Chapter Text
When you get paid to kill people for more than half of your life, you tend to lose a lot of friends. Trapped in a cycle of love and loss, the moment Wade got close to someone they would disappear. Leaving, dying, it was all the same. People would come and go. Mostly go.
But not Spidey.
Almost twenty years of kicking ass and Peter B. Parker hadn’t kicked the bucket.
Years of team-ups had made the two of them a package deal. You fight Spider-Man—don’t be surprised when Deadpool shows up. And when you fight Deadpool, don’t be surprised if you end up vivisected. Well, at least that’s how it used to be. Working with Spidey meant a less lethal (fun) approach. Deadpool loaded his gun with rubber bullets...usually. On occasion he liked to play Russian Roulette with live ammo, just to say “ whoopsie” when a real bullet busted some slimebag’s kneecap. Couldn’t blame him for it—old habits die hard.
In the past, Deadpool and Spider-Man went on nightly patrols. It was the same ol’ routine: find some baddies, put them in their place, banter a bit, have a snack, call it a night. Sure, small details would change—like the amount of ass they kicked or if it was more of an ice cream kinda night or a hot dog night, but the point still stood that they were a near-inseparable duo. People on the street had even started referring to them as being “married.”
If only that were the case.
Last he had heard from Peter, it was the news of his divorce, or, at least the long process of divorce beginning. Something about signing papers, splitting up, arguments, blah, blah, blah. It was complicated. As much as Deadpool loved complicated, the intricacies of divorce weren’t exactly in his ballpark.
Nightly team-ups had transformed into occasional meetups, and then finally not seeing each other period . For once in his life, Deadpool respected Peter’s space, knew he needed time to sort things out.
A sickening crack penetrated the night’s silence as Deadpool snapped a man’s neck. Another one bites the dust—cue sexy bass line! Besides, he deserved it. Just another forgettable thuggish stock-character. Plopping down on top of the lifeless body, Deadpool pulled out his phone and sent Peter a quick text. The guy had just moved into a new apartment—it was about time to throw a housewarming party. After some heavy coaxing and several heart emojis, Peter sent the address, telling Deadpool to give him an hour or two to get ready.
Three eggplant emojis later, Deadpool hailed a cab and immediately headed to Peter’s new bachelor pad.
After letting himself into the studio apartment, Deadpool stopped in the middle of the room and took in the scenery—lots of boxes to be unpacked; pizza boxes, cardboard boxes, the place was just a bungalow of boxes.
A familiar hiss of shower water running and the faint hum of music led Deadpool to the bathroom. It was extremely hot and steamy, which he was totally into, but even this felt excessive. Blaringly loud music bounced off the walls and drowned the entire room with a thinking-about-dying sort of depressing song.
“Brand New? Go figure.” In response to his voice, Spidey screeched. Deadpool grabbed the phone sitting near the sink and paused the music. ”I always thought you’d be more into Fall Out Boy when it comes to emo music. Color me surprised!”
Ripping open the shower curtains, a wet, fully suited-up Spider-Man greeted Deadpool. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head at Deadpool before reaching for his towel.
“Save the music recommendations for a mixtape, Wade.” Peter pulled off his mask and squinted at Deadpool. “How did you get in my apartment?”
“Window. Obvious answer.”
“Yeah, well, I said I needed some time. Needed some time to, uh,” Peter looked down at himself, still dripping wet in his Spider-Man suit. There really wasn’t a good explanation for what he was doing. “Well. Nevermind. Gimme a second to get dressed, okay?”
“You know, I’m not a personal hygiene expert, but bathing with clothes on isn’t really a good way to get clea—”
In a series of several slippery spidery movements, Peter pushed him out of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.
“Make yourself at home!” Peter called out from behind the door, annoyance dripping off his tone.
Luckily, Deadpool was a master of making himself at home in places he didn’t belong.
Wade pulled off his mask and flung himself onto Peter’s bed. After taking a long whiff of the pillow (maybe too long) he put his hands behind his head and made himself exceedingly comfortable.
First thing he noticed: Peter’s entire apartment came straight from Sweden. Brimnes, Bekant, Örfjäll—good ol’ Ikea. Wade couldn’t blame the guy for having decent taste—all at an affordable price, too. Just as Wade’s thoughts started entering product sponsorship territory, Peter emerged from the bathroom.
