Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter needed money. Rent was due, eviction looming over him and he needed money like...two months ago. He couldn’t balance all of the part-time, dead-end jobs and being your friendly neighborhood webslinger and he wasn’t going to ask MJ for another cent. He was getting tired of bumming fries off of MJ’s plate, tired of intruding on Miles’ family dinners and he wanted to prevent his stomach from eating itself from the inside out. He had to do something. 

No one ever told Peter the life of a superhero involved being hungry all the time and having to worry about being homeless. A warning would have been nice. 

At first, he kept pursuing jobs a high schooler would be better suited for; take out delivery, paper routes...anything that was low-commitment, but it was always a poor fit. Pizzas and lo mein in crushed boxes and damaged cartons, scattered throughout the city streets and newspaper pages dangling on tree branches and littering people’s lawns. Something came up. It was always something. 

The eviction notice took him by surprise this time. He’d managed to work things out with his landlord a few times before, but it seemed like he was finally ‘sick of Peter’s shit’, as he so eloquently put it. He had a week to pay the rent in full or he was back to couch surfing, back to sheepishly asking MJ to buy dinner for him…

Peter couldn’t do it, not again.

So, he took to the internet. Going door to door down the busy New York City streets wasn’t working so maybe the world wide web would expand the search enough that something would just...click? When were things ever that easy? 

The usual stuff was abundant; sketchy MLM-style scams, babysitting gigs (he wasn’t in the business of endangering innocent children, thank you very much) and minor, miscellaneous jobs that wouldn’t exactly mesh with web slinging. The more Peter scrolled, the more hopeless it felt. Being Spider-Man was something he couldn’t give up but it didn’t pay the bills. He just needed something quick, something manageable. 

Something legal. 

Peter mindlessly clicked on a link from the eighteenth page of the search engine and it instantly summoned a pop-up. From his speakers poured sultry moaning and enticing giggles. “Oh, geez,” Peter exclaimed, scrambling to exit out of the window. However, something willed him to just...stop and look. Just look.

‘Cam girls’. That’s what the pop-up said in large, bubblegum pink lettering. He turned the sound down as he looked at the women on the screen who surely lured many a man to surrender their credit card information. They were attractive, Peter supposed. Not his type, but they had curves in all the right places and large, uh, assets. The two women learned into the camera and offered the viewer a wink and a smile. “Watch us live anytime,” the ad proclaimed, “and we’ll make your dreams come true.” 

Oh, you’d pay Peter’s rent and put every super villain who threatened him under lock and key? Sign him up.

Leaning back in his chair, Peter took a long, hard look at the ad, reading the text over and over again. His train of thought quickly sped out of control and his eyes widened.

No.

But, it’s doable. It really is.

Absolutely not. 

It could be anonymous, right? Wear a mask, just like Spider-Man. No one would know. He didn’t have any tattoos or distinguishing marks. A few bruises here and there, a faded scar or fifty. 

Why are you still considering this?

The money had to be good, right? Why would people do it otherwise? Maybe he could tap into a niche sort of community? He had a decent body, didn’t he? Good enough to make this work...even just for a little while. Just until he could find something else…

At least sleep on it!

Alright. Fair. Peter finally closed the pop-up and sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. Too many thoughts, too much noise, all at once. Maybe a good night’s sleep would usher in some clarity. Desperation often led to dangerous ideas, so maybe the quiet nothingness of sleep would offer him some sort of...something?

Peter piled himself into bed, head heavy and body sore. For a few long, quiet moments, he stared at the ceiling above him and fought to keep his eyes open. He always struggled with turning his brain off, thoughts so impossibly loud, an unpredictable sequence of syllables and static. However, he forced it all down, satisfied with the muffled mumbling, and gave himself over to sleep.

~*~

It took him a few days to pick out the right website. Some of them were...questionable to say the very least. He’d decided on a more private site to start, something that discouraged large group rooms and focused on a more one-on-one experience. He’d done a bit of research (because of course he did) and for beginners, private sites were a good way to gain some experience and confidence while learning what to expect and what he’d have to provide. 

Peter’s heart had never stopped racing once he’d decided to do this. This was a decision he had to make alone, having no one to talk to about this particular new venture. There was no way in hell he could talk to MJ or Miles about it, no possible way, and he had a very short list of friends, none of which Peter would burden with this. He just had to shoulder this alone, like he did most things. It was fine, really.

It really wasn’t, but he chose to tell himself that over and over again, just until he believed it.

He took his time setting up his webcam, adjusting it meticulously so his face was just in frame. Even after deciding he’d wear a mask to help obscure his face, he still wanted to make sure he remained as anonymous as possible, making sure nothing on his apartment walls or room would reveal his identity. He needed that anonymity so desperately and he clung to it so tightly. If he was going to do this, commit to this insane idea, all he asked for was his privacy. If he could hold on to just that, dignity and decency be damned, it would all be worth it.

Right?

Right.

He took a deep breath, clicking through the website he’d chosen to host his...first day on the job. He’d futzed with the lighting in his apartment, made his bed and headboard look a little more presentable, inviting even...he was ready. His mouth was dry and he caught his fingers twitching nervously but he had to dive in at some point, didn’t he? Get his feet wet? He had to start sometime...so why not now?

He logged himself in, staring begrudgingly at the nickname he’d chosen for himself, the guise he’d wear through this journey. Baby Boy. It was silly, wasn’t it? Everything else he considered always came back to his identity as Spider-Man. Logic was tossed to the sidelines and the creative side would not function. Spider in another language? Too obvious. Something involving his suit colors, red or blue? Not as obscure as he’d like to believe. The word ‘web’ in any context? Don’t you dare. Everything cycled back to Spidey. So, he had to abandon that train of thought and just let go. For just a few minutes, he had to unclench his jaw, loosen his shoulders and let go. 

He couldn’t be Spider-Man and he couldn’t be Peter Parker. He had to be someone, something, else. 

It was the first thing that came to mind. Letting his thoughts float freely through the void, searching for something detached from his alter ego, he chose the first feeling, the first cluster of words, that felt right. He chose something that felt so disconnected, so distant, from Spider-Man. In a way, he was crafting yet another alter ego, a different mask to wear. 

Speaking of masks…

Peter reached over to his nightstand and tugged open the small drawer to retrieve a small, simple blue mask. Yeah, yeah, blue was one of the colors he fought to distance himself from, but MJ once told him that blue was ‘his color’, saying it suited him, and that had always kind of stuck with him. So, he relented and purchased an inconspicuous little mask from a costume shop downtown. They had a few different designs, some more theatrical, some heavily embellished, others a bit more humble. Peter was drawn to one that was just a touch lighter than the navy blue of his suit, one that covered his eyes and the top of his nose. Effective, no-nonsense...it was just enough.

With a heavy sigh, he put it on. His chest tightened and his heart nearly burst. This was real. Peter was really doing this. This wasn’t a thought on the subway or a wild daydream while walking in the park. This was Peter Parker’s new and inescapable reality. 

Resigning himself to that, he went live.

Anticipation threatened to drive Peter insane. He waited patiently, quietly, for a patron to take interest in him. He felt like an awkward adolescent, waiting for someone to ask him to dance. That was the one downside of the private room route; the waiting was excruciating. He fidgeted nervously, eyes trained on the screen. Time slowed and apprehension crept in. Had he done the right thing? Was this realistic? Did he jump into this too quickly? Was this just another patented Peter Parker misstep?

DoubleDoubleU has entered the chat. 

Peter’s eyes went wide. Panic set in quickly, too quickly, and he did his best to shove it deep down, as far down as he could. It’s showtime.

“Hey there,” Peter hummed nervously. He couldn’t catch his breath. This was really happening. Really, really happening. God. Oh, God.

> Hey, baby boy. Looking nervous. First time?

Reading the message, he chuckled sheepishly. “That obvious?”

> Little bit. Cute, though. You’re cute.

He felt his face flush, cheeks burning. Nervously shifting on the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck and offered the camera a shy smile. “Well, I appreciate that,” he replied, feeling the tension in his shoulders beginning to melt away bit by bit. “So, what can I call you?” Personalize the experience. He’d read that.

> W’s fine, baby boy.

Okay, okay...simple enough. He didn’t want to push or pry, so W it is. Whoever W was, they seemed nice? Maybe that was foolish of him to assume, but first impressions meant something, didn’t they?  W wasn’t belligerent or forceful to start and that put Peter at ease. He’d read a few horror stories on some forums, so this was a bit of a relief. 

“Alright, W...it’s nice to meet you,” he said calmly, softly. The world felt like it was spinning completely out of control but he had to steady himself. He didn’t expect this dizziness, this sensation of being ejected from his own body. A storm was brewing and he was in the middle of it with W but he had to accept this new sense of calm that was beginning to blossom slowly, surely. “What can I do for you tonight, W?”

There was a pause and it felt eternal. Waiting for W to type their reply, Peter’s mind raced. There were a million things W could say, a million things they could ask for. This was uncharted territory for Peter. While not a prude by any means, his research had warned him of potentially persistent patrons and some rather racy requests. Aware of the risk, he inhaled and awaited W’s reply.

> Tell me about yourself. Let me get to know you a little bit, baby boy.

What a...simple request. It took him by surprise, if he was being completely honest.

> Wasn’t expecting that, huh? You look a little shocked.

He nervously chuckled, “I mean...I guess I expected people just wanting to...get down to business, if that makes sense.” Looking directly into the camera, he offered W a little smile. 

> What can I say? I’m a simple guy. I see a pretty face and I’m hooked. Nothing wrong with wanting to get to know a pretty face, is there?

“Pretty face? You know what they say about flattery, don’t you?”

> Oh, I do. I’m just hoping it actually gets me somewhere this time ;)

In a weird way, Peter felt like he was talking to an old friend...a flirty old friend but a friend nonetheless. There was something so familiar about this anonymous entity, this ‘simple guy’ who thought Peter had a pretty face. There was a moment of intense panic, considering that this familiarity wasn’t purely coincidental. What if he knew this person on the other side of the screen? 

Then again, the only two people he talked to these days were MJ and Miles. Peter tried not to get too close to anyone else. Arms length and all that. He let that clawing paranoia subside, at least for now, as he returned his attention to this charming, shameless flirt.

“Well,” Peter began, mindlessly running his finger tips down the center of his bare chest. “I’m interested in knowing where you want this to go.” His heart threatened to leap out of his mouth. Peter was not a flirt by nature, MJ could attest to that. He was awkward at times and unsure of his own charm or sexual appeal, if any even existed at all. He was way out of his comfort zone but had to commit. This was it.

> I like where this is going already, baby boy. Keep going.

A shiver rolled down the base of his spine. He wasn’t screwing this up? He was...actually doing alright? That acted as a bit of a confidence boost for him and he pushed himself forward. Emboldened by W’s interest, his fingertips danced past his belly button, tracing the rim of the boxers he wore, the only thing that adorned him other than his mask. Teasingly, a finger disappeared between his boxers and his skin. 

> Tell me something nobody knows about you...and keep those hands moving. Your body’s fucking amazing.

He could almost hear a groan through W’s text and, unexpectedly, it caused Peter’s insides to twist and tighten. He hadn’t noticed, but he was having trouble catching his breath. Huh. That came out of nowhere. One hand remained hidden beneath his boxers while the other roamed upward, open palm smoothing over his abdomen. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but a soft groan exited instead. Catching himself before he drifted further into self-satisfaction, he exhaled his response, “I can’t pay my rent...which is why I’m here.” His face flushed, red hot embarrassment washing over him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes, Peter just had a huge foot-in-mouth problem but W asked for something no one else knew so…

> That so? I have no problem paying your rent, baby boy, but you gotta promise to make more of those noises for me. Cause that was...that was perfect. 

This was insane. Absolutely nuts. He’d offered this stranger an accidental groan and his toned, though slender chest, and he was willing to solve most of his problems, just like that? Of course, that was the idea from the very start but this seemed too easy? Peter assumed he’d have to do an unsavory thing (or two) to make the ends meet, but this? This seemed too simple.

Which must have reflected in his face, judging by W’s quickly typed reply.

> You alright? Looking a little...surprised. 

Peter had to refocus. In essence, this was a job. He had a job to do and he couldn’t keep spacing out, couldn’t keep overthinking each and every instance. Still, looking into the camera and knowing that the person on the other side of the screen was looking back at him, willing to help him through something that had caused him so much strife, something that he caused him to lose so much sleep...it just astounded him, he guessed.

> You’re not used to asking for help, are you?

Peter chuckled wryly, “Not at all,” he admitted a little too quickly, averting his gaze momentarily. “I want to be the one helping, the one people come to, not the one who has to run to people with his tail between his legs. I’ve always wanted to be strong…” Which is why his day (and night) job as Spider-Man was so important to him, why he couldn’t give it up, no matter how it twisted his body, how it battered and bruised him. To protect the people he loved, the people in this amazing city, he’d do whatever it took.

> Well, I want to help you. I’ll be good to you, baby boy, if you’re good to me. Sound good?

He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he read W’s reply. As long as Peter was good to W, whatever that might mean, W would help take this heavy burden off of his shoulders? W didn’t know Peter from a stranger in Central Park and yet…

Okay. Okay . 

The tension disappeared from his shoulders and his expression softened. He realized now that he’d jumped into this a little too quickly, a few too many apprehensive thoughts clawing at his insides. Peter had become more than desperate and that created urgency, something he could not outrun or escape. He was bold when he perhaps should have been cautious and he was suddenly acutely aware of his current position; nearly naked in front of a webcam, exposing his pathetic story in fragmented bits and pieces to someone who could be a million miles away or two doors down. Yet, oddly enough, he was not uncomfortable with this. Instead, he was almost...at peace with it, at peace with W and this proposed agreement

“I’ll be good to you,” Peter said softly, “I’ll be very good to you.”

There was a short pause, Peter wondering if perhaps he had gone too far. That wasn’t the case at all. 

> Show me. Show me how you make yourself feel good, baby boy.

Peter exhaled. He stopped overanalyzing, stopped considering the consequences. Abandoning any second thoughts that may have remained, he angled his hips and relinquished his last line of defense, his boxers. He did his best to remain in frame as he tossed them out of sight and returned to his position, front and center. Cheeks tinted a softer shade now, he leaned back against his headboard, closed his eyes and guided his hand down, down, down. 

He shuddered as he wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his cock. A wave of heat rolled through his body, a familiar sensation that he welcomed with open arms. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t assume this exact position (sans the webcam, of course) and relieve some tension after a long, long night of web-slinging. He wore his tension without complaint but when his back ached and his limbs felt like jelly, he found that falling into a nearly silent state of heightened awareness and hyper sensitivity helped put him at ease. The world outside was deafening, so the act of losing himself in fluid motion and disjointed grunts tended to help him in a way nothing else seemed to. He never claimed to understand it and for the most part, he was okay with that. 

Starting off slow and steady, which was par for the course, Peter’s thighs twitched. He was a creature of habit but it worked out just fine for him. He shifted slightly, widening his stance just a bit, tilting his head to the side as his mind began to swim.

Logic dictated that Peter should check in with W, leave him with a wink or some flirty turn of phrase, but he was sinking fast. Eyes closed, jaw slack, hand intermittently trembling as he stroked himself, Peter was granting himself this private moment without hesitation. In the back of his head, the very back that was obscured by a thin, humid haze, he was aware of his audience of one, even if the thought phased in and out of existence. The thought reappeared out of nowhere and the realization made him throb in the palm of his hand.

He...hadn’t quite expected that. 

Being watched, being caught, as Spider-Man was absolutely unacceptable, horrifying in its own way. It simply could not happen yet the thought of being exposed, bare naked and ridiculously vulnerable, sent a shockwave of something indescribable up the base of his spine. It felt like whiplash, sudden and jarring. The all-seeing webcam offered W a bird’s eye view of every twitch, every shudder and every moan. That knowledge caused Peter to bite his lower lip as he shivered. No one had seen him this way, not even MJ. No one had peeked behind the curtain to see Peter Parker fulfilling a very base, fundamental need. 

Before Peter realized it, he was panting and before he realized it, his hand was moving at a faster, more feverish pace. His strokes were long and full, from shaft to head, and his body craved more of the same. More, faster, don’t stop, his mind insisted. Everything around him was fading and he felt as though he were caught in some lucid dream, almost ethereal in nature.

But his reality clicked back into place when he opened one of his eyes to see a new message from W.

> You’re a thing of beauty, baby boy. Look at you. Christ, you’re perfect. Keep going. Treat yourself right, the way I’d treat you if I was there.

Peter’s back arched, his hand stuttering in its fervent motion. W’s written words rattled around in his head, loud and heavy, searing into the walls of his mind. He hadn’t expected that. Then again, he hadn’t expected any of this, but that was beyond him at this point. Peter had never been talked to that way and it made his skin feel like it was on fire. Beauty? Perfect? What did W see in him that he was blind to? Was this really turning him on?

Well, W was helping wind Peter up so this feeling? Yeah, it was mutual. Very, very mutual. 

His fingers tightened around his cock, his new hastened pace causing Peter’s body to shake with each stroke. Is this how W would touch him? Would he have a gentle touch? Soft hands or worn, calloused ones? Would they be warm or did W run cold? Would he whisper praise or grunt admonishments? Drifting further into these ‘what-if’s’, Peter parted his lips and whispered, “W…” The letter, two simple syllables, felt natural somehow, as if they belonged here. For a split second, he considered the consequences of his decision, but as his thumb flickered over the tip of his erection, that all disappeared.

His body demanded more. Rolling his hips upward, it provided Peter with that sweet, mind-numbing friction. Right hand occupied, Peter’s left hand roamed his bare chest, grazing his nipple with the tips of his fingers, which caused a quivering little moan to tumble from his mouth. Hypersensitive, body on fire, he became a moaning, trembling mess and he simply did not care. Every moan, every shiver, each stroke belonged not only to Peter but to W. In an oddly erotic way, this moment was theirs. 

Thrusting his hips upward into his hand faster and faster, Peter lost himself in this thick, heated haze. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and his body tensed and arched into the intensity ricocheting through his entire being. His toes curled and his jaw went slack, wave upon wave of raw, controllable need slamming into him at every angle. Peter was drowning, panting and gasping for air, but still, he begged for more, content to drown. Desperation sank its teeth into him and refused to let go. It dictated Peter’s pace, the twist of his wrist, the feeling of floating. In broken syllables, a single letter continued to drip from his lips, quietly like a psalm but then louder, as if it were the gospel. Over and over, Peter called out for someone who wasn’t there, someone he wished was there, until all of a sudden, after a gutteral gasp and an intense feeling of weightlessness, he was still.

Peter tasted nickel on his tongue. He only then realized he may have bitten his lip a little too hard. Whoops. Reality crashed into him at an alarming speed and an embarrassing amount of clarity settled in a little too quickly. Cheeks burning, he angled his gaze towards the webcam. He must have looked a mess; panting, hints of panic in his eyes.

> Deer in headlights look, huh? It suits you.

Swallowing around the growing lump in his throat, Peter opened his mouth to reply, but wilted a bit, rubbing the back of his neck with his free (and much cleaner) hand, an almost bashful reaction.

> I mean...wow. Can’t really say much other than just...wow. Thanks for the show, baby boy. You sure this is your first rodeo?

He took a deep breath, still struggling to catch his breath, and found himself smiling. It was a lopsided, crooked little smile and it made Peter look as though he hadn’t just masterbated over a webcam for an audience of one. It was softer, sweeter, and paired with the blush staining his cheeks, it didn’t quite seem to fit the mood and its many complexities. Then again, Peter Parker was a tangled web of complexities, so it managed to work, he supposed.

“I’m, uh, glad you enjoyed it,” he chuckled nervously. Awkwardness crept in slowly, causing Peter to struggle with maintaining eye contact with the camera.

> You even said my name. Well, a letter of it anyway. I’m flattered.

He...he did that, huh? Multiple times, yeah. He reached over, just slightly out of frame, to grab a tissue from his nightstand, cleaning up the mess he’d made. “I...just wished you were here too, you know, help me out with this,” he said a little too nonchalantly, which he’d realized a little too late, leaning back into frame. Brushing a few strands of displaced hair back into place, he teasingly hummed, an air of whimsy in his tone, “Maybe next time?”

> I’d like that, baby boy. Maybe next time, I can make you say my name.

There was a pause, a single moment, before Peter replied, “I can say your name now...if you want.”

The text box remained empty for a few moments and Peter considered the possibility that maybe he pressed this a little too far. Anonymity was such a valuable thing, he knew that more than anyone. Maybe after they interacted a little more, chatted for a little while longer…

> Wade.

Peter’s eyes widened. Before he could reply, another message appeared.

> I’m Wade. Nice to meet you, baby boy.

Huh. Wade. To some people, a name may not be as important, as private, but to Peter, his name, his identity, was such a precious thing. What W, rather Wade, had given him, whether he knew it or not, was special in its own way. 

His expression softened, his cheeks sore from smiling. “Nice to meet you too, Wade,” he said gently. There was a part of Peter that felt guilty, being unable to reciprocate and offer Wade his own name, but another part of him was relieved that he didn’t push him for it or demand his identity. A heavy weight seemed to lift from Peter’s chest. He may have even felt a flutter in the pit of his chest but he wouldn’t confirm or deny that. “Wade,” he said again, feeling his lips curl into a wider smile, “I like it.”

> Well, I like you, so we’re even.

Okay, he felt that flutter. Couldn’t deny that one.

> You found yourself an admirer, baby boy. Consider your rent paid for a little while...but I hope that means you won’t be a stranger.

“Would you miss me?” Peter asked teasingly, half-joking.

> Duh. I know you’d miss me, especially considering the way you moaned for me. 

Peter’s face flushed, but he was somehow able to maintain a straight face. “I won’t make it so easy next time.”

> Looking forward to it.

Peter logged off the cam site after a little wave, wishing his patron a good night. All at once, his chest felt tight, his head spun and the universe felt like it was tilted slightly to the left. Exhaustion hit him like a truck as he closed his laptop and carefully removed his mask, setting it on the nightstand. Falling back onto his bed, eyes darting back and forth across the ceiling, the only thing he thought to do was laugh.

“Holy crap…”

~*~

Wade remained true to his word and upon checking his account, Peter’s jaw nearly hit the floor. The rate on the site was nowhere near the current amount he had, so Wade must have tipped him a little too well for their session. He...he was safe for a little while. He didn’t have to worry about anything other than protecting New York. That realization was overwhelming. Wade...did an amazing thing for Peter and he may never truly know. Something about that made Peter a little sad. He should have done more, thanked him more.

A few days passed and Peter sat perched atop a building in Manhattan, watching over his fair city quietly. His thoughts were fragmented, chasing fleeting memories aimlessly. Admittedly, between a few armed robberies, Rhino escaping the Raft and a handful of high speed chases, his thoughts returned to Wade. No matter how hard he tried, when the world around him was quiet, Wade was the first thought to push through the silence. Did he live in the city? Across the water in a house or an apartment? Had Peter passed him on the street? Sat across from him at a diner or on the subway? It was maddening. Then again, Wade could be thousands of miles away. He may never know. 

Regardless, no matter the distance, baby boy knew that he wanted Wade to see him again...and again.

Chapter Text

There was a part of him that considered calling it quits. He’d done it once and it benefitted him beautifully. It was an experience he’d never forget and maybe it was one of those once in a lifetime situations? It came, it happened and that was that. No need to try and recreate that sense of wonder, right? Leave it at that and move on. 

Yet, there was this peculiar temptation that insisted on clinging to Peter. It nagged and nagged, tugging on his consciousness whenever he was awake and guiding his dreams into a particular direction when he slept. It was inescapable. 

His time in front of the webcam was short, but the thrill of it lingered. Knowing he was being watched, the typed-out compliments from his one-man audience and all of those little unique nuances in between still made Peter feel something from time to time and he wasn’t quite sure why.

Well, he knew why .

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Wade. No matter where he was, day or night, he’d randomly remember his patron and his stomach would fill with butterflies and he’d be rendered useless for a few minutes. Losing himself in such a private moment, attempting to relive that memory and recreate those emotions...it was selfish of him, wasn’t it? Instead of relieving such a surreal moment, he could just…

“Damn it,” Peter muttered, tugging Spider-Man’s mask off in one fluid motion. Sitting on the edge of his apartment building’s roof, he looked out towards the skyline and sighed. He was a slave to confliction, unsure of his path forward. He had accomplished his goal that first night and rationality insisted on Peter quitting while he was ahead. Was the nervousness and apprehension worth the ridiculous amount of money he’d made in a single night?

Well…

Even beyond that, guilt weighed heavy on Peter’s mind. He wasn’t only thinking about financial stability or the trepidation of performing in front of a webcam. He kept thinking about Wade and he didn’t understand why. At times, it frustrated him. Peter didn’t know Wade on a personal level. He didn’t owe him another private moment or anything beyond that. The extent of their relationship was defined by a transaction, money for a service. Simple as that.

But, it wasn’t that simple. It felt so much more complicated than that. Wade wasn’t just a customer and his brain insisted on that fact over and over again. Peter knew what being a cam worker meant (for the most part,) but he had to wonder if it was always initially this messy to start. Or, was it just Peter overthinking everything?

Probably the latter. Wouldn’t surprise him. Very little surprised him these days.

Stop thinking about it. Easy fix. Find a normal job doing normal things, stop thinking about the stranger who called you cute and make money the good ol’ fashion way. Done and done.

~*~

He sat on his bed, his simple navy blue mask in hand, laptop closed. Looking from one to the other, he grumbled under his breath and set the mask down, only to pick it up a few moments later. His inability to commit to one thing or the other was becoming increasingly frustrating. Yes or no, do or don’t...just pick one!

Maybe Wade wouldn’t even be online. Maybe his appearance was a one night only sort of thing and he was overthinking this for no reason. Maybe he was racking his brain for nothing. So, in that case, if he went online just one more time, he could see if Wade was just a fluke. Maybe Wade was just an idea, an intangible ghost of sorts. If so, moving on and finding a different way to make money would be a guiltless action, forfeiting any culpability, right? Leave it up to fate?

Because that worked so many times before.

Okay, that was the plan. He’d wait for, let’s say, an hour? No Wade? He’d hang up this particular mask for good. If Wade was there, well, he’d have to see where it led, he guessed.

Alright…

Peter relented to this line of thought and put the mask on. Somehow,  he felt more nervous now than he had the first time. There was no rationality behind it. He remembered how that first night felt, how apprehension melted into calm, how it felt natural for a few fleeting moments. Yet, the moment it had ended, he pushed those feelings down, way beyond his reach, as if trying to preserve some sort of dignity. 

