A vision came to him of Peter's legs in uniform, clamped down on that scumbag's neck – the one who split Puppy's lip. There'd be a delicious twist of his hips and the neck would snap.

Chapter Text

Wade shoved Peter against the wall, tongues wrestling like two women in a slick mud pit. Peter dug his nails into Wade's back, and he swore his spider was dragging bloody trenches with them. Not that he minded. It was hot and rough and damn this kid didn't know his own strength. It's the only thing that made sense. How else could this puppy not realize how dangerous he was?

As he pulled his lover's legs up around his waist, he imagined Peter donning a uniform of his own. No longer would he live out a power fantasy in Spiderman's shadow. Instead, he'd take his place in the landscape of heroes and villains.

He swept his tongue across Peter's upper lip, now devoid of any hint of the nasty split that had been there not twelve hours ago. 'A healing factor,' he thought as he yanked Peter's head to the side by his hair and clamped his mouth over his jugular, 'my boy has a healing factor.'

Peter gasped and cried out when Wade sucked and bit down, squeezing his hips between those vice-like legs and humping him through the soft fluff of their sweat pants. He dwelled on those legs, the strength with which they jumped, the heights he'd seen them reach, the way they stuck impossible landings with perfect poise and balance.

A vision came to him of those legs in uniform, clamped down on that scumbag's neck – the one who split Puppy's lip. There'd be a delicious twist of his hips and the neck would snap, but it wouldn't end there. The twist accelerated into a full rotation and that bulbous, pea-brained head popped clean off. Caught in the crook of Peter's foot, it hurled through the air like a soccer ball to meet its ultimate end as mashed potatoes against the wall. Pan back to Peter as he swings his legs around to rest on them, blood raining down from the man's spurting neck.

Oh god, yes. Deadpool wore red so the enemy couldn't see him bleed. Peter's would be red from the blood of his enemies.

He was grinding Peter into the wall, their cocks punishing each other through cotton while they both cried out and clawed at the other's clothes.

More. Wade needed more!

Fisting his hands into Peter's ass, he hauled them off the wall and threw them on the bed, "I'm gonna fuck you, Peter," he promised and bit down on his lover's shoulder, drawing blood and thrilling with Peter's arching back and scream of abandon. "I'm gonna fuck you into this bed, then the floor and then the window. I'm gonna show all of New York your pretty ass and paint the glass white with your lust."

For just a moment, Peter's vice-like grip on his hips went slack. That was all he needed. With decisive action, he tore the sweat pants from his hips and ripped it off his legs. Catching an ankle, he twisted his puppy onto his stomach and dragged him to the edge of the bed.

"Wade," Peter's wanton cry thrilled across every fiber of his miserable being. A quick adjustment to his grip and he pinned Peter's heel to his ass. Into his other hand he spat and began to slick himself. "Wade, wait! I can't-."

"You will, Petey," he growled and positioned himself, glans pressed against Peter's tight little hole.

"Yellow!"

Something clicked inside Wade's head and he stopped just short of his thrust to bury himself in Peter's ass.

"Yellow, Wade! Wait, please."

His voice… that touch of panic.

The vision of that red-spandexed, incubus, vigilante, devil spawn of a partner burst, leaving him with wide, brown, doe-eyes looking back at him over his shoulder. The sudden transition had the effect of ice-cold water, but only for a moment and then the ice warmed to a steaming simmer.

"What is it, Petey boy?" he asked in a wrecked whisper and pressed his palm to the small of Peter's back beneath his shirt.

Peter gasped and let his head drop to the mattress, panting. Wade scraped his nails down the boy's silky spine, drinking in the strangled sound he made as he arched his shoulders and threw back his head. "Come on, Sugar Tits. Use your words." He continued scratching him down over his ass until he could press his palm to the cleft between the moons and probe Uranus with his thumb.

Peter whimpered and tried to buck back, but Wade still held him pinned by his ankle against his bottom. "Wade, I can't… I mean, I haven't…" Wade pressed down, dipping the pad of his thumb into the boy's hole while sliding Peter's heel down across his pale cheek until it dug into his hip bone, where at last he felt the muscles and tendons begin to strain.

"Gaa!" Peter's hands scrambled for purchase. "That's far enough," he managed to get out between gasps, "Any more… and you'll pop my knee out of joint."

"Good to know," Wade smiled and watched Peter squirm as he dipped his thumb into that ring of tight muscle and withdrew, "But this is more than plenty. I've got you immobilized, haven't I? You haven't twitched your hips once since I turned you over, and I can see that pretty cock of yours weeping over the sheets." Oh god that whine of his did such wonderful things to him. "I've got you right where I want you, at my mercy. From here, I can do whatever I want to you and you're powerless to stop me, aren't you Baby Boy?"

He slipped his thumb in to the first knuckle and held it there while Peter cried into the mattress.

"But you called 'yellow', didn't you, Baby? That means go slow until you've said your peace. Believe me, I can go veryslowly." He moved his thumb in a shallow circle to rub against all sides of Peter's sphincter. Peter's body contracted and he turned his head to gasp and cry out. "I can do this as long as you want, Pete. As long as it takes you to find your voice."

"Please." Peter's voice was wrecked, the word drawn out and tenuous, like a violin string.

"Please, what? I need you to use your words, Pete."

"Please," he whimpered, and then gasped as Wade completed another orbit with his thumb, "I can't! I mean, I've never been… Not like this."

Wade pressed his thumb to one side and watched the man before him tremble like a leaf caught in the storm, "Not like what, Baby Boy? You can tell Daddy. Daddy promises, he won't make you feel bad."

Peter whined and Wade swore he saw tears shine in his eyes, "Daddy…" His voice came out pitched, uncertain, and fucking childlike, "I've never had a boyfriend, Daddy." Wade sucked his breath in through his teeth, and praised Thor there was nothing touching his cock or he'd have come right then.

"Too scared to come out of the closet," Peter continued. Shit, Wade could see his eyes clouding over, was literally watching the headspace take hold. "Monsters aren't in the closet, Daddy. They're everywhere else. Watching me, all the time. They hurt me. They hurt MJ too. She hid with me, but they found us and…" His voice broke down into a dry sob.

Peter was crying. Fucking tears wet the bed.

Where are they? The yellow voice in his mind screamed bloody murder, I'll kill them. I'll fucking murder all of them!

We will, White voice answered. Normally white was cool and calm, but now it seared with white-hot rage, But first, the boy.

Wade released the ankle and clamped his hand around the base of Peter's neck, praying the grip that so effortlessly grounded him would ground Peter now. "There are no monsters here, Sweet Boy. Just you and your Daddy. Listen to Daddy. Papa knows best. I promise, I'll protect you. The monsters will never, ever hurt you again."

Peter's chin quivered. Tears streamed unchecked when he closed his eyes. He jerked his head in a nod, but when he drew breath, it came out a broken keen.

Shit.

Wade climbed onto the bed and pulled Peter up with him. He threw his back against the headboard while the boy sprawled across his chest and stomach. "It's okay, Baby boy. I'm here. Daddy's right here. He's not going anywhere."

It was like pulling a stopper. Peter completely broke down and his screams filled the room. Wade could've bathed in his tears. He clung to Wade like a lifeline and the only thing Wade could do was wrap his body around the man and squeeze until the migraine returned and wiped him out.

SSS-

The sun was well into the sky when Peter came to. Damn.

His muscles trembled when he pulled the sheet off his body. Shit.

He ached all over and his skin felt like it was crawling with fire ants. Cold sweat soaked the mattress and his stomach ran through convulsions, warming up for the main event.

The thick rug was sandpaper on the soles of his feet. Peter gripped the edge of the bed and focused on breathing until he felt the world had sufficiently settled from its swirling dance.

He needed his medication.

The act of standing was enough to tempt his migraine. The cold tile on his feet raked across his nerves. He felt the impact of every stumbling step in his bones, and it incited the blinding throb in his head.

"Wade," he spoke softly as he reached the threshold, but his voice was a scream in his ears.

He found Wade at the table, computer open, a glass of liquor in his hand. Peter leaned on the doorframe. Sweat dribbled down his neck and legs, soaking the shirt Wade had given him.

Wade looked up and, seeing him, swore. He slammed his laptop closed and rushed to him, catching Peter's outstretched hand and holding him upright, "Peter, what's wrong? Dear God, you're freezing. What happened?"

Peter leaned too far and fell against his lover's chest, "Take me home, Wade. I need my medicine. I need…"

"Fuck that shit! I'm taking you to a hospital. Now."

"No," Peter gripped his arm and heard Wade hiss, "Home. I just missed some meds. That's all."

"Fucking hell, Pete. What kind of shit are you on?"

"Wade."

"I heard you," the world spun when Wade swept up his feet and carried him back to the bed. "But if you don't clear up, and I mean soon, I am taking you to the emergency room."

The next half-hour or so rolled by in a haze as Wade dressed him and called a cab. He remembered reciting the address at one point, but he didn't truly rouse until he heard Dance with My Father ring on a 30-second loop near his feet.

Drunkenly, he fumbled for the sound when Wade caught his hand. He lost his balance as Wade bent forward, his body leaning heavily on his lover's. Then his dirty old backpack appeared on his lap and Wade pulled him back against his chest, his arm wrapped around Peter's shoulders.

Peter fumbled with the zipper. By the time he found the old flip phone at the bottom of the sack, he'd missed the call. He waited. Sure enough, the song started up again. The little screen on the front read simply, 'Ben.'

Resting his head against Wade's shoulder, he flipped it open with a shaking hand and answered, "I'm here."

"Where are you?" The old man's voice sounded concerned.

"On my way home. I'm, uh," he shifted his weight against Wade's side, "Bringing company."

"Wade Wilson?"

Peter blinked and frowned, "Yes. How did you know?"

"Pass him the phone. I've been trying to reach him all night."

"Why?" Peter leveraged an arm against the seat and sat up, "What do you want with him? He's nothing to do with this."

"Not according to Spiderman. Please hand him the phone."

"Okay," he frowned and then looked up at Wade's concerned scowl.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"Graveside," he held out the phone, "He wants to speak with you. Something about Spiderman."

"Graveside?" Wade's brow pinched, "Never heard of him." He grabbed the phone from Peter's hand, "Who the fuck is this?"

Peter tried to sit up straight, to brace his arms against the seat, but Wade just pulled him back against his chest. "Color me unimpressed, Old Man," Wade informed Graveside and paused, "Uh-huh… whatever… No. I'm not about to hand over my private phone number to some old geezer who-." He suddenly took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. "That bastard hung up on me!"

A second later, I'm Not Here for Your Entertainment started vibrating in Wade's pocket. "What the hell?" He pulled out his phablet and glared at the caller id, 'Unknown Number.' He ended the call. A second later, Unknown Number appeared on the screen again.