Looking at his friend in his current state was difficult. From his five o’clock shadow to the dark circles under his eyes, everything about Pete shouted ultra-depressed . Wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized red hoodie, Peter’s hands were stuffed in his pockets as he shuffled across the wood floor to his bed.
Peter looked down at his friend with half-lidded eyes, eyebrow quirked bemusedly. “Comfy?” he asked, a bit of his usual sarcasm managing to slip into his tone.
“Comfy as can be,” replied Wade, illustrating his point by cuddling up to Peter’s pillow. That earned him a classic eye-roll and smirk combo from his spidery pal.
People coped with loss in different ways. Whether it was a death in the family or a falling out with a friend—everyone had their own way of processing grief. Sure, divorce sucked, but Wade had seen Peter talk people down from suicide. He'd seen him stop trains from crashing into each other. There was a reason he earned the moniker “amazing” Spider-Man; the dude always got back up. He always did the right thing. He was amazing.
So to see him like this? Yeesh, he'd swear it was all a figment of his imagination if Petey wasn’t right in front of him. A silence permeated the room, but only for a split second before Peter broke it with a drawn out groan.
“So, yeah. This is the new place.” Peter gestured his hand towards the center of the room, his completely monotone voice contradicting his grandiose movement.
Casa de Pete accurately represented his best friend’s current state: lots of junk lying around everywhere—would probably clean up nicely later. Wade had a feeling his friend was holding onto a lot of memorabilia from his broken marriage, things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of. Despite the apartment itself having a nice layout, it looked like a yard sale had exploded inside of it. Not the good type of yard sale either; it was like one of those shit yard sales with nothing but clothes and useless junk that wasn’t even worth paying money for.
Peter slumped down on the unoccupied side of the bed. Facing the opposite way as Wade, he laid back and rested his bare feet on the bed’s headboard. Before getting comfortable, Peter reached down to the floor, his hand emerging with a bag of candy. Peter struggled to open the bag, grumbling when it wouldn’t tear. When he noticed that Wade was watching, he cleared his throat with a cough and mumbled, “I swear they like, ugh, surgically seal these things. Oh, come on!”
The bag ripped open, candy bursting from it like a sugary firework.
With an apathetic shrug, Peter ate the spilled Reese's Pieces off the bed, his body, and wherever else they went (five-minute rule with the floor candy).
Yikes. Divorce was not treating him well. Wade sat up in the bed and plucked a few pieces of candy off of his friend’s stomach.
“When was the last time you ate, Pete? You know, like, a meal.” Deadpool leaped from the bed and headed to the kitchen on the other side of the room. Without waiting for any sort of permission, he opened Peter’s fridge. It was almost empty, besides a few scattered ketchup packets and a pizza box.
Other than his slight reliance on energy drinks, Peter was a generally healthy eater. At least, Wade had gathered that much from the many times he had attempted to raid Peter’s fridge. Last he could remember, it was stocked up with fruits, veggies, and fresh meat; the guy definitely made an attempt at maintaining a balanced diet. The barren refrigerator was a red flag.
“Uhhh, had some breakfast pizza. Lunch pizza. Dinner pizza.” While recounting his food intake, Peter put out a finger for each meal. “Three meals a day. There ya go. I’m perfectly nourished.”
“Sounds about right.” Wade had an undying love of junk food, but seeing Peter eat so much of it seemed...off.
Sure, it was normal for Wade to eat total crap, but he also had a healing factor that literally kept him from dying. So while the whole nutrition thing wasn’t as vital to a guy like him, to Peter it was a little more important. Even Deadpool wouldn’t eat the same thing all day.
“You know how it is. Gotta eat right and fight crime. That’s what Spider-Man does.” Peter stared up at the ceiling and looked at nothing in particular, until his vision was full of a whole lot of Wade Wilson looking down at him. A long time ago, bursting into Peter’s personal bubble like the Kool-Aid man was a big resounding no—but years and years of it had warmed Peter up to the idea. It was a known fact that Wade was just a touchy-feely sort of guy, especially when it came to his best bros.
