"Come back to bed, sweet lips," Wade murmured softly, one eye flicking as he watched his lover shuffling around his apartment, bare assed and sporting a sexy pair of bruises on his hips in just the shape of his fingers. He grinned to himself, knowing that days from now, when he was away on his mission, Peter would press his hands to those bruises and get off.

'Oh yeah, that boy is so whipped,' yellow said, and Wade internally rolled his eyes at the box. It was too kinky for its own good.

"I will in a minute…oooh, what's this then?" Peter murmured, picking up one of Wade's smaller guns, caressing the barrel of it with his slim, soft fingers. Wade felt himself gulp. That was unexpectedly sexy.

"It's dangerous and little boys shouldn't play with it," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Peter narrowed his eyes at him anyway, and Wade felt his grin widening.

"Little boy, hmm?" Peter said, his eyes narrowing as he intentionally pointed the gun at Wade, his blue eyes diamond hard. "I guess I wouldn't know anything about this model 442 Smith and Wesson revolver, or its .38 caliber rounds and aluminum alloy frame and carbon steel cylinder, or its five round capacity."

Wade gulped. He didn't know Peter had known the first thing about guns, and seeing the slim super hero with one of his personal favorites in his long-fingered hand was…hot. So very hot.

'Dude, yellow is a bad influence on you,' white murmured in the back of his head, but he ignored the box as the metallic click of Peter, his Peter, cocking the small revolver had his over worked cock twitching, and dammit peter had noticed.

The grin that crossed Spiderman's face was positively evil, and wasn't it illegal for superheroes to look so sinful? Peter stalked toward him with the gun still pointed at his chest, and fuck wouldn't it be hot if Peter actually shot him?

His thoughts stuttered to a stop as the cool metal off the barrel skidded across his thigh, and he swallowed hard.

I should be embarrassed at how hard I am right now, he thought to himself, and then ceased to think once again when Peter started to speak.

"You kinky bastard," he murmured, and his voice was low and dark and nothing like the usual high pitched whine he usually had whenever they were together in such an intimate setting, and Wade fucking loved it. "You're hard as a rock and I barely touched you; I thought you had self control, hmm? Surely you've got more than this little boy?"

Wade whimpered, and his hips arched up, his cock leaking and aching, and damn he just needed Peter to touch him, preferably with the gun, and fuck he would never admit it but he would probably cum if Peter shot him right now…

"You'd let me fuck you with this gun, wouldn't you?" Peter asked, and dragged the tip of the gun along Wade's balls, and the mercenary's legs fell open and he whimpered again, his hands twisting in the bed sheets. "You don't care that it's loaded, do you? You just want to feel it on you, in you. The danger gets you off, doesn't it? I bet you want me to shoot you, don't you?"

Wade couldn't form coherent thoughts, because that gun was tantalizing him in a way he didn't know he could be tantalized and fuck he was so close, so far gone…

He screamed when Peter thrust the barrel of the small gun into his hole, feeling it tear him and his healing factor kicking in to immediately repair the damage.

"So good…so good," he babbled, arching his hips up, and he suddenly knew why Peter always begged for this, it was so good, so much, too much, and he was too far gone to care about his reputation as an Untoppable Seme, too far gone to care if Stryker or Nathan showed up to see him being ass fucked with a gun by his teenage lover. All there was in him was heat and pleasure and his nerves were on fire like they usually only were when he was in the middle of a fight where he was outnumbered ten to one.

'The author definitely did a number on him this time,' white thought blandly, and shit, there went that pesky fourth wall, but Wade was too close to the edge to even pretend he gave a shit about his non-reality because if this wasn't real, right now, he didn't know what was.

He heard the tell-tale click of a trigger being pulled, and he arched up, his back close to breaking, as the white-hot fire of the gunshot and his orgasm tore through him with cataclysmic force. The waves rolled through him and through him, and it was all he could do to just hold on to the last shreds of his self.

When he finally came back down from his high, the shot had healed and Peter was nuzzled into his chest. His breath came in pants and he looked at his lover, entirely too boneless to move anything other than his head.

"Wow," he said when he caught his breath enough to form words.

"I'll second that. Do you have any idea how hot that was?" Peter murmured, kissing his scarred throat.

"If it's half as hot as when you dress up like a French made and beg for my cock, then yeah, I have an idea," Wade said, regaining a bit of his usual snark, but it was slow in coming. It was hard to be an asshole when you'd just had the most amazing orgasm of your life.