Say Anything...Except That
By Cortexikid
Chapter 10: Wade's World
This chapter is dedicated to the ever wonderful and talented thatisludicrous. She is just all kinds of rad and draws amazing Spideypool fanart.
Awesome, sexy fanart.
Yep. She really is great at delivering the Spideypool sexiness!
Which is more than I can say for you. Mature rating my ass.
You don't think excessive cursing and gratuitous violence warrant a mature rating?
Not the kind I want.
Ye—
I meant nudity.
I—
Blow-jobs.
I kn—
Anal.
I KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT, DEADPOOL!
Oh and I'm duty bound to put a spoiler warning here for all the peeps who have yet to see Agent Carter. You've been warned. And scolded! How have you not seen that badass British lady kickin' all kinds of ass yet?! FOR SHAME!
The Morning After...
The thing about realizations is that they're not always jarring. They're not always these earth-shattering, hit by a truck, quaking in your boots moments that rock you to your very core and make you question every last decision ever made from birth to present day.
Instead, they can sometimes creep up on you quietly, sinking into your bones in the dead of night, the new information covering you like a well-worn blanket and making you ponder how you never knew they were there before.
With a crinkle in his brow and a tilt of his head, Peter Parker found himself being gently tugged from his sleep as light shone onto his eyelids, his senses, both spidey and human, in overdrive as his hazel orbs blinked open, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Stifling a yawn, he fought to remember where exactly he was. Biting his lip, a flurry of thoughts entered his mind as he recounted the night before.
He was in Wade Wilson's bed.
With Wade Wilson beside him, snoring surprisingly softly.
Holy shit.
With as little movement as possible, he awkwardly turned his head, his eyes landing on the other man that was sprawled haphazardly across three quarters of the king-sized mattress.
Peter watched as soft light danced around the room like a million tiny poised ballerinas, the air particles glimmering through the crack in the grubby curtains and reflecting off various surfaces before finally settling on Wade's mask, basking him in a soft glow.
The younger man felt an ache rise in his chest, an emotion that he couldn't quite place as his fingers reached out to hover an inch from the merc's covered face. He caught himself at the last moment, surprised at his body's wayward action unbeknownst to himself, as his tired mind was groggily trying to catch up.
What the hell is wrong with you, Parker?! his mind admonished him harshly as he stiffly retracted his hand completely and forced himself to look back up at the ceiling, a safe, neutral focal point.
These last few weeks had been...oddly eye-opening to say the least. There was nothing quite like two assassination attempts and a home burglary to force some introspection on a person. He couldn't quite explain it, but lately Peter had seen a different side to the mercenary, a side he had never seen before.
Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn't Spider Man, that one of the many layers to Wade's personality managed to shine through the bravado and folly, or maybe it was the fact that he wasn't Spider Man that he had managed to see a little more under the surface of Wade's front, whatever it was, Peter knew that their…friendship, if you could call it that, was evolving into something unlike anything they had had before.
Wade just didn't know that.
But Peter did.
And it was that realization that was creeping up on him steadily, more and more as the days drew on.
For longer than he'd care to admit, Peter had felt like he had been merely existing on the world, not living in it. Even with his oftentimes exhilarating crime-fighting, his life had become somewhat monotonous. Work, home, class, home, patrol, class, work, home – wash, rinse, repeat. All day, every day, for years.
He couldn't remember the last time he had any sort of downtime, leisurely hours where he did nothing or everything he wanted. Sure, he had gone and gotten a few beers with Eddie after work on occasion, and he had had fun. But there was always that little voice in the back of his head warning him not to completely let go, keep his inhibitions...just in case.
He couldn't recall a time where he felt one hundred per cent in the moment, where he was just one hundred per cent Peter Parker, the student and part-time photographer. And he missed it. It had only taken last night to finally make him realize that too.
Who knew some video games, pizza and bad smack-talk could be so therapeutic?
And who knew that the one person who made him feel more sane than he had in years, also happened to be one of the least sane himself?
Life was funny that way, he supposed.
Guess somewhere along the way, Peter had forgotten that.
"Is this the part where you snap, rip off my skin and make yourself a meat-suit? 'Cause I gotta tell ya kid, there are a hell of a lot more viable options if you're in the market for a new face."
