deadspider

by jaceyrose18

Kung biyaan ka sa imong uyab,Yaw pagpogngi ug kon sya mo balik gakusa sya ug hughungi"lami na kayo ko noh?Saon taman dili naman ko imo.

1. Chapter 1

chapter 1

Deadpool downed his bourbon and wiped his mouth on the back of his glove.

"I'm telling you, ladies," he flung his arm around the shoulders of the sexy dolls cuddled up on either side of him, "This is gonna be a night to remember. You wouldn't believe the hoops I had to jump through to get this guy. For a second, I almost considered fucking it and shooting him - Bam! Between the eyes - just to spare myself the pain of handing over his pretty paycheck. Then I thought to myself, 'Wade. If ya do the job tha' I know ya can do, and he's really all that and a bag of chippies, when are ya gonna see something this awesome again?' Then it came to me. If he lives up to the hype, I contract him again. If he doesn't, then I get to claim extortion and unalive him."

They laughed at his antics and made sexy noises about how clever he was while they fondled his chest and thighs. He indulged in each of them, sipping champagne from the white one's lips and wine from her sister's.

Then he saw the ravers sliding past the limousine window. The line ran up the street and turned the corner up ahead.

Wade whistled, "Damn. I haven't seen a turn out like this since Christmas. This guy might just be worth it after all."

He pulled his mask back down over his chin, and rapped on the window separating them from the driver. The chauffeur pulled around and dropped them off at the curb. "Go treat yourself," Wade dropped a roll of bills on the passenger seat, "and thanks for the ride."

With a doll on each arm, he strolled past the line and up to the bouncer, who let them through with a glance and a nod. Inside, The HellHouse was a thriving mass of bodies gyrating against each other on the dance floor. Naked women performed on platforms while others in scant uniforms carried drink-laden trays to the tables.

Over the crowd, Wade saw the bartender flag him down. "You dolls go on ahead," he told them with a judicious pat on their backsides, "I'll catch up. Daddy's got to take care of a bit of business."

They tittered and he waved. Once they disappeared into the crowd, he wove his way toward the bar. "What's the word? Has our Hero of the Night graced us with his presence?"

The bartender leaned forward, "They said he came in through the back half an hour ago, Boss, but no one's seen him since. He's not in the dressing room and security hasn't been able to find him anywhere." He leaned closer, "I don't like it. I can feel it in my bones. It's the real one, and he's loose somewhere in the club. You've gotta call this off."

Wade grinned and hooked his arm around the bartender's neck, "You know I almost hope you're right. It's been an age since my baby boy and I last danced, but tell me something. What do you know about the genuine article?"

"I know he's been snooping around the area. Word is he's taken a turn, and will stop at nothing to get whatever poor sod he's chasing down."

"Ha!" Wade let the man go and tossed his head, "We're not talking about The Batman here, Styks. I'd-."

"Batman?"

Wade waved his question off, "Wrong 'verse. Never mind. Anyway, as I was saying, I'd pay good money to see that sweet piece of ass stop at nothing just once in my life, but that's not how my boy operates. 'Cause, you see, he is the genuine article, a hero's hero, noble to a fault and bound by his principles. You would never find him slumming in a house of sin like this for cash."

"I'm glad that's cleared up." Wade looked up at the scathing voice. Two of Wade's security personnel hauled a young man up to the bar. "Can we ditch the butt monkeys, please?" he jerked his arms free of their grasp.

Wade dismissed them with a nod and leaned his hip against the bar, stroking his chin as he looked the stranger over. He didn't look much like the night hero he'd heard so much about. In fact, he didn't look like much of anything. Loose pants sagged over scuffed sand-shoes, whose laces dragged on the floor. His equally over sized hoodie was sun-bleached and the hood drooped low over his black shades.

"You," the stranger slammed his gloved fist on the bar and pointed to Styks, "You've been telling stories since I got here, and I don't appreciate it. I'm here to make a scene, and get paid. That's it. If I hear one more of your wild accusations, I'll find your boss and make sure he knows that, because of you, half this crowd is now aware of the illicit deals going down in the back rooms, 'as we speak.'" He flexed his fingers to affect air quotations, "Now get me a shot of vodka."

Wade shot a hot glare at Styks while the man skulked away, "Make it two." The stranger snorted, and looked over at Wade, "Just who are you supposed to be, then?"

"Deadpool, at your service," he effected a bow, "Been out of town for a while, but you're all I've heard about since I've got back. Except, well, you know," he indicated the mask the other man wore beneath his hood and shades.

The printed spandex stretched around his sneer, "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment, Mr. Pool?"

Styks came back with their drinks. Before Wade reached for his shot, the stranger rolled his mask over his mouth with a practiced motion and tossed back the liquor. "Gah!" he slammed the little glass down, riding the alcohol's kick before he pulled his mask back down over his face.

"Damn, that's good shit," he pushed off the bar, "My compliments to the house. See you later, 'Deadpool.'"

Wade raised his glass to the man's back, "Break a leg."

The other man lifted his hand in acknowledgement and vanished. Wade pulled over one of his security personnel and told them to make sure Styks didn't disappear before they'd a chance to talk. With that done, he went looking for the sexy dolls.

The heavy music pounded against the walls, forcing the patrons to shout, or lean close to be heard. When he wasn't indulging in the evening's dolls Wade surveyed his domain with a critical eye, taking the measure of his current manager. At a glance, the place was spotless. However, little things drew his narrowed eye: a table balanced on two feet instead of four, a crack in a leather seat, the worn-down polish on the platforms.

When did the HellHouse start contracting out for performers anyway? The girls had always been enough before now. Never mind that the night seemed to be paying off so far. This Night Hero was a gamble on every front, not the least of which risking the real hero's attention.

The music faded out and the lights went dark. Quietly, the girls left their platforms.

"Now, Ladies and Demons alike," the DJ's voice came over the speakers, low and enunciated, "turn your eyes to the stage. Tonight, it's my great pleasure to announce New York's own Hero of the Night, Spiderman!"

Black lights came on over the stage, casting the club in a fey radiance. The crowd hushed as the first beats of Marilyn Manson's – Sweet Dreams began to pump through the air. The sequined curtain shifted, and Deadpool leaned forward in his seat.

Spiderman's boot fell into the light first, the white spider-web design radiant against the black material. The second boot followed, bearing with it the rest of him. On the stage, Spiderman moved with slow, powerful deliberation. The angled eyes on his black mask radiated a hypnotizing glare as he turned his gaze to one side, and then the other. For just a second, Wade caught his eye and flashed back to the last time he and old Spidey crossed paths.

The performer didn't linger on him, though. Wade released a shuddering breath as he let his gaze feast on the rest of the man strutting on stage before him.

Spiderman's mask stopped at his collarbone. From there, skintight spandex spread down his arms and chest in black straps that left great spans of glitter-dusted flesh exposed. Over these straps, the white spider web pattern continued, practically painted on his skin. Lean biceps flexed under the light. Gloved hands splayed against the white spider plastered across his chest, stroked out over peaking nipples and ran down his sides to his hips. The exotic costume left Spiderman's abdomen bare to the clefts of his hips. A black speedo was the only thing holding the man's bulging junk in place, before more painted straps spread down his legs to meet his boots.

Wade swallowed when Spiderman stopped between two dance polls at the front of the stage, arms held out and head bowed down. On beat, several lengths of white silk dropped from the ceiling around the stage. Spiderman shot a fierce look up into the crowd, and then jumped, executing a back flip and grabbing the silk with all the deftness of the real thing.

Wade watched, entranced, as he entangled his body in the simulated webbing and contorted in the most suggestive ways for their pleasure. Every move was grace, every transition was perfection. With momentum, he orbited around the stage and let go. With one hand and both feet, he stuck the landing on the dancing pole, and stroked himself to the screams of the crowd.

If the aerial dance had been about grace, the pole was about strength. He wrapped his limbs around the shaft, performing feat after breathtaking feat. Each pose transitioned smoothly from the one that came before. At last, he dismounted. Then, right there on stage, practically fucked himself for their pleasure. Every display of flexibility he'd shone before was but a warm up for this act. Sweet mother of milk, it shouldn't be possible for a body to bend that way.

Wade lost all sense of perspective in the performance. The voices in his head stilled and for a time this creature before him became Spiderman. Those arms. That ass. The beautiful package straining for release. He envisioned them all, and imagined how they would feel beneath his hands. He'd make that body bend to his will. Come for me, Baby boy. I know you want to.

At the climax, Spiderman leapt onto the polls. Racing from one to the next, he executed a last magnificent display of gymnastic grace and landed on the edge of the stage: a perfect superhero landing. When he lifted his head to look out into the crowd, the entire club erupted into rapturous screams and fistfuls of money started shaking in the air. Spiderman rose to his feet and bowed before the lights went out.

When the main lights returned, the stage was empty, the hems of the silk ropes disappearing into the ceiling. Wade realized he was close to rubbing himself off and withdrew his hand with the application of sheer willpower.

Oh, Spidey, Baby Boy… Things just got interesting.

SSSS-

I have two unbreakable rules."

Chapter Text

Spider counted the bills in the manager's office, with the man present. He checked and rechecked the contracted base pay, and tucked it into an envelope. Then he turned his attention to the tips he'd earned that night. He and the manager counted these three times each before splitting the agreed upon percentage.

With this kind of dough, he could almost consider quitting his day job. Almost.

The manager set a stack of bills on the desk in front of him, "There it is. Thirty-one grand and change." Spider glanced up at the man, noted how his index finger tapped the top of the desk, and then crossed his leg over his knee to begin counting again.

"Christ, it's all there. With the trouble you've been, you really think I'm about to screw you over now."

"I think you've been trying to screw me over from the beginning," Spider informed him flatly, "Not to mention how I've been treated since I got here. You're lucky the night was profitable, or I'd put this whole damn place on my blacklist." The fat man behind the desk blanched and he smiled.

Once he'd verified nothing had been skimmed off the top, Spider tucked the tips into the envelop with his base fee and stood, "I'd say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but I see little point as your name's already blacklisted."

"What?" the man spluttered.

Spider tucked his money into the pocket of his hoodie, and looked the scumbag in the eye, "I don't want to see you again. Tell your boss that if the HellHouse ever hopes to contract my services again, he'll deal with me directly."

He felt the electric tingle as soon as he turned his back, and locked his muscles when he heard the click of a gun hammer. "Sit back down, you little shit-faced cunt. Who the hell do you think you are, that you can waltz in here and disrespect me like that?"