But, the thing was, if he was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t feel shame. He didn’t feel anything negative towards his experience. Why had he chosen shame? Of all the things he had felt that night, humiliated was not one of them. Peter had experienced hesitancy and some diffidence which yielded a renewed sense of fearlessness and it granted him a freedom he’d never known.

So, why choose shame?

He opened his laptop and stared at the screen as it booted up. Maybe Peter had commitment issues? Maybe there was some underlying reason for his inability to just accept something that had the potential to be, well, not all bad. Having lost so much, as Peter Parker and as Spider-Man, maybe accepting ‘good’ was welcoming in the possibility of bad or worse. As hard as he fought, Peter had always lost something, be it simply a battle or the entire war, so he had a tendency to cling tighter to the things left behind once the dust settled. However, he also learned that keeping things at a distance was also necessary, so he adjusted accordingly. 

Maybe, just maybe, this could be the one thing he clung to, the one thing he could unapologetically keep. 

Loading up the website, he took a deep, cautious breath in through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth as he went live. That same nervousness fluttered in the pit of his stomach but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He knew what to expect this time, had some sort of idea of what would happen.

Then again, did he really know or was he being ridiculously naive?

Before he could even begin to unpack that mess, the site notified him of something that made his heart skip a few beats.

DoubleDoubleU has entered the chat.

Holy shit .

> Well, well...look who it is.

Peter couldn’t read the message fast enough. Relief flooded him as a nervous chuckle left his lips. “Wade,” he exhaled, a fondness in his tone, “hi.”

> Hi yourself, baby boy. I thought you weren’t going to be a stranger.

Relief became guilt. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry,” Peter said quietly, averting his gaze from the camera. “Life just...got in the way, I guess.” It was an excuse, a real half-assed excuse, and he felt his face warm with embarrassment. 

> You had me worried. Thought you up and abandoned me.

He struggled to decipher a tone, a deeper meaning, but text on a screen was nearly impossible to place an emotion to. So, Peter opted to turn on the charm, try to ease his way back into his patron’s good graces. “If it means anything, I was thinking about you...a lot.”

That wasn’t an exaggeration. He hesitated to say exactly how much he thought of Wade, the frequency having startled Peter at times. Wade was faceless, voiceless and yet, Peter’s mind gave him life. He was seductive, alluring, so ridiculously flirtatious, and he introduced himself into far too many of the webslinger’s dreams. It was surreal at times, being haunted by a stranger on the internet who paid his rent in exchange for watching him jerk off.

> That so? You missing me, baby boy?

Tilting his head to the side, he returned his gaze to the camera, offering Wade a genuine smile. “You could say that,” he replied. This was his attempt at flirting, an attempt to make amends for his absence. “Did you miss me?”

> You could say that.

“Oh, ha ha,” he laughed, shifting a bit on his bed. A warmth he hadn’t expected swelled in his chest and he couldn’t fight the lopsided smile that overtook his features. “I did miss you, Wade,” Peter admitted quietly.

> You’re sweet. Gotta say, feels nice to know you’re thinking about me.

Oh, if only you knew. He swallowed those words down hard, lest they escape and turn Peter into a bizarre, emotional little creature. Instead, he clung to the mask of a flirtatious cam boy, excited to be in the company of his patron. He leaned towards the camera and hummed, “So, what can I do for you tonight, Wade?”

Admittedly, Peter was curious. Their first interaction was fairly ‘vanilla’, par for the course by most standards, he supposed, so he was curious if Wade would expand his horizons with a new request. Something common? Something off the walls? He hadn’t quite gotten a handle on Wade’s preferences and there was a part of him that really wanted to know. He had to wonder if Wade would push him and, more importantly, how hard Peter would push back. There was a lot more to explore, wasn’t there?

There was a ruminative silence, as if Wade was lost in thought on the other end of the screen. This made Peter anxious. Was it nervousness or anticipation? Was he apprehensive or eager? Shifting a bit, he squared an ankle over one knee and tried to keep his expression even, unwilling to give away any of the feverish excitement threatening to spill out of every orifice. 

> You know, even after not seeing you for a little while...I gotta say, you’re just as hot as you were that first night.

A smile dangled at the corner of his lips. It took nearly everything in him to swallow the giddy giggle that nearly tumbled out of his mouth. Keep it together, Parker. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

> What do you say we cool you off a bit?

Peter cocked an eyebrow. Confusion overtook his face, effectively destroying the illusion of calm he clung to. What did Wade mean by that? His first, second and third thought smashed together and ended up in a jumbled heap, so he was left with bewilderment. “How do you suppose I do that?” Peter managed to ask.

> Got any ice?

Oh. Oh . He was being literal? Like, really literal. He felt like his brain short-circuited and he was waiting for the hard reset. Peter had never...what did Wade have in mind exactly and…?

> You spacing out on me, baby boy? Not something you’re into?

The chat notification snapped Peter out of the trance he’d stumbled into. Eyes wide, he shook his head and chuckled nervously. “Sorry, sorry,” he forced out, cheeks heating at the thought of how stupid he must have looked. “I should have some in the freezer...gimme a sec to grab the tray.”

> Take your time. I’m a patient man. 

> Oh, and maybe lose the underoos on the way back. You know...just a thought.

“Just a thought,” Peter teasingly repeated, flashing the webcam a cheeky smile before shifting off the bed and leaving his captive audience with a view of his headboard.

Clumsily, he meandered into his kitchen and only then realized that his face was on fire and his heart was racing. This was new, exciting, and borderline insane but Peter was in love with how this moment was making him feel. As he opened the freezer door, he found himself smiling so wide that his cheeks ached, almost giddy as he considered what the next hour or so would offer him. What was Wade planning to have Peter do with this tacky plastic tray of unevenly shaped cubes of ice? Was it something he’d done with a previous partner, something he was familiar with and fond of? Was this going to awaken something in Peter? Questions flooded his mind, an endless typhoon of was, how and would.

Pushing a microwave dinner to the side haphazardly, he located the ice cube tray he inherited from Aunt May, a relic that was probably older than he was. Retrieving the tray, Peter closed the freezer door, took a few steps back towards his room and paused. Carefully, leaning against the entranceway between the kitchen and the small living room, he shimmied awkwardly in an attempt to remove his boxers with one hand and not drop the tray of ice.

In that moment, he was so thankful that he’d done this goofy looking dance away from the webcam’s all-seeing eye.

Inhaling deeply, boxers abandoned and draped over a chair at his kitchen table, he reentered the bedroom with a sense of purpose. He entered into frame less than gracefully and greeted the camera with a wink. “Miss me?”

> You know I did. You just like hearing it, don’t you? Little brat.

Brat wasn’t meant to be endearing, was it? Not normally, anyway, but reading the word, imagining Wade’s tone, made him feel a certain type of way. He liked it. A lot. “You make it sound like a bad thing,” Peter replied.

> Nah. Just learning new things about you. You’re a brat...but you’re a good listener.

Peter tilted his head, leaning forward just so. “Well, I like listening to you, Wade...so tell me what to do.”

> I said we had to cool you off a bit, didn’t I?

“You did,” Peter confirmed wryly. 

> Well, go on. Use the ice and cool down, baby boy.

He sat the tray between his legs. Exchanging glances between Wade and the tray, Peter adjusted himself and leaned back against the headboard. He regarded the webcam with a certain fondness before picking up one of the ice cubes, bringing it up to his mouth. Slowly, he traced the ice across his lower lip. The initial shock of the ice against his skin forced a shiver down his spine. The cube had already begun to melt, the cool water dripping from his lips down his chin and trickling down to his chest. He exhaled slowly, delighting in the chill.

> That’s my brat.

Peter chuckled breathlessly, catching Wade’s message before leaning his head back. “Only yours,” he said, punctuating the statement by dragging the still melting ice past his chin and gliding it along his neck and shoulders.

It was oddly exhilarating. The immediate cold being introduced to fever hot skin, the knee jerk response of wanting to pull away but allowing the numbing feeling to spread...it made Peter’s heart race and his jaw clench.

> You seem to be liking that. First time?

Nodding vigorously, he eagerly reached towards the tray and retrieved another cube, sliding it down the center of his chest, slowly circling his belly button. The ice left a glistening trail in its wake, a sleek reminder of where it had been. Peter had never considered ice more than a convenient way to cool his drink and an inconvenient addition to New York City’s landscape during the frigid winter months.

Ever web-sling across icy rooftops? Yikes.

But this use for ice? Yeah, he could definitely get into this.

What frustrated Peter was how quickly the ice melted. By the time he rounded his naval a few times, the cube between his fingers was reduced to droplets dipping from his fingertips. Enjoying the sensation only to watch it die so quickly...that was just cruel.

“Wish you were here for this, Wade,” he hummed, a rouge thought that escaped before sensibility could wrangle it back in. Still, it was the honest truth, so…no harm, no foul?

> You and me both, baby boy. Look at you...Christ, it’s torture. I gotta say, though...it is fucking incredible, watching you play with yourself.

Through ragged breaths, Peter allowed a few more words to spill from his lips, uninterrupted and unobstructed. “I’d rather have you here to play with me. Bet you know what to do with your hands…” The words made his insides twist and tighten, the thoughts attached forcing Peter to catch his lower lip between his teeth to cage the groan that wanted to be set free. Instead, he exchanged the groan for a few more desperate words. “You’d touch me, right?”

> Are you kidding? Where wouldn’t I touch you? You’re fucking gorgeous, baby boy.

> Tell you what. Close your eyes and pretend I’m there. Your hands are mine. Let me touch you.

For a second, Peter swore his heart stopped. He reread Wade’s words a few times, heat rising from the tips of his toes to the tips of his ears. Despite that raw, palpable heat, a shiver overtook him as he nodded, taking another ice cube between his fingers and closing his eyes.

Peter allowed his mind to swim. The hustle and bustle of the city outside was reduced to static as he imagined his hands belonging to someone else. He imagined larger hands, fingertips eagerly exploring his chest as he palmed the ice cube and glided his hand along his body. Immediately, his steady, even breathing was replaced with erratic panting. He tilted his head back, jaw slack, as he let Wade’s name tumble out of his mouth in an abrupt exhale. 

The chill of the ice caused Peter’s back to arch, hands stuttering in their fevered movements. That hesitance, the momentary lapse, seemed to be enough to force Peter’s mind to simply disregard the simple fact that his hands were his own. No, he wasn’t touching himself; Wade was. Abandoning control, he felt only Wade.

His limbs trembled, legs shaking as hands roamed wildly. Suddenly, Peter gasped, seemingly startled at the sudden introduction of the ice to his nipple.

Oh. Oh.

That was... yes , Peter liked that. He even said so. “Fuck, Wade,” he shivered, the cube repeatedly running over his now erect nipple, “right there...don’t stop!” The other hand moved to the opposing nub, pinching it and rolling it methodically between thumb and pointer finger.

Peter’s body was on fire. A shivering mess, he nearly whined when the ice melted again, but as if by magic, that satisfying sharpness of the ice returned. It teased tight, taut skin and he gasped, the sound dissolving into a heated groan. The hand that touched him switched between tugging teasingly at his nipple and slowly dragging nails down his chest. Each new sensation made Peter’s toes curl and forced his back off the headboard.

He focused on his hands that were no longer his. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he was drowning in the endless nothingness that existed behind his eyelids. Nothingness thawed into a strong body, broad shoulders and a well-defined collarbone. Nothingness erupted into a pair of desperate, determined hands and nothingness was persistent. Nothingness perused Peter’s body, determined to memorize each and every inch of him. Nothingness refused to stop and Peter was content with that.

Another ice cube found its way to Peter’s chest. Biting his bottom lip, an involuntary shiver forced his body to shake. That shake turned into a voluntary roll. Peter began to roll his hips upward, an insistent rut against nothing at all. Hands continued their ravenous dance and Peter’s cock, neglected throughout everything, throbbed between his legs.

He’d never felt like this before, not once. This level of intensity, this uncontrollable heat that was building in his belly and spreading every which way, was something he had never experienced. It was unexpected but welcomed and a part of him idly wondered if intimacy would ever be the same again. Would he ever recover from the bouts of chilled pleasure or was this the monumental high he’d be forced to chase for the rest of his life?

Nails dragged down his chest and Peter’s body twisted to meet the pleasant sting. “Wade... please …” Peter exhaled, fingertips pinching, pressing, prodding at overly sensitive skin. Hands slid effortlessly across his body, the remnants of the ice allowing hands to gracefully glide down his chest, past his stomach and along his hips. Panting wildly, Peter continued to call out for Wade, pleading for more, begging for anything and everything he was allowed.

What would have surprised him, if coherent thought was a viable option, was how natural it felt to cry out for Wade, someone he barely knew. Last time, all he had was a letter, the ghost of a name, and even then, it didn’t exactly feel bad to say (rather, moan,) but this...this felt different. The outcry of Wade, the continuous whimpers and groans of Wade, felt instinctual, as if he’d said his name a million times before. He came alive in an entirely different way when it came to Wade and logically, it didn’t make a lick of sense, but the only sensible thought Peter claimed in this moment of ecstasy was ‘screw logic’.

What the hell had logic ever done for him anyway?

He felt everything all at once; he throbbed and shivered and struggled to catch his breath. He never stopped moving, the determined roll of his hips, the manic twitching of his thighs. Gasping for air, he used whatever fleeting breath he had left to cry out for the figure on the other side of the computer screen. “Wade...make me come, Wade…!” Peter’s voice cracked, words thick and heavy with need. The frenzied movement, the addicting friction, drove him to a frantic state, a place he never visited, a plane of existence he never knew. Fingernails bit into Peter’s chest and the last ice cube from the tray coasted across his nipples. He groaned and convulsed and, for a few long moments, he felt untethered.

Nothing mattered.

Maybe nothing would ever matter again.

Peter was acutely aware of the existence of his own arms. Fingertips tingling, limbs numb, he adjusted himself and learned his head against the headboard again. The room felt like it was spinning and he hesitated to open his eyes. “Fuck,” he sighed.

The chat notification forced Peter’s eyes wide open.

> There’s my deer in headlights look. Never gets old.

> You look surprised. You asked me to make you come. I did.

Peter looked down only to see that Wade was absolutely right. He had come...but he hadn’t even touched himself...yet, right there on his stomach...huh.

> As always, baby boy, you’re a work of art.

Part of Peter was thankful that Wade kept typing. It gave him time to make sure his head was out of the clouds and his feet were planted securely on the ground. The entirety of what had just happened existed as a series of blurs. It happened so fast and it was so fucking intense…

> Everything alright?

“Yeah...sorry about that. That was just, um, wow,” Peter replied, sheepishly futzing with his hands in his lap.

> Wow indeed. How are you feeling?

Looking up, Peter looked almost surprised. There was something soft about that question. It felt like it didn’t fit into this narrative. It felt personal, as if Wade actually cared about Peter’s answer. His expression softened. “I’m feeling great,” he said, offering Wade a sincere smile, “and what about you, Wade? How are you feeling?”

> Pretty damn good, baby boy, especially after that. Shit, I’m on cloud nine.

He laughed gently, leaning out of frame to grab the tissue box from his nightstand. Peter attempted to clean himself up, but found himself hopelessly distracted by his patron. “I said I’d moan for you, didn’t I?”

> You also said you wouldn’t make it so easy.

“Did I?”

> Maybe a little. Not complaining, though.

Defiance flashed in Peter’s eyes. Had he made it easy? Maybe he had. The only thing he could clearly recall was the frequency in which Wade’s name dripped from his lips...so, well, whoops. “Well, I’ll make it even harder next time.”

> Next time, huh? You must really like me.

“I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy after this. No more Mr. Nice Guy.” 

> Yeah? Well, I already have an idea for next time.

Peter cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

The next message Wade sent included ten numbers. They had nothing in common at first glance and Peter had considered the possibility that perhaps Wade had dropped something on his keyb--

Wait. That was a phone number.

That was Wade’s phone number.

> Call me next time. I’d love to talk...but no pressure, okay? Only if you wanna. I’m free pretty much whenever, so...yeah. Remember, no pressure, baby boy.

For a second, he stopped breathing. He stared at that sequence of numbers and he couldn’t quite recall a time when any number made him feel as nauseated. His heart pounded against his rib cage. 

He was overthinking this, all of this. Stop. Just stop. Breathe.

Recalling the ability to speak, Peter played coy and brushed his fingers through his hair. “You got it,” he replied, very aware of how noncommittal his answer was, but he knew he’d need time to dissect and analyze every aspect of what the hell just happened. “It’d be...kind of nice to attach a voice to your name,” Peter added thoughtfully. 

> You want something to think about on those lonely nights? I’m flattered.

Peter stifled a chuckle. “Oh, absolutely. I hope you don’t exhaust yourself, running through my mind as much as you do.”

> Hey, you said it, not me :P

A sincere laugh this time. He carefully crossed his legs, leaning his elbow on his knee and resting his chin on the heel of his palm. Regarding the camera gently, Peter said, “Yeah, I did.” 

> You’re one in a million, baby boy. Did you know that?

“If you say it enough, I’m sure it’ll stick,” he replied cheekily. “I’m a fast learner.”

> I’ll say it as many times as I need to. You’re fucking amazing.

His cheeks burned and he felt that familiar flutter in his chest. How did Wade always elicit such strong reactions with a few typed words in a chat window? He had to wonder how the spoken word suited Wade and how much more persuasive he would become.

Maybe he’d find out sooner rather than later.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Wade.”

> Coming from you, that’s one hell of a compliment.

> And I’ll take that thought to bed with me. Thank you for the show, baby boy. Always appreciated.

He almost told Wade not to go. He almost asked Wade to stay for just a little while longer. Talk to him until the sun came up and tell him about everyday life. Tell him how this website became a part of the evening routine. What was for dinner? Tell him a secret and Peter would keep it. Was he lonely like Peter was?

Instead, Peter nodded, accepting that this was the end of their interaction for the evening. Even if Wade had called him a brat, he chose not to act like one, even if the temptation to do so was nearly unbearable. “Until next time?”

> Until next time. Goodnight <3

“Goodnight, Wade,” he hummed in reply.

Their connection terminated, Peter took a deep, long breath in through his nose. His head still spun and the tips of his fingers still tingled.

All of a sudden, he remembered the sequence of numbers that made his heart feel like it would burst. Nearly tumbling out of bed, he hurried to his desk and rummaged through the top drawer. Retrieving a pen and a pad of sticky notes, he sat back on the bed and scrolled through the one-sided conversation. As if worried the words and numbers would melt away into the void, Peter hurriedly jotted down Wade’s phone number on the neon yellow square of paper. Information obtained, he logged off of the host site, closed the laptop and carefully pushed it aside.

The world was silent again. When things were quiet, Peter filled his head with noise, thoughts with no direction, but tonight, his musings were focused. They resided comfortably between chaos and an odd sort of understanding. Shedding his mask, he held it in his lap and for a while, he just stared at it, as if awaiting some divine intervention, willing the answers to a million questions to drop from the mask’s hollowed, empty eyes. Give these feelings validity. Make him understand. Help him not to expect too much out of this.

But, there was only silence.

Peter sighed, admitting defeat. He exchanged the mask in his hand for the sticky note. He held it carefully, already attached to these ten numbers and who they could potentially connect him to. 

This wasn’t what he signed up for. This was supposed to be Peter surrendering a little bit of pride in exchange for relief, just a little bit of relief.

Unfortunately, not everything in Peter Parker’s life went the way it was supposed to.

Chapter Text

Peter placed a piece of clear tape over the center of the neon-colored sticky note, joining the two worn sides together. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he took in the sight of the now reconstructed sticky note, the numbers joined together, as they should be. Those numbers were just, well, meant to be together. He nearly panicked when he dug into his pocket to retrieve the sticky note, only to find it divided, as if at war with itself. 

He’d been carrying around Wade’s phone number in his pocket for about a week. Even in his Spider suit, he kept the paper close. It was beginning to feel like a security blanket; on the subway, he’d shove his hand into the pocket of his jeans and trace from corner to corner with the tips of his fingers and in-between slinging through the city, he’d take the worn paper out and regard it thoughtfully. It was always with him.

Over the last seven, maybe eight, days, he’d dialed at least half of Wade’s phone number more than a dozen times. He’d get to the fourth or fifth digit, panic and toss the phone away as if it had spontaneously caught fire. Hot shame washed over him every single time and he’d return the paper back to his pocket, safe and sound, folded every which way with fragile creases. 

In theory, he didn’t even need the sticky note anymore. Peter had the numbers memorized before the sun rose the day he received it. He was good with numbers, always had been, but he had this intense need to keep the physical representation of Wade’s number close. Something about the numbers scrawled in black ink, the reminder of the number’s exact sequence and the fevered memories attached...it just made Peter feel something . Didn’t know what. Couldn’t give it a name but he just felt a certain sort of something when he held the sticky note and read and reread Wade’s number.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He had tried to shift whatever this feeling was into an equation of sorts, but Peter learned quickly that it was a problem that simply refused to be solved. It was absolutely infuriating. Peter’s addled brain refused to focus on fact and seemed content to tiptoe on the side of whimsy and consider every single irrational angle of Peter’s peculiar position.

Why couldn’t he let this go? At times, he thought his fixation on this was circling the drain, but it just kept avoiding it, a series of near-misses. He’d remember a moment, a feeling, and all he could think about was Wade. His attention, more often than not, was so painfully divided and he was helpless, unable to reintroduce focus into the chaos he’d created. Were all of the little broken pieces living in the darkest corners of Peter attempting to romanticize something that lacked any sort of sentiment? For being so smart, Peter sure felt dumb when it came to Wade.

Stopping wasn’t an option. Even if he somehow managed to do so, he’d never be able to forget a second of those shared experiences. They woke him up at night, gasping for breath on sweat-stained sheets. They forced his legs crossed and his body to tremble while sitting on the city bus, remembering Wade calling him a ‘little brat.’ He couldn’t escape it, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he just...didn’t care? He didn’t care about how distracted he was, how devoted he was to a nameless entity. It made him feel good and honestly, Peter could count on one hand how many things actually made him feel good these days. So, what was wrong with keeping this, just this, while he was allowed to have it? Things had a tendency to come and go around Peter, but this? This felt like something worth holding onto.

Then again, what was this? Was this fact or fiction? Was he some siren, a virtual cocktease, to Wade? Were these feelings, spreading and multiplying like a deadly disease, simply the result of Wade paying his rent and putting sandwiches from Subway and bottled water in his refrigerator? Was Peter just so fucking lonely and touch-starved that he was accepting any and all attention without a second thought? It felt good so it had to be good, right?

Right?

Peter’s mind was an echo chamber of doubt, uncertainty and this tiny voice that preached positivity. He tried, God knew he tried, to see something beyond the gray, desperate for a place beyond the hate, the rage, the evil he encountered every day. The sun had to shine somewhere, didn’t it? Maybe it could exist in the reflection of a webcam?

Or, alternatively, in the reflection of a cell phone screen.

Swinging low and fast, faded hoots and hollers of ‘Spider-Man!’ ringing in his ears, he found himself desperate and determined. Behind his mask, his eyes darted around wildly, wanting to find someplace, anyplace, to make a phone call. He’d decided against his apartment, fearing he’d only hear a mixture of his moans and crippling self-doubt bouncing off the walls. Instead, he suited up and took to the city, the bustling and restless city. The cold night air nipped at his skin through his suit, the threat of snow looming, but Peter disregarded all of that. Wasn’t important. He had just one thing on his mind.

He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, feeling its attempt to crawl out of his chest, drumming in his throat and threatening to leap out of his mouth. Peter had to wonder if this would backfire spectacularly. He’d considered pros and cons, ran damage calculations and took into account how stupid the desicion was, but he never came to a satisfying conclusion. It all just turned to mush in his head and he waded through it for hours, desperate for resolve. By nature, Peter was over-analytical and it was working against him now. He couldn’t even hazard a guess on how this could end.

And honestly? Part of that scared the shit out of him.

Peter decided on a rooftop overlooking the Hudson River, a luxury apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen. At 40 floors up, it offered a stunning view of the river and New Jersey on the opposing side. He’d come here often, especially after losing May, so maybe that’s why he swung here blindly, as if on autopilot.

Let’s not unpack that trauma right this second. Leave that for another dark, cold night.

Dropping down on the rooftop, he pulled his mask up to rest below his nose, gulping down the chilled night air hurriedly. The deeper the breath he took, the more his lungs ached. He hadn’t quite realized how fast he’d been swinging, racing against a clock that didn’t exist, and he finally felt his limbs trembling. Moving to the protective border around the roof’s perilous edge, Peter crouched slowly, shifting to sit with his back leaning against the firm, flat surface.

Okay. Breathe. Just breathe.

Peter took a moment to focus on the stars that were scattered across the sky, as few and far between as they were. All of this...it had to mean something, didn’t it? People don’t just click with each other that effortlessly for no reason, do they? He wasn’t chasing daydreams, wasn’t clinging to something that didn’t have a form? Peter wasn’t that stupid. At least, Peter didn’t think he was that stupid.

Retrieving the phone, Peter took one more deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. That urgency returned and he felt like he was running out of time. Maybe he’d lose his nerve in a matter of minutes. Maybe Wade would lose hope in baby boy. Hell, maybe one of the many villains who held a grudge against Spider-Man would level New York City and all of this would mean nothing.

Peter wasn’t ready for all of this to be rendered meaningless, not yet. So, his fingers moved fluidly across the touch screen, inputting the number he’d committed to memory. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, connected the call and pressed his phone up against his ear.

Welll, not his phone. A burner phone, actually. He had picked it up from a bodega a few nights earlier. Despite the anxiety, the apprehension and the anticipation, he at least had the forethought to not call from the phone he used, more often than not, for his friendly neighborhood duties. So, a throwaway seemed the best option.

Ring. Ring. Peter’s hands trembled. “Come on, Wade,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tight, “pick up. Please?” Had he dialed the right number? Missed a digit? Had Wade given him the correct number? Was this all just a mistake? Should he go home, grab whatever alcohol he had stashed in his apartment and drink himself stupid?

He might still have that bottle of tequila in his bedroom closet…

“Yeah?” A voice crackled through the other end of the phone and it snapped Peter out of the spiral of doubt he had trapped himself in right quick.

“Wade?!” Peter said a little louder than he’d intended. Immediately, he adjusted his tone and tried again. “Wade...hey. It’s me…”

Before Peter could finish, an amused chuckle interrupted him. “My baby boy,” he said, his tone even and his words fond. “You think I’d forget the way you say my name? Never ever.”