Good thing Wade seemed to be determined to remind him every once and a while, even if it was about as tactful as slinging him over his shoulder and carting him off kicking and screaming.
"How long have you been awake?" Peter asked, wincing at how deep and cracked his voice sounded.
"Depends," the merc murmured, "how long have you been staring at me?"
The Night Before...
"A good ol' fashioned sleep over it is, then!" Wade said happily, clapping his hands, failing to notice the look of confusion Peter threw at him.
"What d'ya say, Petey? Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"
A flutter of something licked at the brunet's insides as he watched the merc bounce giddily around his apartment, grabbing at least three dozen take-out menus and skipping (actually skipping) over to his dilapidated fridge, frilly dress swishing behind him.
"Uh Wade I..." Peter trailed off, the objection dying in his throat, his dark eyes trained on the mercenary's scarred back as he danced on the spot.
He was supposed to go to the tower. Be with his Aunt May. Start investigating the burglary and assassination attempts with the rest of the Avengers...
I haven't seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin' out with those Avenger assholes, he's not been the same! Wade's words echoed in his head, causing him to wince.
He really was a masochist sometimes.
He couldn't help but smirk at the thought that the Canadian would give anything for him to admit that out loud.
...And he was back to Wade.
The sheer amount of times that his mind wandered back to the mercenary lately really should have concerned him.
Peter couldn't even begin to suss out quite why it didn't.
"I uh...just gotta make a call," he spoke up, ending that line of self-reflection before he could completely tumble face over feet down the rabbit hole, gesturing over his shoulder and walking backwards as he pulled out his cell-phone to dial May's number.
Unsurprisingly, she was having the time of her life. Peter barely contained an eye-roll as he heard her over-joyous tone lament how charming Mr. Stark was. How gentlemanly Jarvis was. How the bathrooms had towels like hotels, how the guest room was bigger than his apartment and had a wonderful view.
It wasn't that he wasn't happy she had the temporary reprieve from the worry and stress that the break-in had caused, but it was more so that he wasn't too psyched about Stark's modus operandi. He knew that if Tony had his way, there would be no separation of Peter and Spider Man, and having his aunt in such close proximity to a man that thought that way, didn't sit well with him.
"Aunt May? Can you put Mr. Stark on the phone, please? I...have to ask him something about work," Peter interjected his aunt's glowing recommendation of the in-house chef's risotto, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes falling on Wade who was busying himself at the stove.
Well that can't be good...
"Hey kid," Tony Stark's breezy voice came through the phone, demanding Peter's attention, "you on your way to the tower?"
"Not exactly...something came up," he replied under his breath, taking a few more steps into the next room, nose wrinkling as a strong scent, something akin to sweaty gym socks and mouldy cheese, assaulted his senses.
"What the hell kinda 'something' could be more important than savin' your own ass, Parker?" Tony hissed, clearly trying to keep his voice low so as to not alert May.
Peter's eyes flickered back to Wade, who was now donning what appeared to be a chef's hat, humming loudly and nimbly twirling around in circles, the dress swishing around him.
He fought the smile that threatened to form on his face.
"I'll meet you at the tower tomorrow," he ignored the other man's inquiry, "can you put my aunt back on, please?"
He could practically hear Stark's exaggerated eye roll, as something that sounded awfully like "it's your funeral, kid," wafted through the phone.
There was a beat of silence before the merry tone of May reached his ear, "oh Peter! You have got to try one of these mini quiches when you get here, they are just—"
"That's what I was calling you about, Aunt May," Peter cut across her gently, rubbing the back of his neck and lowering his voice, "I'm so sorry but I—won't be able to meet you until tomorrow. Me and uh...Wade...something came up and Professor Rickards needs us. Will you be okay staying with Mr. Star—"
"Don't you worry about me, sweetheart! I'll be just fine! Mr. Stark has arranged for some officers to come and take my statement tomorrow morning. You and your friend don't work too hard, and I'll see you then," she interjected, her tone laced with something that he couldn't identify.
"Are you sur—"
"I am a grown woman, Peter. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I know you worry sweetheart, but really, there's no need. I'm perfectly safe here. I'm in Iron Man's home for pete's sake!" she laughed before he heard her physically clap a hand over her mouth, no doubt realizing how loud she had said that.