Hands still in his hoodie pocket, Spider palmed the cartridge he kept in a hidden pouch. He turned slowly, looking down the barrel of the scumbag's gun into his purple-flushed face.

"Do you honestly think I went to all that trouble just to let you walk out on me, Freak? For forty thousand dollars, I own your ass. You'll live where I tell you, eat what I tell you, and fuck whoever I tell you to."

"And if I refuse," Spider asked, tilting his head back, and shifting his weight just so, "Just what exactly do you think you can do to me?"

The manager pulled his flabby lips into a lewd sneer, sweat dripping down the sides of his bald head, "There's a sweet little thing I've got my eye on. I believe the two of you are acquainted."

Spider caught is breath.

Another electric tingle breathed against his neck.

A gun barked. The sound ricocheted through the room. A perfect circle appeared between the manager's eyes. The same instant, his flabby body contracted, pulling the trigger.

Spider dropped to the floor. The bullet tore across his shoulders, shredding cloth and carving a scorching trail along his flesh.

It was over in an instant, but the entire sequence of events felt like they'd transpired across an hour.

"Holy shit, are you all right?"

Spider jumped at the sound of pounding feet and landed on the desk, ready to fight. Deadpool stopped in his tracks, hands raised, gun pointed at the ceiling. "Whoa there, Sugar Tits. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just saved your life."

"You almost ended it!" Spider shouted and jumped off the table, "What the hell were you thinking? If I hadn't ducked when I did, I'd be dead."

"Yeah, but you did duck and you're fine," he sheathed his gun and held out his arms, "Which, by the way, that was awesome! How often do you get to see someone dodge a literal fucking bullet, am I right? Not to mention the figurative one. Which, I suppose I should thank you for. You saved me the trouble of tracking down this bag of shit-scum to find out what he's been pulling behind my back."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spider asked, stepping out of Deadpool's path as the mercenary stalked around the desk. With a roundhouse kick, Deadpool knocked the dead man onto the floor and stomped on his flabby face.

Spider averted his eyes, fists clenched. 'I'm not here to get involved.'

"I'm sorry sweetcakes, you were saying something?" Deadpool looked up at him, and then the white eyes of his mask widened. "Oh, don't you know? I own this joint," he indicated the building, "Been out of town for a while. Business, you understand. Can you imagine my surprise, though, when I get back to find flyers about how 'Spiderman' is coming to perform a strip tease at my club? I just about lost my shit. And damn, can I just say what a pleasure it was, watching you up there." He came around the desk with hand raised, about to clap Spider on the shoulder when he stopped.

"Damn, kid. We ought to get that looked at. Come on, I keep a med kit on hand."

"Its fine," Spider took a step away when Deadpool caught his arm.

"Don't be an idjit. Much as you're a fine imitation on stage, you ain't no Spiderman. He'd have been on the ceiling before I cocked my gun to take that loser out. Now come on. I may not be no fancy doctor, but I know I thing or three about how to patch a guy up. This way."

He sighed and let himself be lead him out of the office, stopping only at an intercom so Deadpool could order cleanup. They came to a small infirmary with bright lights and minimal furnishings. There were cabinets stocked with disinfectants and bandages, and several medicinal tools waited on hand.

"Go on and take that monstrosity off," Deadpool indicated his shirt before unstrapping his gloves, "Just what the hell are you doing anyway, dressing like that when you make the kind of mulla you did tonight?"

Spider grimaced and made a show of easing the shirt over his head, "Trying to stay inconspicuous on the way here and back."

"Oh, don't tell me you walk it," Deadpool tugged the rest of the shirt over Spider's head and tossed it onto the floor. "At least take a cab. I mean, come on. It's a nasty part of town. Sit," he indicated the bench with a pair of medical scissors, "This costume of yours is dead, right?"

"I should charge you the replacement cost," he muttered.

"Do it. It's sort of my fault anyway." Spider hissed when he felt the spandex pull off his skin and listened to the snip-snip of the scissors. "Damn," Deadpool breathed, "You lucked out kid, but it still split the skin. I can stitch you up, but I can't guarantee it won't scar."

"It's your pocketbook if it does scar."

"Oh, goodie. Let's see then…"

Spider closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the mask pull against his nostrils with each inhalation while the merc threaded the plastic line through his skin. For a time, there was blessed silence. The man's touch was surprisingly gentle, despite the rough, pebbled texture of his hands. Then he felt a finger trail down his back, following the line of one of the spandex straps, and started to rise.

"Oh, sit back down," Deadpool's hand cupped his shoulder and held him until he relaxed, "I'm not about to molest you. Unless you want me to, in which case, whoot! Where do you want to hang? Get it? Hang." He let out a little laugh, and then returned to a softer tone, "Seriously, though, I feel kinda bad about this, and I was thinking that I want to make it up to you. A little spider told me you like to let people entertain you after a performance, and, well, I've got a nice-ish place nearby and-."

"Two rules," Spider interrupted him, holding up a pair of fingers.

"What?"

"Call it a policy. I have two unbreakable rules. That dirt bag back there couldn't respect them, so he got blacklisted."

Deadpool hummed, and tied off the last stitch, "I heard something about a blacklist. Seems like a dangerous thing to do, if it gets you shot at." He tossed the needle and remaining supplies in the trash, "But maybe that's just me. So," he hopped up on the table, hooked an arm around one knee, and let the other leg dangle, "Tell me the rules, Sugar Tits."

Feeling a blush creep up his cheeks, he thanked that powers that be for his mask and gave his shoulders a cautious test roll to cover his hesitation.

"First," he held up one finger, "the mask never comes off, literally or otherwise. Any attempt to do so constitutes a breach of contract, and I sever ties right then and there. Hence, the cash only policy. Also," he pointed to the waste basin, "I will see those things burnt or sterilized before I leave here."

Deadpool blinked and cocked his head, "Well that's a little paranoid, don't you think?"

"My body. My service. My rules." He turned in his seat to address Deadpool directly, "Which leads me to the second rule. I never do anything I don't want to. I perform only when it pleases me to do so, and never at any other time. I never sign a contract I don't like. While it's true that I have, on occasion, let a client or patron entertain me after a show, I do so only at my leisure. I accept gratuity when it's offered freely, but I'm not a whore."

"I never said you were, Honey Butt," Deadpool said, significantly less enthused, and looked away, "But I can also read between the lines. You don't want to hang with me. It's cool." He shrugged and pulled a bulging envelope from his belt behind his back. "Gratuity," he tossed it with a negligent flick of his wrist, "Freely given."

Spider caught the package and peeked inside. Flipping the corners of the bills with his thumb, he had to resist the urge not to whistle at the stack of Franklins. Meanwhile, Deadpool put the metal trashcan on top of the table and began pouring rubbing alcohol over the contents. He watched as, just like that, Deadpool held up a match, struck it, and dropped it into the can.

SSSSS-

I never said I wouldn't enjoy your company," Wade remembered the little spider saying over the burning trashcan, "But I don't want to waste our time if we're not compatible."

Chapter Text

Deadpool unlocked the door to his playhouse and held it open to let his guest inside. Oh sweet breast milk, there was that damn tingle again. It shot straight to his loins as the little spider pushed back his hood and stepped into his parlor. The costume was wrong, of course - Spidey would never wear something so... exotic. Yet, it was also so right. If he turned his head just so and squinted, he could let his mind fill in the blanks and believe he'd scored the real thing.

Spider dropped his bag by the door. Removing his shades, he tucked them into that damn hoodie and looked around the vaulted space with an appreciative whistle.

Fuck the costume. The costume was perfect. Those homeless rags had to go. He should be strutting that luscious body around like the prize beauty it was, not covering it up as if it was some object of shame.

Do we really want him showing that ass off to anyone else, though?

It's not our ass to keep, idiot.

Not yet, it's not. He wants to play by his rules, so we'll play by the rules and we'll win.

Wade shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the voices and shut the door. "What's your poison, Honey Butt? I got a fully stocked liquor cabinet."

"I've had enough to drink tonight, thanks," he turned his upper body to look back at Wade, "A glass of cool water would be lovely though."

"Your call, Little Spider," he waved and fetched some liquor for himself.

'Damnit,' he thought, 'Tank the chances of happy ending right out the gate, why don't you.' He let the water run until it was chill from the tap before filling the glass.

We could spike it. If the liquor's smooth enough, he shouldn't notice.

What happened to playing by his rules?

What the fuck are the rules anyway?

Fuck if I know. I wasn't listening. He lost me at the word compatible.

The first voice squeed loud enough to give him tinnitus, He was thinking about whether or not we're compatible, wasn't he? That was so adorable. As if he could dish out something we couldn't handle.

"I never said I wouldn't enjoy your company," Wade remembered the little spider saying over the burning trashcan, "But I don't want to waste our time if we're not compatible."

He said compatible!

'Shut it. I'm trying to remember.'

"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He was pretty sure he'd said something like that.

"It means that I get laid as I please, but I don't lay down for anyone, if you catch my meaning."

Wade cleared his throat. "So, Little Spider, you want to lay down the law for me?" He turned with both glasses in hand and froze when he found his guest standing chest to chest with him, sans homeless rags. Oh god, he was even hotter up close, and he still had opal powder on his skin.

"That part's actually quite simple," he said in sultry tones and slipped the end of his thumb beneath his mask, "I am the law." Uncovering his mouth, he took Wade's wrist in hand, – the one holding the water – drew it to his lips, and turned it so that Wade was pouring the fluid down his throat.

Wade swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry as he watched the little spider down the whole glass in one smooth draw. He never once broke eye contact. At least Wade was pretty sure he never broke eye contact. He couldn't actually see his eyes behind the static spandex mask.

Once he finished, he trailed his lips across the rim of the glass, lapping up the last lingering droplets of water.

"Tonight, Mr. Pool," he nudge the glass to the side and closed all but the last breath of distance between them, "I am lord and my word is law. But I'm not without benevolence." He eased back then and Wade released a gasp he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Now's your chance to lay down your own laws, and make your requests. What am I forbidden to do to you? What boundaries do you wish uncrossed? What is it you most want me to do to you?"

Wade didn't know what possessed him to say it. He couldn't even blame the voices in his head. For the second time that night, they'd gone silent. Perhaps that was why though. In that blessed silence, there was a startling clarity and he knew exactly what he wanted.