“About that. I haven’t seen you out in the fray for a while now. I’ve been takin’ care of business while you’ve been gone—no killing! Mostly. ” Peter averted his eyes from Wade, a minuscule gesture that made the larger man frown. “Listen, as much as I wanna be the friendly neighborhood Deadpool, New York City isn’t ready for that kind of badassery. They need Spider-Man out there.”
It hit Peter like a smack across the face.
When a person like Wade was constantly cracking jokes and mouthing off, it was rare and fleeting to see him come forth with words of wisdom. Sometimes that wisdom wasn’t the best, but reaffirming that the world needed Spider-Man was about as genuine as it got.
“Spider-Man’s on vacation. I’m training, taking a break so I can come back strong,” he stumbled over his words, shying away from Wade by turning on his side. Peter wore his heart on his sleeve, and as usual, he didn’t want Wade to see.
A solid minute of silence washed over them. Peter breathed in through his nose, and breathed out with a flurry of rushed words. Things he had kept to himself too long. He couldn’t hide forever.
"Do you think she'll ever love again? Will I ever love again? Weren’t we supposed to be together forever—you know—until death do us part? I’m not dead, she’s not dead, why did this have to happen? Signing the papers made it too real, it’s legally official! It’s done—but maybe if I just talk to her I can make it better. Absence makes the heart grow fond or something like that, right?"
Wade grabbed Peter by the shoulder and turned him around, forcing the babbling man to look at him again.
"Alright, tough questions. I don't think I'm a source of sound advice on this sort of thing. I don't handle breakups well—my way of coping is unaliving a few bad guys then marathoning Kill Bill 1 and 2, maybe Reservoir Dogs if I'm feeling saucy. But Tarantino sucks major balls, did you know he almost killed Uma Thurman for a good shot? Was that all worth it for one shitty scene? You know, now that I think of it—" Wade cut himself off and pulled out a small notebook from one of his many belt pouches. With a red crayon, he wrote down the aforementioned director's name on a list that was spanning into the hundreds. Several politicians and country musicians were on the list.
Peter stared at Wade scribbling down the name before letting out a long "Riiiiiiight."
"Listen Petey, I'm gonna cheer you up one way or another. Instead of lamenting over lame ol' MJ—let's look at the bright side of things! You're single, which means you gotta enjoy the single life, pal! Let's get you in the mood. We can get some drinks and—"
"I don't drink."
Wade crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Peter.
"How about the Devil's Lettuce?" Wade was very tempted to refer to it as Mary Jane, but figured that would be in poor taste.
"No, Wade, come on," Peter smirked and rolled his eyes.
"Alright, moving on to bachelor activity numero dos! You can get freaky with anyone you want - and I know a certain someone that's had eyes on you for a while."
Peter sat up and straightened his posture a bit, looking more attentive than before. "You do?"
Wade nodded confidently and threw his arm around Peter with his usual big smile. Slowly, Wade leaned in closer to his ear. "And I got a secret to tell ya. That someone is in this very room."
Alarmed, Peter turned to look at Wade, their faces so close he could feel Wade's breath on his skin. In that split second Pete’s expression morphed from something hopeful to the same apathetic frown as before.
"Wade, if this is some sort of joke or pity thing, it's not very funny.”
Peter looked hurt, betrayed even. Now wasn’t the time for stupid antics, the last thing he needed was for Wade to play with his emotions.
"Well, hey, I'm not a smokin' hot redhead but if you shut your eyes real tight and don't open them I can be a helluva kisser. Just don't look at me if you wanna avoid barfing, cause, you know, I'm kinda like a living scab,” Wade prattled on, completely oblivious to Peter’s hurt.
“Are you listening to what you’re saying?” Peter huffed out a single chuckle in disbelief. "There’s no way you’re serious."
"Have I ever not been serious?"
"First off: not answering that,” Peter said, shaking is head before focusing back on Wade. “Second off: MJ and I. Sure, we’re divorced, but—”
“No buts,” Wade interrupted, “It’s been months. It’s over. Donezo.” It was better to be honest and totally blunt—Pete couldn’t live in the past forever. Moving on wasn’t easy—but it had to start somewhere, right? Was it wrong of Wade to try to get the guy to have a little fun?