Well...shit. Seemed Peter was right; the spoken word suited Wade in a very dangerous way. His voice was smooth but it had an edge to it, cool and confident, and Peter felt a chill roll up the base of his spine. He could never imagine a voice for Wade. It always turned into a jumble of words spoken by an endless sea of people. It was a sultry greeting or an alluring growl, a joyful affirmation or a hearty belly laugh. Wade’s voice belonged to strangers on the street or a celebrity on the television...until now. This voice? This was perfect. This suited him.

“I’m glad you called,” Wade hummed, the words making Peter smile instantaneously. “You kinda disappear on me sometimes and I have to wonder if you’ll wander back, ya know?”

Guilt threatened to drown him. He didn’t want to burden Wade with second guessing, a myriad of anxieties and all of those ugly little feelings in-between. Instead, he offered him another apology. “I’m sorry. Life’s just...I mean…”

“Hey, I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. Life’s ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag a lot of the time. Trust me, I know,” Wade chortled, an odd sort of weight to the sound. “I just meant that I kinda got attached to you a little bit and it’s not my style to get attached, so…”

Peter’s cheeks ached. His expression softened as he replied, “I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” he replied teasingly. “Besides, I don’t expect you to be camming all day, every day. Assuming you have some sort of day job.”

A dry chuckled tumbled out of Peter’s mouth unexpectedly. “You could say that. The pay’s abysmal but there’s a lot of perks, so I guess it balances out.” Not to mention the mental strain, the aches and pains, the laundry list of creative occupational hazards…

“Admirable.”

“Some people would call it stupid,” Peter mumbled.

“Nah. There’s not a damn thing wrong with doing something you love. Money’s just paper at the end of the day, but you gotta like yourself and what you do when your head hits the pillow. There’s no shame in doing what you’re doing, baby boy.”

How...ridiculously insightful. Considering Wade’s words, their simplistic effectiveness, Peter was rendered speechless. He never regretted being Spider-Man, not for a second, but at times, it was thankless, exasperating and exhausting. Still, he loved it without end. Protecting his city and its people, covered in bumps and bruises, ridding the world of true and unfaltering evil...he’d do it forever if given the chance.

Even if Peter didn’t always love himself, he liked what he did, so Wade had that part right.

“What about you?” Peter asked. He hoped this wasn’t intrusive, hoped he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. “Do you love what you do?”

A thoughtful silence. What did Wade do? Construction? Artist? Retail? Accountant? What kind of career suited his patron? Before he could dive headfirst into that rabbit hole and lock in his final answer, Wade beckoned his attention. “Most days. If I’m being honest, I think I love what you do more.”

Peter snickered, “That so?”

“Oh, yeah. No question. What you do is pure magic, a real thing of beauty.” His words dripped with enthusiasm and they made Peter’s insides twist. “You’re a natural, baby boy.”

His cheeks ignited. Shifting a bit, he tried to mask the nervous laughter that seeped from his lips, doing so poorly. “Well, thank you, Wade. I’ll have to take your word for it since you’re the only person I’ve, uh, performed for. No basis for comparison.”

“Really? Wait... really ?” Wade sounded genuinely surprised. 

“Yeah. Just you. I’ve only ever gone live twice and both times, you were there,” Peter replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He was fine with that. He never wanted a room full of virtual strangers, hungry eyes exploring and picking apart his desperation. Peter considered himself very lucky that Wade was the first one to wander into his private room and even luckier that he decided to come back. For whatever reason, Wade made him feel...secure? Was that the right word? Peter had been able to explore a very sexual side of himself, one that he often ignored. Just wasn’t a priority. But Wade pulled that side out of him and he made it look easy. It became a part of himself that he was growing very attached to. With Wade, he felt free to explore himself, find new things that enticed him, and he never felt judged for curling his toes, tilting his head back and giving himself over to the pleasure that followed.

If he had to do this, expose himself and his personal problems on the world wide web, he was glad he exposed himself to Wade. 

“Can’t lie,” Wade began, sounding just a little smug, “I kinda like knowing that I’ve had you all to myself. Like, not in a creepy way, ya know. I just suck at sharing."

Peter laughed softly. “No, not creepy at all.” He took a moment to consider his situation, the nature of their relationship and exactly what it meant to him. It felt oddly organic and strangely sincere. Peter would be lying if he said that his faceless patron hadn’t become, well, kind of important to him. Was that weird? Maybe a little. “I enjoy being your baby boy.”

“Mine, huh? Better watch what you say. Might grow even more attached to you.”

“Even more?” Peter asked, a knowing grin smeared across his face. “Oh, Wade, I’m blushing.”

He snickered, “Brat.”

Without missing a beat, Peter eagerly replied, “Only yours.”

There was something so warm and familiar about Wade, about how they interacted. Ever since that first night, there was always something so unexplainably natural about conversing with him; their flirtatious banter, the way Wade made him smile through his uncertainty and the way Wade made him feel like things had the potential to be okay...it felt instinctive, as if Peter had been meant to know Wade in one life or another. The magnetic nature of their relationship was bewildering but Peter decided to stop asking so many questions about it. Answers were elusive and they were overrated anyway.

“So, what are you up to tonight, baby boy?”

Peter adjusted again, switching the phone to the opposing ear, freeing his right hand. Fishing for an answer that didn’t include, ‘web slinging around the city, looking for somewhere private to talk to you before I lose my nerve,’ he decided on, “Stargazing.” Granted, seeing stars in New York City was a rarity, but Peter could see a few faint specks of light dotting the light-polluted sky, so he considered that a win. Plus, it didn’t make him a liar.

“Outside? Aren’t you cold?” Wade asked.

“I’m talking to you,” Peter replied, “of course I’m not cold.”

Wade laughed heartily. “Oh, that so? You recover from your icecapades?”

Peter couldn’t deny that remembering that night made him throb at very inappropriate times (like now, for example.) He’d travel back to that memory a bit too often, but you wouldn’t hear him complaining about that. The intensity of that night left quite the impression on Peter.

Then again, so did Wade.

He hesitated in answering, considering the words he wanted to say. An idea blossomed within his head and it bloomed at an alarming rate. Inhaling slowly, deeply, he thought about it for a few more seconds, relented to that deviousness that dwelled within him, exhaled and said, “Now that you mention it, I am a little cold, Wade.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Something brewed within him, something out of his comfort zone. Softly, Peter said, “If you were here, how would you warm me up?”

Wade exhaled, a deep, slow exhale through his nose. The sound alone made Peter shiver, but the words that followed intensified that feeling tenfold. “Oh, baby boy, the list of things I could do to you…”

“Tell me,” Peter replied a little too quickly, his heart humming in his ears.

There’s hesitation and Peter’s immediately worried that perhaps he went too far. Sure, they remained ridiculously flirtatious beyond the confines of the webcam, but maybe this was too much? Maybe this was just a bit too much, too fast? Did he need to learn how to read the room?

“First, I’d just touch you, every single inch of you. I’d drag my hands down your chest,  your thighs, your legs...everywhere.” 

Peter held his breath the entire time Wade spoke and part of him was glad he did, already swallowing down a groan that threatened to claw its way out of his mouth. Somehow, just those few words left Peter half hard, body tingling.

“You’d look so damn good under me,” Wade continued, steady and composed, a contrast to Peter’s slow and steady decline, “naked, arching into my hands, bottom lip between your teeth...you’d make a little noise for me, wouldn’t you?”

Again, a little too quickly, Peter uttered, “Yeah...yeah.” He panted, trailing his hand down his chest, fighting against the tug of the fabric of his suit. “Might be…a little loud. You know that, though.”

“Oh, that’s fine by me. I’d make sure you were. Maybe make my neighbors jealous,” he chuckled, but it was a more gutteral sound compared to earlier, more lighthearted laughter. This sounded heavier and Peter felt his body react accordingly to that weight. “I’d use my teeth if I had to,” Wade added nonchalantly, as if those words weren’t meant to rock Peter’s entire world to its core. 

That groan from earlier? It tore its way out of Peter’s mouth. He gripped the phone tighter, fearing he may drop it as his body shivered in response to Wade. His hand cupped over his clothed cock, kneading his fingertips into himself slowly. “I like a little teeth,” he breathed, tilting his head back. Behind the top half of his mask, he felt his face burn, but he kept it on, just in case.

“How about a lot of teeth? I’d cover you in bites, leave marks in all of the little places you hide. The inside of your thighs, just below your belly button...all of those secret places no one else can see. I’d know where they all were and I’d know they belonged to me.”

His hand tightened around himself. “Fuck,” Peter gasped, his head already swimming. Frustration pooled in his belly, the feel of fabric instead of skin maddening. Like shedding a second skin, he momentarily released himself and used the hand not holding the phone to slide out of his suit. “I’d let you, ah, let you bite and mark me everywhere, anywhere you wanted. I’d wear those marks with pride, show them off,” he panted, out of breath and out of patience. Struggling with the skintight suit and the persistent throbbing between his legs, he feared he may burst. “Wade, make me yours…”

“Slow down, baby boy. What if I want to take my time? Kiss you nice and slow, watch you squirm under me? You’re so pretty when you whine,” Wade whispered in Peter’s ear, sounding so pleased with himself.

Peter’s hand found its way back to his cock. He’d pulled his suit down to hug his waist, having dug his frantic hand into the tight space between the lower half of his suit and his body. He stroked himself slowly, mirroring Wade’s words; slow down, take your time. “Wade, Wade...fuck me. I want you to...fuck me, Wade.”

So much for taking it slow.

“No foreplay? Oh, baby boy, you’re so needy, aren’t you? You want me that bad?”

Tension built quickly within Peter. He shuddered, jerking himself off at a moderate pace, trying desperately to slow himself down. “Yes,” he moaned, running the pad of his thumb across his tip, “I want you so bad. I need you.”

If granted a moment of clarity, these words might have startled him. Having struggled with defining what these feelings were, what this ‘relationship’ truly was, he’d never have admitted something so personal. To moan out someone’s name in a heated moment of passion and to admit wanting, needing someone were two very different things. Peter had taken a very confident step across the line that separated the two. He didn’t look back, only forward, and he moved towards want and need, refusing to deny himself a moment longer. 

A low groan came from the other end of the phone. “Say it again, baby boy. Christ, say it again.” 

He gripped the base of his cock and shivered. Sucking in a quick breath through his teeth, he nearly whimpered through the exhale, “Need you to, ah, fuck me, Wade. Want you so, so bad…”

Seeming to have refocused, Wade hummed, tone thick with need, “I’d start slow. I’d slide in and fuck, I bet you’re tight, but I know you’d open up for me. Slow and steady at first, gripping your hips tight, watching your back arch up off the bed. You’d wrap your legs around my waist, keep us nice and close.”

The night faded away around Peter and all that remained was Wade’s voice. It thrummed between his ears, the words rattling around inside of his skull. They ignited a fire in Peter, a roaring inferno, a monster no longer held captive. It set his entire body ablaze and he was content to burn. 

“Yeah, Wade, yeah,” panted Peter, stroking himself faster now. He used long, full strokes and it forced his body to embrace that delightful tension that continued to build. “Harder,” he begged, “harder, please.”

A groan, followed by a chuckle. “I love hearing you beg for me, baby boy,” Wade murmured. Breathlessly, he continued his verbal assault on Peter’s body, creating a heated, vivid scene with words alone. “I’m a bastard, so I’d keep that slow pace for a little bit longer, just to tease you. You love it, I know you do. I know I’m selfish but damn it, you’re something special when you beg for it.”

Peter’s a wreck. The more Wade talked, the more he could picture, the more he could see. He could imagine Wade’s hands leaving scorched trails down his body, feel him sucking rosy red marks onto his skin. Eyes squeezed shut tight, he swore he could see Wade looming over him, feel every inch of him sliding smoothly in and out. Moaning against the phone, his hand moved faster, his full strokes becoming shorter and erratic. “Please, Wade, before I...I’m gonna…”

“No, no,” Wade scolded gently, “not yet. I’m not done with you yet.” There’s a moment of silence, just a moment, before he spoke again, as if allowing Peter to marinade a bit. “You’ve been so good to me, baby boy, so damn good, and I’d be good to you. I’d fuck you as hard as you wanted, as hard as you begged for. Fast, deep...tell me you want it.”

Without a second thought, Peter obeyed. He called out for Wade, praised him, regarded him as some sort of deity. He writhed against the rooftop’s protective border, back arched and body taut. He felt it coming, teetering over a dangerous edge, but he resisted. He didn’t want to come, not yet, not until Wade said he could. “W-Wade, Oh God, don’t stop,” Peter pleaded, biting down on his lower lip.

“Baby boy, God’s got nothing to do with this,” Wade replied, matter-of-factly, “not with the things I wanna do to you. I’d dig my fingertips into your hips and I’d swear you were purring. Cheeks flush, hair a fucking mess...you’re perfect."

“Can I...Wade, let me come…”

“Almost time. Let me enjoy you for just a little longer,” Wade grunted. “You’d look up at me, wouldn’t you? You’d make that face, that beautiful face that ju-- fuck .” He inhaled sharply and it was followed by an unsteady, quivering breath. Panting into the phone, Wade managed to whisper, “Go ahead, baby boy. Come for me. Just for me.”

That’s all he needed to hear. A few more erratic strokes and his body reacted almost violently. Overstimulated and raw, he was unable to hold himself back. “W-Wade…!” Peter cried out, coming on his hand and, oops, his suit. The concern for how to clean that up fluttered away as quickly as it appeared, an intense feeling of satisfaction flooding his entire being. Finally allowing himself to relax, Peter managed to mumble, “Holy shit.”

“You said it,” Wade sighed in response. “Good for you?”

An exasperated sigh left Peter’s lips. “Shut up,” he said, the words followed by a chuckle, which then evolved into a laugh. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Coulda fooled me,” joked Wade.

His laughter faded into the night and Peter was reminded of where he was and what he’d just done. Wild...it was all absolutely wild. Unknowingly, Wade had expanded his universe exponentially and he did so effortlessly. A few months ago, Peter would have never believed that he’d be having semi-public phone sex overlooking the Hudson River, laughing as his body came down from probably the most intense orgasm of his life. A few months ago, Peter would have never thought he’d have found a way out of that deep, dark hole he’d dug for himself after losing May. There was a small part of him that feared losing her meant living the rest of his life in a colorless, dull world, but Wade was vibrancy. He was a splash of color on a black and white canvas. He reminded Peter of how he felt before loss had threatened to tear his young heart asunder. It had happened so fast, but Peter felt a sense of calm in the eye of this storm.

“You alright?” Wade asked.

At first, Peter nodded, almost as if he’d forgotten that he was alone on a rooftop, still holding his cock against the palm of his hand. He tried again, quietly replying, “Yeah. I’m just…”

“Just?”

He took a deep breath. “I can’t explain it. These things I’ve done lately, talking to you...I guess I just never expected any of this to happen to me.”

Because being bitten by a radioactive spider wasn’t enough excitement for one lifetime, right?

Slowly, evenly, Wade asked, “Do you regret it?”

Peter didn’t have to think about his answer. “No,” he said, lips curling into a smile. “Sure, I was scared out of my mind that first night, but you...you made it feel okay. You made it feel not so terrifying. You made me feel...safe.” His chest felt tight and his heart raced. Peter had only thought these feelings, never daring to give them life. They grew louder. They had their own heartbeat. They gained sentience. “I’m thankful for what you’ve done for me, Wade, all of it.”

“Shucks, baby boy,” Wade gushed.

Peter playfully rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. You saved my ass, more than once as a matter of fact. Remember that first night, you asked if I was used to asking for help and I told you I wasn’t? You said you wanted to help me and I never forgot that. I mean, Wade, you put food on my table, you kept me from being homeless...I can’t regret meeting someone as kind and generous as you.”

There wasn’t an immediate response and Peter wished Wade would say something, anything, to distract him from his heart pounding in his ears. Honestly, Peter had to wonder what was going on in Wade’s head. Did he regret getting involved with Peter, even without the awareness of the tons of baggage he carried without complaint? To Wade, what was Peter? Just a poor kid with a body decent enough to put on display? Desperate and leaning on a stranger’s generosity?

“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Wade said before his tone softened, “but I meant that, what I said. Whatever you need, you got me, baby boy. Asking for help isn’t easy, I know, but you got me.”

He almost told Wade to call him Peter. It danced on his tongue, the temptation clawing and biting at the inside of his cheeks. He wanted to hear Wade say his name. Selfishness swelled within him and it was startling at first. Peter had never been self-serving, always putting others before himself, but this feeling? This venom that continued to corrupt and corrode that sense of altruism he clung to?

What was happening to him?

Instead of giving into that dangerous urge, Peter relented to reason. “Thank you,” he managed to reply, hoping the sincerity was coming through as strongly as he felt it, “and the same goes for you, okay? If I can do anything for you, Wade--”

“You do more than enough for me,” Wade interjected, “trust me. You’ve been pretty amazing company and, let’s be real, you’re easy on the eyes.” 

An involuntary laugh left Peter abruptly. “Not too good with sentimental moments, are you?”

“What gave you that idea? Oh shit, wait, were we having a romcom moment? Shit, did I mess up a confession of newly discovered love?”

“Yup,” Peter began, “but the moment’s gone. Credits are rolling. People are leaving the theater, completely dissatisfied.”

Wade whined on the other end. “Awww, come on! Redo? I can get a redo, right? Come on, baby boy!”

“Nope. No after credits scene for you.”

He laughed, feigning heartbreak. “We’ll go down in history as the most tragic romance ever!”

Peter offered Wade a little of that patented optimism he armed himself with so often. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get a sequel.”

“As long as it’s not straight to DVD.”

“Promise.”

It happened again. Peter felt their conversation coming to an end, their time together winding down. That selfishness reared its ugly head once more and Peter wanted to steal a few more moments of Wade’s time. He wanted to bottle up his laughter, keep it for those dark, impossible days. He wanted to listen to Wade breathe, wanted to just keep this night hidden away behind his ribcage, safe and sound. He was simply unwilling to say goodnight.

“We should do this again sometime,” Wade suggested, “you know, if you want to, I mean. If I didn’t weird you out.”

“You didn’t weird me out,” Peter insisted, “and...yeah, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” Coyly, Peter added, “I give one hell of a cellular blowjob.”

“That so? Gives me something to look forward to.” Wade paused and took a deep breath, as if lost in thought. He took a moment before speaking again, “I had fun tonight. Thanks for, you know, not thinking I’m a total hornball and actually calling.”

“I had fun, too...and you’re not a creep and, well, maybe you’re a hornball, but stop that. Maybe I don’t know everything you are, Wade, but the things I do know...I like. I like all those things. I like you .”

“And I like you, baby boy.”

‘Call me Peter,’ he almost said. He almost said it. Stumbling over the words that turned to acid in his mouth, he managed to instead say, “Have a good night, Wade.”

“You too. Until next time?”

“Until next time.”

Click .

The city came alive all of a sudden; buses honking, car alarms blaring, indistinct shouting coming from every angle. Left alone with the handful of stars above and this odd, empty feeling within, he pulled the phone away from his ear and just stared at the screen as the call ended and it faded to black. Setting it aside, Peter remained still and silent for a few minutes.

Why? Why did he feel like this whenever Wade disappeared? It was never goodbye, but what if it had been and he just didn’t know it? Even if that was the case, why did that bother him so much? Why was this threatening what little stability he had in his life? It was so ridiculously irrational and yet, Peter refused to let it go. He was content to dig his heels in and do whatever he could to just keep this. Paid, unpaid, casual or otherwise, he wanted, no, needed to keep this. Whatever the hell this was, he needed it now and he still didn’t know why.

Finally acknowledging his flaccid length, Peter exhaled through his nose and carefully put himself back together again. He pulled his suit back up over his chest and tugged his mask down over his mouth. Slowly, he rose to his feet, knees locked from their previous position. He collected his phone and was about to swing his way back to the apartment Wade was still effectively paying for, feeling heavy and defeated, until something audibly clicked.

The area code.

The area code in Wade’s phone number.

Maybe Wade was as careful as Peter was and got a burner cell. Maybe he had the number spoofed because calling the masked cam boy wasn’t exactly the safest thing to do. But, there was a chance, wasn’t there?

Peter opened up a search engine in the phone's browser, nearly dropping it because of his anxious, eager hands. He typed in the words ‘area code’ and the three digits. The search results flashed on the screen in less than a second and they made Peter’s jaw drop.

New York City. The area code belonged to New York City. Wade...was here ?

Chapter Text

Peter wasn’t going to become a stalker. Absolutely not. He had no intention of turning into a desperate mess of a man, searching for someone who didn’t want to be found. He didn’t want to expend so much time and energy on something that wasn’t meant to work out in the long run. It would be like jamming a malformed puzzle piece into a space it had no business being in. How long could he pick at this scab before he’d lose the ability to control the bleed?

After the abrupt realization concerning Wade’s potential whereabouts, it was all he could think about. The thought ruled him, became an unscratchable itch. Everytime he swung through the city’s labyrinthine streets, he considered the possibility that maybe he had passed Wade. Maybe he was sitting on a bench in the park with a coffee, listening to music through his headphones, or maybe he was running to catch a bus to get home. He could have been walking a dog or cursing at a jaywalker who wandered in front of the taxi he was in. His restless mind created so many hypotheticals all at once and it made his head ache. Thinking that he could have already met Wade somehow, somewhere before the birth of baby boy was jarring at times and it was becoming harder and harder to manage. 

He was obsessing and he knew that, but he couldn’t turn it off. Every line of thought led back to webcams and ice cubes and rooftops overlooking the Hudson River. Peter couldn’t detach himself from the intensity of the euphoria or that nagging feeling that he was in too deep. His life already felt like a three-ringed circus most of the time, but now the main event headline would boast, ‘Peter Parker: The Amazing Drowning Man who Continues to Beg for Rain!’

If he pursued this, his life would never be the same again.

On the other hand, was there really any reason to get wound up like this? All he had was a phone number that could potentially belong to a throwaway. It could be just what it appeared to be, a randomly generated series of numbers that meant far too much to a mentally-ill adult who couldn’t rationalize these feelings swimming around in his head. It could simply just be that and Peter would have to grin and bear it, go out and fight the villains in the streets instead of the ones in his own head.

What was he even expecting out of all of this? By some miracle, what if he did manage to actually find Wade? Actual skin and bones Wade? What then? He could have a wife and four kids, just using Peter to blow off some steam. He could be a smooth-talking creep with nefarious intentions, just waiting to lure an idiot like Peter into one of those white vans with a dirty mattress in the back and no way out. Hell, he could be an ordinary, wonderful man with an ordinary job, no priors, who was just lonely.

Peter couldn’t figure out which option scared him more.

Either way, he was desperate to let go of these thoughts for a few minutes, just a few. Peter needed to reset, reconnect and remember what logical thought felt like. It was all just ridiculous, borderline insane. Finding Wade was not only illogical, but it was just, well, stupid. Baby boy was an illusion, a spectacle, an unattainable goal. That’s what it meant to cam, right? It was a digital escape, a virtual playpen, and baby boy was just a toy in a high end toy store; look but don’t touch.

So, why did he want to be touched?

It was all he could think about. He wanted long, languid strokes and fingertips digging into his hips hard enough to bruise. Peter wanted to break every single rule he’d ever learned all because of Wade and there was something so frustrating about that. Wade wasn’t MJ or even Miles. Wade wasn’t a childhood friend or a colleague. He was a stranger, plain and simple. So, why did Peter want to disregard logic for him?

His phone came to life, a welcome distraction that Peter was more than thankful for. The police scanner continued its chatter, most of it idle commentary. Slow night. Perched on a building’s edge, he watched the city diligently, carefully, fighting against the haze he was struggling to escape inside himself. This was all he really felt good for at the moment, rendered otherwise useless by intrusive thoughts and heated daydreams.

“All available units respond to a possible break-in at--”

Say less.

Without hesitation, he swung into action. An angry, gray sky above and bedlam below, he felt oddly at ease. Despite the danger, there was an illusion of control. Peter knew what needed to be done and he knew how to do it, for the most part. It was muscle memory and adrenaline, something that came naturally to him after years of wearing this mask. It ways, being Spider-Man made a lot more sense to Peter; Peter was damaged and emotionally castrated while Spider-Man was armed with webs and a quip or two. Peter, Spider-Man and now baby boy, the wild, sexually adventurous cocktease. Three sides, three masks he had learned to switch between fluidly, keeping them in balance.

He just hoped he didn’t adopt a fourth mask to wear, unsure of his own ability to keep them all in check. 

Swinging fast and staying low, he kept his eyes open for his unsavory targets. Instead of a bank heist, something a little more lucrative, they decided to hit a fairly popular corner store, one that Peter frequented, so this was personal. It also felt very juvenile, so Peter figured he could knock this out in a few minutes. Little pep talk, little bit of web, a kick or two, nice and simple. Maybe he’d hop on the cam site or give Wade a call if he could make quick work of this situation. 

Broken glass glistened in the glow of the moon. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they still sounded a ways off, which meant this was all up to Spider-Man. Cautiously, he grounded himself and crept closer towards the store, making sure he didn’t step on th--

Crunch. .

Glass.

Four figures, all dressed in black, descended upon him like vultures, seemingly crawling out of the darkness itself. Expletives flew from their mouths as weapons were drawn and pointed directly at Spider-Man.

Shit. So much for quick work.

“Hey, fellas. Nice night for a little stroll, huh? Or a robbery. Nice night for that too, I guess.”

They grumbled amongst each other, no one daring to move. The tension was palpable, as if the four of them were pondering which one of them would have the honor of ending Spider-Man’s life. Who would shoulder that burden? Who would gain the glory?

Well, sorry to say, kiddos, but Spider-Man wasn’t going anywhe--

The world suddenly went black.

~*~

Rain. He smelled it first. Peter then heard rain steadily hitting the pavement. It was rhythmic, soothing and in a matter of seconds, it was confusing. What the hell? Was it raining before...before...what? What had he been doing before…?

Oh, shit .

Peter lurched forward and the entire planet felt like it was tilted on its side. His head throbbed and his lunch threatened to burn its way back up Peter’s throat. With some hesitation, he lifted his hand to his forehead, pressing his fingertips into his temple, willing the world to stop spinning so damn fast. He wanted to get off this ride now .

“Hey. Good morning, sleepy head.”

Eyes wide, Peter swung his head (a little too quickly. Ouch.) to meet the source of this unknown voice. He squinted, light bleeding out from a nearby street lamp, struggling to focus on the body towering over him.

Black and red mask. More red than black attire. Thigh holsters, a utility belt of sorts. Details blurred together as he struggled to identify this leather clad entity. Friend or foe? Hero or villain? 