"And besides..." she continued after a moment, significantly quieter than before, "Jarvis is the perfect gentleman. He'll no doubt keep me entertained for the evening. You and Wade be sure to have fun in between all the work, won't you?"
There was that tone again.
"John and Mitchie were gettin' kinda itchy just to leave the folk music behind..." Wade was singing softly, still at the stove a few minutes later when Peter came into the kitchen, having finished speaking with May.
"You're in for a treat, Petey Pie! I don't make just anyone my famous peanut butter and banana pancakes, you know!" he called over his shoulder as Peter took a seat at the small, round table, fighting the urge to inspect every inch of the place.
"Pancakes? I thought you wanted to order take-out," he replied in lieu of giving into the temptation to go snooping.
Now that he was finally in Wade's home, he found that he was becoming overwhelmed with curiosity at what he could find.
And terrified.
So very terrified...
"Oh we're totally ordering take-out too! Don't worry your pretty little head about that," he assured, "let's just call these appetisers. I can't have you say I'm not a gracious host, after all."
Peter shook his head at him, feeling for what must have been the tenth time that this last while had been culminating into a strange series of firsts for him.
"McGuinn and McGuire just a-gettin' higher in L.A., you know where that's at. And no one's gettin' fat except Mama Cass," Wade began singing again, gesturing with the spatula in his hand towards the living room.
"Feel free to browse my eclectic collection of video games. Don't expect any Xbox One shit though...stupid glorified brick," he finished, flipping the pancake, it landing with a loud sizzle onto the pan.
"Uh, thanks," Peter responded, standing up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, making his way into the next room.
Looks like he now had permission to snoop...
If he was feeling particularly reflective in that moment, he'd realize how hypocritical he was being. Had always been when it came to Wade. He was fascinated with his back story, and now with his home, yet had never been too enthusiastic to share his own, the sheer idea of the merc roaming free in his home unattended, setting his teeth on edge.
He shoved down the soft ebb of guilt that was gnawing at him.
"Woah...you weren't kidding about 'eclectic'" he remarked as he raked in the dozens and dozens of video game titles that lined a crooked shelf.
"Super Mario, Rayman, Sonic the Hedgehog..." he trailed off, noting a particular theme in each.
"Why the long face, puddin' pop?" Deadpool asked, appearing in the living room, plate full of stacked pancakes in hand.
"Oh uh..." Peter turned on the spot, shrugging, "it's nothing it's just...I thought your video-game collection would be a little more...I thought you'd be more of a Grand Theft Auto or Call of Duty, kinda guy," he finished, clearing his throat, silently berating himself for being so damn awkward.
Wade crossed the room, depositing the plate on a cluttered coffee table and sitting down on the grubby couch, already taking a large bite of pancake.
"Hey, don't get me wrong, I do appreciate unrealistically large tits and a good kill," he spoke around his full mouth, "but it's my living. The killing, not the tits. Although, after Lady Deadpool, I always did wonder what it'd be like to have—" he waved dismissively, clearly realizing he was going off on a tangent.
"What I mean is, if I were to do it in my downtime too? It would kinda ruin the fun for me. Always wondered how ladies-of-the-night manage to their rocks off at home..." he trailed off, shrugging, "so the only excessively violent video game I own, is mine."
Peter felt that there was more to it than that, something just a little off in Wade's tone, but didn't feel like prying.
"You have your own video game?" he asked instead, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead as he selected a few games and made his way over to the couch, taking a seat beside Wade, immediately noticing that it was quite a tight squeeze, their shoulders and thighs brushing off one another.
"Sure. Doesn't everybody?" the merc enquired, piercing the pancakes with a fork and holding them up to the brunet's face.
"Uh, not usually, no," Peter murmured, raking a hand through his hair and taking the fork with a small smile.
"Whatever Princess Peach. What are we playin'?"
"FUCKING BLUE SHELL BASTARD!" Wade roared as Peter hid a laugh behind his hand.
They'd been playing old school Mario Kart for a couple of hours now, but Peter had to admit that it was far more entertaining watching Wade play video games than actually doing so himself.
Let's just say, he didn't perpetuate the polite-Canadian stereotype.
"Little horny piece of shit," the merc was murmuring under his breath, leaning to the far right with the PS3 controller clutched in his hands, as if he moving his body would somehow help Mario move his.