By the fifth time, Peter huffed at him, "Just answer him. He's not going to let up now that he knows he has your attention."

"Fine," Wade groused and connected the call, "You better have a damn good explanation for this. How did you get this number?"

Peter caught Ben's derogatory reference to Wade's computer skills before the migraine started to peak and he tuned out the rest of the conversation.

"Got it," Wade shifted against him later, "Understood. He wants to talk to you, Babe." He held the phone to Peter's ear.

"M'here," he slurred.

"You're about ten minutes from the apartment," Ben informed him in crisp tones, "Do not stay there. Get what you need and head to ground. Spiderman's kicked up a hornet's nest and will be dealing with it for the next few days. Until the situation is resolved, the apartment and surrounding neighborhood are not safe."

Peter managed to push up higher on Wade's chest, "What about the Bugle?"

"I've settled it. Your new camera will be delivered when it's safe for you to return. Until then, Spiderman has enlisted Wade Wilson as your guardian. Seems to think the mercenary is trustworthy."

Peter glanced up at Wade, "I trust him."

"I hope so. Stay on your guard and don't draw attention to yourself. Above all else, do not miss your medication again. If you should succumb, then the whole operation is lost. Understood?"

Peter nodded, "I understand. I'm sorry."

"Take care of yourself, Peter. I'll be in touch." The phone went dead.

Wade paid the driver to sit tight and wait for them. Then, with Peter's arm slung over his shoulders and his arm around Peter's waist, they made their way to the apartment.

The building didn't look like much at all. In fact, it looked rather like an old factory. Antiquated mason work needed repair, and the narrow windows were cloudy with age. It was obviously a cheap retrofit job and he'd bet his hat that the housing inside was barely up to legal standards, if at all. Management hardly put forth any effort into presenting the illusion of greenery, what with the faux flowerpots and browning grass. Old cars dotted the parking lot and he could see the curtains shift in the drafts higher up the building.

Housing for degenerates.

'Remind me later to ask Peter why he's living in a shithole like this.'

Noted.

Don't worry, Good Lookin'. You're not the only one who wants to know.

That settled, he put the thought from his mind. It had been a long time since he'd pulled bodyguard duty. The thought of following some lame VIP around, waiting for someone to attack, had very little appeal. He much preferred to go for the throat and be done with it.

Only this time, Peter was the VIP and Spiderman was his employer. Oh, how things had changed.

'I'll have to jump on the vine later, and see what I can dig up about Spiderman's activities.'

Later. Right now, you have a job to do.

They came to Peter's door and he indicated the welcome mat. There was no way he was hiding his key… Shit. Looking round, Wade left Peter leaning on the wall, fetched the key, and ushered them inside.

Peter stumbled through the dank space to the rickety bed three feet away, where he collapsed, shaking.

There was no living room. The front door opened onto his bed. Threadbare clothes hung from a rod on the opposite wall. Old pizza boxes and refuse from half-a-dozen other takeout joints piled on the floor or overflowed from bags in what passed itself off as a kitchenette. The ancient refrigerator made this horrible racket and moldy dishes piled around the sink.

There were rats living better than this. He, personally, had dwelled in his share of shit holes back in the day. Granted, a few of them managed to top this, but only a few.

Um, what happened to all the money he makes stripping?

'Add it to the list.'

"Okay, Petey," he checked the door one last time, then perched on the mattress and brushed back Peter's sweat-soaked hair, "In and out. What do we need? Where's your medicine?"

Peter was zoned out pretty bad, but he managed to look up to the only other doorway in the place and point. Wade gave his shoulder a brief squeeze and then went to investigate the… toilet room. He couldn't even call it a bathroom. A showerhead came right out of the wall and drained through a hole in the floor. Lovely.

His phone rang again. Unknown number. "What?"

"There's a stack of plastic drawers in the bathroom," Graveside informed him in clinical tones, "Peter's next round of medication is in the green, week-long medicine box. Once he's taken it, pack the rest of his medicine and some clothes in a bag and get out of there."

"How the hell do you know where he keeps his fucking medication?" Wade demanded.

Graveside snorted, "I'm disappointed. I'd have thought you'd be able to figure that out on your own, Mr. Pool." The line went dead.

"Damn cock sucker." Wade shoved the phone in his pocket, found the medicine box – nearly overflowing with pills. He wasted the next five minutes finding a glass fit to drink out of and clean it. Seven minutes later, they were back at the cab, bag over one shoulder and Peter over the other, having passed out soon after taking his medicine.

"Don't ask questions," Wade shoved some money at the driver as soon as he was in, "Just drive."

With Peter laid across his lap, he spent the ride back with his fingers to his boy's pulse, waiting for the color to return to his cheeks.

SSSS-

Leaning forward, Peter nipped at Wade's finger, and, encouraged by the second hiss, lapped at the digit. Rolling his eyes up to meet Wade's, he sucked the fingers and traced the edges of his hand with his lips. When he could feel the passage of Wade's breath against his face, he bent down to take the capsules straight from the man's hand.

Chapter Text

Peter woke to rough callouses stroking his cheek. He was tucked into the firm, king-sized bed. The now familiar space of the loft loomed around him. The curtains were drawn, leaving only a trail of sunlight on the floor.

There was Wade, lounging on the bed behind him, computer propped up on his lap. He watched, pensive, while Peter took stock of himself, testing the strength of his muscles against the weight of the sheet to see how they responded. The sheet felt like it was made of lead. Rolling over was a chore, and his brain felt like it was made of mud. The pain was still there, but it was masked with a veil of narcotics that gave everything just a little extra sheen.

"You look better," Wade said at last, grazing his knuckles along Peter's jaw, "How do you feel?"

Peter groaned and turned his head into Wade's touch, "Fuzzy."

Wade pulled a half-hearted smile, shut his computer, and tossed it onto the foot of the bed, "Well, Fuzzy, I've been informed it's time to take your medicine again." Kicking his feet, he rolled off the bed and fetched back a glass of water.

"Mm," Peter dragged his arm back to push onto his elbow, "What time is it?"

"Just after two," he pulled the sheet down off Peter's shoulders and crawled onto the mattress beside him. Peter waited as he dumped the afternoon's pills into a mound on his palm and then offered them with the water. "What the hell is this stuff anyway, Pete?"

Still fuzzy, Peter glanced up at him and offered a wry smile, "It's what's keeping me alive." Wade hissed through his teeth. Peter knew on a certain level what the sound really meant, but amidst the fuzz, it brought to mind something else.

Leaning forward, he nipped at one of Wade's fingers, and, encouraged by the second hiss, lapped at the digit. Rolling his eyes up to meet Wade's, he sucked the fingers and traced the edges of his hand with his lips. When he could feel the passage of Wade's breath against his face, he bent down to take the capsules straight from the man's hand. With each pass of his tongue, he picked them up and then arched his neck to drink from the glass tipped by Wade's hand.

With the last of them gone, he buried his face in that life-giving hand. He licked every inch of it until the last trace of medicine was gone and there was just Wade. He heard the faint clink of the glass and then felt the other scarred hand in his hair and around his neck.

"Come on, Babe. If you're well enough for this, you're well enough to shower. Then it's time to eat."

Peter chuckled and listed into Wade's arms, "Think you might be overestimating me." He grinned lazily up at him.

Wade returned the gesture with a snort and a short shake of his head, "You're orbiting Jupiter right now, aren't you? How do you function if you take this shit every day?"

Peter snuggled closer, forcing Wade to give in and lay down beside him, "Meds are out of balance," he mumbled into Wade's chest, "Missed a couple rounds. I take the rough shit right before I sleep. Knocks me into the ground. Suppose getting high pulls me back up. Don't know. Not the doctor."

"So there is a doctor?"

Peter nodded, "Graveside found him. Spider vetted him. It's all good."

"Why would Graveside need to find you a doctor?" Peter groaned when Wade cupped his hand around his face and turned it up to look at him, "I need to know, Babe. What's going on?"

Peter grinned and cooed at him, "No fair. You're tryin' to take advantage o' the high guy." He brushed a finger across Wade's nose and giggled.

"Come back down, Pete. You're flying too high. I won't be able to reach you."

Peter giggled again, "You're silly. Got a string around my ankle. Jus' hold on an' we fly together, go wee."

"All right, Baby boy," Wade snaked his arm under Peter's neck and pulled him close, "I got your string. I won't let you go anywhere."

Peter woke up sometime that evening, hung-over, and feeling as if he labored under a pile of bricks. Wade wasn't in the bed this time, but he heard the feverish clicking of a keyboard through the open door. Dragging the covers off, he planted his feet on the ground. A glance in the mirror showed he was bearing the nude, but right then he couldn't conjure the will to care. Slowly, he rose and lumbered toward the door.

Wade was right where he expected him to be, typing away at the table. The only thing different about this picture was the pile of crumpled food wrappers and the burrito he held in his mouth. His stomach gurgled as if it was about to turn inside out.

"Don't suppose there's anything left?" he mumbled as he drug out a chair, turned it around, and straddled it.

Wade looked up like he'd been startled, and then he couldn't look away until Peter pushed back his fringe and caught his eye, "Check with me again in a couple hours, Sweet Cheeks. Right now," he pointed to the bag of Mexican food, "Are there any scraps to be had, or do I need to order my own food?"

Wade glanced guiltily at the bag, and then, with obvious reluctance, took the burrito out of his own mouth and offered it.

"My prince," Peter accepted it with both hands. He meant to at least try to appear casual, but as soon as the meaty filling touched his pallet, his body informed him it hadn't eaten since god awful early this morning and it was ravenous. Before he knew it, the last of the tortilla shell was gone and he was lapping up the juices from his hands.

"I'm glad to see your appetite's returned."

Peter blushed when he realized Wade was watching him and ducked his head, looking away, "Thanks."

"You better be," Wade grinned, "I gave up one of my sacred burritos for you. That doesn't happen to just anyone."

Peter smiled, "I'm honored. I don't…" he glanced at the bag, "There's no more left, is there?"

"Baby, I'll get you whatever take-out you want. Whatcha cravin'?" He picked up his phone and entered the unlocking code.

"I don't know," he admitted, "Everything? Chinese?"

Wade called in their order and then set the phone on the table. "Suppose we need to clean up then," he made a sweeping grab for the greasy wrappers, "You think you can get those down?" Wade indicated the silks, "Seems to me they're just too damn useful to leave up there."

Peter agreed. "Unfortunately, the way I'm feeling right now, I probably wouldn't get three feet off the ground before falling on my ass."

Wade stopped and looked at him, "Is it the headache again?"

"Nah," he shook his head and pushed off the chair, "Just the usual evening crash. Ben hasn't called again, has he?"

Wade blinked at him, "Ben?"