Peter pressed his back against the wall he was propped up against (another unanswered question,) ready to force himself upright if things decided to go sideways. “What happened? Who...who are you?” The edge he’d meant to inject into his tone vanished instantaneously, yielding genuine confusion. 

“Oh, two questions! Okay, okay, well, you got yourself knocked the fuck out. Before you could even throw a punch, a fifth guy came outta nowhere and clocked you with a metal pipe. Think he got you just above your neck. Looked like it hurt.”

It did.

“Luckily, I was in the neighborhood, saw the whole thing and ta-da! I came to the rescue!” Dramatically, the stranger struck a pose and chuckled. “Wrapped them up nice and pretty for the boys in blue. Dragged you outta there and into this alley so, no worries. Dignity is still intact.” The stranger offered Peter a thumbs up, which he was hesitant to return.

“Okay,” Peter said cautiously, “okay. Thanks for that...I think. And, you are?”

“Ah! Question two, right. Name’s Deadpool. Mr. Pool’s my father.”

Peter had heard about Deadpool in passing. A mercenary for hire type. Pain in the ass, according to the police, but real strong with a chronic case of diarrhea of the mouth. That was about it. The police couldn’t quite agree on Deadpool’s alignment, good, bad or otherwise, but it looked like Peter was going to get the chance to find out. Couldn’t be all bad, considering he’d saved Peter’s sorry, distracted behind, right?

“I’m--”

“Spidey. Duh. I know. Who doesn’t know their friendly neighborhood Spidey-Man?”

Uh-huh. No one had ever mentioned Deadpool’s...enthusiasm. Still, he seemed alright, if not a bit quirky. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Maybe a bit jarring, considering what had just happened. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Deadpool,” Peter managed to say, regarding him for a few seconds before attempting to stand. 

“I’d slow it down a bit, Webs,” warned Deadpool, taking a step towards his fellow masked man. “That guy thwacked you pretty good.”

Peter lifted a hand to stop Deadpool’s advance, took a deep breath and used the wall to steady himself. He managed to get himself upright without stumbling over himself.

Okay. Small victory.

It was only then Peter realized that he was bone dry despite the rain still falling around them. Looking up, he discovered they were standing beneath a rather large awning attached to what seemed to be an abandoned flower shop. He didn’t know if Deadpool had dragged him here purposefully or if he’d just gotten real lucky. With what had happened tonight, how easily he could have been killed tonight, he was leaning towards luck. Seemed to be a pattern.

Peter sighed, adjusting to being upright as the world finally slowed its frantic spinning. Reaching up to touch the back of his head, a thought collided into him with enough force to render him breathless. “After...I got hit, you didn’t...you know…?”

Deadpool tilted his head, taking a few seconds to understand Spidey’s question. “Oh! You wanna know if I took a peek at what lies beneath? Yeah, no, of course not. Gotta respect the secret identity. Mask buddies!”

A sigh of relief. He looked down at his gloved hand, noting the lack of dark red splotches. Okay, so he wasn’t bleeding. Head wounds were tricky since they bled more than other wounds due to the amount of blood vessels close to the surface, but it seemed like he was okay, albeit a little dizzy. Concussion? Maybe.

“Thank you,” Peter said softly, feeling a bit more at ease now that he had answers to the questions he’d asked and he wasn’t bleeding out or staining his suit beyond repair. “I owe you, well, a lot. You didn’t have to do what you did, so it means a lot.”

He waved a hand dismissively, “No worries, Webs. Pleasure was mine. How often am I gonna get the chance to help a legit superhero? I consider it an honor.”

Behind his mask, Peter smiled. He didn’t seem all that bad. Nice enough. Willing to help those in need. Definity the potential to be an ally. “Either way, I appreciate it,” Peter replied, taking a step towards the exit of the alley. “I’ll see you around?”

Cocking a hip, Deadpool offered Spidey an enthusiastic nod. “It’s a date,” he laughed.

That managed to pull a tired chuckle out of Peter. “Oh, absolutely. Later, Deadpool.”

“Until next time, Spidey.”

His heart stopped. New York City in its entirety had been flipped on its head. Why were his ears ringing? Why were his palms sweating? Why did that sound so familiar…?

Until next time?

“Wa--” Peter mumbled, jaw clenched, knees weak.

Deadpool tilted his head. “What was that, Webs? Didn’t exactly catch that.”

It absolutely couldn’t be. There was no way in Hell. This was Peter’s hyperfixation rearing its ugly head. This was chats and phone calls and emotions running wild and anxiety and did he mention he could potentially have a concussion?

“Wade?” Peter said, louder than he’d meant to. He couldn’t control his tone, helpless to stop his hands from trembling. Call Peter crazy. Dismiss him. Send the wounded, confused animal home to lick his wounds and pull himself together. Tell him he’s wrong. 

The silence made Peter ill. Watching Deadpool, waiting with baited breath, he tried to replay those three words over and over again. He tried to remember the cadance, the tone, the way the words made him feel and, oh, God...this couldn’t be happening…

The torturous silence came to an end, courtesy of a clearly confused Deadpool. “Yeah…? Wade’s my na--wait. Do we know each other?”

Yes. You called Peter beautiful, told him he was a brat, told him how you’d touch him, referred to him as being easy on the eyes. You did and said all of those things, so yes, you knew each other.

Peter’s voice abandoned him, stranded him unapologetically. Sentences refused to form. Words filled his mouth and slammed against his gritted teeth. This was a nightmare. He’d wake up any time now. He’d tend to his wounded pride, his fragmented emotional state and he’d keep going. He’d move on, shaken but still standing, and he’d...he’d…

“I’m baby boy.”

Silence. Thick, unforgiving silence. Peter, Spider-Man and baby boy were hanging in the balance and Peter had no intentions of exposing himself but this had to be, what, fate? Destiny? A sick joke?

“Huh,” Wade exhaled, stepping forward. Could he hear Peter’s heart pounding in his chest? Did he actually believe him? As he continued his cautious advance, it took everything in Peter not to take two steps back for every one step forward. The reality of the situation pressed down hard on his chest, threatening to crack ribs and puncture lungs. “Prove it.”

Peter managed to mutter, “What?”

“Baby boy means a whole lot to me and I can’t just take your words for it. So, prove it.”

Peter inhaled deeply and tried to speak clearly around the growing lump in his throat. “Okay, umm...I couldn’t pay my rent so I started camming. I’d only ever cammed in front of you. You told me your name the first night...umm,” Peter stumbled a bit, struggling to keep whatever composure he had left, “and you...you said you don’t get attached easily and you, uh…”

Lifting a hand, Wade stopped the frazzled hero, sparing him from spinning out anymore than he already had. “Well, shit,” Wade sighed, “it’s really you, huh? Like, really really?”

Peter sheepishly nodded. He understood the skepticism, but their situation was so very specific and what reason would he have to expose himself like this? This was an idiotic move and that was putting it lightly. If this information fell into the wrong hands…

Distracted once again, Peter hadn’t realized Wade was now mere inches away from him. He had no way of knowing what was going on in Wade’s head, no expression to read or statements to dissect. The two were silent for what felt like an eternity. The city could have burned to the ground and Peter would have still been captivated by the bold colors of Deadpool’s mask. Unable to catch his breath, Peter tried to say something anything , to try and make sense of this marvelous mess.

“Your mask...lift it up a bit.”

Nearly choking on a gasp, he immediately retorted, “Are you nuts?!”

Wade remained calm, eerily still. “Not all the way off, relax. Just...up to here,” he said, lifting a hand to point to the outline of his own nose, a little below its bridge. “I’ve been staring at that jawline for a little while. I memorized that damn jawline. That’ll be the proof I need.”

That...that was reasonable. Right? He’d seen Peter naked as the day he was born, the only part of him covered being the bridge of his nose up. This wasn’t exactly new territory so it was a reasonable request. As long as he kept the rest of the mask on, as long as Peter Park was protected, Spider-Man and baby boy would have to take this risk.

He willed his hands to steady themselves as he reached up to slowly roll his mask upwards. He did so carefully, taking his time.The last time he’d done this, it was a hurried, frantic action. He was without a care in the world, enjoying the bite of the cool night air. Now, fever hot fear swirled in his belly as the rain fell around them. This could end badly. This could be a catastrophe, but Peter had to try. Having surrendered so much time and energy into this faceless entity, this series of could bes, it would be a disservice to him, to them, if he didn’t try. 

Peter felt naked. Nothing could hide the fact that he was panting. He couldn’t hide at all now. From the nose down, he was no longer Spider-Man. He wasn’t even Peter Parker. He was baby boy on their first night, deer in headlights, heart pounding harder and harder as the seconds ticked by. Defenseless and oozing with apprehension, he awaited Wade’s initial response. 

He watched as Wade removed his glove from his right hand. Without hesitation, he reached forward and cupped Peter’s cheek against his palm. Wade’s hand felt worn and warm, just like he’d imagined. This soft caress caused Peter to lean into it almost instinctively, a sense of misplaced calm washing over him. He’d dreamed of these hands, fantasized about what they could do and how they would assert their dominance over him, but to be offered such gentility? He couldn’t have imagined this.

Carefully, Wade tilted Peter’s head from side to side with gentle guidance. Taking in his features, examining him from every angle, Wade hummed thoughtfully. Brushing his thumb against Peter’s cheek, he said, “Calm down...I can hear your heart beating a mile a minute.”

“S-sorry,” Peter stammered, suddenly feeling like a child under the scrutiny of someone he sought approval from. 

“Hey, no apologies necessary, baby boy.”

Behind the remainder of his mask, Peter’s eyes widened. “You believe me?”

He chuckled, absentmindedly tracing the tips of his fingers along Spidey’s cheeks and jaw. “Like I told you, I memorized this perfect jawline. No way there’s someone else out there with it. Besides,” Wade sighed contentedly, brushing his index finger along Peter’s bottom lip, “I think it takes a lot of balls to do what you just did so, I can’t imagine you lying about something like this, ya know?”

There was no reason to risk everything like this over a lie. If calmer heads had prevailed, Peter would have turned tail and swung home, a mess of emotions and regret, but he couldn’t live like that anymore. Peter clung to so many thoughts of the past, held hostage by the thought of what would never be. However, he refused to turn Wade into a source of grief. This was a chance he simply had to take.

Seemingly drawn to Peter’s lips, Wade continued to trace his fingers along them “Gotta say, didn’t expect the high profile Spidey to need help with rent,” he idly commented, “but that’s the glamorous life of a superhero, huh?”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Peter’s mouth. “Yeah...you’re not kidding.”

“Interesting career choice, baby boy. Can’t complain, though. Who else in the world can say they’ve had some rockin’ phone sex with Spider-Man?”

Panic. Instant, blood-curdling panic. “Wade, please, you can’t!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses. You really think I’d expose you? I’m hurt, baby boy.” Wade nodded slowly, aware of the gravity of Peter’s words, it seemed. “Besides, I want you to keep you to myself. Why would I make a mess of it like that?” Tilting his head, he lowered his tone just so and said, “You believe me, don’tcha?”

Peter unclenched his jaw and released the tension from his shoulders. Call him crazy, but he believed Wade. He wanted to believe him more than anything. Wade wore his own mask, so he had to understand the importance of a secret identity remaining, well, a secret. He’d understand that more than most, which was sort of a relief, if he was being completely honest. “I do,” he managed to utter.

“That’s my brat,” Wade soothed, tracing the shape of Peter’s face methodically. “I told you I got attached to you, didn’t I? And outta nowhere, here you are.” He closed the distance between them. “I can touch you, feel you...oh, baby boy, you’re making it impossible for me to behave myself,” he said, tone gruff. 

A familiar flutter flooded Peter’s chest, spreading like ink in water. It moved through his blood, igniting him from the inside out. Wade must have felt it too, the static in the air and the otherworldly magnetism that kept them close and pulled them even closer. This was its own brand of insanity, irrational like a spoiled child but Peter was losing the war against resistance. The series of events from then to now was beyond comprehension and Peter was ready to accept this, all of this. So much had been taken from him, so what if the universe felt just a touch guilty and planned to offer Wade and his criminally warm hands and his ridiculously charming words to him without question, no strings attached.

He had to take this chance.

In a soft, shaky tone, Peter relented to everything preaching ‘yes’ and condemned reason. “Then, don’t.”

“Hmm? What’s was that, ba--?”

“Then, don’t,” Peter repeated, a little louder this time. “Don’t behave. Don’t...don’t even try to. Wade, I…” Peter’s words trailed off in favor of louder actions. Reaching for Wade’s bare right hand, he slowly guided it towards his face, slipping a digit past his lips and into his mouth. His tongue swirled slowly around Wade’s finger. 

Okay, Wade, let’s misbehave.

Seemed he hadn’t quite expected that response. Wade watched him intently, watched Peter nip at the tip of his finger, smoothing his tongue over the middle joint. “Oh, holy shit,” he nearly choked.

Such praise from Wade forced a moan out of Peter, the sound vibrating against his cheeks. He took hold of Wade’s wrist, fairly confident that he didn’t intend to flee, but he wouldn’t argue with another point of contact. His finger slid in and out of Peter’s mouth smoothly, keeping a slow and steady pace.

“Christ, you’re...ahhh, just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Wade teasingly pressed his fingertip against Peter’s tongue, earning himself a groan from his baby boy. “You sure I’m not dreaming you up? You’re too damn good to be true.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, an attempt at a smile or maybe even a grin. He was surprising himself, in all honesty, but he refused to fight against this addicting temptation, this desperate need for Wade in any possible way. As he gently kneaded his fingertips into Wade’s wrist, he watched as Wade watched him and that simple observation made his entire body shiver.

“Baby boy,” he exhaled, “I have something that...might be a little more satisfying...if you want it.”

Wade always did that, giving Peter some sort of out if his suggestion exceeded his comfort level and there was something endearing about that. He’d always asked how Peter was after an activity and always worried about being viewed as some sort of creep. Wade was a lot softer than he seemed, wasn’t he?

Even if that was the case, Peter didn’t want that softer side right now. He wanted what Wade was offering and he wanted it unapologetically.

Giving Wade’s finger one last teasing lick, Peter relinquished his hold on his wrist and retracted the digit from his mouth. Without a word, he lowered himself to his knees before Wade and began the attempt to remove Deadpool’s interesting belt buckle. 

“Seriously? You’re serious? Holy crap, baby boy, if this is too much, we ca--”

“Wade,” Peter said, peering up at him through his mask, “I want this. I want you .” Leaning in a little, Peter pressed his lips just below Wade’s belt buckle, watching him carefully as he did so. “Do you want me to?”

His chest heaved in and out with labored breaths, already wound up tight. “Fuck,” he groaned, impatiently reaching for the zipper of his suit, tugging it downward, “of course I do...I mean, are you kidding? Look at you…”

A chuckle tumbled out of Peter’s mouth before he pressed another chaste kiss against Wade’s clothed crotch. Shooing Wade’s hand away, he took hold of the tab of the zipper and dragged it down, just enough to reach in and retrieve Wade’s half-hard cock. Wasting not a second more, Peter guided him to his mouth and smoothed his tongue from tip to base. A satisfied groan left Peter as he felt Wade shiver in response.

He sucked a breath in between his teeth (or that’s what Peter assumed. Between the limited light in the alley and the mask covering Wade’s face, he was impossible to read. It was a shame, really, because Peter wanted to explore Wade without restrictions, but that would have to happen another time, he supposed,) Wade placed his hand at the top of Peter’s head, pressing the tips of his fingers into the fabric of the mask. There was a moment of panic, worried Wade would lose himself in a heated moment and tug a little too hard, but Peter exhaled around Wade’s cock and allowed the thought to drown in the rain that fell around them. 

The asphalt dug into Peter’s knees as he shifted, anticipation surging through him. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around Wade’s base, focusing his mouth on the tip of him. Having never done anything like this before, he took cues from Wade, and, well, he made it very easy for Peter. Wade was vocal, a flurry of curses and coos of ‘baby boy’ dripping from his lips. He shivered and locked his knees to keep himself upright and there was something so satisfying about this, about every aspect of it. Wade had no trouble asserting dominance and he did so effortlessly, but Peter had a little control now and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see the appeal of it.  Sensing the slow and steady melt, the ragged breathing and the involuntary shivers, Peter felt a rush of self-satisfaction slam into him relentlessly and it emboldened him, driving him forward. 

“Baby boy...Jesus Christ, you’re...spectacular,” Wade stammered, an attempt to keep his voice down being made. 

Peter’s gaze fluttered upward, watching Wade through his mask. Restraint? Did Wade even know the meaning of the word? He wanted more than subdued grunts and groans that disappeared into the chaos of the city. He wanted so much more than that. He backed himself off of Wade but he didn’t stray far, placing demure kisses along his tip and down his shaft. “Come on, Wade,” Peter whispered, “make a little noise for me.”

An exasperated chuckle served as Wade’s reply. “Brat,” he exhaled, “you’re such a br--fuck!”

Peter wrapped his lips around Wade and reintroduced himself with a hastened pace. If his mouth hadn’t been occupied, he’d be wearing a lop-sided grin, pulling that exclamation from Wade. To hear his voice echo through the alley, bouncing off brick and steel, made Peter’s body feel like it had been set on fire. His skin crackled under his suit and steam rose off of his body. The throbbing between his own legs, the nearly primal need coursing through him, Peter felt like raw heat encased in a delicate, flammable casing, moments away from combustion. Wade lit the fuse.

He stroked the base of Wade’s cock with urgency, the rhythmic pace devolving into erratic mayhem. He took Wade a little deeper into his mouth with each bob of his head. Peter could feel the steady roll of Wade’s hips thrusting slowly to create more friction between the two, which he welcomed without complaint.

“Just...like that, baby boy...holy shit,” he shivered, seemingly focused on not choking Peter with a slightly-too-hard thrust. He pressed an open palm against the cool brick behind him and kneaded his fingertips into Peter’s masked scalp with the other hand. “You should have that damn mouth registered as...fuck...as a deadly weapon.”

Always armed with a compliment, wasn’t he? That was a huge part of his addicting charm. Peter had been drawn to his wit and his shameless flirting and feeling him moving into his mouth, tasting him on his tongue, it made Peter desperate to connect in any way he could. Wade was unlike anyone he’d ever met and that curiosity blossomed into this need to know him, to cling desperately to every interaction, to yearn for more once their conversations ended. He selfishly wanted and craved and prayed to whoever the hell would listen to let him keep this. Please, let him keep these irrational feelings and that stupid flutter in his chest and everything else. 

He gently dragged his teeth down the length of Wade’s cock, the scrape against sensitive skin forcing a gutteral sound from Wade. It was enough to flood Peter with a rush of power. He did it again and again, gingerly switching between tongue and teeth. He didn’t let up, didn’t give Wade even a moment to catch up with his rampaging heart. Peter felt Wade leaking onto his tongue, eager for more, so much more. A frenzied pace and hollowed out cheeks, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and sank deeper into this moment.

“Baby...oh, baby boy, I’m gonn--!” Wade’s back arched off of the wall that had been supporting him. An erratic series of upward thrusts and Wade spasmed, finding solace once again in the wall behind him. He wildly gulped down air as Peter gave him a few teasing licks, swallowing down what Wade had left behind. He loosened his grip on Wade and backed off, adjusting to sit on his haunches.

And that’s when reality came crashing down on him and it did so violently and without warning. He heard Wade say something but he struggled to make out the words. Everything sounded like static blaring in his ears. His body felt numb and he felt a frustrating prickle burning behind his eyes. What he had just done, what he’d said, looped endlessly in his head and it felt like shards of glass burrowing beneath his skin and lodging themselves deeper and deeper into his body. Too deep to scratch, too dangerous to remove. 

He’d put his identity at risk...and for what? Why had he done something so careless, something so incredibly stupid? He’d spent so much time protecting the face behind the mask and here he was, swollen lips and red cheeks, exposed almost completely to a man he knew for, what, a handful of weeks? How was he this stupid?!

“Earth to Spidey? Hellooooo?”

Peter scurried to his feet, his heart in his throat. This was beyond fight or flight. This was tuck tail and hide. This was regret and forget. He couldn’t do this again.

“Spidey?” Confusion evident in Wade’s tone, he took a step forward. “You cool to let me flatter the fuck out of you because, I mean, wow . I mean, really, li--”

“I’m sorry,” Peter stumbled clumsily over the words, out of breath, panting. 

He tilted his head, acutely aware of the change in his baby boy. “Hey, are you alri--?”

Peter interrupted, “I...I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have...I didn’t mean for this to go so far.”

“Baby boy, hold on a sec. Slow down. I’m sorry if I pushed you into this. That wasn’t my intention. I thought w--”

“No!” Peter’s voice cracked. “No, it’s not you. It’s not you at all.”

No, Wade. Peter liked you. Too much. Way too much. It was becoming dangerous. 

“And I just...I can’t…”

Because he’s weak and stupid and fell too hard way too fast. Hopelessly, helplessly, Peter fell and he had to stop. Whatever it took, he had to stop falling before he hit rock bottom.

“I’m sorry, Wade.” In a fluid motion, quicker than a blink, Peter made his escape. He took aim with his web shooter and zipped up and away as fast as he could. The icy rain threatened to fill his lungs as he swung haphazardly from building to building, lacking any definitive direction. He just swung. The world spun violently around him but still, he just swung.

He couldn’t keep this and he was an idiot to believe otherwise. Baby boy was an illusion, Spider-Man was nothing more than a mask and Peter Parker was nothing to Wade. Wade didn’t know Peter and maybe he never would. Peter was enamored with a voice and Wade was drawn to a series of masks. One mask after another, Peter continued to masquerade as a hero, a sexual deviant and an anxious adult who had no idea what the fuck he was doing most of the time. It was only a matter of time before the masks were mixed up and he exposed his truest self and what then? What happened when it all came crumbling down and Peter couldn’t hide behind baby boy or Spider-Man?

The rain refused to let up. Soaked to the bone, Peter stumbled onto a rooftop, skidding to a stop before crumbling to his knees. He tore his mask off, balling it up tightly between trembling fingers. He wanted to scream, wanted someone to tell him why every single thing he touched broke into a million sharp little pieces. Why couldn’t he just hold onto something that made him feel lighter, something that made him feel okay again?

Because he fucked everything up. He broke everything he tried to hold too close. He couldn’t keep Uncle Ben or Aunt May. He couldn’t keep MJ. What would make him think that he could keep Wade?

Finally, Peter relented to the overwhelming sense of sadness welling within him and he just screamed . He screamed until his throat was raw and he screamed until the sky above him refused to accept anymore of his misery. Raindrops clung to his lashes, cheeks frigid, body numb. He couldn’t bring himself to stand.

He couldn’t feel a single thing. Even if he could, he didn’t know what he would feel. Should he mourn for something he never had, grieve the loss of a daydream? Should he feel angry with himself and his blissful ignorance? What did he have left to feel? What did he have left to give?

Time passed. Peter didn’t remember how he got home. He didn’t remember stripping out of his suit, leaving it in a wet heap at the foot of his bed and he didn’t remember falling asleep.

What he did remember was Wade’s voice fading into nothingness as Peter ran away from the thing he wanted more.

Chapter Text

He blamed most of that night on the concussion he was almost certain that he had. Granted, he knew he couldn’t use that as an excuse for every mistake he made that night, but for the ones that hurt the most? Blame the concussion. Didn’t make it hurt any less but at least he had something to blame, something to point an angry finger at. 

Who the hell was he kidding? He had no one to blame but himself, plain and simple.

When he woke up the following afternoon, sun high in the sky and hiding behind a thin veil of clouds, the immediate realization of what he’d done knocked the wind right out of him. His head ached but his chest ached even more. Peter felt hollow, as if he’d left a part of himself back in that alley, damp and shivering in the torrential rain that continued on throughout the night. It was a confusing state of existence, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. He wanted to hold tight to that memory, the intensity and the fervency, but he also wished he could forget every second of it. It would be easier that way, but when was Peter’s life ever easy?

After he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he turned off the burner cell and tucked his laptop away to limit the temptation to reach out for Wade. He couldn’t keep bouncing back and forth between being baby boy and being a responsible adult. He couldn’t keep leading Wade on, even if that wasn’t his intention. Nothing about this was fair to Wade. This was typical Peter Parker. This was stupid, selfish, sad Peter Parker and Wade deserved more than that, more than him. 

Wade didn’t even know Peter. He knew baby boy and he knew Spider-Man. Wade said their names with familiarity and fondness. He said their names during moments of ecstasy. He never said Peter’s name, not once, and he felt ashamed to admit that he harbored some jealousy towards those sides of himself. He wanted Wade to say his name, regard him as something more than a stranger. He wanted to shed the masks he clung to so desperately and he wanted Wade to see the anxiety and the apprehension and the adoration. Peter wanted to bare it all, skin and bone, heart and soul.

That was the problem. He was in too deep. He was so ready to reveal a secret he had to keep, willing to face the risks of someone he barely knew knowing who and what he was...it was dangerous. It would put him and those he loved at risk and he couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much he wanted it.

So, he had to stop. He had to stop being baby boy.

He’d stay off the cam site. He’d leave the burner cell in his bedside drawer. He’d retire the mask that had the potential to endanger what little he had left and he’d learn to be okay with this choice. Peter would learn to accept the loss of such a fantastical thing and he’d mourn for it because the loss would hurt him for a long while, he was sure. However, he’d come to terms with it. Peter always did. This wasn’t the first good thing that was ripped away from him and he was positive that it wouldn’t be the last.

Things that were allowed to burn unsupervised had but one fate; to turn to ash. That’s all Peter was now, a pile of ash, which seemed a shame when he had once burned so brightly.

Being Spider-Man served as a decent distraction, but it also acted as a bitter reminder. Wade had his hand in Spider-Man just as much as he did baby boy. The only identity untouched by him was plain ol’ Peter, barely employed and being held together by chewing gum and paper clips Peter.

So, maybe he should just be Peter for a little while. Even if it was only for one night, being boring Peter instead of web-slinging Spidey or sexual deviant baby boy might help him see beyond the gray and relocate the color he left behind in that rainy alleyway.

~*~

It was a quiet Tuesday evening, the threat of snow looming overhead. By the time Peter walked out of the Museum of Natural History, the city was already illuminated solely by streetlights and highrises. Pulling his jacket a little tighter around his body, Peter trotted down the stairs and onto the bustling sidewalk, disappearing into the endless sea of pedestrians seamlessly. 