"Hey, I have a name, you know."
The retort fell from Peter's lips before he could stop it.
What the hell is wrong with you, Parker?!
He felt the mercenary tense up, completely frozen for a split second, before clearing his throat, and reaching out to give him a gentle shove.
"Pass me another slice will ya, Petey?" he croaked, a blush creeping up his neck, disappearing under his mask.
Well, that wasn't the kinda response Peter was expecting...
The brunet had been dropping subtle hints all night that it was okay if Wade wanted to take off his mask, but either the older man was being deliberately obtuse or just didn't feel comfortable to do so. Peter couldn't help but feel troubled by that. He hated to think that Wade was too self-conscious to be himself in his own home. He was also a little confused by it, considering that he was wearing a bright purple dress, but again, it was something he didn't want to push.
Silently, he handed him a slice of double-cheese pizza, their fingers brushing lightly.
With a jolt, Deadpool's head jerked towards him before lowering to their hands.
"Wade...you okay?" Peter asked, brow furrowed with confusion.
At those words, the mercenary seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had fallen into.
"Weasel."
"Excuse me?"
Deadpool shook his head, leaning back on the couch, pizza slice resting in his hand.
"Jack Hammer...you know him?"
Peter shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against Wade's dress strap that had slipped down to reveal a sliver of scarred skin at his collar bone.
The brunet swallowed deeply, averting his eyes.
"Yeah, he's a huge geek from college. Haven't seen him in years."
"Talk about the pot callin' the kettle nerdy," Deadpool snorted, rolling up his mask and shoving the pizza in his mouth.
"Why are you asking me about him?" Peter enquired, putting down the controller and shifting his body to face Wade.
The merc shrugged, "the guy just doesn't seem like your biggest fan, is all. Thought you might consider him a suspect."
The brunet let out a laugh, "nah. Hammer's harmless. He just doesn't like me 'cause I beat him out of a big scholarship to work with Professor Rickards."
Wade nodded, "this Professor Rickards...she works for Stark, right?"
Peter busied himself with grabbing another slice of pizza, taking a bite and chewing slowly before responding, "yeah. She lectures at my grad school part-time and also works at the lab in Stark Industries."
"Where you work," Wade stated rather than asked.
The brunet bit his lip, feeling a little tense at this line of questioning.
"Yeah, I started there about six months ago."
"And what do you do exactly, Petey? I overheard you say to your aunt that you were gettin' some sorta paper published in an academic journal?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders.
"Science stuff. Nothing you'd be interested i—"
"Nothing I'd understand, you mean," Wade interjected, sounding a little affronted.
Hazel eyes widened.
"N-No, that's not what I meant, Wade. It's just...it's nothing that great, really. The paper I'm getting published, yeah, I worked hard on it...but it wasn't where my true interests lie..." Peter trailed off, annoyed at himself that he was thinking about this again, after managing to avoid doing so for weeks.
"So where do your 'true interests' lie?"
It was an innocent enough question, sure. Didn't mean it was so easy to answer, however. Where the hell did he start in condensing and explaining his intense passion for biochemistry, biophysics, scientific technology, research and development and all round advancement in scientific discovery? Trying not to think about it too hard, he just let the words flow from him.
"You ever hear of Peggy Carter?"
"Badass British Lady, Co-Founder of SHIELD and Cap's old flame? Sure," Wade nodded, licking the pizza sauce off fingers with a loud smack.
"Well..." Peter began, hardly believing he was talking about this, "during her tenure, she and Howard Stark, Tony's dad, worked on a lot of fascinating cases together. Back before SHIELD was founded, she worked in the sorta precursor to it, the Strategic Scientific Reserve and took down a Russian hypnotist called Johann Fennhoff. He stole a weapon of Stark's that could...well, it was bad. Anyway, about a year ago, a very similar tech of unknown origin was uncovered. LK90. When I began at Stark Industries, I started looking into it, just making some observations but..." he trailed off, raising one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
"But...?" Wade prompted, leaning forward, apparently captivated by his tale.
"But it didn't work out," Peter responded, staring down at his lap, "you have to study the weapon before you know how to disarm it. I wasted months and couldn't...couldn't figure it out. Had nothing to show for it. So I moved on to more established things. One of those being the focus of the paper that's going to be published so, all's well that ends well, I suppose..."