"Graveside. I call him Ben. Looks weird for a reporter to be getting phone calls from someone that sounds like a super villain."

"Ah," his lover nodded, then pursed his lips. "How do you know he's not, with a name like that? I mean, Graveside? As a name, what the fuck does that even mean?"

"I don't know," Peter shrugged, "I always interpreted it as, like, he sits by the graves to keep us from falling in? He can't exactly get out into the field anymore, not like you or Spiderman do?"

Wade grunted as he finished sweeping the Mexican debris into the bag, "You'd be surprised what wizened old men can still do."

Peter grinned, "Speaking from experience, Sugar Tits?"

"I will spank that shiny bottom, Mr. Parker."

"Promises," he gave his left cheek a playful smack, "I'm gonna hit the showers. Be out in a few."

When the water was piping hot, Peter bowed his neck and let the spray beat against his head and shoulders. He was going to have to tell Wade soon. He couldn't keep hiding behind his drug-induced haze. No doubt, Ben would be calling his lover any time now to instruct him in Peter's next round of medication.

This round… Fuck the rounds that made him high. This next round was what made him feel alive, and made his performances as the Night Spider possible. There'll be nowhere left to hide once he took it.

"I don't want to live through it again," he mumbled into the wall.

"What was that, Babe?" Peter looked back to see Wade's silhouette through the marbled glass, pulling his shirt up over his head.

"Just wishin' I didn't have to wake up from this dream and deal with Jameson again."

"Is he the one who writes those god-awful lies about Spiderman?"

"He might as well be," Peter smiled when Wade's hand appeared on the glass and the door slid open, "He's the editor in chief. Nothing prints without crossing his desk."

"Is that a fact?" Wade grinned, shutting the door before stepping into the spray, arms braced on the tile wall to either side of Peter. "Good to have a name to put to the crime. Makes things easier when I decide to deal with the perpetrator."

Peter felt his heart quicken as he looked up at the man standing over him. Of course, he knew the scarring covered every inch of him, but after his pleas to keep the spandex, he didn't expect to see him like this.

"Hello there, Sexy," he trailed his fingers down Wade's chest, over his navel, down to cradle the heavy balls dangling behind his rod, "You've been thinking about me."

Wade shook his head slightly to either side, "Oh Baby, I haven't thought of anything else all day." He bent down for a sweet kiss and then reached for the soap. "Half that time, all I could think about was how amazing last night was, and how I still haven't repaid you for it."

Peter sighed, "I'm not keeping score, Wade, I-." He stopped with Wade's finger on his lips.

"You may not be, but I am. I want to." He stepped in closer, crowding Peter against the wall, and smiled, "You're not the only one who likes to make people squirm." He bent down for another kiss, parting Peter's lips with his tongue before reaching for his tonsils. While Peter moaned, he heard a plastic click. The shower stopped and a rough hand splayed across his chest, slick and warm.

Wade slathered him with naught but his bare hands, groping and scratching, digging into the muscle and ghosting over Peter's skin until he felt high all over again. While Peter clung to the wall, he knelt and massaged his hips, his thighs, and calves. When Wade made him turn around, Peter almost cursed in frustration. Then his lover was working his shoulders, digging his heels' and elbows into the tight muscles until Peter forgot everything else but to push back into the merc's hands.

Those hands worked slowly down his spine until, quite suddenly, he had a handful of cheek in each hand, and Peter forgot how to breathe.

"Easy, Baby Boy," he soothed when Peter pushed back into his grasp, "Daddy's gonna take care of you."

Peter's voice came out a whimpering mew and his face burned when he felt that sharp pull in his mind that had wrecked him the night before.

"You like it, don't you, Boy?" Wade's voice was sex incarnate as he fondled Peter's ass and slid his thumbs down the crack, "You like it when your Daddy takes care of you."

Peter bit down on the whine and pushed his hips back when he felt Wade's thumbnail scrap across his hole. Every time he said that word, he yanked harder on that string in his mind that made him feel small.

"Go on, Son."

Peter sobbed. He hadn't heard that word in years, and the thought of what Wade could do to him with that one syllable terrified him.

"Tell your Daddy how you feel." Thumb slick with soap, Wade slipped the digit inside his hole and cradled his balls in the other.

Peter almost collapsed, and had to cling to the walls and floor to keep from falling on his lover's face. He couldn't let it happen again. Last night, Wade caught him off guard, but now… He tried to blink back the tears, to pull back on the string that drew him down. He couldn't regress like that again. He couldn't.

Still, Wade continued to tease his hole and fondle his balls. He ghosted his finger over his sack until every nerve from Peter's head to his toes lit up like stars, only to grasp him and roll his testicles, separating them and bringing them back together again.

Before long, literally the only thing holding Peter upright was his ability to cling, and even that gave way along with his resistance to the drawing string.

"I've got you, Baby Boy," Wade caught him around the waist and eased him to the floor, "Daddy's got you."

There was no stopping the gasping cry then, as Wade drew him back against his chest. He was undone.

"Come on, Son," Wade's voice hummed low in his ear, "Tell me what's going on inside that head of yours."

Peter jumped and bucked his hips when Wade's hand wrapped around his throbbing member and began to leisurely stroke back and forth along its length.

"Wade," he sobbed, "Please."

He started when Wade growled against his ear, "Who am I?"

"Wade, I-."

"Who am I, Boy?"

A last gleaming star appeared before Peter's eyes. He could stop this. He could make it stop right now. Then the string spoke, using a voice all too familiar.

But you don't want it to.

Wade pressed his lips against his ear. "Color for me, Son," The arm tightened around his waist, "Paint me a color on the wall."

"I like green, Daddy," Peter felt the flush burn up his face when heard the tiny little voice come out of his mouth, tiny, like how he felt. "Green's my favorite color."

He felt Wade's breath rush across his shoulder and thought the arm might strangle him before he began to fondle Peter's little soldier again.

"It's my favorite too," he kissed the skin behind Peter's ear, "Let's paint the walls together."

Peter gasped and arched against Wade's chest as his fist began to glide up and down his cock. Without thinking, he grabbed Wade's arm and thigh, not ever wanting to let go. The first time Wade tried to shift, he knew he'd done it. He couldn't move, couldn't separate his skin from Wade's. Everywhere they touched – save the soapy motion of his hand – they had fused together as Peter clung to every part of Wade he could.

"Oh God, Peter. How?" Wade groaned in his ear, and Peter realized there was another ball of tension knotting beside his own. It wasn't his. It was like watching one of Tony's holograms work next to the real thing, but it was there and it was bright.

The harder Wade pumped him, the brighter it became. The two of them moved together, thrusting in time until, at last, they painted the walls with Peter's brush, while Wade's spilled out behind him.

SSS-

"It's not over yet," Peter told him quietly, kissing their fused hands, "I haven't given up. I won't give up, not until it's over."

Chapter Text

Wade paid the delivery boy with a tip and sent him on his way. At the counter behind him, Peter finished washing down his next round of medication.

He hadn't said anything to Peter yet about the conversation he wanted to have, but by his lover's silence, he already knew.

Do we really have to have this conversation now? I wanna know what the fuck happened in the shower.

The boy had better start dealing answers out all around.

Wade ignored the voices and laid out the food while Peter moved the electronics aside. The silence stretched into the meal, but Wade decided he didn't mind so much. Peter was tucking in as if it was going to be his last meal.

That came out wrong.

Totally.

'You know what I mean. It looks like he's famished, not… like I'm about to cut him down.'

Wade picked at his food and sighed. His gaze slid over to the computer more often than he cared to think about. It was enough, apparently.

"So what have you been working on?" Peter asked, trying to make it sound like a casual, how-was-your-day, kind of question.

Wade sighed and set down his chopsticks, "I think you know that already."

Peter slowed, finished biting off his chow mein, and swallowed, "I guess it doesn't take a genius, does it?"

"No," Wade shifted, "Though apparently, you are one if your scores are to be believed."

Peter dropped his chopsticks in the box and pushed it aside, "Where do you want me to start?"

"Now there's a loaded question," Wade let his gaze roam the room: from the silks to the footlocker, the cell phone to his computer, from the homeless clothes to settle at last on the pillbox on the counter. "We'll start here." He pointed at the box, "What the fuck is this?"

Peter glanced at the medication and sighed. "Well," he tugged at his fingers and chewed on his lip, "I suppose that starts a little bit like this." He held up his hand and waved, "Hi, Everybody. My name is Peter Parker and I'm a mutant."

Wade snorted a short laugh and nodded, "Believe it or not, I actually figured that part out on my own."

Peter smiled as well. Then the expression became long and stretched, and Wade braced for the bad news. At least he thought he'd braced for it. He really tried. He just wasn't prepared to hear, "And I have cancer."

The room went cold. A black weight hit his stomach. He felt his face drain all its blood to parts hitherto undiscovered. "That's not funny, Parker."

"I know," he let his hands fall to the table. "I wish it were, but then I'd never have the gall to say it to you."

Feeling his heart begin to palpitate, Wade sat forward and breathed in through his clasped hands. Peter started to reach out for him, then stopped and waited. When he thought he had it under control, he asked the next question, one he desperately didn't want to ask, "How advanced is it?"

"Um."

'Dear god, Peter, please stop biting your lip like that.'

"It's," Peter sucked in a deep breath, looking pained, "Advanced enough to cause black-out migraines."

"FUCK!" he slammed his fists so hard against the table it split. Peter jumped but otherwise didn't move as Wade grabbed the chair beneath him and slammed it against the counter, shattering it. "God damn it!" He beat the counter then, screaming and pounding his fists against the marble until Peter placed a hand on his shoulder.

Wade whirled around and saw a flash of fear in Peter's beautiful eyes. Then he pulled the brat into his arms and squeezed for all he was worth. "No," he felt his voice break, and then he couldn't stop, "No, Please. Tell me it's not true. Tell me this is just a sick joke. Please. I can't do it. Oh god, I couldn't do it the first time. What makes you think I could do it again?"

His strength gave out and Peter's took over, bearing him gently to the floor while he cried like a little girl with her first broken heart. Arms around Peter's neck, he clung to him when his lover lifted him, bridal style, and tucked Wade's head beneath his chin as he moved them into the bedroom.

The bed received them both, and Peter climbed on top of him, covering his body with his weight. He began to pepper Wade's face with kisses, trying in vain to take away the tears. He caught Wade's hand and pressed it to the pillows over his head. In the span of a sob, Wade felt their hands become one, their skin fused together.

Another pain appeared next to his, a foreign pain that pressed up close. While Wade's pain was wild and flailing, this other was firm, resolute, and bore uncounted scars. When that other pain touched his, the two began to bleed together. He felt his pain become still and resolute. Above him, Peter strangled a cry while his tears dripped on Wade's shoulder.