He hadn’t been to the museum in quite a while. Too long. Peter used to accompany May there on a lazy weekday whenever a special exhibit would roll into town and those cherished memories lived peacefully in his heart. The quiet atmosphere, May’s hushed commentary, the little things he learned about her during each trip...he missed her and those days so much. Things were just as complicated then but somehow, they seemed simpler.

He swung by the old diner he frequented with Uncle Ben, sat at their booth, ate their meal (a cheeseburger, no tomato, extra crispy fries and an extra thick chocolate shake, every time.) This was the most relaxed he’d felt in ages, even if he was just a touch lonely. Peter had extended an invite to MJ,  his treat (for once,) but she had a 'work thing' and Miles took over patrol for Peter so he could enjoy his night off, which he appreciated, don’t get him wrong, but admittedly, he was craving some sort of interaction.

Which prompted a moment of weakness, causing him to shove the burner cell into his back pocket before he had left his apartment. But, it didn’t mean anything. Peter was a creature of habit. He’d unlearn the behavior with time. Eventually, it would find a permanent home in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

Eventually.

His foot had fallen asleep, but he only realized that as he lifted himself up out of the booth. He’d lost track of time, a handful of diner patrons having come and gone around him. Not that he minded, of course. He found solace in this little hole in the wall and the murmur of indistinct conversations, stories from strangers he’d never know. Despite the torrent his own thoughts frequently created, there was calm here and he cherished that momentary lapse in the chaos his lifestyle had a tendency to welcome in. He’d take an order of fries and hearing mindless housewife gossip over the roar of self-doubt and other self-deprecation any day.

Paying his tab and leaving a tip on the table, he waved a lazy goodbye to the skeleton crew that remained in the diner and returned to the chilled night air. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to returning to his cold, dark apartment, hoping a hot shower and a warm blanket would act as a decent nightcap. Admittedly, he tried to think of something, anything , to keep him away from his bed, his laptop, and everything else that reminded him of what made his chest ache, but the promise of warmth willed him home.

“S-stop...please, stop!”

Peter lifted his head, a tingle rolling up the base of his spine. Eyes darted towards the source of the sound, an alley across the street. It was a dark hideaway situated between a deli and a bar. Two figures fumbled in the darkness, movements feverish and frantic. It didn’t look right and it certainly didn’t feel right. 

This was a problem Peter could handle, no Spider-Man required. 

He hurriedly crossed the street with just enough time to grab the wrist of a red-faced man in his hand, halting an unnecessary attack on the young woman who cowered before him.

“I think that’s enough for now, huh? I’d tell you to use your words, but it seems like you’re all out.”

The man seethed, ripping his wrist from Peter’s grasp. “This doesn’t concern you! My problem is with this stupid bit--!”

“Whoa, whoa! That’s uncalled for. You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Peter effortlessly squeezed into the small, tension filled space between the two, back to the fear-filled woman. “Call it a night. Get in your ridiculously overpriced car, go home and drink your unpallatable piss water you call beer, and just call it quits before you do something stupid.”

He snarled, lunging like some crazed animal, and did something stupid, taking a swing at Peter.

Sigh .

Shifting to his right, extending an arm to guide the woman behind him, Peter watched the man stumble further into the alley, teeth bared when he turned to face Peter again. “Now, see...when I said ‘something stupid’, that’s exactly what I meant so...that happened and now that it happened, we can move beyond that an--”

Another clumsy swing. Peter groaned and dodged this uncoordinated bull in a china shop. Turning to look over his shoulder, he offered the woman a sympathetic smile. “Get home safe, change your number and stay out of this bar on Tuesdays. Bunch of weirdos hang around here on Tuesdays, trust me.”

Wide eyed, she nodded and the click of her heels on the concrete receding was reassuring to Peter.

“You fucker!”

Oh, yeah, this jackass was still here. Refocusing his attention on this boorish brute, Peter made one more attempt to de-escalate this situation before it got even more complicated. “Listen, friend, this is getting us nowhere fast. I can call a taxi for you and tomorrow, this’ll just be a funny story, huh?” 

Instead of taking Peter’s level-headed advice, the man just kept swinging. Exasperated, he dodged each punch, forcing them further into the alley. Spider-Man could have made quick work of this buffoon, but his suit and web-slingers sat in the closet back at the apartment (Peter was determined to just be Peter tonight. Just Peter,) so he’d have to do this the hard way.

It was a dizzying dance. The drunk mess of a man bounced off both sides of the alley like a pinball, ramming his angry fist into brick on either side. Frustrated and feral, he decided to wind up for one final swing and slammed his fist right into the dumpster belonging to the bar.

“Son of a--!” The man pulled his fist tight against his chest and stumbled out of the alley, muttering obscenities under his breath. 

“Oh, yikes, that looked like it hurt. You okay? Might wanna put some ice on that!” Peter chuckled, leaning against the dumpster with a lopsided smile smeared across his face. “Might wanna run to the emergency room before yo--ahh!” When he attempted to pull away from the dumpster, pushing back against the cool metal, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain between his shoulder blades. Immediately, he pulled away and hissed in pain, a distinct and familiar burn left in its wake. Peter turned to see a jagged piece of steel jutting out from the dumpster, a crooked and malformed thing that clung to a piece of Peter’s thin winter jacket. 

He carefully reached a hand to the middle of his back and returned to see blood smeared across his fingertips.

Okay. Okay . Don’t panic. His knee jerk reaction was to call MJ or Miles. They were potentially close and could help patch Peter up. The positioning was awkward and to make sure it was bandaged properly, he knew he needed a second set of hands.

His second reaction was horror when he realized he didn’t have his phone. He must have left it at the diner. Of course, considering his stupid Gen-Z brain, their phone numbers, which were on speed dial in his cell, were nonexistant in his headspace. 

He never had that issue with Wade’s number

Wade.

Peter reached into his back pocket and withdrew the burner cell.

No.

For the first time since that rainy evening, he powered it on. The screen came to life and Peter’s heart dropped, noting more than a dozen missed messages from Wade.

Just walk to the diner and get your phone. Maybe they won’t notice the blood.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he opened up his contacts and tapped Wade’s name.

Give it up. Give him up.

Peter brought the phone to his ear as the call connected.

Well, shit.

He was half-sure Wade would ignore his call and honestly, he wouldn’t have blamed him, not in the slightest. Peter’s attempt at quitting baby boy cold turkey wasn’t well thought through and ghosting Wade entirely was a dick move, but he panicked and couldn’t consider any other way to let go of the memory of--

“Baby boy?”

Peter let out the breath he’d been holding. He hadn’t heard Wade’s voice in weeks but two words brought every emotion rushing back. His chest tightened and his head spun. Part of him wanted to toss the burner into the dumpster and leave it at that. Blame this misstep on the concussion (nearly three weeks later?) and move on. Leave it at that. One last moment of weakness.

Instead, Peter leaned his shoulder against the wall of the bar and spoke softly, slowly. “Hey, Wade. It’s been a while…”

Real smooth, Parker.

“Yeah, yeah, it has...are you alright? You sound a little off.”

Observant as always. He chuckled wistfully and replied, “Actually, I’m not...I’m not alright. I need help. I shouldn’t have called and I’m sorry but--”

“Where are you?” Wade immediately asked.

Peter rattled off the closest intersection, the names of the bar and the deli he was situated between. He could hear rustling on the other end of the phone, frantic shuffling and indistinct mumbling. “Wade, about that nigh--”

“Just stay put, alright? ‘m on my way.”

Click.

Alright then. He sighed, returning the phone to his back pocket. A bitter breeze reminded him of the blood sliding down the small of his back. Peter was fairly sure this wasn’t a life or death sort of wound, just a ruin your shirt and jacket sort of wound. Frustrating at best, but he knew he couldn’t dress it properly. This was necessary. This needed to be done.

But, that didn’t stop the white hot shame from washing over him. It didn’t stop the worry from forcing his jaw to clench. It didn’t stop the bitter taste of regret on his tongue from spreading in his mouth and turning to acid as it dripped down his throat.

He didn’t want to forget about Wade or the way he made Peter feel. He didn’t want to give that up but it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? It was the rational, responsible thing to do. It was what he should do.

Why? What unwritten rule was Peter blindly following? There had to be a way to relinquish some of the control Peter clung to and turn that into trust. There had to be a way to let Wade in without risking years worth of blood, sweat and tears. Why couldn’t Peter make an attempt at this ‘being happy’ thing, even just for a little while?

“Baby boy? You here?” A gruff whisper filled the alley.

Wide-eyed, Peter realized he was bare faced and completely exposed. He shoved his hand into the opposing back pocket and retrieved his Spider-Man mask, forcing it over his head before turning to face Wade, rather Deadpool. Strong shouldered, dangerously witty, unforgettable, red and black clad Deadpool.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Peter lifted a hand in a weak gesture, “in all my glory.”

“Well, nothing’s wrong with that winning sense of humor, so that’s a relief,” he hummed as he stepped further into the alley. “Seriously, are you alright? You didn’t sound great on the phone and yikes , that looks gnarly.”

While Wade spoke, Peter had turned around to offer Wade a peek at the ridiculousness he’d gotten himself into. Judging by Wade’s reaction, it wasn’t exactly great but he wasn’t suggesting a hospital visit and a tetanus shot, so that was a start, he supposed. Small victories.

“How the hell did you manage to do that?”

“A whole bunch of stupidity and a little bit of showboating,” he replied.

“Doesn’t sound like friendly neighborhood behavior.”

Peter stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, well…” and his voice trailed off. Wade was right, of course, because it hadn’t been Spider-Man; it had been Peter. Wade knew baby boy all too well and he at least sort of knew Spider-Man, but he didn’t know anything about Peter, and that still stung more than he cared to admit. Wade wouldn’t expect that from Spider-Man or even baby boy, but what about Peter? What was Peter capable of? Even if Wade knew, would he care or was he devoted to his brat or his fellow masked man? It felt like a losing game, competing against a superhero and a sexual fantasy. It was a constant battle and it wore Peter down to the brittle bits of bone that resided under fever-warm skin.

“You lucked out,” Wade said, interrupting Peter’s runaway train of thought, “because I don’t live too far from here. Come on, Spidey, Nurse Deadpool is reporting for duty!”

Nervousness swelled in Peter’s chest. “Your place? Is that necessary? There’s a drug store around the corner, I think, so we can just MacGyver something real quick and call it a job well done.”

Shaking his head, Wade retorted, “No can do, pal. Temperature’s supposed to drop and I’d rather not have a Spideyscicle on my hands. Just let me help you. No strings attached, okay?”

Peter hesitated. This was a bad idea. This had the potential to make everything much more difficult. Then again, he couldn’t deny that he felt those damn butterflies again, millions of wings tickling the inside of his knotted up belly. Knowing that Wade was willing to tend to him like some wounded bird, rescuing him from the cold, dark streets...even after being ghosted, ignored, left alone in the rain, he was still so willing to welcome Peter into his home?

Was Peter really willing to give him up?

Instead of risking a myriad of confusing, jumbled words tumbling out of his mouth, he simply nodded in the affirmative. He couldn’t trust the words clawing at his inside of his cheeks, so it was easier to just smile and nod.

“Alrighty, then! Off we go!” Wade started off, expecting Peter to follow, which he did. He instantaneously felt like a lost puppy, helplessly following an unsuspecting soul home, hoping for a warm bed and a compassionate hand. Peter often felt that way. He puppy-dog eyed his way to MJ’s food and bared his teeth at strangers who dared trespass on his property. He lashed out like a wounded animal and tucked his tail between his legs when the world was too loud. A stray to the world around him, he had to wonder if this was his chance to find a safe place to call home.

Snow began to fall as they walked. They stuck to dark lanes and empty avenues, staying out of sight. They’d both done this before and that was painfully obvious. Traveling in silence was a given, but with only the sound of boots (and ratty sneakers) against pavement, it gave Peter the chance to lose himself in more of those intrusive thoughts that refused to settle. 

Why did Wade come to his rescue? No one would have blamed him if he’d blocked Peter’s number, ignored the call and washed his hands of him all together. That would have been a normal reaction. His panic-induced response should have earned him indifference, but that wasn't Wade’s style, it seemed, and that confused Peter. Was he just jaded? Then again, this could be the last act of empathy before he severed the ties that bound them. That would make a little more sense. It would be what Peter deserved. 

He had to wonder when he started to believe he didn’t deserve common decency.

By the time Peter had wandered back into awareness, Wade had come to a stop, which forced Peter to nealy dig his heels in so as not to slam into him. “Home, sweet home,” Wade sighed, turning to peer over his shoulder. “Just up the fire escape. Not too far, promise.”

It was a very unassuming apartment building, not unlike his own. It seemed quiet, eerily normal. What had he been expecting, Peter wasn’t sure, but it hadn’t been this.

“You okay to climb or do you need me to carry you?”

“What? Oh, yeah, no...I’m good,” he said.

He took it slow, needing to bite back a hiss of discomfort if he moved the wrong way. He could see Wade out of the corner of his eye, watching him to make sure he wasn’t falling to pieces on the way up. The metal steps groaned as they climbed, the thin railings becoming cold and slick as the snow continued to steadily fall. Just as Wade promised, they didn’t have to go too far. He climbed through a fourth story window, standing off to the side and offering Peter a hand as he carefully ducked into the open window.

“Watch your head, Webs.”

Thoughtful, charming...why was Wade like this? Why did he have to continue to create that flutter in Peter’s chest?

Thankfully, Peter hadn’t made a fool of himself and managed to duck in through the window and stand in the hallway without slamming his head into the window frame.

Remember, small victories.

Wade led him further into the hall, quietly passing doors on either side. Things were quiet, no banging on walls or screaming at unfaithful partners. Seemed like a nice enough place, Peter thought. Maybe once his lease ran out, he could relocate and…

Yeah, let’s stop that train of thought before it goes careening off the side of the hypothetical cliff he was continually speeding towards.

They stopped at the last door on the right. Wade dug into one of the many compartments of his belt, retrieved his key and opened the door. “Welcome to Casa de la Deadpool. Make yourself at home.”

He followed Wade into a surprisingly clean apartment. Peter knew very little about Wade outside of a computer screen or a dark alley, but he supposed he just fell into the stereotype of men living like slobs. He was guilty of it too, MJ having scolded him for dirty dishes in the sink and mismatched socks scattered across the bedroom floor. It wasn’t exactly by choice. The life of a superhero was forgetting to do laundry and buying paper plates because the punch you took to your gut made it too difficult to stand and wash the mountain of dishes left from last week. At least, that’s what it was to be Spider-Man most of the time. Maybe being Deadpool was easier. 

Or maybe Peter just sucked at being Spider-Man.

Or maybe Peter just sucked at being Peter.

Wandering in past Wade, he took a look around, but stopped immediately when he realized he might see something he wasn’t supposed to. One perfectly placed family photo and a secret identity wasn’t so secret anymore. Instead, he went generic, nice and safe. “Nice place,” he hummed.

“Thanks. Been here a while and no complaints...except the bitch down the hall.”

“Oh, problem with a neighbor? I’m sor--”

“She never stops barking. Makes watching Grey’s Anatomy impossible.”

Bitch. She. Barks. Dog. A dog. The tension in Peter’s shoulders melted a bit as a spurt of laughter trickled from his lips.

Wade moved further into the apartment, calling back to Peter, “I’m hoping you’re laughing because of my delightful wordplay and not because I’m watching Grey’s Anatomy . Been a fan of Meredith since Yang told her that Derek wasn’t the sun.”

“Word play, I promise.”

“Good, because we were about to have an all night Grey-athon. Non-negotiable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter replied softly.

Silence replaced their witty banter and Peter suddenly felt nervous all over again. He considered pinching himself to make sure he was actually conscious, but his frenzied heart was reminder enough that he was standing in the apartment of the man who paid to watch him jerk himself off. Blood streaked down his back, jacket and shirt probably ruined, he stood in Deadpool’s apartment with no escape plan and no idea what life choices he’d made that led him here.

Well…

A small first aid kit and a few washcloths in hand, Wade reentered the living room. “Alright, baby boy, shirt off and sit down. Nurse Deadpool is ready to soothe what ails ya.”

He had to admit that Wade’s sense of humor was helping him not completely come apart at the seams. The anxiety clawed at his insides and the temptation to flee made his chest feel tight, but he wore a smile under his mask because of Wade’s effortless humor and how comfortable Peter felt in his presence. Maybe in another life, they leaned on one another for support. Maybe they were comrades who fought passionate wars together or maybe they were friends who exchanged jokes like trading cards.

Maybe they were more than that.

Shoving that thought deep, deep down, Peter obeyed and shed his jacket and his shirt. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he turned his shirt over in his hands to examine the extent of his unseen injury. He cringed at the blood that stained the fabric. Wasn’t as much as he thought, which was a relief, but it was enough to make him relieved that he had called Wade. While not simply cosmetic but not particularly life-threatening, it would have been an uncomfortable walk home alone in the city’s bitter cold. It was nice to have a little warmth, just a little.

Being mindful as to not drip anything on Wade’s couch, he sat with his back facing him. He felt oddly at ease, shoulder relaxed and lacking tension. Then again, Wade had seen baby boy stark naked, perky nipples and his cock in his hand. In that respect, baby boy and Peter didn’t differ, save for a little more confidence from the former. There was an unspoken sense of comfort between the two and it was something Peter struggled with. Having committed to the idea of leaving baby boy behind, burying him down deep enough so he’d never see the glow of the laptop screen again, this was creating a problem. A large, red and black clad problem. Out of sight, out of mind, might have worked if Peter could actually stay away from Wade, but they seemed to be drawn to each other, magnetized and forcing the world to bend to their will to make sure they continued to meet in the middle. No matter how hard Peter tried to pull away and resist the insistent pull towards what he knew he shouldn’t want, he always felt that persistent need to wander back to where he felt spontantious and free and so fucking happy. Reality forced him to deny that frivolous series of emotions but the way he was drawn to Wade, the way it felt to simply be near hi--

“Shit!” Peter exclaimed, an unexpected stinging sensation clawing at his back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Wade chuckled, “but I tried to warn you it was gonna sting. You were among the stars there, space cadet.”

He wasn’t wrong. Peter’s thoughts led him down long and winding paths and at times, he struggled to return to awareness. An alcohol wipe on an open wound sure as hell did the trick. He exhaled and returned to a neutral state, “Sorry…”

“Hey, don’t worry so much. You’re Spider-Man. I’m sure you’ve got a dump truck worth of shit on your mind at any given time. Still, I gotta say, it’s a riot to hear you curse. Always figured you’d be squeaky clean, vanilla bean.”

Before he could bite his tongue, Peter muttered, “You’ve paid to watch me jerk off over a webcam.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was you and come on, be real, can you blame me? You’re something special, baby boy. You gotta know that.”

Did he? Peter still struggled to see himself the way Wade did. He wasn’t some Greek God or some male model. He wasn’t a precious treasure to admire and cherish. He was made of tarnished metal, warped beyond repair. He was damaged and composed of a million jagged little pieces held together by a little bit of hope and not much else. He wasn’t without flaw, wasn’t a relic meant for the hallowed halls of a gallery, so why did Wade make him feel like he was? What did he see in Peter? 

“So,” Wade began, carefully tending to Peter’s back, “wanna talk about you being MIA or are you looking for movie recommendations? Heard of Fried Green Tomatoes ? One of my favorites.” 

As much as Peter was tempted to ask for that movie review to avoid his own shame and embarrassment, he relented and quietly replied, “Wade, I don’t have a good excuse for you.”

“I don’t want an excuse, Spidey. I want the truth, whatever your truth is. Just tell me what’s up.”

He chewed on his lower lip. Peter half-wished Wade would have been angry. He had every right to be, after all, but he was understanding and supportive and too damn sincere. Wade didn’t deserve this, any of this. Peter was determined to collect all of his insecurities and anxieties and return them to the prison his body had become and keep Wade safe from his glaring imperfections.

“I’m scared,” he finally admitted. The words tasted like battery acid. He wanted to bite his tongue off, silencing himself permanently. “I thought it would be a one time thing. I couldn’t have predicted any of this. I couldn’t have predicted you. You just came out of nowhere and I found myself never wanting to stop talking to you.”

It all sounded so juvenile, like explaining a high school crush to someone who potentially didn’t give a good God damn, but words escaped him. They vanished and had no intention of returning. He unclenched his jaw and forced himself to use every single syllable that remained within him.

“I thought it would be okay, as long as we never met...I mean, what were the odds that we’d be in the same country, on the same coast, in the same state, in the same city?”

“One in a million, probably,” Wade idly commented, gently smoothing his fingers over the edges of the medical tape adhering the gauze over the newly cleaned wound.

Peter shook his head. “More. It’s nearly improbable. I heard your voice that night and I knew I was completely and utterly screwed. I couldn’t keep this up anymore, which meant I couldn’t keep you.”

Silence followed his admission and it filled him with unease. Peter wasn’t sure what he expected, his words replaying in the back of his head. It sounded stupid... he sounded stupid. In all the time he spent overthinking this bizarre situation, you’d think he’d have come up with some sort of explanation for the way he fell apart when it came to Wade.

Peter suddenly felt a comfortable weight against his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw black and red, Wade’s chin hooked over his shoulder. “Why not?” Wade asked.

“Why not what?”

“Why couldn’t you keep me?”

Good question. Good, rational question. Peter inhaled and attempted to formulate a logical sentence before the words chose to retreat once again. “Being Spider-Man means saving people, keeping the city safe and risking that just...scared the crap out of me. I couldn’t risk it, even if you...make me happy.”

“Baby boy,” Wade began.

'Peter,' he nearly interrupted.

“As a fellow masked man, I’d never jeopardize any of that for you. You gotta know that. I mean, I get it. What you do is freakin' incredible and I wouldn’t let you screw any of that up because of some perv you met on the internet.”

“Wade, that’s not--”

He pressed his chest against Peter’s back carefully, inhaling slowly through his nose. “Even if I can’t keep you, you can still keep me. Your name, your face...that’s yours, baby boy, and I won’t take those from you, but I’ll take whatever you wanna give me.” He chuckled wrly, an arm snaking around Peter’s waist and an open palm smoothing over his stomach. Fingertips pressed gently into warm, soft skin. “I kinda got attached to you, but you already knew that.”

Peter’s initial reply is a shiver that rolled down the entire length of his spine. Wade’s hand felt worn and fever-hot, yet he felt a chill threatening to overtake him. Words escaped him and all he could focus on is how perfectly they fit together, like two reunited pieces of the same puzzle. Wade’s so warm and his touch is criminally gentle. How was Peter supposed to even consider letting all of this go when his hands set fire to his body and made his skin crackle? 

“Do you like me?” asked Wade, fingertips fanned over Peter’s belly, smooth skin and taut muscle nearly quaking under his touch.

Too much. Way too much. “Yeah,” Peter admitted, selfishly pressing his back against Wade’s chest. “Yeah, I do.” 

“And I like you,” he crooned. Peter could hear the grin smeared across Wade’s face, seemingly satisfied by his response. “I like you a whole bunch.”

Peter couldn’t hide the dry chuckle that clinked against his teeth. “You never were shy about telling me.” 

“Why should I be? Baby boy, you’re something spectacular. You flipped my entire damn world upside down and you don’t even realize you did, do you?”

No. No, he didn’t. What was so spectacular about Peter Benjamin Parker? What spark existed within him that only Wade could see? He felt like a child without the answer to a question, the expectancy making him anxious. No matter how much he thought about it, no matter how long the gears in his head turned and ground against one another, he came up with nothing. What drew Wade in and kept him bound to Peter? The insistent pull, the incessant thrumming in his chest, had to mean something, Peter surmised, but he hadn’t been able to figure out what exactly.

“You think too much,” Wade whispered, suddenly closer than Peter realized. Even through the mask, his breath was hot against his neck, floating over the shell of Peter’s ear. “I can feel the steam shooting out of your ears. Just relax and talk to me. I don’t bite, ya know.”

“Unless I want you to.”

Wade snickered, nuzzling the outline of his nose into the side of Peter’s masked head. “That’s my baby boy,” he replied fondly. His fingertips danced along Peter’s stomach, traveling upward to strong, hard muscle. “So, can you just talk to me? Be real with me for just a little bit?”

Peter inhaled deeply. If there ever was a time to be completely honest, this felt like it. Let it all loose, set it all free. Allow it to engulf him like a hungry, all-consuming fire. Feel the scorn of the words on his tongue and breathe warm life into what he had so fervently denied. “It didn’t feel real at first. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. Parts of it felt like some weird dream. That first night was so surreal but...you felt so real. You were almost tangible, so close to genuine and it took me by surprise. Hell, it still does. I didn’t expect to feel so...connected to you. Even just through text, I felt like I knew you, like I needed to know more.”

He fought to catch his breath. Between the seemingly unending flow of words that dripped from his lips and Wade’s wandering hands, he struggled to keep up with the erratic pitter-patter of his heart. Wade’s hand continued its smooth glide along Peter’s chest. Fanned out fingers ghosted over the faint outline of his ribs, sending ripples of electricity coursing through his body. That familiar flutter returned to his chest and an intoxicating warmth flooded him from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes. 

“Tell me more,” Wade nearly purred, voice low and smooth.

“I...I can’t stop thinking about you, and if I'm being honest, I don’t want to. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but Wade,” Peter exhaled, ensnared by this feeling that threatened to tear him apart.

Wade moved in that much closer, his hand moving to drag across Peter’s collarbone. “Why does something have to be wrong with you? Is it really that bad that you like lil’ ol’ me? Because, like I told you a million times, I like you, baby boy. I like you a whole hell of a lot. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No, no, there’s nothing wr--ahhhh.” Wade’s fingertips tugged a moan from way down deep within Peter, a dark and selfish place reserved for thoughts of Wade. He helplessly squirmed against Wade’s body, doing his best to be mindful of his injury. “I want you to…”

He chuckled. “What, baby boy? What do you want me to do?”

The pad of Wade’s thumb, rough and calloused, teased Peter’s nipple, bringing it to rosy attention effortlessly. It’s unfair, how easy Wade is making this seem, reducing Peter to a quivering, moaning mess. Breathing became a distant memory; chasing this feeling at full speed became a priority. “Want you to like me...want you to touch me…” He sounded so incredibly desperate, recklessly demanding an action that may create an inescapable consequence, but the ability to show concern was lost in a dense, foreboding haze. This was the realization of embarrassing daydreams and heated fantasies. This was his deepest desire given life. This was all Peter wanted.