"Be Spiderman," his voice came out a rough whisper, but he didn't care. It's what he wanted. From the moment he laid eyes on this glitter-speckled dream, it was the only thing he wanted. "For one god-damn night, please. Let me have my hero."

There was a faint twitch in the other man's lips, which Wade couldn't read. Then he stepped back, and Wade felt a part of him die a little as he pulled his mask down, closing even that tiny window. It was over then.

"I can't decide if you really are, or if you just enjoy playing the fool, Deadpool." Wade's breath caught at the shift in the other man's voice. Spider turned his body to assume a power stance, arm raised, wrist cocked back, middle fingers flexed. "And to think you let me into your home. You can't hide from me now, nor ever again."

Another squee started to build up inside his head. There was a pounding to, right there, behind his temple, which made him squint. "What are you talking about?" He had to be sure, "You're can't really be..."

"I am," the other snapped, "I am Spiderman, and I've got you right where I want you, Deadpool."

SSSS-

"Tell me you surrender, and I will stop. Do you understand?"

Chapter Text

Spider wasn't sure what to expect from Deadpool. In fact, he wasn't even certain this was the right way to kick off the night. Deadpool was dangerous and unpredictable, and that damn bartender had already planted the idea in his head that he actually was the real Spiderman. If Pool honestly thought he was cornered, he'd fight back and Spider knew damn well those weapons weren't just there for show.

All this ran through his head as he assumed the power pose and declared his identity, by which point he was committed. His only chance, now, was to stay the course and give no ground if he wanted to make it through this night unscathed.

His word was law. If he said he was Spiderman, then he was Spiderman. End of story.

And then Deadpool spoke.

"Spidey, Baby! It really is you, isn't it!" Deadpool pitched his voice into a girl-like squeal, and completely derailed Spider's entire train of thought. "Nice sting, Baby Boy, well done," he applauded, "I gotta admit, even I didn't see it coming. I mean come on; Spiderman, pretending to be an exotic dancer whose pretending to be Spiderman? How did you even come up with that shit? Brilliant!"

"It wasn't difficult," Spider retorted automatically, slipping into the familiar banter and running with it,
"All I had to do was remember you think with your dick. Not only did you fall for it, but you brought me right into your lair. I know everything now, you cock-sucking bastard. By the time this night is through, you'll be crawling to the police and begging them to arrest you."

"Such promises, Spidey," Deadpool dropped his voice an octave, "But I've got a better idea."

The electric charge zipped down the back of his neck. Heart pounding, Spider dropped into an aggressive stance, ready to launch at the merc. Deadpool's eyes widened and Spider saw his mask pull into his mouth with his sharp intake of breath.

"What's the matter, Baby Boy?" Slowly, Deadpool unsheathed the pistol at his hip and held it out to the side, "You're not afraid of me, are you?" With a swipe of his thumb, the magazine fell out of the gun and clattered across the marble tiled floor. "I promise," he brought the weapon around, and Spider saw the trigger finger extended along the barrel of the gun, "this'll hurt me a lot more than it'll hurt you."

Spider held his breath, heart racing, muscles quivering. The tingle became a burning charge that lifted his hair on end. Still moving with slow deliberation, Deadpool pulled back on his weapon and ejected the bullet in the chamber.

Spider's sense of time narrowed until he felt every factional second like a minute. In that time, the bullet was the only thing that moved. It glinted as it tumbled over itself again and again, before it finally dinged on the floor.

Behind the gun, Deadpool's mask tightened over his shit-eating grin. He pulled the trigger and the hammer cut through the painful silence with a hollow click.

The electric charge coiling around Spider's spine discharged in an explosion of speed and energy. With a single leap, he closed the distance and slammed Deadpool into the wall. Using his momentum, he jumped off his chest and executed a backflip in midair, pushed off the opposite wall and dove for his discarded bag.

"Ah. What's the matter, Spidey? I thought you wanted to play."

Spider spared a glance back as he grabbed the strap of his bag. Deadpool was strolling casually toward him, emptied gun still trained on him. The first click sent a shot of adrenalin coursing through him as Spider rolled to the side, and the next lit his nerves like fireworks. Legs coiled beneath him, he thrust down, launched into the air, and caught the metal beam that crossed the large, open space.

He dodged the next click with a deft kick of his legs, orbiting around the beam and landing on top of it in classic Spiderman form. Only then, with his knees spread wide for balance, did he feel the pressure of the spandex against his breathtaking need.

"It's over, Wade," He shouted, reaching in his bag and throwing the long sheets of silk over the merc. Deadpool shouted and flailed. Wasting no time, Spider dropped down, snatched up a length of silk, and vaulted over Deadpool's head. In moments, he had the man trapped in a cocoon of silk and knocked him to the floor.

"Now," he pressed Deadpool's masked face to the floor and bent down to growl in his ear, "You're mine." He bit down on the spandex-covered lobe, drawing sharp gasp from his writhing captive, "I'm not going to bother calling the police to pick up your filthy ass this time. Not until I'm good and finished with you."

He pressed down harder, to accolades of wanton, "Oh God, please. Yes!"

"The courts are too good for you. Count them down, Deadpool, because I'm going to make you pay for every last thing you've done. I swear, I will make you beg for mercy until you surrender," he enunciated the word with sharp clarity and gave the man's head an extra press for good measure, "Then, and only then, will I turn you over to the authorities."

Deadpool let out a hysteric giggle, "You underestimate me, Baby. You can't break Deadpool. It'll be a long, cold night in hell before I surrender to you."

"Good," he shoved up from Deadpool's head and planted a knee in the merc's back, "I'm counting on it."

He took his time securing Deadpool to his satisfaction. First, the weapons had to go. Starting with his guns, he divested the man of every blade, firearm, and explosive he could find. All the while, he kept Deadpool pinned with his arm pressed against his back beneath Spider's knee. Then, once the gloves and boots were gone, he began to bind him.

Hands behind his back, he tied Pool's wrists up with silk, and then wrapped the cloth around both his arms again and again until they were cocooned up to his shoulders.

Beneath him, Pool was breathing hard enough to cloud up the cool tile beside his face, "What are you gonna do?" he asked in a breathy croak as Spider tied the last knot.

"What's the matter, Honey Butt?" Spider cooed as he spread his hand over Pool's leather-covered ass. "You're not afraid of me," he brought his hand down in an open-palmed slap to the firm orb, eliciting a start from the man beneath him, "are you?" He smacked the other cheek with just a touch more force than the one before. "I thought you wanted to play, Deadpool," another slap, this time on top of the first. Pool yelped and strained against his bindings, but the silk held. "Don't tell me you're ready to surrender?"

"Never," Pool shouted at the next slap. "Never give up. Never surrender." Spider landed one last blow, as hard as he dared, right between the cheeks and listened to the accolades that followed.

Smiling, Spider leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Have it your way then." With one hand, he grabbed the merc's mask and pulled his head back. With the other, he looped a length of silk around his eyes and tied it behind his head.

Deadpool gasped as his vision went dark and wriggled on the floor like a landed fish when Spider released him. For a time, Spider just knelt there, watching the man whimper and strain on the floor before him. The sight was intoxicating, and he'd only just begun.

'Stop. Breathe. Don't get carried away.'

"Spidey," Deadpool's needy whine, touched with uncertain fear, pulled on him like a taught bowstring and threatened to undo him right there. He gasped in a silent gulp of air and willed his body back under his control. "Spidey, where are you?" Pool's voice hiked an octave, "Spiderman?"

Spider pressed his hand to the back of the merc's neck and dug in his fingers. Deadpool jerked and arched his head up, capturing his hand between his skull and his shoulders. "I'm here," Spider issued the words like a command, "Now breathe." He felt the man's whimper through his glove, but sure enough he began to breathe deeply again. Spider held him like that until he'd eased back onto the floor and stopped struggling.

"Tell me you surrender, and I will stop. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Deadpool exhaled the word like a prayer, "Yes Spidey. I understand."

He flexed his grip on the man's neck, "Say it once, so I know you can."

"I…" Deadpool stuttered and started to wiggle again.

Spider gave his neck a calculated shake, "Prove to me you can say it, or this ends now."

He could see the tension building in Pool's body, watched the struggle in the lines of his mask. Then, all at once, that tension evaporated, "I surrender."

Dawn was blushing through the window when Spider finally made himself get up to leave.

When all was said and done, they'd both spent themselves silly. He carried Pool to the bed and tucked him in, intent on slipping away as soon as he was asleep. Instead, the merc pulled him down with him and wrapped him in his heavy arms, mumbling fearful little pleas, begging him to stay. It went against his better judgement, but he'd worked the man harder than he dared to with anyone else, and rationalized it as further aftercare.

He never meant to fall asleep, but watching the red spandex ebb and flow with his breath like waves on the beach: it was hypnotic and soothing. Besides, there was no one to see him when he let his forehead rest against the man's shoulder, or how he felt the pebbled texture of Deadpool's side through his suit.

That was all done, though. He was going to pay dearly for last night as it was. It was time to go home.

Pool didn't move as he eased out of his arms. With long-practiced stealth, he retrieved the silks and returned them to his bag, along with condoms, lube, and other little toys he carried along when he performed, just in case. His back ached when he pulled the pants up over his costume and he felt a hollow form in his chest as he belted them to his hips.

Once he was fit for public and had confirmed all his possessions were in place, he started to leave. A soft tingle brushed against his neck. He looked back.

Pool was standing by the door, a robe pulled over his sullied uniform, mask still in place.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asked softly.

Spider averted his eyes, "It's best if I don't stay."

"It was… amazing." Pool fidgeted with the sash on his robe, "Do you think we could…"

"It was for me to. Really." He offered a little shrug and looked back, "Who knows. Good as it was, it'd be nice to go all out."

Deadpool visibly perked up, "That wasn't all out."

Spider smiled, "No. Most people are too… fragile."

"I can't wait," he could hear the lust in the man's voice, "How do I contact you?"

He held up a finger, "Rule number one. You don't." He smiled to soften the blow and held up a second finger, "But rule number two says don't worry about it. I'll contact you."

"Really?" he asked, doubtful, "How do I know you're not just saying that to brush me off? I can take a straight up rejection. That I'm used to, but don't string me along."

Spider sighed and let his bag slide to the floor, "You remember what I told you, about how I'm not a whore?" Pool nodded, "If you were anyone else, I'd make you wait until I can do another show before you could even hope to see me again. Given how hectic my life really is, that could be weeks, months even. I don't know. Yes, the money's nice, but I do it to blow off steam. The problem is it's so rare when I can clear a night in my schedule.