They comforted each other with desperate abandon. When it was done, and they'd spent all they had to spend, they held each other close in the dark.

"It's not over yet," Peter told him quietly, kissing their fused hands, "I haven't given up. I won't give up, not until it's over."

Wade had heard this speech before. "Let me guess. This doctor came to you out of the blue, and promised he could cure your cancer if you'd just take this cocktail."

He sensed the quiver of Peter's doubt and ground his teeth.

"He didn't just appear out of nowhere. Graveside found him for me. We were already working together when I found out. Spiderman vetted him and-."

"Did you vet him?" Wade rolled onto his elbow to look down at him, "What do you actually know about this guy?"

"I-," Wade stopped him before he could say anything. The tells he sensed through this rogue power of Peter's told him everything he needed to know.

"Have you ever actually met this guy? What does he look like? Where did he get his doctorate? God damn it, Peter! Do you even know his name?"

"No," he broke the connection and sat up, "I don't. But I trust the people who brought him to me."

"Why?" Wade didn't mean to snap but realized he didn't care. He was going to get it through this kid's head what kind of reckless danger this sort of naiveté would get him into - had already gotten him in. "What have they done to earn your trust? I'm gonna ask you the same questions about Graveside, and you better damn well have a finer answer than this."

"He's Spiderman's friend. They've worked together for years, okay?" He shoved off the bed. Wade followed. "And no, before you ask," he rounded on Wade, "I've never seen Graveside. No one sees Graveside. That's the point. He's a specter. A ghost in the shadows. A watcher."

"Oh, he's a watcher all right." Wade snarled, "He's done a right fine job watching you. Did you know that he knew exactly where to find your medication in your apartment?"

There's the blanch. God, just once in his life he'd love to be wrong. "What are you talking about? I told you where to find the pills."

"You pointed me in the direction of your bathroom. He could tell me which plastic drawer they were in. Baby, the only way this guy could have that kind of knowledge about your apartment is if he'd been there."

Peter shook his head, the tension mounting in his face, "That's impossible. Why would he do that? There's no reason for it."

"People like Graveside always have a reason," Wade spat. "And what the hell makes you say it's impossible? You kept the key under the fucking doormat. Anyone with half a brain could waltz into that place."

Peter had no ready answer to give. Big surprise.

Still, it bugged him what Graveside said when he asked the man how he knew where Peter's medicine was.

"No," Peter said at last, "I don't believe Spiderman would-."

Struck with sudden realization, Wade clamped his hand over Peter's mouth and warned him with a glare and a finger to his lips to be quiet. Then, without another word, he shoved Peter's clothes at him and dragged him out the front door.

SSS-

Alertness begat alertness. Soon they were feeling each other's ticks almost in sync. Wade would sense something nearby and Peter would glance that way. The electric tingle tickled his neck, and Wade reached for his gun. Beneath it all, there was a mutual comfort, knowing beyond any doubt, someone had your back.

Chapter Text

Peter sat in the back seat of the cab with Wade's arm around his shoulders, fingers tracing his mouth. Every time he tried to ask his lover something, he'd cover his mouth and shush him.

The electric tingle that warned him of danger hadn't bothered him yet, but he could feel it lingering right beneath the surface.

What's more, when Wade had hailed the cab – by hand mind – he had Peter stay back so he could talk to the driver alone, then ushered him inside.

His heart was pounding. He didn't know where they were going or why. What's worse, he couldn't shake the sick feeling that Wade was right about the others. He really knew nothing about this doctor. He'd only ever communicated with him via e-mail. Then there was Graveside. He thought he could trust Graveside. Spiderman worked with him for years and had nothing but the highest regard for the man.

There had to be a reason for this. Some kind of explanation. There had to be!

Wade rapped on the plastic divider. The Taxi pulled over and let them out. Wade paid him without a word and sent him on his way.

The driver had dropped them off at the corner of 42nd and 10th avenue, by an old hotel called the Travel Inn. He was about to ask what they were doing here when Wade grabbed his hand and started walking.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter clung to his hand. Wade stopped as soon as the fusion took effect and looked back at him. Wade's fear appeared beside his own, which surprised Peter. He could tell his lover was intent on something, but afraid? Wade stepped back to him and squeezed his hand. Their fears touched and some of Wade's angry determination bled into his, while he saw his own frightened uncertainty flit across his face.

Then, something different happened. Wade's fear hardened and spread a shell of unwavering determination over Peter's until they both stood resolutely against the unknown. When Wade turned back down the street, Peter fell into step beside him. He never broke the connection.

Alertness begat alertness. Soon they were feeling each other's ticks almost in sync. Wade would sense something nearby and Peter would glance that way. The electric tingle tickled his neck, and Wade reached for his gun. Beneath it all, there was a mutual comfort, knowing beyond any doubt, someone had your back.

They walked for over an hour, passing hookers and gangsters alike. It wasn't until a group of kid thugs got in their way that Peter realized Wade had found what he was looking for.

"Leave them alone," a man's unyielding voice commanded before a red-suited figure dropped down from the roof above.

Peter blinked at Daredevil's appearance. Once he ran the kids off, he started to greet the hero when Wade sharpened his grasp. Placing a finger to his lips for silence, Wade reached for their fused hands with his free one and pulled on Peter's fingers, kissing his hand when Peter released him.

Peter crossed his arms while Wade led the Daredevil away. They didn't go far, hardly more than a few steps, but it was enough that he couldn't hear a word of what Wade was telling him. Whatever it was, Daredevil listened intently without looking at either one of them. At last, he nodded and muttered something to Wade before vanishing down the alley.

Wade still offered no explanation when he returned, but clasped Peter's hand and led them down the street again. He stopped only a few steps later, though, and looked back when Peter hadn't reinitiated the fusion. Expression pained, he closed the distance, and pulled Peter into a kiss, their hands pressed between them. Unable to stand it anymore, Peter clung to him again and felt at once Wade's anxiety and the rush of relief that followed.

They synced up more quickly this time. Wade took corners now, leading him down street after street until they came to an old apartment complex with stairs leading down to the cellar. Wade barely hesitated before taking these stairs. The doors opened before he could knock, and Daredevil led them inside.

The room was empty and eerily silent. Peter couldn't even hear the sounds of the city.

Wade led him to the center of the room and held his hand at arm's reach, indicating he should stand still with a raised hand.

Daredevil placed a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder and then began to inspect him, circling around to 'view' him, as it were, from all sides. At last, he took Peter's left arm in his hand and held it up, pressing two fingers down around a small lump beneath his skin.

Wade's anger spiked before he pulled Peter's hand away, inspecting the lump for himself. It didn't hurt, except when he pinched it and the lump itself seemed mobile. Finally, Wade bent to unsheathe a small dagger from his boot. He held it up so Peter could see it and then directed the point down to the lump.

Heart racing, Peter clung to Wade's hand on his arm. Wade reacted to his fear by tightening his grip. From his lover, Peter felt rage, betrayal, hatred, and a fierce determination to fight, to protect. Wade didn't let those feelings bleed into Peter's, but he sensed enough to know the anger and hatred weren't directed at him.

Swallowing, Peter nodded. The blade cut the flesh over the lump, and small object, no larger than a fingernail, slid out. The floor dropped out from under Peter when Wade held it up to him.

A Spider-Tracer.

SSSS-

Beneath his finger, Peter smiled. It wasn't a taught pull of the lips, either. It was a warm, butter-melting, forgiving smile. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's my best friend."

Chapter Text

Wade dropped the damn tracer on the cement floor and crushed it beneath his boot, feeling no small part of him crushed with it. By the rising tide of shock and betrayal he sensed from Peter, he wasn't the only one.

Only when he was certain no part of the circuitry had survived did he break the silence.

"Let me go, Babe. There's no point in both of us being overwhelmed."

Peter jerked away and Wade let him, watching him stumble back into the wall and slide to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth agape. He bit back his own feelings for the moment and held out his hand to Daredevil. "Thanks, man. I owe you a solid."

For a moment, Daredevil didn't move. He seemed caught somewhere in his senses, but then he reached for Wade's hand and they shook on it.

"Just make sure your usual business stays out of my Kitchen."

"I'll do my best."

Daredevil slipped out a moment later, leaving them alone in the soundproof room.

Wade turned his attention on Peter then. Baby boy had slipped completely into shock like he'd just been gut punched with a semi-truck. To be fair, he had just ripped away the complete trust Peter had had for these people and turned it inside out to drop the shit inside at his feet. It didn't matter that he first sniffed this oozing pile of manure the moment he met with Spiderman. It was Peter's life that he'd just torn apart.

Now it was his job to fix it, by any means necessary.

Here we fucking go again.

What's your plan, genius?

'Same plan I went with the first time. Find the fuckers who did this and make them do what they said they were gonna do.'

Assuming, of course, they actually can and they're not stringing him along like how Francis strung you?

Fuck that shit. We'll break every bone in this doctor's body and force him to develop the cure for cancer if we have to.

"Hey Babe," he took a knee by Peter's side and grasped his shoulder, "We're going to fight this. I swear I'll do everything in my power to make this right." Peter didn't respond. He just kept staring at the crushed bits of circuit on the floor.

"Come on, Peter," he gave his shoulder a little shake, "Don't blank out on me, Baby. Talk to me."

There was a slight shake to Peter's head, more of a tremor than any meaningful gesture. "He wouldn't do this."

Wade shut his eyes shut and bowed his head, "He did, Babe. I'm sorry. I don't wanna believe it either, but-."

"No," Peter pressed against the wall and climbed to his feet, his voice gaining in confidence, "Spiderman would never do this to me. Ever."

"Baby, he just did," Wade thrust his hand at the microchips and stood while Peter knelt to inspect the remains of the tracer. "Look, I get it. I worshiped him too. Three days ago, I'd have been his first champion against this sort of slander, but that was before I learned he was using an unprotected civilian as bait."

"That was my idea."

Wade blinked, "Come again? I didn't quite catch that."

"You heard me, Wade," he threw down the chips and stood, facing him, "It was my idea to bait these bastards out. I volunteered for it. Hell, I fucking insisted."

"That doesn't make any sense. Babe, he's using you."

"I'm using him," Peter squared off with him, shoulder's back, fists held to the side. "Look, I know you're mad at him. I'm not too pleased with the guy either right now, but I know he would never betray me. If you knew anything about the shit we've been through together, you'd know it too."

"Then read me in." Peter sucked in his breath as Wade advanced on him, "For the love of Spiderman, please. If you can convince me he hasn't gone rogue, then do it. 'Cause I really don't wanna face a world where our hero isn't immune to corruption."