“Couldn’t stop even if I wanted to,” Wade replied, seemingly unphased by the superhero coming apart at the seams who was nearly sitting in his lap. His tone remained even, though an underlying hunger warped the syllables of each word, giving them a weight that made Peter shiver. “All I wanna do is touch you. Fuck, you’re perfect.” Both hands wandered the expanse of Peter’s chest, nails intermittently biting into his skin. “You have any idea how much I wanted to just jump through my laptop screen and bend you over something? Torture. Pure, Goddamn torture…” Wade’s voice trailed off in a favor of a grunt that rattled inside of Peter’s skull.

“Wade…” His own voice surprised him. Peter sounded so deprived, desperately in need of whatever it was Wade was willing to give him. “Wade, I’m…”

“Oh, I know, baby boy. You’re pitching a tent down there, huh?”

Behind his mask, Peter’s cheeks flushed. Of course, he’d been acutely aware of the persistent aching between his legs, but he tried his best to ignore it. Wade made that extremely difficult. His jeans became tighter and tighter as Wade’s hands continued their venture along his tense form.

Wade’s hand continued its methodical drag down Peter’s body, seemingly satisfied with the slight arch it had taken on. His fingertips found the waist band of Peter’s jeans, two fingers tracing the skin just above the denim. “That for me?”

It was. Peter inhaled sharply, fidgeting eagerly. The sense of anticipation Wade had cultivated was maddening. He tried to reply but all he was allotted was an exhale that came from his very core, something that melted into a needy little whine. 

Before he knew it, Wade’s palm pressed against the growing bulge, causing the flustered hero to initially recoil, pressing back against Wade’s chest. “Take that as a yes,” Wade snickered, kneading the heel of his palm slowly into the outline of Peter’s cock. Peter’s body jolted and triumphantly, Wade added, “A very enthusiastic yes.”

A shiver rolled through his body, electricity lapping at his sensentivie insides like waves on the sand. Restless hands moved to find something, anything, to keep him from floating into the atmosphere, and he settled on the comfortably broken in leather at Wade’s knee. Pressing his fingertips into the taut fabric, Peter struggled with the very real temptation of rolling his hips upward, creating more friction and heat. Instead, he allowed Wade a dangerous amount of control. He wanted nothing more than Wade’s acidic touch, boring holes into every inch of his body. Reduce him to a pile of cinder and ash and he’d find no reason to complain.

Wade nuzzled into Peter’s temple, applying just enough pressure to cause his baby boy’s body to quake. “I won’t unless you want me to,” he cautiously began, tone softer than before but still maintaining that same heat, “but fuck, I wanna touch you. Baby boy, I wan--”

Control abandoned, he made another mistake, just one in a never-ending series of oversights he never saw coming when it came to Wade. In a moment of weakness, he whispered, “Peter.”

“...what was that?” Disbelief and confusion were evident in Wade’s tone.

Between erratic panting, he squeezed his eyes shut tight under his mask and repeated, “Peter. Call me...call me Peter and touch me, Wade. Please, touch me.”

This wasn’t baby boy awkwardly teasing his patron and this wasn’t Spider-Man attempting to make sense of a hopeful ally’s motives; this was Peter, desperate and unsure of this deep-rooted fluttering in the pit of his stomach. This was Peter, cock straining against his jeans, aching for Wade in the absolute worst way. This was Peter, giving up apprehension and all of the other weight that forced his shoulders to hunch and made his heart heavy.

The hand around Peter’s waist disappeared and he managed to form the panicked thought that he’d somehow gone a step too far. Before he could turn to look over his shoulder, he felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading throughout the expanse of his back, spreading through him like ink in water. Wade’s lips pressed chaste kisses just below where Peter’s mask ended, from the back of his neck to his left shoulder, then the right. “Not that I don’t appreciate the begging, because it’s ridiculously fucking sexy,” Wade hummed between kisses, “but don’t worry your pretty little head...because all I wanna do is touch you, Peter.”

Sparks flew. He felt seen, acknowledged and absolved of this bizarre jealousy he harbored for the other two sides of himself. His name sounded like it was meant to come from Wade’s mouth, the bass in his voice bringing his name to life in a way he’d never heard before. Peter’s heart nearly burst at the utterance of two simple syllables, which made him a little more aware of how much power he’d just given Wade.

Wade had lifted his mask just enough to expose his lips, Peter had realized, but he could still feel the scratch of leather against his skin as Wade spread kisses along his neck and shoulders. His arm returned to Peter’s waist while the hand at his cock continued its meticulous work, pressing against the outline of his arousal. Peter breathlessly begged, “Wade, fuck , please…”

“Oh, I know, baby...I’m gonna give you exactly what you want,” Wade cooed, guiding his hand to the zipper tab of Peter’s jeans. Teasingly flicking the metal tab between his fingertips, he pressed his cheek against Peter’s temple and whispered, “Gotta say, I’m flattered...didn’t know I could make you this hard.” He guided the zipper downward in a torturously slow manner, relishing in the way Peter trembled against him.

“Bull,” he managed to reply between uneven breaths, “you’ve always made me...damn it.” The words drowned in a deep groan. He tilted his hips upward, desperately searching for contact, direct and uninterrupted contact.

Wade freed the button from its loop with a triumphant chuckle. “You’re making me blush,” he whispered. Carefully, he used both hands to help Peter slide the denim off of his hips, steadying his body as he freed Peter from the constraining fabric. 

Relief instantly splashed over him, the pressure relieved just enough. Still, his boxers very obviously being pushed to their limits and Peter was dangerously close to clawing the fabric off himself.

However, Wade wasn’t that cruel. He had no intention of making his baby boy wait for too much longer. His right hand disappeared between skin and underwear, a featherlight touch grazing coarse hair hidden beneath. “You’re shaking,” Wade observed, moving his hand slowly downward, “you okay?”

Peter questioned the sincerity of the statement, knowing Wade often tempted and teased, but he also knew of a sweeter side he showed at times. He nodded frantically, unable to stabilize his breathing. Behind his mask, he gulped down air, frustrated by how the fabric limited the quality and quantity. 

So, in a frenzied act, he lifted his right hand to the top of his head and tore his mask off, revealing disheveled chestnut hair and a brow slick with sweat. Inhaling sharply, Peter finally said, “F-fine...just need you to...ahhh!”

Fingers abruptly wrapped around Peter’s arousal, giving it a few cautionary strokes. “You were saying?”

He caught his lower lip between his teeth before he let loose an unholy groan. Pressing his back harder against Wade’s chest, his immediate response to the stimulation was to roll his hips, wanting to force Wade’s hand to grip tighter and stroke faster. At just the slightest touch, heat was already bubbling in the pit of his belly and his entire body ached at the thought of more of the same. 

Tension built steadily, the sensation intensifying as Wade pressed open-mouthed kisses along the now bare base of Peter’s neck. His pace remained even, steady, much to the chagrin of the overly sensitive Peter, but he still melted into the contact, hastened breathing signalling his growing satisfaction 

“Come on, Peter, make a little noise for me,” Wade said before pressing his teeth into the sensitive junction between his neck and shoulder.

He lurched forward a bit, unable to shield the room from the loud, long moan. Wade had always been invested in Peter making noise, be it a groan, a whisper, or his name disguised as a whimper, and he found himself eager to give Wade exactly what he wanted. What reason did he have left to show restraint? He revealed his name and his face (even if Wade had yet to see it completely) so what did he have left to hide? Instead of holding back, Peter chose to feel everything. He’d wasted so much time second guessing himself and denying himself of these intense feelings, so he wouldn’t anymore. Simple as that. He had nothing left to lose.

“Wade...more...I need more,” he sighed in a heavy exhale. Peter widened his stance slightly, inviting Wade to increase his pace, welcoming him in closer. “Wade, please …”

He could hear Wade swallowing hard. Had Peter’s insistence taken him by surprise? Either way, he relented and stroked him with a little more authority, causing Peter to groan in response. “You’re a brat, you know that? Using that pretty mouth to get what you want and you know you’ll get it...you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger,” Wade chuckled, moving to nip at Peter’s earlobe. The hand not gripping Peter’s cock smoothed over his stomach, brushing over tepid skin. “But, that’s just fine,” he added, dragging the pad of his thumb over Peter’s tip, already slick with precum, “because you’re my brat, aren’t you?”

“All yours,” Peter replied shakily, clutching Wade’s knee tightly, his free hand moving to latch onto Wade’s wrist. He kneaded his fingertips into his wrist, feeling Wade’s pulse thrumming wildly. “All yours, Wade!”

His pace quickened. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, Peter. You wanna be all mine that bad?”

The way his name fell from Wade’s lips, intoxicatingly smooth with a slight edge to it, caused Peter’s insides to twist and tighten. Selfishly, he thanked past-Peter for gifting Wade with his name. No one had ever said his name the way Wade had. His tone and cadence were unmatched and it became addicting way too fast. He knew he was in deep, deep trouble, but damn the consequences.  “Yeah, fuck , just want to be...all yours, Wade…”

“That’s my boy, my baby boy,” soothed Wade, adding a twist to his wrist to reward Peter.

His head dropped back to rest on Wade’s shoulder. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he gave himself over completely to the intensity rolling through his body. His toes curled and the very tips of his ears burned. The faster Wade’s hands moved, the faster the entire room spun. His movements matured into long, full strokes, accompanied by the occasional twist and tug. Every subsequent movement forced a pleasurable riptide to splash over him, engulfing him ruthlessly. He moaned and grunted and groaned, thrusting his hips upward as Wade’s strokes persisted.

“What’s the rush?” Wade asked in a frustratingly calm tone, a foil to Peter’s wild panting, “I wanna keep you like this for as long as I can...do I need to slow down? Or should I just... stop ?” 

“No!” Peter immediately replied with an indignant whine. He writhed against Wade, completely at the mercy of Wade’s hand around his cock. “Don’t stop, Wade, please...you can’t...I need you to…”

“What, Peter? What do you need?” His hand slowed to a grueling pace, leaving Peter’s body a shivering, shuddering mess of skin and stress. He was left rigid and desperate, nearly whimpering at the absence of that delicious friction.

“Need you to make me--” Peter rolled his hips into Wade’s barely moving fist, a desperate attempt to encourage movement.

Wade crooned, “A little louder, Peter, c’mon.” 

Peter groaned, almost biting through his bottom lip. “Make me come, Wade! Need you to make me co--!”

His hand resumed its feverish movements, pulling a guttural moan from Peter’s mouth. Wade’s thumb dragged over the tip of Peter’s aching cock again, tickled by the reaction it got him every time. He paired his erratic strokes with bites and lapping at the indents left behind on Peter’s neck. He sucked deep red marks at the base of Peter’s neck, moving towards his jawline, switching gears to nibble on the shell of his ear and nuzzling his nose into mussed brown hair. His movements were all fluid, as if mapped out months prior, not a bit of energy wasted on hesitance or indecision. 

“Fuck!” Peter exclaimed, the expletive fading into a quivering moan. His nails inadvertently bit into Wade’s wrist, but he didn’t seem to mind. He attempted to rock his body in time with Wade’s inconsistent strokes, his entire being overstimulated and exhausted, but determined to chase that bliss that came from Wade and Wade alone. “Yes, Wade, yes! More…!”

Between his own panting, Wade chuckled dryly, “Didn’t take you for a screamer, Peter, but I can’t say I’m complaining.” Pressing a chaste kiss at Peter’s temple, he whispered, “I love that about you...always full of surprises, like a sexy piñata.”

Those words rang loud in Peter’s ears, louder than his out of control breathing, louder than the drumming of his rampaging heart. His wild bucking increased, fucking himself raw into Wade’s hand. He had never been so reckless, but in turn, he’d never felt quite like this. A creature he’d never met, one of want and need, bared pointed canines and snarled in defiance at logic and uncertainty. Peter was powerless to control it and more than content to let the monster rise.

The slide of Peter’s cock against the palm of Wade’s hand was sinfully satisfying. There was a delightful ease to it, the traction building between their skin causing Peter’s vision to blur. Whatever managed to leave his lips was near gibberish, save for Wade’s name, which he called clearly and ardently. The faster Wade’s hand moved, the louder Peter praised his name. Their bodies moved in a complicated rhythm, breathlessly and relentlessly. 

“Come on, Peter,” Wade exhaled, increasing his pace to edge his baby boy that much closer, “you said you needed me, didn’t you?” Nuzzling his nose against the shell of Peter’s ear, he added in a grunt, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Not a second more. Jaw slack, his cock unwilling to be teased any longer, Peter released a strangled yelp as he climaxed, overcome by the metaphorical wall he’d just slammed into. An uncontrollable series of shivers ransacked his body, legs spasming and heart nearly stopping.

“Good boy,” Wade soothed in a low groan.

Even as Peter’s orgasm fizzled out, making every inch of him tingle, he forced his hips upwards lazily, riding out the last few moments of his climax with a shudder. His body came to rest against Wade’s, gulping down breath after breath. “Oh, my God,” he muttered.

The world slowed its chaotic spinning and returned to its comfortable stillness. Slowly, carefully, Wade relinquished his grip on Peter’s cock, gently resting it against his still twitching thigh. Retracting his soiled hand, he reached over and retrieved one of the clean washcloths he’d brought out to tend to Peter’s injury. He wiped Peter’s essence off of his hand, unable to stop himself from chuckling triumphantly. “Made a mess,” he said idly. 

“Sorry,” Peter replied in a labored exhale.

“Not complaining, Pete. Do you mind if I call you Pete or do you prefer Peter? What about Petey? P-Money?!”

He laughed, a rich and hearty sound, as he lifted a hand to run his fingers through his hair, attempting to set it back into place, “I mean, whatever is fine.”

“You’d seriously let me call you P-Money?”

“It’s not exactly my favorite option, but…”

Wade leaned in, resting his chin atop Peter’s head. “I think I like Peter best,” he hummed, moving his hand to rest on Peter’s stomach again, “but I can’t promise Pete won’t make an appearance now and then. Petey for when you’re being a brat. P-Money when you’re feelin' nasty.”

“I can live with that,” Peter replied contentedly. 

For a while, they sat in an agreeable silence. Peter focused on the steady rise and fall of Wade’s chest while Wade circled Peter’s navel with the very tips of his fingers. The silence offered clarity; he couldn’t take any of it back anymore, not this evening or that night in the alley, and if he was being brutally honest with himself, that scared that shit out of him. However, he also was content with the choices he’d made. Revealing himself the way he had, name and face one right after the other, left him wide open to potential catastrophe, but to put it simply (and maybe even ignorantly,) he trusted Wade. He had no reason to distrust him. In actuality, Wade had been a generous patron, a reliable comrade and a compassionate lover. He was an all-around decent human being and Peter had spent way too much time mulling over this and that, worrying and fretting over every little thing that could have gone wrong. He never considered what could have gone right, robbing himself of the possibility of warmth spreading through his body and, dare he even dream of it, a chance at being happy.

“You okay?” Wade quietly asked, smoothing his open palm along his stomach.

“Mmm,” he hummed in reply. Part of him had forgotten what led them here, lost in the cozy fog that surrounded them. It came back in bits and pieces, their situation that complicated what they’d created here, and it made Peter’s chest feel tight. What now? What were they? Where could they even go from here? Instead of digging himself deeper into that seemingly never-ending hole, he decided to simply enjoy whatever time they had left. “Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for, well, a lot of things,” he started, his voice a hair above a whisper, almost worried a louder tone would shatter the euphoric calm they’d found. “I know I haven’t been a reliable...anything,, but you didn’t deserve me disappearing over and over again. I didn’t mean to pull you along, if that’s what it looked and felt like. This whole situation is new to me and I--”

“Peter,” Wade gently interrupted, “you think too much.” Pulling him closer, he moved to hook his chin over Peter’s shoulder once again, tilting his head just so to place a kiss on his neck. “You’re worth waiting for, alright? I'm sorry if people made you think you weren't but… you are. I’m an impatient son of a gun but I’d wait for you. Listen, I get it, you probably have mounds of shit to climb over and maybe I can’t help you with any of that but when you scale those mountains of shit and end up on the other side, I’ll be there for ya.” He paused thoughtfully, squeezing Peter just a little closer before adding, “If you want me to be there, I mean.”

He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath the entire time Wade was talking. What was Peter worth? Outside of being Spider-Man, what was he really worth? Hearing Wade use such gentle words in a tone often saved for lovers and tell him he was worth more than his anxiety and his constant second guessing and inability to see something so blindly radiant right in front of his face…

Was he worth more to Wade than he was to himself?

“I do,” Peter finally answered after some quiet consideration, “I do want you to be on the other side.”

“Then, you got me. Simple as that. It doesn’t have to be as complicated as you’re thinking it has to be, Pete, I promise. Sometimes, stuff can just be easy so just...let it be easy.” Almost reluctantly, Wade shifted carefully and rose up off the couch to his full height. “Not every battle has to become a war.”

Peter only moved enough to not fall back as Wade left him, hearing his footsteps disappear down the hallway. He was left alone with his thoughts again. With a deep sigh, he rose and pulled his jeans back up to rest on his hips, only zipping them up to keep them from pooling around his ankles. He lazily wandered towards the window placed between the living room and the small kitchen. The snow was still falling, creating untouched mounds of white along terraces and unoccupied walkways, casting an eerie glow upon the city. Suddenly, he was more than thankful for Wade’s help. Instead of a long, lonely walk home to an empty apartment, he was cozy in Wade’s, legs still feeling vaguely like jelly and body delightfully sore.

Sure, he’d accidentally ruined one of his favorite jackets and stained his shirt with blood but that was tomorrow-Peter’s problem. Tonight-Peter had decided to bask in the glow left behind by what he and Wade had done.

“You’re not thinking about ditchin’ me, are ya?” Wade reappeared and asked, half-teasingly.

Still facing the window, he shook his head, “Not actively, no, but I probably should before it gets too late.”

“Or,” he said, “or, you could, you know, stay. I’ll behave, I swear. And if the next words out of your mouth include or are at all similar to, ‘I don't wanna be an inconvenience,’ you can save us both a bunch of time and just know that you’re not inconveniencing me. So, maybe just stay? C’mon. Stay. Pretty please?”

Peter was smiling again. Wade was able to do that effortlessly and as much as it was confusing for Peter, it was also endearing. Without much more of a fight, he relented. “Okay. Okay . You win, but I’m taking the couch. I refuse to kick you out of your own bed. Deal?”

“You sure do drive a hard bargain,” Wade retorted, letting out a playfully exasperated sigh, “but you got yourself a deal.”

He peered over his shoulder, watching Wade set a few extra pillows down on the couch, along with a blanket, a top sheet, and what looked like a folded t-shirt.

Lifting his gaze, Wade’s masked face met Peter’s and his still exposed mouth offered him a crooked grin. “Call it a hunch.”

Wade had said on multiple occasions that Peter was something special. He was starting to think Wade had that backwards.

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. Lightswitch is right by the door. Bathroom’s down that hall to the left. Oh, and, uh...if you’re gonna fly the coop once the sun comes up, I get it, but say goodbye before you do, okay?”

Peter’s expression softened. He’d...done that once or twice, hadn’t he? Disappeared without a goodbye? He couldn’t blame Wade, he supposed. He gently replied, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Even if I sleep past noon? This bitch loves his sleep.”

“Even if you sleep past noon,” Peter replied, knowing full well he might not even roll off Wade’s couch until after one.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Wade said as he turned to head towards the room across from what he’d designated as the bathroom. Before he entered his room, he turned towards Peter and hummed, “Until next time, Peter?”

“Until next time, Wade.”

He disappeared into the room, the door softly clicking shut behind him,  and Peter sighed. The first thought he encountered as he moved across the room towards the couch was if Wade would have dismissed the idea of sharing a bed. Peter was too embarrassed to ask and he had no intention of appearing presumptuous, so he allowed that thought to fizzle out and sink back into his subconscious. 

Reaching for the shirt Wade had left him, he held it in his hands for a moment. It wasn’t anything special at first glance, just a slightly wrinkled off-white tee with a blue collar. He turned it over, ready to slide it over his head, when he noticed a face smiling back at him.

Bea Arthur. Dorothy from The Golden Girls . She was just...smiling knowingly at him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking and, in turn, knew the answer as well.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he slipped the shirt on. Wade had a couple of inches on Peter, couple of pounds too, so the shirt was maybe a size too big, which gave it a looser fit and a sense of airiness that he was immediately fond of. As he reveled in that simple pleasure, he set up the couch with care, placing the pillows at one end, smoothing out the top sheet over the couch cushions and retrieving his mask that he’d carelessly discarded earlier. 

Past the point of no return. No going back now. No chance at pretending this never happened. That knowledge sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, but it was a weight he’d accepted and one he was willing to carry if it meant exploring the possibility of more time with Wade.

Slipping out of his jeans and his sneakers, he set them and his mask neatly aside, as he moved to turn off the living room light. The room was cast into darkness and he gingerly returned to his makeshift bed without slamming his toes into the end table beside the arm of the couch.

Small victories.

The cushions shifted into place beneath him as he decided on a suitable position to not aggravate the bandaged portion of his back.

Once he was situated and under the blankets, Bea Arthur resting on his chest, Peter’s mind flickered in and out of awareness quicker than he’d expected. Being in a strange place with a man who was very nearly a stranger, he expected wide-eyed paranoia and palpable unease. Instead, he was presented with an almost alien tranquility and a sense of placidity he never knew existed. 

Peter drifted to sleep as snow continued to cover New York City.

Chapter Text

Peter opened his eyes and immediately recalled the night before. He didn’t even have a chance to rub the sleep out of his eyes before the rush of sensations slammed against his rib cage. It momentarily felt like some sort of wet dream, vivid and intense, rendering him slack-jawed and gasping for air before it faded back into his self-consciousness, but it was real. It was really, really real and, well, wow. 

He’d be lying if he denied pinching himself when he was awake and aware enough to do so. You know, just to make sure.

Light filtered into the room and if Peter had to guess, he’d assume it was around eleven, maybe? Before noon, probably. Many an early morning patrol had given him the chance to chase the dawn and use the sun to estimate the time (and on cloudy days, well, he had his cell phone. We love technology. Yes, we do.) He laid on the couch for an embarrassing amount of time, too comfortable to move, too lost in thought to focus on doing two things at once. 

He stayed. Part of him still couldn’t believe it. Peter, who had written the damn book about tucking tail and running when it came to situations involving Wade, had stayed the night at his apartment. He committed to the idea and here he was, warm and safe and wearing one of Wade’s t-shirts and the best part of that was the lack of regret he felt. No white-hot shame or fever warm remorse. Instead, he felt content. He felt like he could make a comfortable, cozy home in the faint dip in Wade’s couch cushion. He could get used to the constant barrage of witty banter and wandering hands and the way Wade smelled distinctly like a recently blown out candle, like musk and ash and…

Slow down there, Spidey.

With a heavy sigh, Peter reluctantly pushed the blanket off of himself and swung his legs out, pressing his feet firmly onto the floor. He was only then reminded of what happened before the good stuff as a slight stinging sensation forced his bottom lip between his teeth.

Oh, yeah. Okay…nice and easy, Pete.

He hadn’t slept this well in ages. As he woke up, rejoining the real world, the realization of what he’d done and the weight it carried was immense. Peter was a creature of science, logic and numbers, and everything he’d experienced since Wade had been irrational and chaotic. It went against everything he knew, everything he knew as right. Even being near Wade was jarring, a moment of clarity in a world that was constantly abuzz with static and blaring white noise. Wade was chaotic calm. He made Peter question every single thing he thought he knew and he did so unapologetically. Armed with the devil’s charm, Wade rendered Peter defenseless, stripping him of the armor he wore piece by piece. Peter found it exhausting to continually replace each dented, malformed piece that fell in heaps at his feet.

So, maybe he’d just…stop. Stop fighting. Stop resisting. Lay down arms and surrender.

Rising to his full height carefully, he moved towards the window, the floor creaking in protest as he did. Peering out, he felt a little smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The city outside was enveloped in white, sunlight making the rooftops shimmer. The snow hadn't stopped for a good, long while, but Peter didn’t mind…for the most part. Swinging through snow covered New York City was a royal pain in the ass but it sure was pretty. It felt like being inside a painting sometimes, pristine and untouched snow making the world’s color a few shades cooler, flurries dancing all around him gracefully.

It only wasn’t so nice when everything was slick and wet, causing Peter to not so gracefully lose his grip and nearly plummet to that disgusting gray-black slush that snow became after a few NYC Transit Authority buses passed over it. Yeah, he much preferred the snow just like this.

Admittedly, Peter felt a little awkward, wandering around Wade’s living room alone. He felt like he wasn't supposed to be here, as if he was peering behind the curtain into Wade’s personal life. At first glance, it all seemed so dreadfully average, just a normal living room in a normal and probably criminally overpriced apartment. Not many personal effects, no family photos or wooden signs that preached ‘live, laugh, love.’ Did he just move in? Maybe he moved a lot and saw no reason to personalize a place he’d have to abandon within a few months? 

He really didn’t know much about Wade. Was he even allowed to ask at this point? They weren’t well, you know, were they? Was he allowed to dig deeper into Wade’s personal life, nudge past the barriers and find a comfortable little place in his life? Sure, Wade had said on multiple occasions that he’d grown fond of Peter, but he honestly had no idea what that really meant. Was that fondness born from a purely physical place or were its roots planted deeper someplace else? He was afraid to ask because the prospect of an answer terrified him, so he chose to just exist in that haze of uncertainty for the time being. Seemed easier that way. Just enjoy it while he had it before something came and took it all away. 

Restlessness nagged at Peter. There was a selfish little part of him that wanted to try and wake Wade up, paw at the door like a needy puppy in search of a gentle touch. He wanted to sit beside him, idly trace his fingertips up and down the length of Wade’s arms and ask him every single trivial question he could think of. He wanted to know what his favorite color was, favorite food, anything and everything. He wanted every ounce of knowledge he was allowed to have.

However, he decided against all of that because he didn’t want to come off like some crazed, obsessive little troll, so he instead turned his attention to breakfast.

Or was it brunch? When did breakfast become brunch? What time did it become acceptable to just say, ‘Whelp, breakfast’s over but it’s still a little too early for lunch…brunch time!’?

Moving into the kitchen, Peter felt that odd feeling again, like he didn’t belong here, that he shouldn’t be rummaging through Wade’s pantry or refrigerator. He’d told Peter to help himself, but that didn’t make those feelings disappear; he still felt oddly out of place, undeserving of his place here. He belonged in his own cold, quiet apartment, unease clawing at the walls both inside and out. He felt like an alien, wandering the rooms of a place so foreign, trying to assimilate and pretend his anxieties weren’t attempting to eat him alive at any given moment. More often than not, he was a stranger to himself, confused and curious as to how the hell he even got here to begin with.