"With you, though, and tonight," he gestured vaguely around the room, "It really was amazing. So if you're willing, I'd like to contact you when next I have to relieve pressure. We'll work something out."

"I'd like that."

Spider nodded and retrieved his bag. Something caught on the fabric and clattered to the floor. The gun Pool had emptied for their play. For a moment, Spider forgot to breathe as he watched the morning light reflect off its polished lines. He could still hear the click of the hammer and feel the breathtaking rush it unleased.

He didn't realize Pool had moved until he stooped to pick up the weapon. "Maybe next time," he stood and brushed the barrel against the side of Spider's mask, "You'll let me work on you instead."

What remained of Spider's breath passed through his lips and refused to return as Pool traced scorching lines against his cheek with the gun. He caught himself before he let out a moan and gently pushed the gun away. His voice, when he forced his lungs to draw breath, was a brittle rasp, "I don't lay down for anyone."

Bag flung over his shoulder, he left.

SSSS-

"I have a collection of your shots back home. So one night I was admiring them and rubbing out a fat one, when I thought to myself, 'Wade. There's no way these are gotcha shots. No one could possibly be in the right place, at the right time, as often as this kid must be in order to produce this sort of work.'"

Chapter Text

Wade skulked across the street from the offices of the Daily Bugle with one of their recent issues in hand. Once again, pert little web-bottom was featured on the front page underneath yet another detestable headline maligning Spiderman's good name.

He crumbled the paper and threw it to the ground. Just the thought of this gossip rag continuing to spread poison about him after all these years, it made him want to kill something. Like the one publishing these damn articles. He'd really like to take that bastard out.

Maybe later. That's not what we're here for today.

Put a pin in it, though.

Across the street, the Daily Bugle office had seen better days. The remains of old printings littered the parking lot and filth crusted the walls and windows. Even the sign above the door had a busted letter and one of the spotlights was out. With any luck, this damn tabloid wouldn't be in business much longer, now that people were wise to the lies they peddle.

'Just one more peek,' he thought and retrieved the paper, indulging one more time in the cover photo. It was an excellent shot, displaying Spiderman at the height of one of his patented web swings. Beautiful. The paper's date was just three days ago. The web-head had been around since he got back to New York, but he was being a bitch to find. He'd tried everything short of a bank robbery to catch his attention and nothing.

It probably wouldn't be so bad if he could get his spider fix elsewhere, but it'd been two weeks, and the Hero of the Night had yet to make an appearance. Not that he was surprised, mind you. He knew he was being brushed off as soon as the little acrobat opened his mouth. What pissed him off to no end was how he had the gall to stand there and lie to his face with his weak sob story instead of owning up to it like a man.

Right. 'Cause his disappearance couldn't possibly have anything to do with the gun you shoved in his face before he left.

He was scared when you pulled that thing out too. We've never seen anyone but Spider-butt ricochet off the walls like that kid did.

Yeah. Probably the only reason he stuck around at all is 'cause he thought we'd kill him if he ran.

"Shut up!" Wade shouted, crushing the paper in his hand and shoving in the trash. This was getting him nowhere. He came here for a reason and…

His anger fizzled out like week-old soda. What right did he have to demand Spiderman's attention? It's not like there was anything between them but his animosity. An overblown case of hero worship didn't justify tearing him away from whatever he was doing. Fun as it was to tease him and watch him get worked up, he knew perfectly well where he stood. The whole thing was pointless.

"And don't come back without that shot!" Wade looked up at the man leaning out a window of the Daily Bugle office, "You hear me, Parker!"

Parker? He scanned the people moving along the sidewalk and saw a man lift his hand before the window slammed shut above. Amidst the walking zombies, he watched the scrawny figure pull his coat up around his neck and start walking, hands tucked into his pockets.

Well, you came all the way out here. Might as well ask him.

'Yeah.'

Wade settled his ball cap under his hood, and trailed after his mark. If he was out after a shot, could he be on his way to meet with Spiderman? That would be fortunate.

You still don't know what you're going to say to him, even if he does show up.

What would he say? Hey Babe, did you know there's a stripper going around, peddling his act under your name? I've seen him, and damn he's hot, but he can't lift a candle to you. Can we find an alley or something where you can fuck me?

As if that would ever work.

He followed Parker at a distance. No point in spooking the kid. Assuming he did know how to get in touch with Spiderman, what reason did he have to share that information with Wade? Suppose he could pretend to be some poor sap in trouble, desperate to find Spiderman. He glanced down at the back of his scarred hand. Eh, shouldn't be too hard to sell.

A flurry of movement in his peripheral vision made him look up. Parker was gone, and a pair of women kept looking behind them before one urged the other forward and they ran.

"Shit." Wade ran the distance to where he last saw Parker and followed the meaty smack and soft-skinned grunt down the narrow alley. There was no one in sight, and the passage opened up both ways behind the buildings. Another impact to the right. He followed it, reaching for the gun in his waistband as he flung his head back and forth to scan the alleys. A strangled shout from behind. Down another narrow passage and around a corner

The pile up of trash was incredible. Ancient dumpsters crowded the red brick walls of the little courtyard-like alcove. Putrid juices dribbled from overflowing bags and drained across the cement into a grate to one side.

There was Parker, lip split and shirt bloodied, dangling helplessly from his neck in this massive brute's fist. Meanwhile, his friend was cracking his knuckles and coming around to slam a nasty right hook in the poor civvie's kidneys.

Fucking bastards.

No, wait. Let's see if web head shows up.

Only if he beats us to it.

Bang. Down goes the wannabe boxer. Meanwhile, wait-for-it… let the other guy turn around and… Yup! One dumb 'wtf' face later and Blam! Problem solved.

Parker hit the ground hard. His legs crumpled like brittle corn stalks. With his sideways impact, the camera around his neck flung out and shattered on the cement. Poor sap, all he could do was stare at it while he perfected his landed fish impersonation.

"It's all right, Kid. You'll be fine in a minute."

Parker's eyes rolled in his head, taking in the soiled bodies around him and then looked up. One look at the gun in Wade's hand and a glance at his stunningly handsome profile, and Parker backpedaled on his ass until he was elbow deep in trash.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"Gah," Wade threw his head back, "Why is that always the first thing to come out of a victim's mouth? What do you want from me?" He mocked in a high, whining voice as he tucked the pistol back into his waistband, "I mean, how self-centered is that. Like it's always gotta be all about you. It's never about the guy with the knife, is it? But hey, you know what," he straddled Parker's legs and squatted onto his knees so they were in easy kissing distance, "This time, you're right."

He's cute.

Bit of a whipped dog, though. Fucker looks like he hasn't slept in a week.

I thought we liked whipped dogs. Don't you see how he's shaking? Just look at those big doe eyes. Come on, Daddy! Let's keep him!

"Oh, sorry," Wade reached out to cradle the side of Parker's face, "You caught a bit of that money shot back there. Let me just…" Gently, he swept his thumb across the puffy skin beneath the other man's eye, wiping away the blood splatter.

At first, Parker looked ready to faint. His breath was too shallow and uneven. The blood drained clean out of his face. He'd like to think it went somewhere south, but more than likely it all bled out through that nasty split lip of his. He was obedient, though. After the initial flinch, he hardly moved while Wade cleaned the dead-man's blood off his face.

"There now, isn't that better?" He scooted up so that his knees rested on either side of the other man's hips and sat back on his haunches, completely pinning Peter's legs beneath him, "I got a little favor I need to ask you."

Parker's breath came out in a shuddering rush as color returned to his cheeks and spread. His mouth was so dry that, this close up, Wade could see the texture of his tongue. He shifted awkwardly, looking for somewhere to set his hands so he could push up out of the trash, "What is it?"

Wade leaned his head to one side, keeping hold of those brown eyes. "You're the one who takes those pictures of Spiderman for that flea ridden tabloid, aren't you?"

So what'cha think? Clean him up a bit, and he could still pass for sixteen.

Probably, but if you're making a wager, I'd say he's at least old enough to drink.

We should buy him one. Puppy look's parched.

"Yeah. What of it?"

Oh look. He's trying to be tough now. That's so cute!

"Well, let's see," Wade let his eyes trail over the puppy's throat and down his chest, "I have a collection of your shots back home. So one night I was admiring them and rubbing out a fat one, when I thought to myself, 'Wade. There's no way these are gotcha shots. No one could possibly be in the right place, at the right time, as often as this kid must be in order to produce this sort of work.'"

The puppy shivered when Wade fingered his collar. The dead brute had popped the button in his enthusiasm. "Then I answered myself, 'You know, Wade, that's a very good point. What'cha thinking?' and I responded, 'Well, assuming I knew anything about how to use a camera, I'd still need a willing model.' Then I worked up this theory, where you and old Spidey work out photo shoots. It's the only thing that makes sense to me."

He'd leaned forward, drawn in by his fascination with how the puppy's Adam's apple bobbed just so over his collar. When he looked up, he almost bumped noses with him, "I don't wanna pull the, I-saved-your-life-so-you-owe-me card or nothing, but I'd really appreciate it if you could get a message to him for me. Maybe you could tell him what I did and ask him if he would meet me at this address."

He stole a butterfly kiss as he leaned up to pull a folded paper from his back pocket and tucked it into the puppy's collar like a ten-dollar bill.

"Will you do that for me, Precious?"

Parker was shaking again as he licked his lips and jerked a nod, "I… I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Pet."

Aw, to hell with it.

One hand cupped behind Parker's neck, he leaned in for the kiss, lingering and chaste. Just when the puppy started to relax into it, he rocked back onto his feet and pulled Parker up with him. For a second, it looked like he'd have to catch the journalist, but he kept his footing.

"I'll see you around, Babe." He said with a casual wave over his shoulder, "And try to steer clear of strangers in alleys in the future. You never know what creeps you're going to find."

He licked the still warm blood off his lips as he strolled away.

SSSSS-

"I know you've been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy." He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, "So twitchy that if I didn't know better, I'd swear they were actually afraid of their friendly neighborhood Spiderman."

Chapter Text

Peter kicked in the door to his greasy apartment and slammed it behind him. The remains of his camera crashed into a trash can, which he then launched across what passed as his living space.