Peter looked away, deflating, "I don't know if I'd call him my hero. Not anymore, anyway, but he is my friend." His lips twitched into a slight, reminiscent smile, "I've known that idiot since we were kids. I was there when he got his powers. Not the spider-bite, mind, but after. I remember," he snorted a short laugh, "the look on his face the first time he stuck to the wall. He couldn't figure out how to unstick."

Wade felt his tension melt before a strange sense of awe as it dawned on him what Peter was trying to say. Was he really sharing a personal anecdote about Spiderman? Was it possible for someone to claim such an intimate connection with the reclusive wall-crawler? Yet, the way Peter told it, he could easily envision this green little, teenage, hero-wanna-be freakin' out because he's stuck to the side of a building.

"You know who he is." Oh sweet cum-fuck, that sounded as star struck as he felt.

Peter's only acknowledgment seemed to be his private little smile. "There was this one time; a prototype shooter blew up in his face. It didn't hurt him, but," he giggled and started embellishing his tale with his hands, "there was webbingeverywhere. It was in the ceiling and all over his clothes. It stuck to the carpet so bad we had to tear it out. This was before he nerfed it with a shelf life, you know, to make it dissolve after an hour or so like it does now. So it tookweeks to get all of it cleaned out. Of course, by the end of it, half his equipment was ruined. About the only thing he could say for it in the end was, 'Well, at least we know it'll stick.'"

His impression of a young, cocky, smart-ass Spiderman was flawless. He didn't even have to squint to see it. Is that what it would've been like, to be there when Spiderman was still gestating, before the mask and the legacy?

"You really know him, don't you?" he cupped Peter's face in his hand, tracing his thumb along the curve of his lower lip, "Like, more than just his name. You actually know who he is behind the mask."

Beneath his finger, Peter smiled. It wasn't a taught pull of the lips, either. It was a warm, butter-melting, forgiving smile. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's my best friend." There was a slight squeak in his voice, like a creaky rocking chair. "I was there when he learned how to fly. I'll never forget how he dropped right out of the sky, throwing himself between these thugs and me. He hadn't even made the suit yet. Instead, he was wearing this scuffed up, hooded jacket on top of running pants and kneepads. It was something he picked up at a second-hand store, and then dyed red and mutilated with his mother's sewing machine."

Wade grinned at the image Peter painted, while his lover leaned into his hand, "You know what he told me? He said that was the first time he'd ever let anyone else see him as Spiderman, that before he saw I was in trouble, he wasn't sure he could go through with it."

"So you popped Spiderman's cherry," Wade joked, running his hands down Peter's arms. "I can't decide which makes me more jealous. That he got to save you, or that you had the privilege of delivering the kick in the ass he needed."

Peter laughed, but it was a short-lived sound. "He's always been there for me," he said as he hugged himself and became still. "I won't say we've never fought, that he's never been a jerk or let me down. I can't…" he sucked in a tremulous breath, "I can't even say he came through for me when it mattered most, but I know he tried."

He started to fold into himself, and Wade cupped his hands around his shoulders, "What is it?"

Peter closed his eyes, and then looked up at him, lines of his face set, "I admit, I didn't know he planted the tracer on me, but I'm certain he had a good reason. If, as you suspect, Graveside has been using it to track me, it's because Spiderman gave him access. Tony Stark couldn't hack Spiderman's tracers. And you know what? Given my condition, I actually don't mind that he did."

"So what?" Wade took a step back, "That's it then? You're just going to keep swallowing whatever it is they feel like feeding you?"

"No," he answered flatly, "Spiderman and I are going to have words when he gets back. This won't be our first fight. But I'm also not going to ignore the years of history we have and accuse him of going rogue just because he went behind my back this one time."

"And what if he has?" Wade pressed, crossing his arms, "I have it on good authority that Spiderman's been acting out for months now."

"Yes, he has," Peter stepped forward, "And I know why. Spiderman isn't just fighting crime like he used to. He's hunting for the monster who got away."

SSS-

"I see and hear everything. It's my job to watch and to listen. Currently, that includes monitoring everyone involved in this operation."

Chapter Text

Peter held the elevator door for Wade and then punched the button for their floor.

"I don't like coming back here, Pete," Wade complained once the doors shut, "This is supposed to by my fuck house, not a living situation. It doesn't even qualify as a safe house anymore. It's been compromised."

"Yeah, by Graveside," Peter answered, "All that means is that Spiderman knows where to find us. Besides, I expect Ben hacked into New York's security cameras as soon as the tracer went offline. You really want him digging into your real safe houses?"

"Assuming he hasn't already," Wade groused and spun the bag of Mexican takeout dangling from his hand, "I hate feeling like big brother's watching me."

"You can't be there to protect me 24/7. If something happens and I collapse, you'll be grateful to have me under surveillance."

The elevator dinged and they stepped out onto Wade's floor. No sooner had he turned the lock than Peter heardDance with My Father going off in the loft.

"Fucking watcher," Wade spat.

Peter ignored him and fetched his phone back to the counter. "You're on speaker phone, Ben. Start talking." He let the phone clatter to the countertop and reached for a taco.

"Have you decided I'm the bad guy, then?" the old man's sarcasm came through clearly, even over the cheap-ass speaker.

Wade swore under his breath and slammed a crumpled wrapper down. Peter eyed him silently a moment before he answered, "I'd suggest rethinking your tone, Ben. It's not really the best way to lead into an apology."

"I wasn't aware I had done anything that required absolution. I still believe this is true, but it seems I'm about to be convicted and sentenced without a trial."

"So you have been eavesdropping on us," bits of lettuce flew from Wade's mouth.

"I see and hear everything. It's my job to watch and to listen. Currently, that includes monitoring everyone involved in this operation. Don't delude yourselves into thinking it's just the two of you. I monitor everything involving Spiderman and Richardson, not to mention the dozen odd suspects Spiderman's running down, their associates, families, and so forth."

Graveside hardly stopped to breathe, caught up in a rant that must have been simmering for days. "Do you honestly think I have time to listen with baited breath to every asinine little quip you two throw at each other? If anything, you've been a vexation, what with Peter's metrics spiking every few hours. I've had to write a new program just to filter out the noise, so that the next time his alert goes off, it's because he's actually in need of assistance."

Peter felt the blush crawl up to his roots and pressed his face to his hands, but Graveside wasn't done yet. "I suppose I'll be expected to thank you next, for making the effort a waste, seeing how you've decided to destroy the device that allowed me to monitor Peter's condition, and allowed Spiderman to find him at speed if his condition deteriorates."

"If that's all it was there for," Wade demanded, "Why didn't you tell him about the implant in the first place?"

For a moment, there was silence on the line, "We did."

Peter's blood ran cold. Suddenly, the taco he'd been stuffing in his mouth to distract from the mortification tasted like ash. He could feel Wade watching him, but he didn't want to see.

"Peter?"

Wade gasped. Peter closed his eyes as the familiar voice joined the call.

"Graveside just told me the tracer's gone. What happened? Is Deadpool with you? Wade, I swear, if this is your fault, I will kick your ass. Somebody say something!"

"You're welcome to kick my ass all you like, Spidey," Wade answered, "I'm the one who broke your little toy."

Peter still felt Wade watching him, but he couldn't look up to meet his eyes. He slowly pushed the food away and pressed his face into his hands. He did remember now. It wasn't much. He was looking down at his arm, while Spiderman slipped the tracer beneath his skin. That was all. Just a flash. He couldn't remember anything else.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Deadpool?" Spiderman shouted, "I told you I had a tracer on him."

"You didn't fucking tell me it was inside him. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I've been smelling fish since I got back to this god-forsaken town. First, you're using Parker as bait. Then I find out some mysterious doctor with a magic cure has him doped up on a cocktail I can't begin to unravel. All the while, some old geezer is tracking his every move using an implant he didn't know about. Maybe you didn't catch my movie, but I've been through this shit script before."

"Wade, stop talking," Spiderman snapped, then softened his voice, "Peter? Are you there?"

Peter swallowed and lifted his head from his hands. "I'm here," he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hey, Pete. What's going on? What's this idiot talking about, unknown doctors and implants and shit? I know you haven't been stuck with him for very long, but he's more than a little crazy. It's not a good idea to let his head run off with shit like that."

"You're one to talk," Wade snorted.

"I told you to shut up, Wade."

"Spiderman," Graveside interrupted them.

"Hold on man. Peter, come on Brother, I have to hear this from you. Tell me you know who Richardson is."

For a long moment, all Peter could do was stare and shake his head, "I… I don't know."

"What are you talking about?" Spiderman's voice came out in a rush, "Of course you know him. It's just been a while. I introduced you two. We've been working with him for months to try to kick this thing. Remember?"

Peter shut his eyes, "No."

"Yes, you do." Spiderman's voice was becoming insistent, "We just need to-."

"Shut up! I don't fucking remember, okay!"

SSSS-

"I can fight this," he swept both thumbs under Wade's eyes, brushing aside the tears; "I can live with this, and I've decided something. I'm not going to be Spiderman about it anymore, drowning myself in my suffering." Wade snorted despite himself and Peter smiled, a gleam coming to light in his eyes. "Instead, I'm going to be fucking Deadpool."

Chapter Text

"Peter!" Wade made a grab for him, but Peter slipped through his grasp and ran, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

A concussive crash came through the phone and Spiderman let out a shriek, "Damn it!"

Wade didn't know what to do. He didn't want to think about what all this meant, what it was he was left to deal with.

Distantly, he heard Spiderman give a wordless scream, followed by another concussive impact. After that, there was nothing for a long minute and then, "Is anyone still there?"

"I am," Graveside said.

Wade braced against the edge of the counter, head bowed, "Hey, ba-," Wade started to use the age-old endearment, when it hit him. Spiderman wasn't his baby boy anymore. The realization slammed into him with the force of a speeding semi, and stole his breath away.

"Deadpool?" Spiderman asked, "Are you still there?"

It was a long moment before Wade could speak again. "Webs."

"Yeah?"

"Tell me there's a chance in hell we can beat this."

He heard Spiderman's breath rush over the microphone, "Shit, Man. He got under your skin, didn't he?"

Wade uttered a mirthless laugh, "In the worst possible way. Now you're going to tell me that you did not just dump me here to sit with a cancer patient, who's on his last legs."

"No," Spiderman's voice started to recover some confidence, "No, I didn't. Graveside."

"Yes?"

"Contact Richardson. Tell him to run a complete evaluation of Peter's condition. We need to know how far it's come. Has there been any progress on his treatment?"

"Already done," he informed them, "The Doctor's still pursuing the mutant angle, but there has been little progress. Perhaps, if Mr. Wilson would be willing to relinquish some samples-."

"Done," Wade snapped, "He can have the whole damn arm, if it will help."

"I doubt that will be necessary, but the gesture is appreciated. Do I have permission to dig up your case files to forward to him?"