“Pete, listen, I really like you, always have, always will, you know that.” Deadpool had never hidden how he felt about Peter, even when he was still married. “Hell, if you would have invited me in on the action with MJ, I probably woulda said yes. But that’s all in the past. What matters now is you’re single, and you’re feeling sad, and I just want to cheer you up. Casual sex, not so casual sex, whatever. Do you wanna fuck or not?”
“Uhhh, I, I don’t really, geez,” Peter laughed nervously and stopped abruptly after giving Wade a quick once over. “This isn’t a pity thing. You’re really into me. Really want to do this. Okay. Alright. ”
Peter stood up, bouncing on the heels of his feet anxiously. He breathed out a few puffs of air and laughed again nervously, a crooked smile plastered on his face.
“Okay. Listen. I gotta. We’re gonna. Is that really real? I mean, I’ve already seen you in your underwear before, so there’s that. We can skip that step. But sex , huh?” Peter babbled, carding his hands through his hair and pushing it out of his face as he paced the room.
“If you’re not comfortable, I’m not forcing you, bud. There’s other things we can do. I mean, when I’m down in the dumps I—” before Wade had a chance to answer, Peter pushed him down onto the bed, their lips clashing together fervently.
Kissing Peter was sort of like how he imagined it—maybe with more stubble than expected. They fit together in a way Wade didn’t expect. Their kissing was exciting and new. Butterflies in his stomach and all that jazz. There was a certain desperation to Peter’s kissing, like he needed it more than anything.
Yeah, Peter had to be a bit desperate to say yes to a guy like Wade.
Peter broke the kiss and hovered above Wade, their noses inches apart as they stared into each others eyes.
“That was,” Peter paused, his chest rising and falling. “That was good. This is good. Gotta get over her. By fucking my best friend. Because you want this and I want this and—”
“Geez, Pete, did we switch places? I’m the talkative one, or at least that’s what I thought.” Wade huffed out a half chuckle, “Hey, I know this is leading towards a fucking on the bed sort of scene, but can we take it to the shower?”
“Why the shower?” Peter mused.
“Sexier. Also, you kind of smell. When was the last time you actually bathed?”
Peter turned away from Wade gave his armpit a curious whiff. What followed was his face comically scrunching up and wrinkling with disgust. When he turned back to Wade, he played it off with the most expressionless face he could muster.
“I mean, I was taking a shower when you got here,” he finally replied.
“Right, okay, can’t really get clean in your Spidey suit. Or without soap ,” Wade got up off the bed and started walking to the bathroom. “Besides, shower scenes are hot. It’s the sort of thing people love to get off to.”
One jump-cut transition later Wade found himself being slammed against the bathroom wall. Despite seeming unsure at first, Peter took the lead, pinning the larger man and not showing any signs of loosening his grip. Slender fingers brushed over Wade’s suit—it wasn’t the sort of thing that was easy to slip right out of. They didn’t undress each other, but instead undressed themselves, the two flinging off their clothes like their lives depended on it. Wade stripped down until he was in nothing but his Spider-Man patterned boxer-briefs. Peter met him at the same level of undress.
Boxer-briefs.
There was a shared moment of disbelief. A look into each other’s eyes that said: we’re really doing this, huh?
“We’re really, really going to do it?” Peter said.
You got it, said the look in Wade’s eyes.
Back to kissing, back to saying a thousand words without verbalizing a single thing. It wasn’t clear whose underwear came off first, but by the time they got into the shower and the way-too-hot water was running, they were both hard as hell and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.
Years around Spidey meant Wade had been there with him through it all. Saw the gray hairs peek through his mousy brown locks, noticed when his jawline became stronger, the small ticks and marks that added onto him over time. It was pointless and mushy to notice those sort of things—but Wade did.
Maybe he had always been just a little in love with Peter.
Foreplay in the shower started with washing, a strangely sensual, yet domestic act. Peter washed his hair and Wade watched, taking a moment to observe his friend’s naked body. Over the years they had seen each other shirtless, even stripped down to nothing but their underwear, but it was a different ballpark entirely seeing someone in their birthday suit.