"Damn it, Deadpool," his oath ended in a huff as he fell back on his door and pulled at his belt until his pants sagged around his knees. He hadn't been able to get Wade out of his head since he stumbled from that alley, hard as an iron rod and drunk on adrenalin. He could still feel the tingle crawling over his flesh from every single point of contact. Pumping hard and fast, he closed his eyes and felt the hair rise on his neck where the merc had grabbed him, his lips electrified from the kiss.

The tinnitus felt like needles thrusting into his skull as he shot his load over the floor. The piercing sound drowned out his shouts of blessed release and continued to build up until it was throbbing pain beating against his skull. He blacked out for just a moment and came to on the floor, dried cum smeared across his pant leg and the tile floor.

He looked down at his wretched self and felt the fire that had scorched him all day extinguish. Fucking Deadpool had to come to his rescue. As Spiderman, he would have owned both those dicks in five seconds flat, but as Peter… Even if he had fought, he couldn't kill them. If he didn't kill them, then they would've lived to tell his secret. All his life, he'd never been able to stand up to any of them, not on his own, not when he was just… Peter.

He could never protect himself. What the hell possessed him to think he could protect anyone else?

Reaching up, he fumbled for the light and then began tugging his pants back up. Something fell from his pocket and tapped onto the floor. Deadpool's note.

Peter might not be able to do anything, but Spiderman could.

He fetched and unfolded the note, recognizing the address at once and rolling his eyes at the little Deadpool doodle in the corner.

From between his squeaky mattress and the rickety box spring, he pulled a bag with his uniform folded inside. Knowing it was there waiting for him, he took a few minutes to clean up, popping his pills and patching up his split lip before he ducked under the showerhead.

Feeling the day's filth wash away, it was like shedding an old skin. He felt refreshed, invigorated, and anticipating the chance to fly again. When he pulled on the spandex, the uniform embraced him. His web shooters were nothing less than gauntlets of power. He loaded his discrete belt with web cartridges, tossed aside the water-stained ceiling tile, and leapt into the guts of the building.

His apartment was built by the wet wall, where the main plumbing ran throughout the structure. From here, he could climb all the way to the roof.

Climb he did. Even the simple sensation of clinging to the pipe and stone was liberating. It was an immutable connection that bent only to his will. He came out by the water tank on the roof and crouched on the ledge to take in the vast sea of light that was New York City. When the first breeze blew against his shoulders, he leapt and let the first line of webbing fly.

He found Deadpool, right where he said he'd be, perched on the edge of an old building overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge. Pulling on the web line, he threw his weight forward to complete this last pendulum swing and let go, flipping through the air and sticking the landing on light feet.

"My spidey sense is tingling," Deadpool cooed without looking back.

"I got your message. What do you want, Wade?"

"Aw," he leaned back and cocked his masked head to look at him, "Is it really so much to ask for a few moments of your time? I already checked the grapevine. There are no robberies set to go down tonight."

"Crime doesn't always work on a published schedule." Spiderman shifted his weight and planted a hand on his hip, "I assumed you had something important to discuss, since you killed two men to catch my attention."

"Spidey, you wound me," he pressed a hand to his chest, "I saved your boy's life, or did he forget to mention that part. Those guys were about to gut him when I got there."

"Thugs you could have just as easily subdued. But now, because of you, I've lost my chance to learn why they've been targeting my photographer."

"Wait a cold winter second," Wade spun on his ass and planted his feet on the roof, knees spread, "You're telling me you knew that civilian was in danger, and you weren't watching him?"

"They don't assault him on a schedule," Spiderman spat back, "That's why Parker wears a spider tracer at all times. It's equipped with biometrics and recording capabilities. I knew the instant he was danger. He also carries a failsafe in the event I'm delayed in reaching him."

Deadpool choked, "You're using him asbait?"

"Don't you dare judge me!" He meant it as a low warning, but it came out a shout, "You've been out for years, and don't know anything about what's going down."

"Is that a fact?" the mercenary shoved to his feet, "I know you've been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy." He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, "So twitchy that if I didn't know better, I'd swear they were actuallyafraidof their friendly neighborhood Spiderman. But that impossible, now isn't it? Cause even the most hardened criminals know that your pert little ass," he swept his hand around to grab a fistful of said rump, catching Spiderman off guard and momentarily thrusting him back into that alley.

When he didn't immediately hurl Deadpool over the side of the building, the merc continued, "They know you're only going to fuck them over for as long as they keep fighting. They know they can surrender anytime they want and make it stop."

Spiderman managed to suck in some air and growled up at Deadpool, who leaned down until he could smell the alcohol on the mercenary's breath.

"But something's changed, hasn't it? Now they see your shadow around every corner and feel your passage in the wind at night." He released Spiderman as suddenly as he groped him and fell back, arms thrown wide and the maddening pitch returned to his voice, "I'm just gonna go out on a limb here and say the two are connected."

Spiderman put forth the effort needed to resist rubbing his now aching backside, "Why did you call me here, Deadpool?"

"Well," he kicked out his foot and threaded his fingers behind his head, "To be honest, I was kinda bored and thought I'd pull on your web a bit, for old time's sake. But now I see there's a much better game afoot." Letting his hands fall, he assumed his full height, "I've got to ask myself, just how high are the stakes if Spiderman is willing to put a civvie at risk?"

"No."

"If you won't tell me," he waggled his finger in time to his sing-song voice, "then I'll just have to deal myself in and find out."

"Stay out of this, Wade. You've already caused enough trouble," he spun on his heel, as though that closed the matter, and aimed a web when Deadpool spoke.

"What's the failsafe?"

"What?" he turned his head just enough to listen.

"You're miraculous failsafe. What is it? How does it work? Because you see, from where I stood, there was nothing stopping those lowlifes from gutting your boy right then and there. He was too busy hanging by his neck to see the knife, much less activate any failsafe."

A sick chill ran down Peter's back, "They had a knife?"

He could hear the sneer in Wade's voice, "I guess that spider tracer doesn't record everything after all, does it? Suppose that means I really did save pretty Parker's life. Does this mean you're going to be more vigilant in the future or…" he let the word drag out… "You know, I'm sort of out of work at the moment. Nobody's posted any jobs worth my time in an age."

Spiderman grunted, feeling a migraine coming on.

"Come on, Spidey," Wade wheedled when he didn't respond, "Deal me in. If you don't, I'll just get my own cards. You know I've got 'em. A whole deck."

"I can't believe I'm about to… Fine," he faced the man and held up his hand, "But this is my case. You do things my way. Understood?"

SSS-

Cold silk bunched around his fingers.

Chapter Text

Deadpool hailed a cab, slouched in the back, and swore to the gods above that he'd never wash this hand again. Fingers curled, he imagined holding that buxom spandex-covered bottom again. With reverence, he pulled up his mask and brought the hand to his face to capture what he could of Spiderman's subtle essence. His throat constricted and he groaned, imagining what it would be like to brown nose between those globes.

His little soldier chaffed against his uniform. "Not here, Pudgy," he muttered, letting his hand fall, "I'll take care of you when we get home."

Outside, the dirty streets of New York eased on by. Overflowing dumpsters brought to mind the alley, and Parker. He knew better than to think Spidey had told him all. He still had no idea what the real score was, but it was obvious Baby Boy had let it get under his skin. He would never have caught him off guard like that if he were in true form.

A pocket on his belt began to vibrate. The Caller ID on the phone listed the HellHouse. "What?" he demanded.

"Hey boss, I think you should get down here. We got a strange threat today, and they was specifically talking to you."

"Go on."

The man on the other end cleared his throat, "I don't know boss, this is some weird shit. Came through a voice distorter and everything."

"Spit it out, Styks."

"Okay. They said, 'Tell Deadpool, it's time to surrender.'"

Wade sucked in his breath. Every nerve in his body lit up like a sparkler.

"Boss? What should we do?"

He terminated the call and rapped on the divider between him and the driver, "Change of address."

He'd worked himself into a frenzy when he reached the door to his loft. If the night spider wasn't here, he was going to break a couple tables, and then hunt the insect down and show him what happens to insufferable little cock teasers.

The door opened without needing a key.

The loft was pitch black, the curtains drawn, and every idle glow extinguished. He slid the deadbolt into place with a soft click and pressed into the darkness. There was no sound, nothing for his senses to lock onto.

He was here though. Wade could feel it.

"Oh itsy bitsy spider, come out. Come out."

Movement. Something rushed to the floor nearby.

Alert for an ambush, Wade crouched and felt around until his gloved knuckles bumped against something soft and pliable. The sound of his wrist straps separating raked against his heightened senses, and he discarded the glove without a care for where it landed. Still, he sensed nothing else move in the darkness around him.

He found the object again, and felt over it. Cold silk bunched around his fingers.

"Where are you, Spiderman?" he called out, "I don't know what game you're playing, but I'll find out."

His heart pounded. Still, nothing. No movement. No sound.

He searched for the light. Dead. So he waited, and waited. Just when he thought he was about to scream, there came a heavy thump behind him. He jumped and let out an unmanly squeak. Reaching out with his hands, he moved in the direction of the sound and kicked a chest. His footlocker, by the sound of it. He felt around it and swallowed when he found his discarded glove on the lid.

"Open it."

The command sent him back to the floor, two weeks ago. Spider's hand had gripped the back of his neck, his voice ordering him to speak the words. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the image enough to focus. Moving slowly, he snapped the clamps open and listened to the hinge squeak as he lifted the lid.

"Good. Now unstrap your guns, and put them inside."

We did scare him then.

Shit.

The clinking buckles were the only sound around him as he removed the pistols and set them inside.

"Good Deadpool," the voice cooed like warm honey and left him a little breathless, "Now, take off your swords and lay them inside."

One by one, he instructed Deadpool to remove and surrender each of his weapons in turn. It didn't stop there. Once he was disarmed, the next instruction bade him remove his other glove. His boots followed, and then his armor, until there was nothing left but the naked spandex, the only barrier between the spider and his wretched flesh.

"Now untuck the mask and-."

"Please," he uttered into the darkness. Silence reigned again. He licked his dry lips, "Please. Not the suit. I can't, I…" Oh god, he was so hard.

There was a soft rush behind him, and he gasped when a foot pressed down between his shoulder blades.

"I gave you the chance to lay out boundaries." Wade whimpered as the night spider exerted pressure, pushing him over until his temple dug into the rim of the footlocker, "You wanted your hero instead. Does my interpretation of the wall crawler displease you? Perhaps you imagined roses and fine wine?"

"No," he gasped out, his voice hoarse.