Wade bent over and propped his forehead upon his fists, "Do whatever you have to."

"Very well. I'll be in touch."

"Wade?" Spiderman asked at length.

"Still here."

"Right. Listen, I've got myself in bit of bind. Nothing I can't handle, but I can't extract myself either. Are you good to watch him for a while?"

Wade rolled his fists to press his thumbs into his temples, "Spidey, what's going on? Your best friend has cancer, and you're off terrorizing the streets, hunting down some lowlife criminal?"

"Do you want to trade places?"

It was funny. He didn't even have to think about it. "No."

Spiderman huffed a hollow laugh, "Then I'll tell you a secret. I think that makes you a better man than me." Silence. "I messed up, Wade. I fucked up hard, and there's nothing I can do that will ever make it right. Catching this bastard… I know it won't fix what I've done, but if I can take this monster off the streets and lay him out at Peter's feet… Whatever happens with the cancer, he'll know I did everything I could, and that what happened to him will never happen to anyone else, ever again."

Wade sighed, "You're not coming back, are you?"

"Of course I am. What kind of question is that? I'll be swinging by the first chance I get."

"Right," he picked up the phone and cradled it on his fingers, "Good luck, Spiderman."

"Right back at you, Deadpool." The call ended. He closed the phone and let it drop to the countertop.

He didn't want to move. He wanted to run, to jump out the window and fall forever, rather than do what he knew he had to do, what he knew he would do. He would stand by Peter's side, no matter how much it killed him, and wait for cancer to kill his baby boy.

He should go to him. He's been alone too long already.

The thought that Peter could have done something drastic spurred Wade into motion. The fear of what he would find dragged at his feet.

At last, he came to the door and ran his fingers down the cold metal before he turned the knob.

It was dark inside, but for the lamp over the bed, shade turned down to shine the glare at the wall.

"There you are, Good Lookin'," Peter purred at him, "What took you so long?"

Wade stopped just past the threshold, caught dumbstruck as he stared, uncomprehending. Peter lounged on the bed, shoulders braced against the headboard, knees spread in a lazy display of dominance. His clothes were strewn across the floor. He gazed across the room at Wade with half-lidded eyes, one hand lightly stroking his half-mast cock.

Well… this is just about the last thing I expected to find.

Frighteningly so.

"Peter?" He hesitated then closed the door as an afterthought. He didn't like how the glaring light assaulted the atmosphere his boy was trying to create. Not that he was digging the scene, either. The voices were starting to panic, speculating on what Peter was thinking that he'd attempt something like this right now. There was a stillness in the air, though, that brought him some small comfort and the light outside spoiled it.

"What is this?" He asked at last, gesturing around the room.

Peter's mouth curved into a smile, "Just what it looks like. I promise. I'm not going off my rocker. Or maybe I am, and that's the whole point. I just…" he averted his eyes a moment, looking thoughtful, "I wanna say I don't give a fuck anymore, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I know my situation is fucked up, but I can't remember the last time everything seemed so simple." He shifted his weight, patted the bed beside him, and waited for Wade to join him.

Wade did so, with a tight feeling in his stomach. He realized he was watching Peter like something dangerous, like he could turn at any provocation. Kicking off his shoes, he climbed up against the headboard and cradled Peter's naked hips when he straddled Wade's lap. With gentle fingers butterflying around his neck, Peter leaned in to deliver a gentle, lingering kiss. A second kiss followed the first, and then a third.

Wade felt a knife drive into his chest with every touch until he couldn't see Peter anymore. His vision washed with tears. Dragging his arms around Baby Boy's back, he pulled him to his chest and held him there while he tried to manage his shaking breath and the tears that burned his cheeks.

Peter held him in return, nuzzling the side of his head and whispering in his ear.

"I know it hurts, Babe. I know you're scared. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared too. But I'll tell you a secret," he cradled Wade's face in his hands and leaned back, "I've lived with this for a year now. This isn't the worst pain I've ever felt. Nothing, not the migraines, not the effects of the medicine, nothing this thing can do to me will ever touch the worst pain of my life. As for the fear," he huffed a shallow laugh, "it's a child's fear of the dark next to the terror I've known.

"I can fight this," he swept both thumbs under Wade's eyes, brushing aside the tears; "I can live with this, and I've decided something. I'm not going to be Spiderman about it anymore, drowning myself in my suffering."

Wade snorted despite himself and Peter smiled, a gleam coming to light in his eyes.

"Instead, I'm going to be fucking Deadpool." He laid a finger over his lips when Wade drew a breath, "and make the most of every second I have left, however many there are. Because, no matter how much time I have ahead of me, it's a lifetime more than Benjie ever got to have."

"Who-?" Peter stopped him with another, deeper kiss.

"Ask me again," he whispered and pressed his forehead against Wade's, "When I'm not waiting for you to decide if you're going to woman up, and fuck me into this mattress."

Wade sucked in his breath, and caught Peter's lips again while the boy continued to cradle his face. "I mean," Peter broke the kiss, "I understand if you can't tonight. That's okay. I'll just fuck you instead. Either way, someone's screwed."

Wade growled and rolled Peter onto the bed beneath him, pinning his arms against the pillows while he devoured Peter's lips. Peter yielded to him willingly, moaning into his mouth as Wade dragged his hand down his Baby Boy's side and around the globe of his ass.

Peter gasped when they parted and hooked his arms around Wade's neck. "I want you to fuck me," he whispered while Wade sucked his neck with an open mouth, "I want you to string me up and wear me down."

Something clicked in Wade's mind as he listened to Peter's words, and the voices went silent.

"I want you to make me beg, make me plead. Take every ounce of strength I have and wreck me with it. Please, don't let me wake up tonight, or any other night when I'm with you."

"Every night, Peter," he growled against his lover's skin, "I swear it."

He came back to Peter's mouth, pressing his tongue past his pliant lips while he pinned Peter's cock beneath his jean-clad thigh. Peter writhed, arching his hips to get some friction while Wade ground their lips together.

"That thing you do," he growled when he let Peter breathe, "The thing with the hands."

"You want me to cling?" Peter gasped out.

"What a beautiful word for such a lovely thing. Can you do it anywhere on your body?"

Peter arched his back when Wade went for the soft hollow of his neck, "Never tried."

"You will tonight," he promised. He hauled Peter to the edge of the bed by his ankle, catching his wrist and throwing him, squealing, over his shoulder. While Peter struggled, he strode to the large, pane-glass window and thrust open the curtains.

"Wade, what are you doing?"

"What I said I would do," he answered, hooking his arm around Peter's knees and rocking him back against the glass, "Cling to this. If any part of you touches the floor, you'll pay the penalty." He wasn't sure if Peter could do it. He'd only felt the strength of the strange attraction in the fusion of their flesh. Only that strange pose he held in the shower while they played daddy games made him think it might work on non-living objects to.

Oh, it worked. Back plastered to the glass, Peter managed to pull himself up until Wade's head was level with his chest, by which point Wade's grip on his spread knees was only for show. Slowly, he lowered his hands and let Peter bend his legs back to plants the soles of his feet against the glass. "God, Baby. You could be Spiderman," Wade breathed as he cradled Peter's ass and buried his face in his sternum.

"But I'm not," Peter answered breathlessly against his scalp, "I'm fucking Deadpool."

"No Baby," He reached up to grab Peter's neck, "Tonight I'm fucking you." With a hard yank, he pulled Peter's head down to crush their lips together. With his free hand, he reached between Peter's legs, wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the top of his ball sack, and applied downward pressure.

Peter cried out into his mouth. The glass squealed as he slipped down before he splayed out his arms and clung to the glass for dear life. Slowly, Wade twisted his hand clockwise until Peter trembled and keened into his mouth, and then turned his balls the other way.

"Do you like that, Boy?" he asked in his most husky voice. Gently, he rubbed Peter's scrotum his between his thumb and forefinger while his balls rolled to either side. Peter's head fell back against the glass. Already, he could see how his muscles strained to hold his position. The sheen of sweat on his skin smeared the glass as he rolled his arms, clinging now with the skin on the back of his arms instead of with his hands. "Do you want your Daddy to-."

"No," Peter whimpered, gulping down a breath to give strength to his voice, "Please, no."

"Pete?" Wade cradled Peter in his hand and pressed the palm of his other hand up to the boy's chest, "Baby Boy, what is it?"

"I can't," panting, he let his head roll forward to look into his lover's eyes, "Wade, I'm sorry, but I can't do the Daddy thing tonight. It strips me down. It makes me…"

Wade held his breath when Peter cut himself off, brow furrowed, eyes closing over the shining tears. "Okay, Petey," he said in a rushed whisper, reaching higher to wrap his hand around Peter's neck, "It's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-."

"I know," Peter leaned against his hand and opened his eyes, "It's fucking hot as hell. I promise, another night, I'll let you put me in the headspace and we'll ride that roller coaster until the park closes. Tonight, I just need you to fuck me. No games. No kinks. Only the cling. Clinging is good. It's wearing me out. It forces me to focus on the now."

Wade turned his hand to rub his thumb over Peter's lips and groaned when he began to suck on the digit. "All right, Babe. I've got you." He gave Peter's balls a gentle squeeze before stepping in to lay an open-mouthed kiss on his clavicle.

With a gentle tug on his hips, he guided Peter down the glass until they were eye level and then pinned him with a kiss.

Almost better than bondage.

All the benefits without the work.

Yes, but it loses something in the exchange.

He pressed his hands into Peter's flesh and let them roam across his body, over his chest, down the length of his arms. He threaded their fingers together as he kissed down Peter's jaw to his neck, sucking hard and savoring the way he moaned and wriggled. Dragging his hands back, he toyed with his nipples, pinching and rolling the nubs while he attacked Peter's ear.

Before long, Wade heard the suction of his skin tugging against the glass as Peter rocked his hips in shallow, aborted thrusts in time with his whimpering moans.

"Climb higher for me," Wade told him, cupping his hands around Peter's ass and lifting him up until he could hook his arms under Peter's legs and rest his knees on his shoulders.

"Please," Peter's head rolled against the glass as he uttered the plea in a breathless, pitiful whine, "Please, don't toy with me." His hips rocked forward again, his hard cock bouncing mere inches from Wade's face.

"I've got you, Babe." He kissed the weeping glans, flicking his tongue into the slit and sipping Peter's salty essence. "You just cling there. I'll take care of everything." Peter's whimper became a sharp gasp as Wade bent his head down, taking Peter into his throat. He hesitated just long enough to swallow past his gag reflex before he buried his nose in Peter's musky curls.

"Oh, fuck, Wade," Peter keened, head and shoulders bent over Wade's head while he hiked his hips up in tiny little jumps. Only his arms and shoulders held him to the glass. Wade moaned and swallowed, looking up at Peter before he began to move his head.