"You don't sound super happy about that," the Canadian remarked with a tilt of his head, taking a sip of his beer.
Peter's head raised, his eyes lingering on the sliver of exposed skin from under Wade's mask as he took a drink.
"Yeah well...it was my first delving into the scientific world that Tony Stark dominates. And I was a spectacular failure. Not only did I embarrass myself in front of him, but also Professor Rickards, whose career I've followed for years now," he huffed, reaching down to pick up his own beer and taking a swig.
"Mistakes are the portals of discovery. You'll get there, Petey. You just gotta stop being so hard on yourself," Wade lamented wisely, raising his beer to clink it against Peter's.
"Did you just quote James Joyce?"
"I'm not just a pretty face, you know."
A small smile broke out on the younger man's face. He hadn't spoken about those first few months at Stark Industries with anyone, not even his aunt. He had honestly been afraid, apprehensive of the growing sense of failure he felt, the disappointment in himself. Yet, here he was, suddenly talking about it with Wade Wilson of all people. He hadn't planned it, but now that he had said the words out loud, he found that he didn't feel as bad about it as he used to. That was progress, he supposed.
A warmth rose from the pit of his stomach, spreading throughout his chest.
"Thanks Wade," he found himself murmuring softly, clinking his beer bottle against his, feeling truly appreciative of the merc's listening ear.
"That's what friends are for," the Canadian replied lightly before his whole body tensed, "not that I'm suggesting that we're...I mean I know we only know each other a short—"
"How do you know Jack, anyway? What did you call him? Weasel?" Peter interjected, saving the older man from his embarrassment, resting his hand gently on his bare arm.
Wade glanced down at Peter's hand.
"Oh Petey..." he croaked before clearing his throat, "that's a story for another day," he rambled frantically before abruptly standing up, wiping his hands on the frills of his dress and taking a step away from the couch.
He barely got a foot however before he tripped over the console controller that lay on the floor and stumbled backwards.
Peter hardly had time to gasp before he suddenly found himself with a lap full of Wade Wilson.
The room lapsed into a sudden silence so profound that Peter swore that all could be heard was his frantic heartbeat, hammering in his chest as he stared up at the 6'2" looming figure on top of him, strong thighs wedged either side of his hips, muscular chest brushing against his as his ass rested firmly on his crotch.
"Funny. I didn't figure you for the clumsy type," he murmured, aiming for teasing but it sounding far too breathy for his liking.
"I—" the merc broke off, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.
Wade Winston Wilson speechless. Peter never thought he'd see the day.
He should do something. Why wasn't he doing something?
No Spidey strength, his mind supplied him helpfully, you've used it far too much already. The ball's in Wade's court.
An odd sense of déjà vu passed over Peter as Wade absent-mindedly gripped his shoulder. He had no idea why and he couldn't even begin to explain it, but something about it seemed strangely familiar.
[Okay, I can't take it anymore!]
{This time I'm totally with ya. Screw POV. Oh my fucking god! We're straddling Petey! What the hell is the big guy doing?! Has he had a stroke?}
[I think he's in shock]
{He's never in shock}
[Should we do something?]
{Don't you dare!}
Seconds ticked by as Wade continued to loom over Peter, purple dress bunched up around his waist, exposing his Captain America boxer shorts.
{Why did he take off his jeans again?}
[To 'let the boys breathe']
{Well they're definitely respiring now!}
"Wow...you really are a fan of Cap," Peter forced out a laugh that sounded false even to his own ears, a bundle of nervous energy as his hazel orbs flickered up Wade's body.
Another crimson flush rose up the merc's neck, disappearing under the mask. The brunet found himself following it with a steely gaze.
"Uh I—I should..." Wade attempted speech again, "uh...sorry," he paused, lifting himself off the younger man and stepping several feet away from the couch.
Peter sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That's—that's okay. Accidents happen. So uh...time for bed?"
[Oh sweet Lord in Heaven]
{Have mercy on us}
"I-I mean," Peter bolted up from the couch unsteadily like a frightened deer, holding out his hands, "I just...I didn't mean...I..." he took a deep breath, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, "it's been a long day. I was just wondering if there was somewhere I could crash?"
Wade nodded vigorously before gesturing behind him.