Wade couldn’t help but notice the softness building around Pete’s stomach—a slight outlier to his otherwise lithe body. Of course, his eyes got stuck looking (staring) at Peter’s half-hard cock. As soon as he finished rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, Wade squirted some 3-in-1 body wash into his hand and begun to soap up Peter’s body.
His soap-slick hands rubbed over Peter’s chest, drifting lower and lower, until he rested a hand on Peter’s hip. Unable to contain himself, he gave it a pinch.
“Hey!” Peter slapped Wade’s hand in retort but made no further effort to move it away.
“Sorry, not sorry!” Wade smirked and squirted more body wash into his hands. There was a surprising silence that hung over them as Wade continued to slip his hands over Peter’s body, exploring every inch of him in a way that was meticulous and reverent. Little temptations to tease Pete were too hard to resist—a gentle brush across his nipple, small pinches to major points of interest like his ass, god , his ass.
Pushing himself against Peter, Wade leaned forward and squeezed Peter’s ass, hard . For years, Wade was sure there was no ass that could even begin to compete with Spider-Man’s infamous bubble butt. With another testing, firm squeeze, he noted that Pete’s ass was definitely the best on the planet . Wade’s kneading hands elicited a grumble from the other that rested somewhere between annoyance and arousal. That sort of sound was music to his ears, and undisputedly unique to the man he knew and loved.
Wade’s breath hitched as the strain of his swollen cock ever-so-slightly rubbed against Peter. Small gasps and moans were drowned out by the shower, but they didn’t go unnoticed. How long until he lost his fucking mind from waiting? Water poured over Peter’s back, effectively rinsing the suds off of him as he closed the space between their bodies. In one swift movement he grabbed Wade’s hand, bringing it to his cheek. Wade cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand, before Peter led Wade’s fingers to his mouth. It was hard to get Wade flustered, but that did the fucking trick all right.
“Oh, holy fuck,” Wade murmured as Peter sucked on his index finger. He was not expecting that. It felt like his brain was short-circuiting, all Wade was able to do was stand there with a slack-jawed expression and watch Peter run his lips over his hand. Wade watched Peter kiss, lick, and tease him, until all he could think about was how good Peter would look with his cock in his mouth.
Wade pulled his finger out of Peter’s mouth, putting his hand on Peter’s neck and firmly pinning him against the wall. Controlled as ever, Wade made sure not to hurt Peter, but a little bit of roughness didn’t seem to be entirely unwelcome. Judging by the surprised gasp Peter elicited, followed by that cocky smirk of his, he seemed to like being choked.
Peter arched his hips forward, and brushed against Wade’s thigh, growing desperate for a semblance of relief. Bold as ever, Wade firmly grabbed his own cock and started to pump himself slowly with his free hand. Getting the picture, Peter grabbed himself as well and began to jack off.
“Fuck, Pete, you have no clue how good you look right now,” Wade murmured, pumping himself faster, lowering his head as he hissed out a groan through his teeth.
Strangely enough, Peter found himself looking away, trying to hide his expression despite being on display for Wade to see. Maybe it was hard to believe Wade would want him like this. It was a look of admiration—a look that he missed. It was something he didn’t want to fuck up, something he—
“Stop thinking so much,” Wade said before brushing his lips against Peter’s, pulling him in for a kiss that quickly developed into something passionate. Their kiss devolved into all teeth and tongue as they desperately rutted against each other. Suddenly, Wade pulled away, only to lay kisses down Peter’s chest, down his stomach, lower and lower until he was on his knees, his eyes flickering up to look at the other.
Peter attempted to say something, but was cut off by Wade taking the head of his cock in his mouth.
“Oh, fuck , Wade!” Peter finally managed to say, his hands splaying out against the shower wall as Wade deepthroated his dick. Between the dim, warm, overhead shower lighting and the copious amounts of steam, everything about the scene unfolding made Peter’s head swim with arousal. It didn’t take very long until Peter was bucking up into Wade’s mouth, fucking his face as Wade sucked him off.
Peter swore from the way that he was being touched that they had somehow done this before. Wade hit every sweet spot of his, ran his lips over the head of his dick teasingly, went at a pace that was so perfect it felt like they were in sync. Any possible way Peter could be pleased, he was , and Wade somehow made it all look effortless.
Carding a hand through his hair, Peter’s chest heaved as he approached his orgasm.