Before he knew it, Peter stuck his head into the fridge. He was fairly impressed at its contents. Then again, he didn’t expect every superhero to live off of ramen noodles and boxed mac and cheese with the radioactive powered cheese sauce. Wade was well-stocked, little bit of everything, but his focus fell upon the full carton of eggs and, holy crap, that was bacon.

He was moving across the kitchen fluidly once he’d committed to the idea of a hearty breakfast. Retrieving cheese and, shit, even a bright red pepper, he explored the cabinets and the drawers for plates, utensils and a frying pan. He remained mindful of Wade, keeping the banging and clanging to a bare minimum. He whisked and chopped and shredded and he did so with a crooked little smile smeared across his face.

A sense of ease settled and Peter felt strangely content. In between the clink of utensils against the glass bowl and the sizzling of bacon in the pan, his thoughts were abnormally weightless. It was a rarity, feeling light on his feet outside of leaping from rooftop to rooftop. He’d grown accustomed to bearing the weight of the world on tired shoulders, so this sensation of being momentarily unburdened by life’s many microaggressions made him feel like he was floating.

He only worried then how devastating the fall would be.

“Whatcha cookin’, good lookin’?” 

At first, the voice startled Peter into awareness, but his surprise slowly melted into a nearly childish glee. It manifested itself as a wider grin, one that made his cheeks ache. “Just a little breakfast,” he replied, tending to his pan of scrambled eggs.

Just as suddenly as Wade's voice filled the kitchen, he’d crossed the room and snaked his arms around Peter’s waist, hooking his chin over Peter’s shoulder. Their bodies connected, a delightful warmth spreading through him. The press of Wade’s chest against his back forced a few memories from the previous night to surface, causing his cheeks to flush.

“Any for me?” Wade asked, placing a chaste kiss just behind Peter’s right ear.

He chuckled, gently pressing back against him. “If you’re hungry,” he said teasingly.

“Oh, Pete, you’ll learn soon enough that I’m pretty much always hungry…and you're what I’ve been craving lately.” Wade’s hands were on the prowl, one disappearing under Peter’s borrowed tee. Rough, worn fingertips lazily kneaded into warm skin, tracing nonsensical patterns into toned muscle.

A shiver rolled up the base of Peter’s spine. Damn him. Damn him and his gruff charm and the scratch of his voice as it rattled around in his head. Without a second thought, he leaned back a little more assertively against Wade, content to feel the press of his bodies and the growing heat trapped between them. “I’m looking forward to learning more about you,” Peter admitted almost bashfully. This all felt so domestic and Peter didn’t quite know what to do with how, well, happy that made him feel. It almost felt like he was left in charge of something he was so unworthy of having, something so precious that he was terrified of breaking by holding on too tightly. Peter was trying to loosen his grip, knuckles white and palms sore, but the longer he was exposed to Wade and his experienced hands and his voice like crushed velvet…

Wade sighed and untangled his limbs from Peter’s body, moving to set up plates and utensils for their breakfast (brunch?) Peeking over his shoulder, Peter noted the red and black mask was still on Wade, pulled up to just below his nose. Suddenly, Peter felt very naked but it was too late to be shy about it now, he supposed. Still, he had to wonder if he’d done something to make Wade feel uncomfortable. His hands and lips suggested otherwise, but what was it then?

Not that he’d mention it. Wade had been so patient with Peter this entire time. He’d only given Wade his name the night prior, lost in the heat of the moment (which, even now, he couldn’t regret, especially after hearing Wade nearly growl out each syllable. Christ.) However, he couldn't deny the curiosity that nagged and clawed at him relentlessly. He had to wonder if he could memorize Wade’s cheekbones the way he’d memorized Peter’s.

He busied himself with finishing their eggs and perfectly crispy bacon (May taught him well) as those thoughts buzzed wildly between his ears. Carefully setting their food on the plates Wade had placed on the counter in front of him, he’d turned and offered the meal to his patron.

Except Wade didn’t immediately take his plate. Instead, he just stared. Hard. At least, that’s what Peter assumed.

After a few moments of palpable silence, Peter tilted his head. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Wade replied, his exposed lips twisting into a lopsided smirk, “I just…didn’t get a good look at you last night and, wow, you’re fucking adorable.”

Peter’s cheeks burned. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he helplessly searched for some sort of response that wouldn’t make him sound like a flustered schoolgirl. He settled on, “T-thanks…”

Smooth.

“I mean, look at you,” Wade crooned, extending a hand to caress his cheek, the rough pad of his thumb tracing just below his right eye. “Shame you hid your face from me for so long. Should be a crime to hide a pretty face like yours.”

Peter was surprised Wade’s hand didn’t recoil from the heat pooling in his cheeks. No one had ever talked about him this way, not even MJ, so to hear Wade piece those words together, almost lyrical in nature, only to direct them at average mousy brown hair, dirty hazel eyes Peter Parker? It didn’t feel real, like Wade was talking to someone standing behind Peter. As he mulled over his disbelief, he leaned into Wade’s touch, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“Glad you stayed?”

“Mmm,” Peter hummed.

Wade chuckled and withdrew his hand, freeing one of Peter’s hands by taking his plate. “So am I and not just because you made me food.”

Playfully, he rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

The apartment had a small dining table set between the kitchen and the living room. That’s where Wade wandered and Peter followed, taking a seat across from where Wade sat. It was quiet at first, which surprised Peter. Silence never suited Wade; he seemed the type to fill a room wall to wall with some sort of witty wisecrack or clever puns. He didn’t mind that, of course (because he’d rather have Wade’s voice flood his mind floor to ceiling than his own irrational buzzing and self-deprecating static) but it made the moments in between feel out of place somehow.

He peered up at Wade through his lashes and just watched him for a few moments. Staring was rude, wasn’t it? He felt like a creep but he’d become quite intrigued by Wade. The fact that he still wore his mask just added to the intrigue in a way. He had no idea what kind of life Wade led when he wasn’t clad in red and black leather. He couldn’t imagine what a regular day was like for Wade. Did he have a day job or was he scanning employment listings with little success like Peter was? Maybe he had a better grip on his life, finding some sort of balance between hero and civilian, a balance Peter struggled to reach. Maybe Wade was just more efficient, a better hero…

“You’re starin’,” Wade said flatly, the tail end of a piece of bacon peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

Shit. Peter tensed and forced his gaze down to his barely touched food. “S-sorry,” he stammered out, shoving a messy forkful of eggs and peppers into his mouth.

Shaking his head, he offered Peter a smile. “Wasn’t complaining, Pete. Something on your mind?”

A whole bunch, actually, but Peter nearly bit his tongue clean off as he resisted the urge to just blurt out, “I was just wondering why you’re still wearing yo–”

Shit. Shit. Did he say that? Did he actually say that?! He wasn't thinking. No, he was thinking too much! Before he could catch them, the words tumbled out of his mouth clumsily and fell face first onto the table. Panic bubbled up within Peter and he desperately fought to take back what he’d stupidly allowed to escape.

“Wade, I’m so sorry. I didn–”

His expression didn’t change. He seemed impossibly unbothered by Peter’s tactless words. Instead of looking shocked and disappointed, he shoveled the last bits of eggs into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Figured it would come at some point.”

“You don’t owe me any sort of explanation, Wade. I shouldn’t have…I wasn't tr–”

“Slow down,” he soothed, pronouncing the words deliberately. “You shared a whole bunch of shit with me since we met, stuff I know you’re a little less than thrilled to share.”

Understatement.

“So, I guess it’s my turn, huh?”

“Wade, I–”

Lifting a hand, he silenced the still frantic Peter. “It’s a long, sad, fucked-up story. It’d make a decent movie, as long as they didn’t cast some schmuck to play me, ya know? Anyway, uh, long story super short, I had…no…have? I don’t even know anymore. I was diagnosed with cancer a while back. It was aggressive and I thought I was just straight fucked. Kinda gave up and I don’t think I wanted to die but didn’t have much of a choice…until I did.”

Peter’s eyes never left Wade. He didn’t even pick up his fork, afraid the sound of metal against the plate would cause this entire moment to crumble around them. Despite the casual language Wade used, he sensed a deep-rooted pain, something that lived and breathed inside his chest and continued its steady growth while Wade had to simply exist alongside it. To have been burdened with cancer? To live with this disease, relentless and unforgiving…but he was still here? What choice had he been presented with?

Wade continued, voice even, “I was approached by a gaggle of douchebags and offered a solution for my little problem. Thinking back on it now, it had ‘bad sci-fi villain schtick’ written all over it but I was pretty desperate…so I let them ‘help’ me. They injected me with a serum that was supposed to give me some sort of rapid healing or whatever the fuck, but they didn’t expect my cancer to be a problem, which, spoiler, it was.”

He exhaled, peering up at Peter to see a muddied look of confusion and sympathy. A bleeding heart, huh? Shouldn’t have surprised Wade, considering he was the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Then again, even skipping a bunch of sordid details, he knew this wasn’t exactly an easy story to listen to. It was a ridiculous story to tell, but he knew he could trust Peter with it. 

“Whatever they put in me, it made it so all those ugly little cancer cells couldn’t die. The healing ability they gave me? Yeah, well, they gave it to the damn cancer too. So, I can’t die but neither can the cancer…so, mission accomplished, I guess?” Wade chuckled wryly. He slowly reached towards the back of his head, slipping his fingers between the edge of his mask and the nape of his neck. “I mean, not dying is a hell of a perk at times, but can’t get something for nothing, right?”

Slowly, as if apprehension still existed within him, Wade tugged the red and black mask off, gripping it tightly between his fingers. In one languid motion, he exposed himself to the tense silence around them.

Wade’s face was heavily scarred, skin uneven and looking as though it was crackling from every angle. He lacked any hair, even eyebrows, but Peter had no problem reading his expression; eyes downcast, lips drawn into a tight line…he didn’t want to do this.

Peter was staring again. He didn’t mean to, honest, but Wade…was self-conscious? He’d already conquered so much, more than any one person should but this…

“I might have paid to watch Spider-Man jerk himself off, but you got a handjob from a monster, free of charge.”

His expression immediately softened. “Wade, you’re no–”

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Petey, come on,” he said, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “Got a face only a mother could love and I doubt even she’d put up with this shit.”

“Wade…”

A sad sort of chuckle left his lips. “I mean, Beauty and the Beast was always a favorite of mine, ya know, so maybe you could be the beauty and I co–”

Before he realized it, Peter was moving. He pushed his chair away from the table and swiftly rounded its corner. Walking with purpose, Peter moved to Wade’s side and without a moment of hesitation, he placed his hands on either side of Wade’s gnarled face, forcing their gazes to meet. His fingertips pressed into warm, uneven skin, making sure he had his full and undivided attention.

“Pete, what's u–?”

“Shut up,” he replied, his tone betraying the severity of his words. “Wade, you are not a monster. What you did for me, all the ways you've helped me, every unbelievably sweet thing you’ve said…monsters aren’t capable of that. A monster wouldn’t…make me smile the way you do.” Peter gently brushed the pad of his thumb across Wade’s cheek, taking him in slowly, inch by inch. He was imperfect, scarred and broken, yet to Peter, he was something unique, something he’d never known and may never know again. He was a piece of fine china that the world had so carelessly dropped but was bound together by powdered gold; broken at one point but made stronger because of it. That’s what Peter saw. He didn’t see a monster, just an obnoxiously strong man. 

Wade, wide eyed and very nearly slack-jawed, simply looked at Peter for what felt like an eternity. The silence made Peter very aware of how loudly his heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to shatter the cage it was held captive in. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, forcing him to consider just talking and talking until it fit behind his teeth the right way again.

However, thankfully, Wade spoke before Peter began to ramble. “Well, shit,” he sighed, “I’m digging this assertive Spidey.”

“Wade…” Peter exhaled, exasperated.

He laughed in reply. “Listen, it’s how I cope with, ya know, this,” he said, gesturing to the face Peter held between his strong and steady hands. “It probably fucks up a lot of those deliciously cheesy rom-com moments, but doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the hell out of them,” Wade paused, offering Peter an apologetic smile, “or you.”

Peter’s cheeks began to burn once again. He continued to stroke his fingertips against Wade’s face idly, searching his expression for something more than Wade’s words offered, but he came up empty-handed. This was Wade coping; self-deprecating humor and saying what he assumed everyone else was thinking before they could speak it into existence. If he said it first, it’d hurt less. If he said it first, the pressure was off everyone else to not mention the gnarled, scarred elephant in the room. 

Made sense, but it didn’t make Peter any less, well, sad. 

“I get it,” he said sheepishly, “but, I just…I don’t see you that way. You’re not a monster to me, Wade, and I hate that that’s how you see yourself.” Cautiously, Peter leaned in that much closer, leaning his forehead gently against Wade’s. “And if I have to stick around just to remind you of that, I will.”

“All it takes is a few jokes in bad taste and you’ll hang around? I can do that,” Wade snickered.

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen monsters. You know I have. Trust me…you’re not one of them.”

He’d spent his teenage years and all of his adult life coming face to face with unjust, socially malformed beasts parading as humans. They were corrupt and insisted on paving their paths with malicious intentions. They perverted good and forced those around them to see the world through their tinted lenses. Even though Peter hated to admit it, they were oftentimes irredeemable and no broken bone or cracked rib hurt more than that complicated fact. 

But, he didn’t feel that way about Wade. His skin didn’t crawl when he considered him and his heart didn’t drop into his stomach when he regarded him, Even now, hearing Wade break himself down with words as sharp as knives, Peter saw beyond the self-inflicted abhorrence and saw something unique and so ridiculously flawed but full of his charm and heart and the furthest thing from a monster that Peter had ever seen.

This had been the longest time he’d heard the room devoid of Wade’s wit and it left Peter feeling oddly unnerved. Nearly in his lap at this point, he’d only then realized how close they were, how quickly he’d closed the distance between them. Heart thrumming in his ears, cheeks warming by the second, Peter brushed the pad of his thumb just under Wade’s left eye. “Maybe I haven’t said it enough but…I like you Wade, even if I don’t exactly like how you see yourself. Maybe…maybe I can change your mind about that.”

Inhaling slowly, Wade closed his eyes and leaned into Peter’s palm. “Doubtful but if that means this selfish beast gets more Spidey…”

“Wade.”

“You’ll have to get used to my oh-so charming wit, Pete, cause I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

“Well, neither am I.”

“Mmm…neither are you,” Wade murmured in response.

For a long, quiet moment, the two simply took in one another. Wade’s glaring imperfections on full display and Peter taking them in without flinching. He felt increasingly guilty, considering the story behind his scars. He’d never poke or prod, but he continued to ponder. Peter had his own museum of trauma, bruises and scars on display, an exhibit of his years as Spider-Man, but something about Wade’s hesitancy and his desperate need to insult himself before anyone else could…it felt personal, profound and painful. Hiding that ache behind humor was a well-honed skill, cultivated over many years of hiding behind bitterness and heartache, the rejection and the loneliness. Knowing that Wade trusted him with it, all of it…Peter felt unworthy.

Mindlessly tracing his hands along Wade’s face, it warmed Peter’s heart to feel him smile. “By the way,” he began quietly, “if it means anything, I think you’re very handsome.”

“You’re a shitty liar,” Wade cooed, tilting his head to place a soft kiss into Peter’s palm, “but still, thanks. Speaking of lying,” Wade met Peter’s gaze, “don’t. How’s your back?”

His expression melted into an even one. His knee-jerk reaction was to use the word ‘fine’ and just move on.. He used that on Miles a lot and on MJ even more (but mostly on May) and he often wondered how many times they actually believed him. Was he ever convincing enough? Maybe he just had a terrible poker face. Regardless, he knew Wade wouldn’t accept ‘fine’, so he abandoned it all together and sighed, defeated. “Stings a bit if I move a certain way, but it’s really not that bad. I’ve had worse.”

“Uh-huh,” Wade replied flatly.

“Seriously! I’ve had to reset my own shoulder and my knee on more than four occasions. This is nothing. Well, not nothing. Just…a bit uncomfortable, I guess.”

Wade’s brow furrowed but he seemingly accepted his answer and sighed in response. “Still, I wanna take a look at it. Better safe than sorry and all that shit. To the bathroom, Spidey, let’s go.”

Before Peter could protest, Wade was on the move. He slowly rose to his full height, careful not to slam his head into Peter’s, which forced the webslinger to reluctantly step back. He was hesitant to sacrifice their closeness, desperate to touch bare skin and feel the heat pooling beneath his fingertips, but he knew Wade wouldn’t accept no for an answer. So, Peter followed obediently as Wade plodded towards the bathroom.

He wanted to thank Wade for showing him his face and sharing his story, but something about that felt awkward. Peter instead chose silence. Choosing silence meant overthinking, which Peter excelled at; who were the men who approached Wade about this miracle cure? What kind of cancer had forced Wade’s body to nearly give up on him? Did he have family or friends who mourned this diagnosis with him? Did this gift ever feel like a curse? Did he regret this choice? Did he ever want to just…

“Lost in space again?”

Standing in the doorway, Wade offered Peter a knowing grin as Peter scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t make him seem like he was always ridiculously distracted, even if, well, he was most of the time. “I, well…”

“You think a lot, don’t you?”

Oh, Wade, you had no idea. Peter chuckled dryly, “You could say that.”

“Not me,” Wade said, as if proud of that simple fact. “Never saw the fun in it.”

He wished he could do that. Peter was always acutely aware of hundreds, maybe thousands, of scenarios that could happen at any given moment. He carried those hypotheticals and they altered his posture, giving his shoulders a now trademark slump. They never stopped, never slowed, and Peter had just grown content to ponder ‘what if’ for the rest of his life. There had to be a special sort of bliss in being willing to just not think.

Had to admit, he was a little jealous…

Moving fully into the bathroom, Wade said, “Well, don’t. For the next, let’s say, hour…just don’t think.”

Eyebrow cocked, Peter couldn’t help but stare at Wade. Don’t think? Was that even possible? Probable? Might have been easier to stop breathing. Thoughts swirled within his head constantly, a galaxy of involuntary hypotheticals and curious considerations orbiting within his head at any given time. It was never really an issue until they grew louder and more unruly, a constant, thundering applause in an empty amphitheater, disjointed syllables and sounds ricocheting off every wall and reverberating off every surface.

“You’re doing it again,” Wade idly commented.

Shit. Peter sheepishly looked down at his feet, noticing the small hole in his sock near his big toe. “Kind of hard to turn it off,” he admitted to the tile of Wade’s bathroom floor. “Most days, it’s all I do. Sometimes, it’s just me talking with all the different thoughts in my head…wait, that sounds nuts, I know, but…”

“Nah, I get it. After my, uh, procedure, I guess you’d call it, and even before it, I thought waaaay too much. Thought about dying, thought about all the living I’d do if I made it out of that mess alive…but it didn’t do shit for me Didn’t help, didn’t make any of it easier, so I just learned to turn it off.” Reaching towards Peter, Wade caught his wrist and tugged him closer gently. “I mean, like, not all the time, but most of the time, this ol’ cantaloupe is pretty much empty. Gotta tell ya, ain’t a bad way to live.” Wade’s thumb brushed against Peter’s wrist in a criminally gentle manner. “So, for me, Spidey, just…turn it off for a lil’ bit. A teensy-tiny bit? Pretty please?”

Peter’s eyes fluttered up to admire Wade’s fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist. Such a simple, harmless request; exist in the moment and don’t overthink. Just be. Stop thinking.

“Okay,” he said, determined to do as requested simply because Wade had asked. “No more thinking, at least for a little bit.”

A crooked smile formed across Wade’s face, the edges soft which gave him an almost boyish quality. “Fan-fucking-tastic, baby boy. Now, the first thing you’re not allowed to think about is taking off your shirt. Nurse Deadpool needs to perform your follow-up examination.”

A single thought came and went, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. His wrist having been relinquished, he removed the shirt Wade had lent him, feeling oddly bashful as he did so. Couldn’t understand why, considering how much of him Wade had seen and what they’d already done. For just a moment, he felt exposed, skin tingling, temperature rising.

Without being prompted, he turned his back to Wade, shoulders slumping a bit. “How’s it look?” Peter asked as Wade began the careful removal of the bandage. 

A shiver shot up the base of his spine as Wade’s fingertips brushed just above and below the tepid, raised skin. “I mean, you’ll live,” he said, feigning a deep-rooted disappointment.

“Bummer,” Peter replied a little too quickly, followed by a sharp inhale. “Ouch!”

 Wade had poked his index finger between Peter’s ribs. “Hey, only I get to talk like that. Self-loathing is my schtick, got it?”

“Your bedside manner sucks.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining last night,” Wade crooned.

No, no, he didn’t. No complaints here. Not a single one.

“It hurt?” he asked after a thoughtful silence.

Truthfully? A little bit. He’d had worse, of course, thanks to Vulture, Rhino, Scorpion, Electro…the list went on and on. This was something he'd done with some ill-timed showboating, so…yeah, could have been worse. Peter sighed in response, “Not really. Stings a little, but other than that…”

“You’re a trooper, Spidey, I’ll give ya that.”

“Kind of have to be,” he said. Had to toughen up real quick, especially after losing May. Time to mourn, a chance to grieve, seemed like a luxury. For a long time, he felt like he was just holding his breath, just waiting for the next series of tragedies to overcome him and force him to bend and break. His lungs ached and his heart felt so close to bursting, but Wade somehow made it feel okay to breathe again.

Wade’s fingers traced the warm skin around the gash, carefully smoothing over his spine and along his shoulder blades. “I get it,” he replied sympathetically, “but you don’t always gotta be. At ease, soldier.”

Hazel eyes wide, Peter turned to look over his shoulder at Wade, who was looking right back at him. How did Wade always know exactly what to say to turn Peter’s world upside down?

“Why am I getting the feeling that you’re not used to people being gentle with you?”

Wade kept Peter’s attention, finding it impossible to look away from his perfectly imperfect face. Jaw clenched, he searched for some words that made even a lick of sense but he suddenly felt like a small child, stomach in knots and mind aimlessly racing in every direction. “I, uh…I guess I just figured…”

“Heroes need to be ‘super’ all the time? Common misconception.”

“Wade…”

“Peter,” he gently interrupted. “Newsflash - you’re not made of steel. I mean, you got a ton of other things going for ya…like you being ridiculously fucking gorgeous, but you're not invincible. No shame in being human.”

Having so often used ‘Spidey’ or even ‘baby boy’, Wade using Peter’s real name held its own tangible weight. It rang in his ears at a higher frequency. The realization hit him harder than he’d expected, that he was indeed really just a human, a sharp and unavoidable truth flaying pieces of brittle, charred skin off of him in uneven chunks. It was a truth he sometimes avoided, or maybe it was a truth he easily forgot. 

There were faults in being human, but there was no shame in it.

He swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. “Wish that you weren’t right.”

“Hey, everyone’s entitled to at least one,” Wade chuckled. 

“It’s a good one,” he said, a sort of fondness evident in his expression. Peter offered Wade his signature smile, childish in nature, to which Wade responded with a lopsided grin of his own. “A real good one.”

Tipping an invisible hat, Wade said, “Thank ya kindly,” in a just-a-bit-off Southern drawl. 

Peter’s heart swelled and he laughed. He laughed until his cheeks ached. Wade so effortlessly pulled those feelings from him, making him feel weightless and free. He hadn’t felt free in a long, long time, his body made heavy by responsibility and grief. Somehow, someway, Wade made that all seem so far away, so impossibly distant and he was slowly becoming addicted to the sounds, the sensations, the feeling of freedom.

The sound of laughter was swiftly drowned out by running water. Finally turning to face Wade completely, he cocked a brow, watching him futz with the shower faucets. “What are you–?” Peter began to ask.

“Figured a nice, warm shower could help ya,” Wade replied, head halfway into the shower.

That…admittedly sounded really nice. Peter’s shoebox apartment had functioning hot water maybe 70% of the time, so the thought of an uninterrupted stream of nearly scalding hot water overtaking his aching muscles and knotted limbs all at once sounded very inviting. 

Instead of fighting, trying to stop Wade and calling himself a nuisance (even if he still felt like one,) Peter exhaled, “Another fantastic idea. You’re on a roll.”

“Just call me butter.”

There it was again, the light fluttering feeling of laughter bubbling from the very pit of him. It was too innocent a sensation and Peter feared it would be eaten alive by all the little dark bits of negativity and jet black ugliness that resided within him. He wanted so desperately to protect that defenseless little feeling before it was left to corrode in the acid that lived in the pit of his stomach. He would cherish it, nurture it, for as long as he could.

One last test of the water and Wade sighed, satisfied. “Perfect,” he hummed, looking back at the smiling Spidey. “Alright, Petey-Pie, let’s go. Rub-a-dub-dub, get your perfectly tight little ass in the tub.” 

It happened again, that swelling in his chest, that prickly little nervousness that poked at every sensitive nerve in his body. It felt as though he’d momentarily forgotten about the ice cubes and the blowjob in the middle of the rainy alley or, you know, the handjob the night before, before it all abruptly came crashing back into focus. Wade had seen pretty much every beaten and battered inch of Peter Parker, so he guessed he owed him the rest, huh?

Well, maybe ‘owed’ wasn’t the right word. In fact, Peter wanted to give the rest of himself away to Wade.

With a deep breath, Peter abandoned his boxers. He awkwardly considered their placement once the fabric pooled around his ankles, but landed on not giving a good God damn. Stepping out of them, he used his big toe to dismiss them to one side, ridding himself of his holey socks on the way. Heart racing, Peter moved forward and carefully shimmied past Wade (who, much to Peter’s surprise and mild disappointment, didn’t try to squeeze his ass) and stepped into the bathtub.

He immediately gasped, the water cascading down every inch of his body. Down his chest, droplets catching in his mousy brown hair and trickling down the shells of his ears, Peter sighed in near ecstacy, as if years were melting off of him. Years of dirt and mud and grime and shame circled the drain and disappeared, leaving Peter a little lighter than he had been earlier.

It seemed, however, that the weight had only shifted.

“Room for one more?” Wade slid into the small space between Peter and the tiled wall, pulling the shower door closed behind him. The accidental brush of Wade’s hand against Peter’s hip caused every hair on his body to stand on end. Instead of forcing a painfully awkward attempt at a quip from his pursed lips, Peter swallowed and simply shifted to the side, allotting Wade enough room to feel the water on his skin.