Peter soon broke down into pleading, gasping little mews, jerking his hips in time to Wade's motion. When he was sure Peter wouldn't fall off him, Wade began to toy with his balls again, scraping his nails gently across his perineum and sack while he teased Peter's hole with his other hand.

We're actually going to fuck him this time, aren't we?

And about damn time.

Wade moaned as he slipped the tip of his finger into Peter's tight hole, panting with his motion as he felt his dick strain painfully against the denim. The thought of thrusting into that tight heat, of splitting Peter open while he screamed and begged was more than he could stand.

"Oh God, Wade." Peter cried, "It feels so good. Please. I can't… Oh god, please. I'm coming. I'm gonna cum!"

Isn't this his first time?

Wade thrust his head down with the thought, face buried in Peter's pubis while Peter arched up into him, screaming his name as his hot seed surged down his throat. He swallowed first by reflex, and then fierce determination to take every drop of Peter's essence that his lover would give him.

The sagging of Peter's thighs was the only warning he had before they were sliding down the glass. He caught Peter in his arms and carried him to the bed. The voices took special note of the twitches and tremors that passed through his body when he laid him out on the covers. His eyes were dilated pools of black. His skin shone with sweat and his face was flush with their lust.

We don't deserve this.

Wade sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of Peter's hands in his, while he brushed his hair back with the other.

Peter leaned into the touch before rolling his head to fix his well-fucked gaze on Wade, "I love you."

Wade gripped his hand a little tighter while the voices in his head began to scream. Not knowing what else to do, he bent down to smoother those lips with a kiss. When he felt Peter begin to respond, he pulled back.

"Roll on your stomach." Peter's breath hitched and his pupils blew wide as Wade tugged up on his hip.

Wade watched him comply, noting the tense lines in his back and the contrasting languor of his neck and limbs from their previous exertions. He felt Peter's eyes on him as he stood and began to strip, listened to the shallow dip in his breathing when his throbbing member sprung free.

"So big…"

Wade smiled and moaned as he stroked himself for Peter's benefit. The choked whine that followed coiled around his spine and stole the breath from his lips. Wasting no more time, he fetched the lube from the nightstand and climbed onto the bed behind Peter.

"Is it…" Peter's whisper was barely audible, "Will it hurt?"

He bent down to kiss Peter's arched back, "Baby boy, you let me worry about that. By the time I'm done with you, the only thing you'll be crying about is how good I make you feel."

Peter gasped out his breath and nodded before shifting his hands and knees farther apart on the bed, bracing.

"Breathe for me, Petey," he rubbed his hand once over his lover's back before he uncapped the bottle and poured the thick fluid over his fingers. Once they were coated, he reached around to stroke Peter's cock and suck on his back while he teased the tight little hole with the pads of his fingers. Peter gasped and whimpered, rocking forward and back again, unable to avoid either of Wade's hands.

Slowly, he dipped the first digit in to the first knuckle and pulled back out, fucking Peter until he saw the tension melt from his back and the boy was pushing back against his hand. "Easy, Babe," Wade stopped stroking Peter's cock and rested his hand on the back of his neck, "I'm gonna take care of you."

Peter took the whole digit with a shuddering moan and a backward push, "Wade."

"I'm right here," he pushed the finger in three or four times before he began to drag it around in circles, stretching Peter and rubbing the walls of his hole.

"Oh god, Fuck! Wade, please."

Pulling out, he joined the second finger to the first and repeated the process, scissoring Peter before he reached for that bundle of nerves. Peter jolted in his hands, spine arched, head thrown back as Wade rubbed his prostate, tearing cry after wordless cry from his lover until he was fucking himself on Wade's finger.

Wade let him carry on, and watched him fist his hands in the covers when Peter impaled himself on the third finger.

"Oh God! Please, Wade. Fuck me. Fuck me, please."

Wade felt a sadistic smile pull at his lips, "I don't know, Babe. I'm not sure you're ready yet."

"Wade!"

With a coordinated motion, Wade pressed Peter's neck down to the bed, removed his fingers, and aligned his dick with Peter's slick hole. "Stay there," he ordered, giving Peter's neck a small shake before releasing him. Peter sobbed and wiggled his hips as his lover teased his opening with the head of his cock.

While Peter was distracted, he coated his cock with lube, then took the boy's hips in his hand and pressed against his sphincter until the muscle gave way. He grunted, his eyes rolling back into his head as he felt Peter's tight heat take him while the boy sang his praises against the sheets.

He started slow, rocking his hips in shallow thrusts, digging a little deeper each time until he felt Peter relax and he bottomed out.

"Fuck me, Peter," he groaned, fighting to keep still while his lover adjusted, "So fucking tight."

"Ugn," Peter shifted and pulled his elbows beneath him, "Feels so good. Fuck me, Wade. Please, make me scream."

That was all the invitation Wade needed. What attempts he made to keep it slow soon gave way to their rising need as Peter pushed back into him with each thrust. "Faster," Peter gasped, "harder, Babe. Give me more. I need more."

Letting go a guttural growl, Wade grabbed Peter's hips and pounded his beautiful little spider, pulling him back into every thrust while his babbling cries drowned out the slap of their crashing bodies.

"So tight. God, you're amazing, Peter. You so tight on my dick."

"Wade. Wade, please. I need…" he flailed his arm back toward his groin, but Wade slapped it aside and reached around, stroking Peter in time with his thrusts until he was screaming into the mattress.

"Yes. Come for me, Baby. Come for me. Come now!"

Peter's body convulsed around his cock as his seed spurted all over the sheets and Wade's hand. The contractions pushed him over the edge as he shouted Peter's name.

The two of them collapsed on the bed in a heap, with Peter trembling as Wade drew him into his arms.

"I love you," Peter whispered into the silence that followed. Wade's breath caught and he held him tighter against his chest.

After a while, Peter tugged at his arms and reached for the edge of the bed.

Wade's heart jumped and cold fear strangled his throat. "Where are you going?" he asked, pulling him back.

Peter moaned as he fell against Wade's chest. "Need my night meds, Babe."

Oh. "I got them, Babe." He kissed the skin behind Peter's ear and then went to fetch his medicine and some water.

SSS-

"It's like flipping a switch, isn't it Baby Boy? One moment you're here. Then, with a word, you're lost to it aren't you."

Chapter Text

Peter woke, certain he'd contracted Wade's healing factor. It sure as fuck felt like he'd been dropped into a jet engine and left to regenerate on the blistering cement. He tried to move and failed. It wasn't even that his muscles felt weak. It felt like his body had turned into tempered clay, brittle and tight. He knew it was just the rough meds, but it didn't stop his body from trying to convince him that if he so much as flexed a finger, the muscles attached to it would rip and tear.

One finger at a time, he flexed his muscles back and forth, stretching them until they hurt, forcing elasticity back into his body. Wade came in as he was dragging his sorry carcass up onto his knees and elbows.

"Shit, Pete." Peter heard rushing footsteps, and hissed when he felt Wade's hands on his back and face, "What happened? Where are you hurt?" He sounded so worried. It occurred to Peter that Wade thought he had hurt him. Rough sex probably hadn't helped his situation, but he'd be damned before he told Wade that.

"Meds," he managed to croak out instead. He heard Wade breathe through his teeth, felt the air on his face before his conceded.

"Okay. I'll get them. Just lay back down." He didn't leave until Peter had eased back onto his side, helping him where he could until he realized touch was causing him pain.

He came back with the pillbox and a bottle of water and began systematically feeding the capsules to him two or three at a time. The pillow was soaked through by the end of it, as Peter was unable to lift his head to drink. Eventually, Wade bottlenecked the flow with his finger, so that the water trickled into his mouth until he could swallow.

"That's the last one," Wade breathed and knelt beside the bed until his head was level with Peter's, hands ghosting over his skin. "How are you feeling, Babe. Any better? How long does it take for these things to take effect?"

Peter blinked slowly at him, and flinched when he reached across the bed for Wade, "Mask…"

"Hm?" Deadpool cocked his head, and then touched his chin, "Oh yeah, my face. We're heading out later. It's no big. I always wear my skin when I know I'm going to be dealing with snooty people."

"People?" Peter furrowed his brow, "Why?"

Deadpool crossed his arms on the mattress and rested his chin on them, "Babe, much as I appreciate your valiant ability to keep your reactions to my deformities to yourself, I know I'm not the homecoming king. If people are gonna stare at me, they're going to stare at what I want them to."

Peter frowned, but couldn't give voice to the words he wanted to use to shoot that sentiment down. Not yet anyway.

Wade hummed and cocked his head to the side, "No come back, huh? You're really not feeling well."

He sighed, "Just meds. I'll get high soon. Loosen up. Feel better."

"That's right," Wade scooted closer to the bed, "You were saying something about that. Like, the pills you sleep on are the rough ones." His mask pulled against his face, "They hurt you, don't they. That's why you wanted me to wear you out."

Peter managed a nod and found the motion marginally easier than one before. "It's the dose that kills the cancer. The problem is it nearly kills me too. I spend the rest of the day recovering; have a few good hours in the evening. Wash. Rinse. Repeat, ad nauseam." He closed his eyes and let himself drift for a minute, exhausted by the little monologue.

"Well, that explains a few things, at least." He felt Wade's gloved hand brush his cheek, "I'm gonna make us breakfast. Come join me when you can." Peter managed a grunt that, to him, sounded more like a whine when Wade's hand disappeared. Still, he was grateful: everything fucking hurt and while the contact was welcome, love hurt too.

When he felt he could reasonably stand on his own power, he crawled out of bed, pain be damned. The steaming hot shower tore a strangled gasp from his throat. He endured, though, and let the scalding heat burrow into his flesh and pound it back to life. When he came out, he found a pile of clothes folded neatly on the counter; more of Wade's sweat pants and a tee shirt.

"I do have clothing of my own," he informed his lover as he dragged his feet to across the freezing tile.

"I've seen them," Wade answered and fetched a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes from the warm oven, "And I've decided I'm going to toss them."

"What are you talking about?" Peter mumbled as he dragged the chair out and laid his head down on the table.

"I'm talking about those homeless rags of yours." Peter winced when the clack of the plate touching the table exploded in his ear, "I'm tired of looking at them. They've bothered me since I first saw them, and I can't understand why you insist on wearing them." He stopped talking then. Peter sensed Wade standing over him, but he was too beat down to do anything about it.

"Hey," Peter sucked in his breath when he felt Wade's gentle hand on the back of his neck, "What can I do?"

He started to shake his head, then smiled and lifted his head enough to look up at him, "Be Deadpool. Just keep being my hero."

Wade's fingers carded through his hair, "I'm no one's hero, Baby."

"You are now," he murmured and laid his head back down.