Both of Peter’s hands shot down to hold Wade’s head before he erratically thrust his hips into Wade’s mouth. By this point a lesser man would choke, but Wade let Peter fuck his face, his hands squeezing onto his thighs for support. Wade attempted to keep his eyes open, but couldn’t help letting them slip shut as he concentrated on sucking Peter’s cock.
“Fuck, Wade, fuck fuck fuck fuck ,” was all he managed to gasp out before coming long and hard in Wade’s mouth. Unable to stop himself from showing off, Wade pulled away from Peter as he came, letting the other cum all over his face. His tongue hung lewdly as Peter shot a definitive pump into his mouth. Wade swallowed it like a champ.
Peter steadied himself against the wall as he attempted to shake himself out of his post-orgasm stupor. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them Wade was standing in front of him with a little bottle of lube.
“Where did you get that?” Peter said in a daze.
“My suit’s got a lot of pouches. One of which has lube. Never know when you’re gonna need it!” Wade squirted an obscene amount in the palm of his hand. Peter looked at him with a lopsided smile.
“And what do you plan on doing now?”
“Whatever you want me to do, baby boy.” Wade’s eyes darkened as he grabbed his erection and stroked himself. “You gotta ask for it, though.”
“Uh, please?” Peter bit his lower lip and watched Wade pump his own cock. Jesus christ, Peter felt himself getting hard again.
“Eyes up here,” Wade commanded. Peter immediately looked up, locking eyes with Wade’s intense gaze. “Please what? ”
“Please, fuck me,” Peter whispered, sounding surprisingly serious. He couldn’t remember the last time his stomach did so many flips or the last time anyone had made him so excited.
“Turn around,” demanded Wade. Peter obeyed.
His heart was pounding in his ears by this point, nervousness making him shakey. Peter hadn’t done anything like this since, well, college? Before dating MJ. He had dabbled in this sort of thing once or twice before, but never like this. But he trusted Wade, god, he trusted Wade so much and knew that the other wouldn’t hurt him. Resting his hands against the tile wall, he shivered as his chest pressed against it. His nipples became sensitive from the sensation of the cold tile wall.
A tentative slicked up finger pushed against Peter’s entrance. Wade teased his asshole, prodding at it until his muscles relaxed. Wade’s lips brushed against Peter’s ear as he carefully pushed his finger in.
“Just let me know if I’m too rough. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Okay,” was the last thing Peter said before everything melded together into a blur.
It was incredible how Wade could be so careful yet rough, rough in a way that satisfied Peter but didn’t hurt him. Contradictions seemed to be the main theme of Wade’s personality: one second he was joking around and not making any sense, the next he was serious and full of some kind of fucked up wisdom that Peter didn’t even know existed. Twenty years, twenty years of knowing each other and Wade still kept him on his toes, still surprised him, and maybe—just maybe—he was starting to feel ridiculous for not seeing these aspects of Wade’s personality sooner.
It was easy to feel young around Wade—to forget his divorce, to forget his depression, to forget his loneliness—because when he was around Wade none of those things mattered. Someone loved him unconditionally—to a fault, actually—and it drove him wild to think he was wanted like that . Like, seriously, Peter of all people?
By the time Wade had three fingers inside of him, Peter was totally erect again, his dick throbbing so hard it hurt. Peter’s hand instinctively shot to his groin and he jerked himself off slowly as Wade finger fucked him. It felt like his legs would give out from how shaky he was, how good it all felt. In that moment, there was nothing Peter B. Parker wanted more in his life than for Wade Wilson’s cock to be inside of him. The sensation of being finger fucked while hot water ran down his back was driving him crazy, his heart pounded so hard he could feel it pulse in his temples.
As Wade moved faster, he squeezed his own cock harder, his pumping becoming more erratic.
“Woah there, buddy. Impatient much?”
“You’re one to talk,” retorted Peter, his usual quip confidence coming out a lot more breathy than he had planned.
“You know, you look like this in my fantasies too,” Wade chuckled, his voice sounding more breathy that usual. “Is it messed up if I tell you I’ve wanted this for a while? I mean, I just kept it to myself cause you were married. I wasn’t going to ruin something good you had going, but, now? I don’t know, maybe things are different.”