"You are a criminal," his tone became purring and pleasant while he pressed harder with his foot, "and I've disarmed you. Now your mine, until I call the police to fetch you." The last he whispered in Wade's ear, his hot breath seeping through the fabric of his mask. "Of course," he nipped at the lobe, "You're free to surrender whenever you want."

"Oh come on, Spidey," he tried for his usual joviality, "Surely we can strike some sort of bargain."

"Go on."

"I give you whatever you want. Just… let me keep the suit."

That foot dug into his back as it slid down his spine, and he braced when he felt Spider's knee press against him with all his weight. A hand closed around his neck while the other toyed against the lines of his mask.

"I'll let you keep your flimsy spandex," he shivered when he felt spider's lips move against his ear, "but in exchange, I'll take your dignity."

He choked on the broken sob and bowed his head.

SSSS-

Deadpool flexed his arms and moaned, "Please say you're about to fuck me." "Babe, I'm going to wreck you."

Chapter Text

Spider wrapped Deadpool's eyes in silk. He made the mercenary kneel with hands bound behind his back, while he finished preparations. Low lighting. Flowing sheets of silk draped about the room. The metal rafter was tonight's centerpiece.

"Did I tell you? I've done some digging since our last encounter," he watched the man as he made conversation, noted the slight lift of his head.

"There's a hazardous occupation," Deadpool answered. Spider could tell he was going for levity, but there was an undertone of anxious need to his voice, "Grave digging is actually more dangerous than most people realize. You never know what you're gonna find."

He hummed in acknowledgement and picked up a length of silk, "But isn't that the point? Take yourself, for example. They say you can't be killed. Guns... Knives... Even grenades." He listened to the soft hiss that came from Deadpool as he moved behind him, "They say nothing affects you. That you can't even feel pain. Is it true?"

Deadpool let out a frail laugh, "Baby, the world doesn't want to see me without pain. There's nothing I couldn't do. As it is, I dance all over that line any-." The last word caught in a breathless gasp as Spider clamped his hand over the muscle spanning his neck and shoulder. Deadpool arched his neck and whimpered as he dug in his nails.

"You do feel pain then," he dug them just a little deeper and then released him, enjoying how the merc gasped and shivered.

"God damn, you're stronger than you look."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, but please, keep trying. Now," he bent down to whisper in Deadpool's ear, "Should I infer that the other part is true? Say, if I were to fetch your swords, I could sheath one here," he jabbed the soft tissue by his shoulder blade and smiled when the merc jumped. "Then I could put the other here," he pressed a knuckle to a kidney and knelt behind him, "Of course, I could always just put them both away, couldn't I?" The man's shuddering keen thrilled across Spider's skin when he grabbed the merc's ass. His erection strained against the black spandex. "I could do all these things, and it still wouldn't kill you, would it?"

"No," Deadpool whimpered. Spider wrapped a hand around his throat and pulled him back to nuzzle his ear.

"But it would hurt, wouldn't it?"

Deadpool swallowed, "Every time."

"Good." Spider nipped his ear and released him. He let the man gasp and come down from the head rush before he pressed a hand between Pool's shoulders, "Raise your arms." He complied, leaning forward to lift his bound arms off his back.

Spider slipped the silk under his arms, equally distributing the fabric on either side. From there, he began to wrap each arm, cocooning it from shoulder to wrist. "Mm, cozy," was the only breathless comment Pool seemed able to conjure. When he was done, he took the long silk tail that fell from the blindfold, looped it around Deadpool's neck, and pulled him back until his head rested on Spider's shoulder.

Humming contently, he watched the heavy rise and fall of the man's chest and nuzzled the side of his face. "There are a thousand things I want to do to you. If I were the villain, I suppose I'd take my leisure and do them all, one by one." He felt Deadpool's fingers grasp at his thigh with each enunciated syllable and smiled, "But I'm Spiderman, aren't I. The hero's hero. Still, that doesn't mean I go easy on criminals like you."

He pulled on the silk lead and listened to him gasp for breath while he pressed his lips to Pool's ear, "I'd ask your pardon for stepping out of character, but given how you're… well you, I don't think you'll mind." He ran his tongue around the arc of his ear. Deadpool uttered a whine and bucked his straining hips.

"Bondage scene colors," he dropped his voice an octave to catch Pool's attention, "Do you know them?" He released pressure on the merc's neck and let him gasp for air. Deadpool nodded.

"Recite them," he ordered.

Deadpool coughed and whimpered, "You're really going far enough to need-?" The last word squeezed off in a grunt when Spider pinched his taught bottom. "Green," Pool gasped, "means go. Yellow to slow. Red stops all."

"Good Deadpool," he purred and nipped at his shoulder, "Now remind me," he nipped again, "What was our safe word again?"

The man strained and Spider pressed his palm to his back to better support him, "I… I surrender."

Hearing him say those words made his toes curl. Spider growled and pushed Deadpool forward again. He rose and gave the lead a solid tug, "Stand up."

Deadpool moved awkwardly at first, but he recovered. Spider indulged in the sight of him, wrapped in silk, fully erect, displaying a hint of a tremor, all because of him. He led him across the room by the lead and stopped him with a hand on the larger man's chest, "Good. I'm going to unbind your hands. You will do exactly as I tell you to. Understand?"

The loose silk in front of Pool's mouth billowed with his exhale, and he nodded. With a few decisive tugs, the silk slid free of the knots around Deadpool's wrists. Spider tossed it aside for the moment, and picked up the two tails dangling from Deadpool's wrapped arms. "Roll your shoulders and let your arms rest at your sides. Good. Now keep them loose. Move your right foot forward and widen your stance. Good. Now make like a football player and brace with your shoulder's hunched, arms forward and loose."

"This is different," Deadpool remarked as he settled into the position, "Are you going to let me catch your ball?"

Spider snorted and, when he was sure Deadpool was ready, he took a running leap, jumped off the man's shoulders, flipped up over the rafter, and came down the other side to hang. Deadpool shouted as his arms flung up over his head. The weight of Spider's body almost hauled him up off his toes.

"Color?" Spider commanded as their chests bumped with the residual motion.

Deadpool let his head fall back and laughed, "This is what we're using colors for? Here I was just starting to worry. Green, Babe. We are so green."

Spider snorted and flexed his arms, gaining enough height to walk his bare feet up Deadpool's body until his knees were on either side of chin.

"Oh, what's this, now? Doth my spidey sense detect a foot fetish?" Pool bent his head down to mouth at the toes pressed against his shoulders. Spider pushed, extending his legs, lifting Deadpool off his, and shortening the ropes attached to the mercenary's arms. "Whoa. What happened to the ground?"

Twisting his arms around the silk, Spider kicked out again and again, rocking them in short jerks and pulling more silk across the beam until Deadpool's hands were only 18 inches or so from the rafter. "Do you get seasick?" he asked finally.

"Seasick? Not since I was a kid. Why?"

"Then get ready to pull your in legs when I tell you to." With his feet still firmly planted on Deadpool's shoulders, Spider gave a sharp twist of his hips and sent the pair of them turning. "Now."

Deadpool managed to drag is knees in, sending them into a heady spin, which Spider accelerated further by collapsing his body. Once they began to slow, he yanked down against the silk and kicked off Deadpool's shoulders to mount the rafter, silk tails still in hand. While he tied them off, Deadpool crowed and spun back around.

"And there you have it, Ladies and Gents," he shouted, "The never-before-seen Sextuple Sal Chow, flawlessly performed by the rookie sensation, Deadpool."

Spider snorted his sudden laughter in his hand, "You sound quite pleased with yourself."

Deadpool gave an exaggerated gasp, still spinning, "He laughs. I didn't think it was possible."

Hooking his legs around the beam, Spider dropped upside down and stopped Deadpool's spin before he did get sick. Once he had him settled, he removed the blindfold and unwound the tail from the mercenary's neck.

"World… Still spinning," Deadpool let his head fall forward until Spider had the last of the silk coiled around his arm, and then looked up, "Hi."

Spider smiled, "Nice to see you're in a better mood than when I found you."

"You and me both, Babe. I was ready to kill something if you hadn't been here to greet me." He looked up, following the line of Spider's body to the beam, where he hung from his crossed legs. Then he looked down at the floor far below.

"How are you doing?" Spider asked.

"Ah… Good. I'm good." Spider studied him when he met his eye, and then nodded before bending up to grab the beam with one hand and massage Deadpool's fingers with the other. "We're green, I promise." He stopped talking when Spider lifted his mask over his nose and whimpered when he drew the first helpless digit into his mouth, nursing like a babe at teat.

Scooting closer, he suckled each digit with equal consideration to increasingly wanton moans. All the while, he untied the blindfold and retied the long silk around the beam. Once it was secure, he grabbed the silk and dropped down, twining his leg in it to support his weight when he was eye level with Deadpool.

Dropping one hand, he slipped it behind Deadpool's neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss, lips to red spandex. Deadpool groaned and wrapped his legs around Spider's, holding him fast and growling when he found the spandex an unforgiving barrier to his tongue.

When Spider finally released him, Deadpool gasped. It wasn't a gasp of blessed air, but more of a gasp for air. Pool hiked himself up with his arms, and used his grip on Spider's body to gain some leverage.

Spider waited until he caught his breath. "Let go now," he issued the order with compassion and Deadpool reluctantly obeyed, swinging gently as he dangled. Holding with both hands, Spider untangled his leg and caught Deadpool between his knees, drawing him close, "Bend your knee and wrap the silk around your calf, as many times as you can."

When the mercenary could stand in the silk, he rewarded him with another kiss (still spandex blocked) and ground their cocks together. Spider indulged until he was almost lost in it, and then let go of Deadpool entirely. He caught the man's deprived whine on his lips before he smiled and dropped to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Deadpool shouted, starting a slow spin, "You're not just gonna leave me up here, are you?"

Spider smirked up at him and took the merc's dangling foot in hand, "The thought occurred to me." He gave the scarred appendage a quick squeeze before setting him to spin again.

"No. Please don't. Please, you can't leave me up here like this."

"Like what?" he asked flippantly as he started to gather up his silks.

"What do you mean, 'like what?' I can't," he hiked himself up higher on the silks, "Spidey, please." He could hear the touch of panic as he looped the last silk over his shoulders, "You can't… Please. Yellow, please!"

Spider dropped the silk in a pile at once, and had his hands on Pool's dangling leg in the time it took him to exhale. "I'm right here, Babe." He started to knead the man's calf and worked his way up to his thigh. Deadpool was starting to hyperventilate. "Breathe for me, Wade. Come on. I'll take you down if you can't relax and breathe."