"Well, damn," Wade whispered, before taking on the flippant attitude Peter met at the HellHouse, "Fine. Then my first act as a hero is to make sure you eat your breakfast. The most important meal of the day, and all that." He flopped down in his chair and touched Peter's arm, "I'll be happy to feed it to you if you want."

Peter snorted and pushed off the table, smiling, "I think I can feed myself, Daddy." Wade's mask pulled against his mouth with his sharp inhale. Peter winked at him and started to pull his plate to him when he stopped. "Wade?"

"Yes, Son."

That Wade used his husky, bedroom voice was almost lost to Peter. The breath evaporated from his lungs and left him a lightheaded as a thrill swept across his skin. He closed his eyes and braced on the table. He most certainly did notswoon. "Babe," he breathed, trying to keep the tremor from his voice, "Please be careful when you use that word."

"Fucking hot," he heard Wade mutter before he kicked back his chair and bent over Peter, one hand cradling his neck while the other slipped under his shirt to rest on his heart. Peter shivered when he felt Deadpool's hot breath against his ear, "It's like flipping a switch, isn't it Baby Boy? One moment you're here. Then, with a word, you're lost to it aren't you."

"Daddy," he was aware his breathy voice came out a tenuous whimper, but he couldn't quite remember why he should care, "Please."

"Oh my god, Peter," Wade held Peter tight, his wind blowing hot against Peter's neck. When he caught his breath, Wade pressed his lips to the cone of Peter's ear, "I want you to listen to me carefully, Son." Peter keened and felt Wade's grip on him tighten, "I'm going to tell you something, and you're going to close your eyes. When you open them, you'll be Peter Parker again, and I'll be here waiting for you. You understand?"

Breath coming in shallow gasps, eyes still rolled up in his head, Peter managed to jerk his head in a vague nod. Wade placed a kiss on the side of his neck and then spoke in a firm voice, "Son… you're grounded."

Peter gasped, his eyes flying wide open as he sucked in blessed air. Like sunlight cutting through the clouds, the haze began to clear away and he could think again. Then it hit him, what Wade had just done.

"Oh god," he hunched his shoulders over and pressed his face into his hands, shaking.

"Pete?" Wade pulled his hand back through Peter's hair, "Petey, what's wrong? Babe?"

Peter shuddered and curled tighter on himself. Suddenly, Wade released him and then jerked his chair back across the tile.

Wade braced on Peter's knees before he tried to pull his hands gently from Peter's face. "Come on, Baby. Look at me." Peter wanted to obey him, to hear Wade tell him it was okay, but he couldn't stop the shaking. His hands had practically fused to his face and all he wanted to do was curl up under the table and hide.

"Peter," Wade's sharp voice made him jump and he used his advantage to pull Peter's hands down to his lap. He still tried to hide, head bent so far forward that his chin pressed against his chest, while Wade held his shaking hands.

"You have to talk to me, Pete," Wade urged, kissing the backs of his Peter's white knuckles, "Tell me what happened so I can fix it."

"I don't know if you can." Peter felt the tears splash against his arms and finally looked up as his love, "It scares me, Wade. It fucking terrifies me that you can put me in that place and yank me out again whenever you want."

"You think I would hurt you?"

Peter shook his head, "No. No, never. But… There's a pain in that place. It's hot and good, and you're there. I need, so much it hurts. But there's also sadness, and fear, and loneliness. I feel so small, and I keep getting smaller until I think the monster's going to take you away like it's taken everyone else."

Wade rubbed the backs of Peter's hands with his thumbs and laid a kiss on each of his fingers before looking up into his face. "Baby boy, I'm sorry. But I have to ask." He squeezed Peter's hands, "Does Benjie have something to do with this?"

Peter sucked in his breath and tried to pull away, but Wade held him fast. "I'm not letting you go," he told him forcefully, "And I'm not going anywhere." Gripping both of Peter's hands in his, he pulled at the Velcro at the back of his mask.

"What I am going to do, is find that monster of yours," the Velcro gave way, and he tore his mask off, "and remind it why I'm what monsters fear in the dark."

SSSS-

When Peter curled a little tighter in his arms, Wade decided he was done fishing. He kept his voice soft and warm, but hardened it enough to push Peter's inner submissive in the right direction, "Who is Benjie?"

Chapter Text

Wade opened the curtains on his breathtaking view of New York while Peter brought lemonade.

No drinking for the little spider. Nope. Not on my watch.

You're not fooling anyone. You want him plastered so bad you can taste it.

*Sniff* I can have that once he's well.

Kill me…

"Just set them there," Wade indicated the low coffee table while he rolled onto the sofa, his leg stretched across the cushions. He gave his thighs a gentle pat and held out his arms, drawing his reluctant lover into his arms.

"I'm right here, Babe," he whispered into Peter's soft brown hair, "I'm not going anywhere, but I'm not going to let you sit on this anymore, either. Talk to me. Please." When Peter curled a little tighter in his arms, Wade decided he was done fishing. He kept his voice soft and warm, but hardened it enough to push Peter's inner submissive in the right direction, "Who is Benjie?"

His lover tensed, and then wilted against him.

"My son."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

Didn't he imply Benjie's dead?

I'ma fucking kill them all!

Wade focused a moment on breathing while the voices devolved into screaming, murderous demons. With deliberation, he pulled Peter close and wrapped his limbs around Peter's body, "Start from the beginning. Tell me everything."

Peter gasped out laughing sob, "Where else would it begin, but Spiderman?"

Wade drew another measured breath, smelling the shampoo in Peter's hair and using it to remain calm, "Then start with Spiderman."

"I hate him," Peter said at length, a touch of venom in his breath. "I love him." A breath of hero-worship. "I lost everything because of him."

Wade didn't say anything while Peter breathed through the brief rush of tears. When he started to pull away, Wade wanted to hold him down, but his lover was just turning round to curl on the couch, facing him.

"He blames himself," Peter continued, head resting against the back cushions, "He always did. When we were kids, before the mask, he was being an ass one night and didn't stop this robber from getting away. The crook came upon my uncle in his escape, and killed him." Peter's face twisted with the pain of it, and Wade leaned closer, a hand clasped on his arm.

"My Uncle was only out because he was looking for us. He went on the hunt after that, but he never found the guy who did it." He sucked in his breath and scraped the tears away. He wasn't looking at anything, his gaze lingering on some distant point over Wade's shoulder.

"There was this girl, MJ. We went to high school together. Both of us fancied her. There was no way I could compete with someone who could literally sweep her off her feet. The first time we ever came to blows was over her. I couldn't count how many times he swung right past me to carry her away."

He sniffed and pulled a tight, reminiscent smile, "To this day, I don't know why I kept playing the game. A few years ago, it paid off. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes."

Wade rubbed Peter's arm with his thumb, "I'm glad to hear she turned into a smart cookie after all."

Baby boy blew a kiss at him, and then continued, "We moved in together. Neither of us put much stock in the whole 'traditional marriage' bullshit. Before we knew what we were doing, we were starting a family."

His eyes were tearing up again, and Wade couldn't stand it. Gently insistent, he pulled Peter back into his arms and settled in to cradle him while he talked.

"She knew about my friendship with Spiderman, and I didn't hold their old escapades against them. I don't know if she ever figured out who he is. I never asked. There were many nights when he'd just drop in and she'd set a place for him at the table. Sometimes it felt like we were back in high school again."

He went silent for a long while after that, long enough Wade became concerned.

Here it comes.

His voice took on a darker tone and Wade felt his boy tighten in his arms, "One day, I came home. The place was trashed, and she was gone. I looked everywhere for her, while Spiderman scoured the city. The bastards waited four fucking days to contact me. They demanded Spiderman's unconditional surrender in exchange for her safety. They'd drawn the same conclusions you did about the photos.

"Spiderman was all set to go after her." His tone became hot and hard, "I stopped him. I insisted he take me along. She was my fiancé, carrying my child. I'd be damned before I sat helplessly on the sidelines this time. I tried to convince him to let me wear his suit. I'd go in and be the decoy while he got her out.

"Bastard tried to talk me out of it. He said I could never convincingly impersonate him."

Wade didn't know if he should snort his laughter or not, so he settled with a neutral, "We both know how wrong he was."

"He left. I stole one of his spare uniforms. I think he'd forgotten that I helped him design the original shooters and that we'd practiced with and refined them together. Yes, he'd modified them over the years, but the basic design was the same. By this point, my mutation had long since taken root. I went after him and didn't take no for an answer."

He pushed away and knelt between Wade's legs. Those solemn, red-rimmed eyes bore into his and Wade saw the shadows of torture lingering within them.

"At first, the plan went down perfectly. I made an entrance, put on a show of surrender. The mask came off and the predictable shenanigans followed. They bought it, though, and captured me. Turns out Spiderman had a harder time bypassing their security than we'd planned. He got caught. They thought he was a civilian."

God damn it, make him stop talking!

It's a bit late for that, Dipshit. We pushed him into this. Now we're going to see it through.

But he's starting to look like us!

'We're going to fix this,' Wade announced, to the voices amazement.

How, exactly, do you plan to do that?

'I have an idea.'

Oh god. We're all going to die.

We haven't done that in a while. Be a change of pace.

"They didn't let MJ go like they said they would." Peter's expression had gone blank. Dangerous. "She went into labor. They tied her down in front of me. No one lifted a finger to help her. Instead, they were too busy pumping me full of shit and torturing me, while I was forced to watch."

"Holy mother of fuck, Peter," Wade leaned forward and clasped Peter's hand.

"Her labor lasted for hours. I don't know how long for sure."

"I understand," Wade spoke in his dark voice, one normally reserved for the marks who really deserved the receiving end of his services. This time, he felt it drop a half-octave lower: a dark, lethal, bedroom voice. It caught Peter's attention, and he vowed never to use this voice with anyone else. "Under those conditions, time has no meaning."

"It really doesn't," he answered, his voice a softer mirror of his own. "She gave birth on that table. The baby cried, but they just left them there. Spiderman finally managed to escape and find us. He took out the bastards in the lab and cut me down. We grabbed MJ and the baby and ran.

"They weren't having it, of course. Spiderman fought and we tried to find a way out. Explosions went off. The building caught fire. MJ and I were separated. I tried to find her, but I was so fucked up."

Peter's gaze was drifting again. "I barely made it out with my life. Choking. Half-alive. All I could do was watch the building burn. Just as I began to despair, Spiderman cleared a window with MJ in his arms. She wasn't moving. They were both covered in her blood. We rushed her to the ER, but…"

"What happened to the baby?" Wade asked, gripping Peter's hands.

Peter shook his head, "Bastard in charge cornered Spiderman and MJ. He took her hostage while she was holding our child. Thatmonstershot them to distract Spiderman while he escaped."