“Wade, I really want to talk about my feelings but I need you to fuck me first. This is not the time to be serious!”
“Okay, but after I raw you we’re going to have a crazy good feelings jam!”
At first, Wade pushed in slow, giving Peter some time to get used to his dick, and boy did Peter need it. Bluntly, Wade was huge, and Peter wasn’t exactly acclimated to anal. They shared a moment of quivering breaths as Wade stretched him open. Peter started controlling his breath through his nose as he got used to someone being inside of him. Wade was surprisingly patient; he had made it clear he didn’t want to hurt Peter. When Wade started moving slowly, Peter took time to center himself, supporting his body on the wall as Wade moved.
That was how it started, a slow and careful movement, the softness of it nearly driving Peter to tears for more reasons than one. It was a moment of silence that spoke louder than Peter expected—he wasn’t expecting Wade to be so gentle, so—fuck—loving . Peter was aware that Wade loved him for years, but Peter had lied to himself and was convinced that it was some sort of intense platonic—a bromance (Wade’s phrasing—not his). Now, as Wade fucked him gently, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt and how there was absolutely nothing platonic about it.
“You good, Petey?” Wade whispered, giving Peter’s hips a little squeeze.
“Never been better,” he rasped.
It didn’t take long at all until Peter was begging Wade to move faster, because lord, he just wanted to get fucked so bad, wanted it hard and fast and now. His wet hair was plastered to his face as Wade rutted into him, hips slapping wetly against Peter’s ass. Getting the idea that he liked it rough, Wade pulled Peter’s hair as he slammed into him, groaning with each thrust. The first time Wade hit his prostate, Peter almost screamed.
“There, right there, right there! ” he cried. Then, as if Wade had taken note of it, every thrust from that point forward brushed against his prostate.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Wade grumbled, suddenly becoming more erratic, “I’m gonna cum, Pete,” he huffed, his fingernails digging into Peter’s sides.
“Please, please, please, ” was all Peter could say in response. Wade’s thrusting became erratic as he got closer to coming. In the heat of the moment, Wade buried his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, laying rough kisses on him before biting down. Leaving red bruises and hickies along his neck, Wade unloaded inside of Peter, a choked out cry emerging from the larger man as he came. Even after coming he continued to move, slow but rough as he slammed against Peter with a final few definitive thrusts. Shortly after, Peter finished himself off for a second time. Reaching for the faucet, Peter missed it a few times before shutting off the shower.
By this point, the bathroom was so humid Peter felt like he was suffocating. Wade hopped out of the shower first, strolling over to the foggy bathroom mirror to draw a crude Deadpool with a huge dick and balls and a Spider-Man to match. Compared to Peter, Wade seemed a lot less tired. Peter, on the other hand, felt like sleeping for the next thirteen hours.
They dried off, stealing lazy kisses and touches from each other as they did so. After leaving the bathroom, Peter headed straight for the bed and plopped onto it face first. Wade followed, slapping Peter’s ass before plopping himself down on the bed, laying on his side.
“Hey, Petey,”
“Yeah?” he answered, his voice muffled from the mattress.
“You feeling any better?”
There was a pause from Peter, before he turned his head to the side to look at Wade.
“You know what? I am. I mean, I’ll probably walk with a limp for a few days, but it was worth it. ”
“Well, good. I should get going,” Wade sat up with a smile, but before he could stand up Peter grabbed his arm.
“Why don’t you—um,” Peter paused to collect his thoughts. After a second, he smiled and said, “Why don’t you stay the night? We can pull an all-nighter and watch movies or something. You know, like we used to.”
Did he sound pathetic? Desperate? Peter had felt lonely for so long, longer than he wanted to admit. But for the first time in forever, he felt less alone. For all the times Wade annoyed him he was also genuine, so painfully genuine that it made Peter’s heart skip nervously. There were no walls to break down, there was nothing to hide with Wade. Wade had always been vulnerable and open—it was Peter’s turn to return the favor.
“If you want to. You don’t have to, I just figured you’d want to, like, maybe stay.” So much for not sounding too desperate.
“Sounds good, bud,” Wade replied without skipping a beat.
“Hey, Wade?”
“Yeah?”
“You can stay as long as you like.”