Wade nodded and pulled himself up. Spider tightened the silk around his leg and gave it a couple extra wraps for security. It gave Wade enough slack to slouch against his bonds. Spider watched him intently until the merc regained his breath and looked down at him, "You… you're weren't really leaving, were you?

The frail note in his voice hit Spider like a brick across the jaw. "No, baby. I was not and am not going anywhere." Wade let go a shuddering breath and nodded, letting his head hang low. Spider pulled his mouth into a smile, "What possessed you to think I was leaving. I haven't even finished stringing you up yet, much less got down to the good stuff." He reached his kneading hand out to fondle Deadpool's slumping cock, and pressed an opened mouth kiss to the back of his knee, foot still cradled in his other hand.

"You mean you still want to keep going?" Pool's voice was both timid and hopeful. Spider nipped on the tendon before dragging his nails down his inner thigh, earning a long, shuddering moan.

"Only if you still do," he dropped his voice into a husky growl, trying to reignite the fires, "You have yet to surrender."

"And I'm not about to, Spiderman," he answered with his own growl, "You may have caught me, but you'll never break me."

"Is that a fact?" he spun Pool around to look up into his mask, and smiled, "You're confidence amuses me, Deadpool." He groped the man's cock again, feeling the man's moans coil around his spine as he stroked his palm up and down his shaft. "Especially considering I haven't begun to interrogate you yet." He let go of Wade's manhood and flicked his middle finger against the straining head. Deadpool's wanton whine ended in a sharp yelp and a jump, while the spandex over his glans darkened with pre-cum.

"Shit, Spidey," he hissed through his teeth while Spider started collecting the silks again, "What's up with you? First the suspension bondage, then the foot fetish, now the cock flicking. Is there anything you aren't into?"

"What can I say," he tossed the silks over his shoulder with a shrug and looked back up at him with his most wicked grin, "I like to make people squirm." Flashing a predatory smile, he started walking toward the footlocker.

"Spidey," Deadpool drew out the word warily, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not telling," he answered in a singsong voice and flipped the latches. He drank in the sounds Deadpool uttered in his anxious anticipation and rummaged through the weapons and armaments inside. When he found what he wanted, he hid it beneath the silks and tucked it under his costume at his back. He could see Deadpool trying to glimpse what he pilfered, but swept the silks behind him, freeing his hands.

"Patience, Babe," he took the silk rope in hand, "Unwind your leg so Spidey can climb back up."

Wade obeyed and swung free. When Spider was level with his torso, he wrapped his leg and spun Deadpool around, tugging at his spandex until he had enough bunched together to attatch the weapon to the merc's back. "I'll just leave this here with you for the moment. You'll keep an eye on it, won't you?" He climbed to the rafter while Deadpool twisted and strained, trying to see what weapon he pulled.

Spider left him to ponder that while he tied the remaining silks to the rafter. Once he was satisfied they wouldn't give way, he descended and suspended himself on a silk line, freeing both arms. "Give me a mule kick." He caught Wade's ankle and lifted his leg back to cocoon his knee and calf. It took the pressure off his arms once he released the leg, and then he did the same with the other leg.

When he was done, Wade was kneeling in silk, legs free to spread, arms suspended over his head.

"God damn, Wade, you're so fucking hot," he uttered at last, indulging in a little self-pleasure when he heard Wade's wanton whimper.

"Am I strung up yet?"

Spider smiled, "I think you might be." Taking a line of taught silk in each hand, he pulled Pool toward him, freed himself from the silk and brought his knees onto the back of Deadpool's calves. The man moaned and threw back his head, while Spider flexed his arms on the taught silk line, "How's this, Baby?"

Deadpool flexed his arms and moaned, "Please say you're about to fuck me."

"Babe, I'm going to wreck you," he answered in the most threatening voice he could muster. Deadpool's wanton whine spread gooseflesh all down his arms. Cautiously, he let go with one hand, and then the other, until all his weight was born by Pool's calves. "Pull your knees forward," he ordered.

Deadpool did, bringing Spider's chest flush with his back, letting him wrap his arms around his tree-trunk chest and press the weapon between them. "This is how I'm going to fuck you, Deadpool," he growled into the man's ear, raking his nails across the man's abs. "I let you keep the spandex, remember?" Pool whimpered and nodded as he toyed with the hem of his tights, "Now I'm going to take your dignity, while you beg me for mercy."

He found the length of Pool's erection pressed up against his belly and ghosted his fingers along its length. The way he trembled in Spider's arms, the aborted thrusts that sent them into shallow, lazy swings, and the pleading little sounds all served to intoxicate him. He found a nipple with one hand and thumped the penis with the other.

Wade yelped, recoiling from the shock and rocking them both beneath the rafter. "Fuck, Spidey."

"Not yet," he dug in his nails and dragged them back over Deadpool's hip before reaching for the weapon pinned between their bodies. Deadpool froze, his breath catching when he heard the holster clatter to the floor below.

"You want to stay very still now," Spider enunciated in a low growl, drinking in the man's strangled gasp as he touched the point of the blade to the soft flesh above his hip. "The wrong move could make your little friend here bite down, and while, as you say, it won't kill you, I'm betting it will sting."

Slowly, tantalizingly, he began to drag the tip of the blade across Deadpool's side, doodling with it up near his nipple and back to his sensitive underarm. The first whine he coaxed from Deadpool's lips was more exquisite than any that had come before. With one hand clamped on the back of Pool's neck, he began to experiment. What started as feather-light scrapes hardened, and he watched the spandex split before the blade like butter, exposing a lash of scared and pebbled flesh. A little more pressure and tiny red lines blossomed behind the blade.

"Oh Gods," Deadpool cried, his head thrown back against Spider's hand.

"Color," Spider ordered.

"Green," he shouted, "Please, dear god, do whatever you want with me. Just please, don't stop."

Leaning back, Spider cut another swatch of spandex down beside Deadpool's spine, blood dripping down in the blade's wake. Pool moaned and sobbed, shuddering until Spider clamped down on the back of his neck, after which he stilled and started to beg.

As much as Spider wanted to drink in the words alone, he had to relegate them to background noise in order to give the man his full, undivided attention. One bloody line after the next, he carved Deadpool's own symbol into his back with ruby paint.

By the end of it, Deadpool was a sobbing, crying, incoherent mess. Spider bit down on the flat edge of the blade and swiped his hand across the design. Already, the shallow cuts had closed, leaving nothing but the ruined spandex and cooling blood.

Wrapping his arm in silk, he slid off Deadpool's calves and climbed up to the rafter while the merc gasped and sobbed below. He moved to the silk line in front of Pool, crossed his legs over the beam, took the blade from his mouth, and dropped down.

"Look at me." He did, red mask pulling into his mouth with each gasping breath. With one hand, he cupped Deadpool's cheek and pressed his thumb into the corner of his mouth. "Open wide." The whimper went straight to Spider's hindbrain, forcing him to stop a moment and recover himself. Then he brought the dagger to Deadpool's mask and slowly split the material covering his mouth before crushing their mouths together.

He'd expected a clash of wills, all teeth and spit and tongues, but Deadpool was dough in his hands, warm, needy, and pliable.

It was too much. Spider fought with his costume and gasped into Deadpool's mouth when the relief of blessed freedom finally washed over him.

Releasing him, Spider wrapped the silk around his arm once and let go the rafter, sliding down until he could wrap his leg and hang upside down, level with the man's cock. "Deep breath," he growled as he pulled Pool close. With great care, he split the spandex up the length of his large penis until the valiant member sprung loose to desperate sobs of relief. He tossed the blade aside then and enveloped the pebbled flesh in his mouth, while hot, eager wetness enfolded him.

Muscles trembled and nerves wound tight, it didn't take much before Deadpool was a sobbing wreck, thrusting with abandon and choking on Spider's cock as he tried desperately to outrun his own release. Even so, Spider didn't relent, deep throating him to the hilt and swallowing.

Deadpool released his cock with a wet pop, "Oh god! Spidey I can't, I…" Deadpool thrust desperately once, twice, and screamed as he unleashed his load down Spider's throat.

The mercenary dead weighted after that, limp body suspended only by the tension on the silk. Spider worked quickly, easing first his legs out of their cocoons, and then climbing to the rafter to untie the silk holding Pool's arms and lower him to the ground.

SSSS-

Wade pitched his voice lower, purring into his chest, "Still, it would give me great pleasure to fix it for you." Spider huffed out a short laugh, "I'm sure it would, Honey Bottom," he flattened his hands and ground his heels into his temples, "but little soldier's not the problem."

Chapter Text

Deadpool woke in his bed sans shirt, clean and tucked under the covers. The lights were out, but the curtains were open, bathing the room in New York's constellation light. To either side of him, the king sized bed was empty, though the bedclothes were rumpled to one side, still warm.

He's trying to sneak out again, isn't he?

Not if we have anything to say about it.

He threw the covers aside, stalked into the main room, and flipped on the lights. Silk sheets still dangled in a cluster fuck from the rafter, but beyond that, the room was empty.

He felt his ear pull back. The splash of water in a basin tickled his senses and he followed it. Light streamed through the cracked bathroom door.

Oh, thank gods. He's still here.

He smile and started to go make pancakes when a pitched whimper cut through the sound of running water. Three long strides and he reached the door, ready to push it in when he saw Spider braced against the toilet. His face was scrunched in frustration while he frantically pumped his dry cock. "God damn it, come on," he uttered in a fierce whisper before he gave up and collapsed, straddling the toilet, head down over the porcelain tank, hands fisting against his mask.

Wade's first impulse was to turn away in shame. After the incredible, amazing, impossible night this man had given him, he hadn't even had the decency to finish him off. His second impulse, though, told him he had the perfect chance to make it up to him.

The running water covered the sound of his entrance, or at least Spider didn't react until he turned the tap off. Not that it was much of a reaction mind, just the tensing lines on his back.

"Now's not a good time, Babe," Spider told him flatly.

Wade flinched, "I know. I saw." He pitched his voice lower, purring into his chest, "Still, it would give me great pleasure to fix it for you."

Spider huffed out a short laugh, "I'm sure it would, Honey Bottom," he flattened his hands and ground his heels into his temples, "but little soldier's not the problem."

Wade felt the mask pull against his face as he moved behind him, "Tell me what to do. Is it a migraine? I have some Excedrin here somewhere."