Wade ran a hand over his own scalp and sighed in relief. Peter cautiously watched him out of the corner of his eye, enamored by the way Wade’s skin seemingly glistened under the warm water. Each droplet raced in opposing directions, collecting in the crook of his arm until he moved and it all continued its descent. Following his silhouette lazily, the water trailed in tiny, inconsistent streams and Peter struggled to watch and discover each branching path.

This was the first good look Peter had gotten of Wade (well, from the waist-up, anyway.) He was…ripped, like, unfairly so. The tactical suit he wore did its best to conceal it, but when Wade was just bare skin and muscle…Good God. 

“Sure ya don’t mind, Petey?” Wade asked, tilting his gaze downward. “Cause I can go hose myself off outside. Nothing the neighbors haven’t already seen.

Lucky them.

“Yeah…wait, I mean, no…no, I don’t mind,” Peter fumbled with his own words, half-wishing he’d just swallow his own tongue to avoid the stuttering and stammering mess he became whenever Wade opened his mouth.

“You’re just so fucking adorable,” Wade said between what Peter would call a series of giggles. He leaned a little closer, the tip of his nose burying into the damp hair at the nape of Peter’s neck. “And the thing is, you have no damn idea, do ya? You have no clue how cute you are…”

He didn’t. No idea. Even if he had any sort of clue about it, Peter was sure he would never have believed it. However, when Wade said it, when he grinned and siddled closer, forcing his heart to run lap after lap, he felt more inclined to agree. It was something he’d learned very quickly; Wade could be very, very persuasive. 

Lost in the steam trapped between the wall and the sliding glass door, Peter only then realized that Wade’s lips were grazing the shell of his ear. 

“And you’re mine…my itsy-bitsy spider…mine, all fucking mine.”

Goosebumps prickled up all along the length of Peter’s arms, his spine, all the way to the tips of his toes. He swore the water turned to lava, the temperature skyrocketing as the words left his lips. Wade…he was really good at shaking Peter’s head like it was an Etch-A-Sketch, rendering him a blank, vacant slate to be influenced by Wade’s wild words and his well, everything else.

“That what you want, baby boy? You wanna be mine?”

Since that first webcam session. Since the second one. Since the rooftop and the alleyway. Despite the apprehension and the self-loathing, the doubt and the lingering shame, Peter just wanted to be Wade’s, whatever that meant, however he was allowed to be. How often did what Peter want actually matter?

Today, it mattered.

“Yeah,” he managed to squeak out, tilting his head to the side just in case, you know, Wade had any other ideas. “As long as you want me, I’m…all yours.”

Wade leaned closer, his lips skating across the skin behind Peter’s ear. “You’re kiddin’, right? Don’t know how many times I gotta say it, but I’m pretty much obsessed with you. Not in a creepy way…okay, maybe a little creepy, but I don’t think I’ll ever not want you. Like, ever.”

Surely Wade couldn’t promise that. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn't grow tired of the Spider-Man bullshit, the overthinking and all that ugly little trauma he struggled to hide. 

Peter swallowed hard. “You can’t possibly…”

Suddenly, Wade’s body pressed insistently against Peter’s back. Bare skin against bare skin, Peter instantly shuddered, unintentionally pushing back. “I can, Spidey, and I am. You’re in my brain, in my damn blood…can't even think straight anymore. It’s you…just you.”

“W-Wade…” 

His lips found their way to the back of Peter’s neck, chasing droplets of water with the tip of his tongue. “You’re a disease, baby boy, and I’m fucking terminal.” Satisfied with a place at the nape of Peter’s neck, Wade began to suck a spot there, slow and methodical.

He never expected to take being called a disease a compliment but it definitely made him feel a certain kind of way. In a sense, it made him feel impactful, made him feel like he’d attached himself to Wade in an inadvertent but profound way. He’d somehow transcended thought and became part of Wade. How? How did Peter Parker affect someone more than Spider-Man could?

A moan escaped Peter as teeth and tongue danced along his neck. Reaching a hand forward, he pressed an open palm against the frosted glass, grounding him just enough to keep him present. Force of habit. Don’t lose yourself in any single thing, even if feeling Wade’s mouth work its magic on Peter’s nearly-on-fire skin was more than enough to dissuade any further thought.

“Not gonna lie,” Wade hummed, a hand appearing at Peter’s side. “Kinda thought Spider-Man would be a little more dominant.” He slowly dragged his hand downward, rounding Peter’s body and closing his hand around a healthy piece of Peter’s ass. “But, gotta say, I love my submissive baby boy. So fucking perfect, the way you whine and beg for me. Gives me ideas, ya know,” Wade’s voice dropped, words low and slow, “all the dirty, depraved things I wanna do to you, every selfish way I can think of to make you mine.”

Was it scientifically possible for one’s heart to burst from being too fucking horny? Was that a thing? Because it was about to be a thing. 

Wade sighed heavily through his nose, closing his eyes and nipping at Peter’s neck between words. “Just wanna, fuck, destroy you and put you back together just to do it all over again.” He bit down just a bit harder as the sentence ended, punctuating the statement with that Wade Wilson flair.

Peter’s hips bucked back against Wade, surprised by the sharp introduction of teeth to skin but, wow, he didn't hate it. In fact, he loved it. He loved everything about this moment and he wanted more; the way his heart was trying to outrun his brain, the way his entire body tingled from head to toe, the way he throbbed and ached and selfishly wanted, no, needed everything Wade had promised him.

So, he decided to tell Wade exactly what he wanted. No thinking. No time to take it back. 

“Wreck me,” he said, his own words booming in his head. Beyond the water crashing around them, beyond his own erratic panting, all he heard was his own voice croaking out those two words. That’s all that mattered at that moment, those two words, because he felt as though his body never wanted something as badly as he wanted this, wanted Wade.

There was a momentary pause in the activity around Peter’s neck, a short and meaningful silence which was followed by a quiet, “One more time, baby boy.”

Confirmation. A chance to take it back. An allowance. But, Peter didn’t want it. He didn’t need it. He replied, “Wreck me, Wade. Please.” 

Another appearance of Wade’s sinfully submissive spider, but what the hell was Peter supposed to do? Never before had he been more captivated, more enamored, by a gruff tone and calloused, blistered hands. He never wanted to be around another human being more…MJ included. He had decided to allow these wayward feelings, these rough and raw desires, to potentially ruin his life because, well, because this is what he wanted. This is what he wanted more than anything.

Wade wasted little time, pulling Peter’s hips back against his own, reintroducing hungry lips to warm, wet skin. His hands wandered, hunting for a spot he hadn’t yet touched, a part of Peter he hadn't claimed for himself already. Fingertips pressed insistently into muscle, shifting downward to possessively grip at Peter’s thighs.

A gasp melted into a satisfied groan. Wade moved with purpose, movements nearly predatory in nature, but Peter did not feel like prey. Instead, he felt like just as much of a predator as Wade was, just as hungry and just as desperate. He wasn’t helpless, always aware of the lust and the need of a predatory being. He understood what Wade felt in that very instant and his body would carry Peter though that flurry of frenzied feelings.

“Ya know,” Wade nearly growled, kneading his fingers into Peter’s inner thighs, “that pretty little mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble…”

Struggling to breathe, Peter managed a snarky little, “Oh, yeah?”

Without much warning, a steady hand wrapped around Peter’s cock. “Yeah,” he replied dryly, “it absolutely will, baby boy.” A few fervent strokes, relishing in the shiver that tore through Peter’s body, Wade leaned in that much closer. “You’re a little smartass and I fucking adore that about you but…fuck, you’re gonna say something cheeky and I’m gonna lose control.”

Between his mind flickering in and out of awareness, Peter was able to piece together a single thought - this entire time, this was Wade in control? What the hell did out of control look like?

Mercilessly, Wade pumped Peter’s cock, the webslinger alternating between writhing against Wade’s chest and pressing his forehead against the shower door. “W-Wade!”

“You’re gonna say that one little thing and I’m just gonna…snap.” He added a very deliberate twist of his wrist, Peter yelping in response. His pace was relentless, wild and feral. “And I promise ya, Pete, if I snap and you’re in arms length, I might never let you go.”

Holy shit. Promise?

“Keep you…all to myself, baby boy. Lock you up, throw away the key. Mine, all mine.”

“Wade! Wade, fuck!”

His hand moved fast, palm slick with precum, moving with ease as Peter bucked his hips into Wade’s fist. It was almost as if Peter’s grunts and groans weren’t quite reaching Wade. “City doesn’t need you like I do, Pete,” he muttered, a certain weight to those words.

Peter’s field of vision was reduced to blurred slits. He couldn’t hear anything else but Wade, couldn’t experience anything but Wade. Maybe New York didn’t need Spider-Man. Maybe the world didn’t need Peter Parker. Maybe Wade needed Peter more. Maybe, above all of that, Peter needed Wade more than any of that.

He was more than content to fuck himself raw into Wade’s palm, move with wild fury until he was bone dry and left convulsing on the shower floor. Eyes squeezed shut tight, tasting blood from how hard he was biting the inside of his cheek, Peter was rather abruptly ripped away from that feral fantasy as Wade’s hand slipped from between his legs.

“Wade…fuck, please…”

“Shhh…patience, baby boy. Other plans for you,” Wade replied simply, matter-of-factly. Peter whined and impatiently shifted, but Wade seemed unbothered. He reached behind him towards the caddy hanging from the showerhead. 

A shudder ripped through Peter, unrelenting as it raced through his entire body. It was like an electrical current, causing his limbs to spasm uncontrollably and his mind to blink in and out. He wanted, no, needed Wade’s touch, the acid on his fingertips and the weight of his body crushing against his own. His knees threatened to buckle and his spine felt like it was knotted up like a pretzel but he needed it. He needed Wade so damn ba–

“Ahhh!” Peter exclaimed in surprise, shoulders tensing and head whipping back to see a mischievous grin streaked across Wade’s face.

“Surprise,” he whispered. He leaned a bit closer, trailing the tips of two fingers along Peter’s hole. “Sorry, baby boy. Couldn’t resist. All those sounds you made, beggin’ for me…I want more.”

Wade’s fingers felt slick rather than wet. Before he could ask, a moan escaped as a finger teasingly brushed against the ring of tensed muscle.

“Silicone based lube,” Wade hummed, answering Peter’s unasked question. “I got you, baby…just relax for me.”

Breathlessly, Peter managed a chuckle. “You bring all your dates in the shower?”

A nip at the back of Peter’s neck. “Just Thelma and Louise.”

His eyes widened. He…there were others? Two women? An unfamiliar jealousy rushed through Peter, the tips of his ears burning.

As if understanding Peter’s bewilderment, Wade used his free hand to give Peter’s backside a reassuring squeeze. “Thelma and Louise are my hands…they always take me over the edge.”

He released the breath he was holding and willed the raging fire in his belly to subside. His hands…he named his…and he wasn’t seeing two probably pretty and pretentious paramours. Just his hands.

“Aww, baby boy, were you jealous?” Wade crooned, pressing a digit into Peter up to his first knuckle, curling it cautiously. “That’s so cute. I’m all yours…you have nothing to worry about. I’m yours.” Wade pressed a kiss behind Peter’s right ear, the action a stark contrast to the fervency of the preceding moments.

He couldn’t breathe. Had he died? Had he drowned in the shower, warm water filling his lungs? Wade’s words wandered, filling every inch of him. They lived and breathed, they overtook him and repeated themselves over and over again.

All yours. Yours. All yours.

Peter willed coherency. He pleaded for wit and charm. Instead, his only reply was a shudder and a desperate need for the support of the shower door, body tense and incapable of doing much more than keeping itself from completely shutting down. He was holding on by a thread, a singular frayed thread, and Wade was inching closer with a pair of metaphorical scissors. 

“Fuck!” Peter exclaimed, very nearly slamming his forehead into the shower door. Wade had introduced a second finger into Peter, slowly scissoring the digit.

Oh…okay…metaphorical and not-so-metaphorical scissors.

“That’s my boy,” Wade sighed wistfully, “opening up nice and pretty for me. I’ll take care of you…relax.”

His movements were slow at first, fluid, and Peter melted into them. There was a distinctive sting attached to each motion, but it seemed to fade bit by bit as Wade worked against the tensing and tightening muscle. He willed it to relinquish control, easing himself into a relaxed and eager state. Sucking a breath sharply between his teeth, Peter writhed between Wade and the shower door. He panted wildly, Wade’s name pouring from his mouth with alarming frequency.

“Love the way you say my name, baby boy…tell me more,” Wade cooed.

A groan caught itself in the back of Peter’s throat, nearly choking him. “Wade…! Feels so good, Wade, fuck, don’t stop!”

“Don’t plan on it,” Wade replied way too calmly, as if his entire world wasn’t spinning with reckless abandon. He worked his fingers gingerly into Peter, tracing his tongue along the nape of his neck. “Wanna watch you fuck yourself on my fingers…nice and slow.”

He seemed to favor that slower, more methodical pace. He’d teased Peter with the threat of a less feverish tempo the night before and he felt himself ready to burst at the thought. Desperate for more, hungry for friction, Peter began to roll his hips back in time with Wade, forcing his fingers inside of him that much deeper. He shuddered, continuing his breathless praises of Wade.

“Look at you,” he sighed, sounding completely content, “you’re perfect…so damn perfect. The fuck did I do to deserve my baby boy?”

Peter managed a coherent thought before it returned to pleasant static; You have it backwards. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.

Before he could potentially lose himself in a stream of self-depreciation, listing the reasons why he was undeserving of any of this, he buckled his hips backward a bit more forcefully than before, knocking the pile of self-worth issues as far back as he could manage. He willingly submitted to the white hot electricity that ran through him, the thrill of the now painless sensation ripping through his entirety. Continuing to rock his body back, feeling Wade’s second knuckle stretch and force their way in deeper, Peter was seconds away from seeing stars.

Wade simply watched, slack-jawed, enamored by what he was seeing. He was barely moving his own wrist at this point, awestruck by the way Peter moved, the way he so carelessly forced his body against Wade’s hand. It was in these moments Peter showed how stunning he was, how passionate he was, how much he thought he didn’t deserve this level of physicality and affection. Peter sucked at hiding that aspect of himself, but Wade had become determined to show him that he deserved the entire fucking world. All of it.

He tensed his wrist and worked his fingers into Peter at the same hurried pace he’d created. Peter immediately reacted, a guttural groan tearing through the entire bathroom. “That’s it, Peter,” Wade mumbled, burying his face into the crook of Peter’s shoulder, “just like that…”

Wade’s voice sounded so far away, but he’d heard the words loud and clear. They urged him forward, forced his body to push past the tension and every aching joint, keeping his pace as frenzied as it had been since the start. He never let up, not even for a second, seemingly desperate for this connection. The delightful burn, the intoxicating sting, quieted the usual riot in his head. All he heard, all he felt, was Wade. 

“Wade! Fuck, Wa–!” Peter inhaled sharply, feeling a new, less favorable tension, as Wade introduced a third finger, burying it to the second knuckle. 

“Breathe, baby…I got you,” he murmured, tone low, nearly a growl.

Much easier said than done. Peter was struggling to inhale, the exhale lost in whines and moans. It was impossible before, but now? All it was, all breathing existed as, was muscle memory, doing it because his body knew it had to. Anything manual would not happen. Period.

Instead of focusing on inhaling or exhaling, Peter moaned Wade’s name with each thrust of his fingers, every grind of his hips into Wade’s hand. His vision reduced to blurred, unfocused splotches of color, he squeezed his eyes shut and lost himself completely in the lack of rhythm. His body clenched, clutching tightly at Wade’s fingers as they sank into Peter down to the very base of each digit. Riding Wade’s fingers, grinding relentlessly against his hand, was solidifying the simply complicated fact that Peter might not be able to exist without Wade, knowing now that this level of connection existed.

As if sensing Peter’s desperation for connectivity, Wade’s free hand found its way between Peter’s legs once again, gripping his cock with authority. No attempt was made to keep a steady pace or a consistent , but he stroked Peter with one hand and fucked his hole with the other.

He leaned closer, breath hot against Peter’s ear. “You gotta come for me, baby boy. ..need it…”

Fuck.

“Give it to me, Peter…come on, baby.”

Fuck. Fuck.

Peter tried to announce how close he was, attempted to do anything with his mouth other than pick it up off the shower floor, but he was a symphony of grunts and groans, whines and whimpers. He was verbally useless, rutting against Wade mindlessly, his mind reduced to electrically charged and overstimulated mush. He’d never been happier.

A thumb over the head of his cock is what did it. At that point, it could have been anything; Wade could have sneezed and Peter would have exploded. It just so happened to be the pad of Wade’s thumb that made his entire body not-so-quietly relent. His knees nearly buckled, only kept upright by Wade behind him and the door in front of him. Peter’s entire being shook as he rode out this intensity, jerking both into Wade's hand and pressing back hard against Wade’s other hand.

“That’s my pretty boy,” Wade whispered, hand working Peter’s release down the length of his cock, using a slower pace now.

“Ho…holy shit…”

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Wade said, leaning closer to press a kiss at the top of Peter’s sopping wet head, “so, you’re very welcome.”

Peter breathlessly chuckled, head dropping backwards to rest upon Wade’s shoulder. Tremors tore through him, the last remaining remnants of his orgasm surging through every inch of him. He jolted forward as Wade gave him one last teasing stroke before retracting his fingers from within and his hand from Peter’s spent cock. “Your…water bill’s gonna be…a little high this month,” he finally managed to say through erratic, unhinged panting.

“Totally worth it,” Wade said, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist, open palms smoothing over firm muscle. “Aboslutely, totally fucking worth it.”

They stood beneath the showerhead for a while longer in blissful silence. The water was considerably cooler now, but neither seemed to mind much. Wade’s hands slowly wandered and Peter relished in the attention. Their bodies didn’t stray far from one another, keeping close even as Wade reached over to grab some sweet smelling soap to actually give the shower its intended purpose.

He touched Peter gently, lathering up his body in a slow, precise manner. It momentarily astounded Peter, to be treated as some fragile, precious thing. He was so rarely handled this way, never allowing himself the luxury of letting his guard down long enough. However, in this quiet, intimate moment, he let himself enjoy the feeling of his back pressed against Wade’s chest, the feeling of all ten of Wade’s fingers fanned out and gliding effortlessly over his body. It was very dangerous to grow accustomed to this, Peter knew, but to feel wanted, desired in such a genuine way…

Wade’s hand gently smoothed over the deep gash along Peter’s back. “Feel okay?”

Admittedly, he had almost forgotten about it. Wade had been making him feel a myriad of different things, but searing pain wasn’t one of them. Instead, he felt a sense of contentment that felt almost illegal to experience, but here he was, soaking up this warm sense of calm under cascading, barely lukewarm water. “Great,” he replied. He did wince at the initial contact, but more out of surprise than white-hot pain.

“Not lyin’, are ya?”

Peter carefully turned in Wade’s arms, chest to chest now. He looked up, Wade having about 4” on Peter, but he made sure to meet his gaze. “I’d never lie to you, Wade,” he said, voice firm, “not about this, not about anything.”

Wade regarded him thoughtfully. A small smile crept across his lips as he reached down to cradle Peter’s cheek against his palm. “So serious, baby boy…I believe you. Just know it’s mutual, okay? I won’t lie to you. Never ever.”

His expression softened, leaning into Wade’s touch. “Never ever ever?”

“Anything for you.”

Peter had half a dozen things he wanted to say, another half a dozen things he wanted to do in that very moment. Instead, he just smiled, leaning that much closer to rest his head against Wade’s shoulder. Their bodies slotted together almost perfectly.

Which reminded him…

“Wade, did you need, err, want me to…”

He followed Peter’s eyes downward in their slow, suggestive motion and it made Wade’s smile soften. “Nah, I’m good. Taking care of you is more than enough for me.”

Stunned silent, Peter met Wade’s gaze once more. Seriously? After all of that, he just wanted…nothing? Didn’t expect reciprocation?

“You’re thinking again,” Wade said idly before leaning forward to kiss Peter’s forehead. “I’m good, I promise.”

It wasn’t that Peter didn't believe Wade. He did, really…he just couldn’t get over it, he guessed. It felt as though he’d taken something so incredible and wasn’t allowed to give anything in return. He wanted to make Wade whole, but could he if Wade already felt that way?

Wade took care to rinse Peter clean, every sud swirling down the drain and disappearing quicker than a blink. He ran his open palms down Peter’s back, sliding down his shoulders, tracing the outline of his hips and swooping back inward to grab two healthy handfuls of spectacular Spidey ass.

“Christ on a cracker, look at you. I’m just gonna, ya know, keep you all to myself. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

Peter jolted at the initial contact, but immediately melted against the taller of the two. “Yeah,” Peter replied with an almost juvenile smile, “yeah, that’s cool.”

After a few more moments under the now nearly cold water, Wade reached behind him and turned it off. The bathroom grew silent, save for the stray drip, drip, drip from the faucet. The remnants of the stream aimlessly swirled around them and Peter wished he could encapsulate this moment, keep this feeling just the way it was. He wanted these very seconds etched into his bones, engraved into his very cells. Just this. Only this.

“Alright, sweet cheeks,” Wade said as he hesitantly untangled himself from Peter, “let’s get you dried off and dressed before I do more unspeakable things to that perfectly round ass of yours.”

“I mean…I wouldn’t complain,” Peter hummed mischievously.

Wade slid the shower door open, what was left of the steam billowing out before them. “Appreciate the enthusiasm, but gotta get that thing on your back healed up. Not in the business of making people bleed…errr…people I like a whole bunch anyway.”

He was right, of course. A logical mind should rule over a throbbing…imagination. Peter had no intention of bleeding all over Wade’s sheets, couch cushions or wherever else Wade could potentially take him. Once the evidence of his silly showboating was gone, he’d let all the blood rush down to his lower half and he wouldn’t think twice about it.

“Mind your step while exiting Wade’s Wild Water World,” he said as he stepped out of the tub, reaching for a towel with one hand and offered the other to Peter, who took it without hesitation.

“Such a gentleman,” Peter replied.

Wade snickered. “After what I just did to you in there, you can still say that with a straight face?” He draped the towel over Peter’s hair, pressing his palm atop his head and ruffling the fabric gently. “You’re hilarious.”

“I’m serious!” Peter said in-between boyish laughter. “Just because you’re a little…handsy…”

“A little?”

Peter peeked over at Wade through the towel. “My statement stands.”

“You’re so fucking adorable.”

Was he? Naked, a towel draped over his head, feeling inexplicably small and unbearably fragile, Wade considered this adorable?

Maybe he was. If Wade said so, Peter was a little more inclined to believe it.

Wordlessly, Wade wrapped his fingers around Peter’s wrist and guided him through the bathroom door and across the hall to the bedroom. It felt both awkward and weirdly natural to be strutting around Wade’s apartment with just a towel sitting on top of his head, but he was doing his best not to think about it too much. Instead, he focused on how much he wanted to reach out his hand and interlace their fingers, palms pressed into one another, warm and connected and…

“Sit,” Wade said, releasing Peter’s wrist (causing him to inwardly curse his own hesitance.)

He hated that the first thought was not wanting to ruin Wade’s sheets. Taking the towel he’d been given, Peter laid it across the foot of the bed and sat. 

Wade left the room with a chuckle, “Too fucking cute…”

Left alone for the briefest moment, Peter retreated to his thoughts; whatever this was, whatever they were to each other, he wanted it. He wanted it casually and he wanted more than that. Late night phone calls and flushed cheeks, shameless flirting and moments of intimacy. He wanted all of it. He’d ask for it, beg and plead for it, because Wade was the most real thing he’d ever known. He was real and true and more than Peter felt like he deserved but still, selfishly, he wanted him.

The bed suddenly shifted beneath him, Wade taking a seat behind Peter. “Is it lonely out in space, Rocket Man?”

He’d done it again. Peter hung his head and muttered an apology. “I’ve just had a lot of time to think lately.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

Peter chuckled dryly. “Sometimes it is. I can’t turn it off most of the time. I just…think.”

There was a thoughtful silence. “Even when you’re with me?”

That made his heart hurt. Had his overthinking affected what little time they’d had together? Had he ruined his chance to claim what he so desperately wanted?

But the truth was that Wade was different.

“No,” Peter said quietly, “not always. When we’re talking, when you touch me…I can focus on you. Just you.”

A hand gently grazed the spot between Peter’s shoulder blades, causing a delightful shiver to roll up the length of his spine. “Gotta fix that,” Wade said, “because when I have you, baby boy, I want all of you.”

“Wade, you d–”

“No,” Wade firmly interrupted, causing Peter to look over his shoulder, eyes wide with surprise. “I’m serious, Peter…I get the overthinking thing, I do, but…can you get out of your own head and just…be with me? Like, I know it’s a tough ask but I just want you to stay on the ground with me for a little while. Don’t float off into space so soon without me.”

He could hear his heart in his ears, loud and brain-rattling. It’d been that noticeable? Had Peter been squandering the time he’d been allowed with Wade? Had his manic overthinking stolen the clarity to see what was right in front of him?

Swallowing the newly formed lump in his throat, Peter exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said first, “I’ve always been inside my own head, even when I was a kid. Sometimes, it was the only place that made sense, even if it wasn’t always safe. Becoming Spider-Man, losing…people…I guess it’s just easier to blast off than to stay on the ground.”

Wade lowered his head and pressed his lips to Peter’s shoulder. “Just because you're a star doesn’t mean you gotta float so high. Hang out with a big ol’ rock instead.”

His expression softened. In a fluid, natural motion, Peter reached behind him and set his hand gently on the back of Wade’s head, fingertips skimming his scalp. “Meteorite. You’re a meteorite.”

“A meteorite, huh? Okay…well, then stay with this meteorite a little while longer, kay?”

Peter smiled, a warm and welcome feeling flooding through his chest. “Kay,” he replied.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Instead, there was a comforting familiarity, something that felt like home. Wade simply felt like home.

Exhaling through his nose, Wade pulled back. He futzed with something out of Peter’s sight before smoothing two fingers alongside that ugly little gash on his back. Peter deduced that Wade had grabbed the first aid kit and he was proven correct by the sting and smell of alcohol. He tended to him with gentle hands, rebandaging the would with ease that Peter recognized as self-taught, post-battle damage control. Sharing those types of experiences made him feel closer to Wade, even if it was in a somewhat morbid sort of way.

“So,” Wade began, carefully setting the edges of the fresh bandage into place, “you made me breakfast, baby boy. Let me make you lunch.”

Without a second thought, Peter replied. “Sure. I’m starving”

He knew he had to get back to the city he loved, meet up with Miles and apologize a dozen times for his absence. He had to do those things but first, he had to have lunch with Wade.

That was something he didn’t have to think about.