter moves their hands to his dick and sighs when Wade’s fingers wrap around him.
Wade snorts and licks a slow line up his neck. “Maybe I'll make you come, fuck you through it, slowly, till you can't stand it anymore, and then have you ride my dick till you're hard again. That meet with your approval?”
“Wade,” Peter gasps, tightening around him. “Fuck, oh god,” and then Peter's coming, pulsing all over their joined hands and clenching down around his dick.
“Yeah baby, gonna come inside you, fill you up,” Wade groans and then does just that, fucking Peter in slow, jerky thrusts the whole time.
It takes them a few moments to regain their breathing, Wade's arms still around him, his fingers tracing in slow patterns around Peter's inner thigh and torso.
“I think we definitely earned that ‘E’ rating this time, eh?”
“Mmm, whatever you say.”
“I say I think I put my mouth where the money was, because it took you over the edge.”
Peter laughs, thready. “Yeah, okay, I suppose.”
Wade scoffs, lips tickling the hair at the back of Peter's neck. “Yeah, you suppose. Baby, you're all about this sexy as fuck voice.”
Peter grins and presses back into him. “I'm all about you.”
Wade's silent for a moment, and then he's turning Peter around, and cupping his face and pinching his cheeks. “D’aww, we’ll make a romantic outta you yet.”
Peter rolls his eyes, still smiling hard, and kisses Wade's nose. “I'm plenty romantic. Now, how long before you can go again?”
“Ah, see, that's why I love you, baby. You ask the important questions.”
Peter's heart will probably eventually stop flipping over at the sound of that word on Wade's lips, but right now he's gonna bask in it.
After all, they're in the honeymoon stage.