Spider barely moved, just enough to shake his head before he became very still. "Doesn't help," he whispered through a tight throat, "Nothing's strong enough. Just have to," he sucked in a sharp breath and held it while his fingers dug into his mask and his body tried to convulse.

Wade grabbed his shoulders, about to knead him when Spider spat out, "Don't!" He froze while the man before him arched his back and trembled, "Don't try to move me. If you do, I'll," his tight voice trailed off and Deadpool rested his hands on the man's shoulders again.

"I'm not trying to move you," he swept his thumbs across the backs of his shoulders and squeezed, "I'm trying to help."

Spider didn't move for a long moment. Beneath the glaring bathroom light, Wade could see every last muscle coiled tight. The man pressed his hands so hard to his head that they began to tremble. Finally, Spider let out a breathless squeak, "Okay."

Wade rubbed his muscles with deliberate earnest; working the lean knots on his shoulders first before moving up to work the man's neck. When he dug into the tendons, Spider let out a gasping sob and seemed to release some of the tension with it. Crouching, he set his knees on the floor and began to work across his whole back with a single-minded focus, encouraged not so much by Spider's broken whimpers and sobs, but by the elasticity he felt returning to his flesh.

Then Spider heaved. Bile soaked through his mask and dripped down his face before he could fall back off the bowl into Wade's lap. Wade caught him with one arm around his chest and ripped the mask off with the other before he spewed his guts into the bowl.

Spider heaved until the fluid was clear and wretched until there was nothing left but spit and drainage to justify his presence at the bowl. Wade held him through it, rubbing his back, neck, and anything else he could reach without displacing him from his lap.

"Oh god," Spider begged after a particularly strenuous heave, "just let me black out."

He didn't black out, though.

When it was finally done, he fell back in Wade's arms, deadweight, and crying. Cold sick and drainage clung to his face in globules while the remains of the first heave had ruined his costume. Wade divested him as efficiently as he could, throwing the soiled spandex away before he carried him to the large shower.

There, he set the small man on the floor and turned on the water, dropping the hand-held showerhead so that it sprayed against the wall, away from his lover.

Did we just say that word?

We did.

Aware of how Spider shivered and curled against the cold tile, Wade urged him to hold on for just a moment and ran to grab a fresh cloth and soap. When he returned, the water was running hot to the touch. After a few adjustments, once it was only warm, he went to work.

Spider hissed when the water splashed over him. Wade pulled the hose to full extension so he could easily rinse any part of Spider's body he needed to. The warmth seemed to help with the shakes and he began to relax from his tight curl. That is, all but the arm he'd thrown over his face, which he pressed against the wall.

Wade ground his teeth, but let it go for the moment. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Once Spider was warmed up and drenched, he lathered the cloth and began to wash him down.

He was as beautiful as his costume suggested. Rich olive skin and brown curls. Even flaccid, his cock was nearly as long as the width of Wade's hand. He took his time, reverently attending to every inch of flesh he could while his heart swelled every time Spider's body opened and yielded to him. Eventually, though, there was only one thing left to wash.

Silently, he ran his fingers down the arm hiding his face, "How's your head?"

"Better," he answered softly.

Wade nodded and swallowed, "You've no clue how much I want to thank you for tonight, right here and now, but I can't. Not until I have you cleaned up. I," he fumbled for the words, for anything that would break this last bond without breaking them, "I understand wanting to keep your life separate from what you do at the clubs. I get it. Maybe I'm stupid to hope I could be more than just part of the scene. I don't care who you are or what you do out of costume. I just…" He sighed and bowed his head, "I just want to get that shit off your face."

To his surprise, Spider laughed. It started out as a soft chuckle but it grew into a belly laugh and suddenly all the tension in the room vanished. He turned his head into his arm, but now Wade could see his smile.

"Just what exactly do you think I am, Honey Bottom? Some billionaire CEO? The current singer rock star, perhaps?"

Deadpool grinned, "I was thinking more the CEO's kid, but a rock star works as well. You are built like a dancer."

Spider snorted, "And you're built like a brick shithouse, Sugar Tits." He sighed and let his head rest back against the wall, upper face buried in the crook of his arm. "I'm not really all that interesting. Rather lame, actually."

"I very much doubt that." Wade shifted his soaked leg to the side so he could sit on the shower floor.

"You'd be the only one." Spider pursed his lips a second then released his breath in a rush, "Fine. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Elsewise, I'ma shoo you out and cut some holes in one of your towels."

Wade fidgeted, "I don't think-."

"It's a one-time offer, Hun. Take it or leave it."

"Fine," Wade snapped back, harsher than he intended, "Just remember you asked for it."

Spider smiled, "So did you."

Reluctantly, Wade pulled the Velcro on his mask and let it fall away. A moment of silent shock and then que the screams in three, two…

When nothing happened, he looked up and gaped at the boyish, could-pass-for-sixteen face looking back at him.

"Parker?"

"Wade," he inclined his head and offered a sheepish smile, "Now that we're acquainted, do you think we could…" He indicated the crap on his face.

SSSS-

"That's what bothers you, isn't it?" Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced when he saw the stunned expression flash across Wade's face, "That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun."

Chapter Text

After they got Peter cleaned up, Wade fetched him some clothes – which looked like tents on him – and insisted on cooking and dosing him with painkillers. Peter wasn't sure how hungry he was yet, but the pancakes did smell good. As for the painkillers, they wouldn't touch the migraine if it came back. Still, he hadn't packed any of his medicine before coming over, making him shit-out-of-luck either way if it did re-surge, so he accepted the pills. They made Wade feel better anyway, and they might take the bleeding edge off.

"Spiderman told you, didn't he?" Wade asked suddenly, flipping a pancake.

"Spiderman told me what?"

"My name," Wade glanced back at him, "He did, didn't he?"

Peter rested his chin on his hands and smiled. "Actually, you did. Several times, in fact. I'm a journalist, Babe. You learn to notice that sort of thing. As for my suspicion that Deadpool and my mysterious savior were the same," Peter shrugged, "the doodle on your note to Spiderman was a pretty clear giveaway."

Wade slammed his utensil on the counter, making Peter jump. "And that's another thing," he rounded on Peter and braced on the counter separating them, "What the hell happened in that alley today? Yesterday? Whatever. My point is, with what I know you can do, you should've had those bastards laid out long before I got there."

Peter blinked at him and leaned back, resting his hands on the table, "I guess I can see how you'd think that, but there's a problem with that logic."

"Really?" Wade hiked up his non-existent eyebrows, "Because I'd really like to hear it."

"Wade," he spread out his hands with a small shake of his head, "I'm not a fighter. I never have been. Is it possible I could've taken them out? Yeah… I guess… but I've never been in a real fight before. Besides, for argument's sake, let's say I did knock them out. What then?"

Wade looked like he was trying to pass a brick. "What do you mean, 'what then'?"

"I mean, I couldn't kill them. Maybe you've noticed what I can do looks an awful lot like what Spiderman does. If these people – or god forbid myboss– start thinkingI'm Spiderman… I'm fucked."

"So you'd rather risk your life than take a fucking," Wade shoved off the counter, "Never mind asking Spiderman to settle the matter once it's brought up. You two are obviously buddy-buddy. Shit." He dumped the seared pancake in the trash and turned off the heat.

Peter said nothing as Wade busied himself in the kitchen, staring at the wood grain on the table and hugging himself. The plate of pancakes dropping onto the table startled him. Wade slammed condiments and utensils down and then dropped in the chair across from him with his own plate in hand. His lover proceeded to tuck in with a single-minded determination.

Would they still be lovers after today? Were they ever? It seemed plain that Wade was thoroughly disgusted by him. Perhaps he should just go.

"Eat."

"Huh?"

He jabbed his sticky fork at Peter's plate, "Eat. After the night you've had, you need the calories."

'The nightI'vehad?'

He sat up and cut a little wedge off the stack, but he just wasn't hungry anymore.

"Are you for real?" Wade asked when he set his fork down. Peter looked up at him, and immediately wished he hadn't. Wade's scowl deepened, "You're seriously giving me the kicked dog treatment? After everything you've done?"

Peter clenched his teeth and stood, "EverythingI'vedone? Well excuse me, Mr. laboring under the delusion that whatwedid was mutually consenting. However, seeing as I was wrong, Ihumblybeg your forgiveness and will see myself out. Good night, Sir." Shoving the chair out of his way, Peter headed for the door.

Wade got up and followed him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"The hell you are," he grabbed Peter's arm and spun him around; "It's the middle of the fucking night. You're not going anywhere."

"Why the hell not?" Peter shouted back, getting into the man's face, "You've made it perfectly clear. I should be capable of taking care of myself."

"I know youcan'ttake care of yourself," spittle flew from his lips, "If you could, I would never have needed to rescue you."

"And that's what bothers you, isn't it?" Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced when he saw the stunned expression flash across Wade's face, "That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun."

"It doesn't make sense. I've seen you fight. You fought the first night you came here."

"You mean when you pulled the gun? I was fucking terrified," he shoved Wade in the chest, "That idiot bartender had already been putting bugs in your ear. As soon as I declared myself Spiderman, I knew if you believed it, even for an instant, I was dead. As for the fighting, you remember I didn't 'fight back' until after you'd emptied the gun in front of me. I have no chance of winning against you in a real fight, and I know it."

The two of them ended up standing toe to toe with each other, breathing the same air and staring into each other's eyes. Wade's nostrils flared and his lips pursed, but there was no ready come back, as Peter had expected there to be. Instead, he just continued to stare at him, but damn it, this time Peter wasn't going to back down. He knew what he was and he wasn't going to apologize for it again. If Wade couldn't handle it, it was his loss.

"I think you severely underestimate yourself, Parker," he said at last.

Peter sighed, and relaxed, "You're entitled to your opinion." The two of them continued to stand there and stare until they both began to fidget. "So… What now?" Peter asked.

"I don't know," Wade huffed and scratched the back of his head, "I still owe you from tonight." He looked down at Peter, "But right now I think I want to finish breakfast. We both burnt a lot of calories, but you more so than me."

Peter shifted his weight with a snort and planted a hand on his hip, "How do you figure?"

Wade grinned, "Easily. All I had to do was hang there, while you were climbing up and down and all around those things." He waved for Peter to follow. "That's some pretty impressive stamina, by the way. I don't think I ever saw you break a sweat."

Peter smiled, "Flattery will get you nowhere, but by all means, keep trying." They shared a knowing smile and sat back at the table.