"Uh yeah, sure, follow me."
[Point Of View change? Pretty please?!]
{Sigh}
[If the big guy's heart beats any harder it's gonna burst outta his chest Alien style]
{Where's Ellen Ripley when ya need her?}
Wade forced himself forward towards his bedroom, trying not to dwell on the fact that Peter was mere inches from him, following obediently.
"And this is where the magic happens," he joked, it falling flat as he gestured to his tossed bed, stepping through his shabby room.
He could feel Peter's eyes on him.
Turning on the spot, he compelled himself to look directly at him. Never was he more thankful for the mask that covered his tomato-red face.
{Looks like Bashful is our Disney Dwarf of the day}
[Great. Next up Dopey. Then sleepy. Then tomorrow morning – Grumpy]
{Don't forget Happy. A rare occurrence, I know. But considering the tenor of this evening...methinks some very nice dreams are coming our way}
[I wonder if there's an eighth Dwarf called Horny?]
{Or Desperate?}
[Or Pathetic? Seriously though, when the hell did he turn into a blushing virgin on his wedding night?]
{Since this is the most fun he's had with another person in...a long time}
Wade frantically tried to ignore his boxes as he watched Peter's eyes fall on the very singular bed.
"I'll take the couch. I...I'm not as great a host as you were to me but...that's the least I can do," he stammered, forcing his feet to move back towards the door.
"No wait!" Peter held up his hand, stepping in his way, "don't...you don't have to do that. I'm not kicking you outta your own bed. It's...it's big enough for the two of us," he remarked quietly, his eyes bulging behind his black-rimmed glasses, looking beyond surprised that he had suggested such a thing.
{Is she seriously doing the sleeping-in-the-same-bed trope?}
[Shut up! Do not ruin this for us]
{So cliché. Seriously, all we need now is the big guy to get all handsy during the night and for poor Petey to wake up to an erection pressed against his—}
"Hey, you okay?"
Wade was spat from his reverie by the sound of Peter's voice. Catching his eye, the two men regarded one another from either side of the bed.
{This is exactly how all our dreams start}
[And most pornos. Just with pizza delivery guys instead of grad students]
"Looks like you came prepared," he pointed to the small backpack that was slung across the brunet's shoulder.
Peter shrugged, clearly not wanting to get into it, before depositing the bag on the bed and riffling through it.
Wade frowned as he began taking out pajama pants and a tooth-brush, wondering why the guy was carrying around such things.
"Where's your bathroom?"
Once he had left the room, the merc let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
{You're in for it now, buddy}
[Good thing we have that sexy lingerie for such an occasion]
{I thought we were being gentleman and not giving into our desires to tap that harder than Fred Astaire in Top Hat}
[Now there's an outdated reference. Way to alienate the readers]
Meanwhile, Peter was gripping the sink in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
"Calm down, Parker. Why are you freaking out? You're just gonna share a bed with Deadpool...no big deal," he whispered to himself, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth.
"What's the worst that can happen?"
He bit his lip as a steady stream of dread rose from the depths of his stomach.
"Famous last words," he murmured, running a hand through his hair and making his way back out to the bedroom.
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued to the ajar door. Through the crack, he could see Wade, his back to him as he slipped the dress up over his torso, letting it cascade to the floor.
Peter stopped breathing as the light caught Wade's tarnished skin, every scar, no matter how minute, seeming magnified as if under a microscope. The hard, rigid lines of muscle rippled underneath the blemishes with each movement, his broad shoulder blades and biceps stretching as he reached up to slip on a plain white T-shirt.
As the shirt fell to cover the last of the scars on Wade's lower back, Peter found himself coming out of the odd trance that had befallen him.
Clearing his throat loudly, he raised a hand to knock on the door.
"Uh, come in," Deadpool murmured distractedly over his shoulder, fingers tugging his mask back down over his face.
"You're not gonna wear that to bed, are you?" the brunet asked before he could stop himself, wincing the instant the last syllable left his lips.
Deadpool shrugged half-heartedly, still facing away from him, "well, I wouldn't want you to have a heart attack when you wake up next to this," he waved a hand at his face, "in the morning. So...better safe than, you know, dead."
Peter decided to let it be, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, the trepidation of what was happening finally getting the best of him.
"Well, go on then. Or are you waiting for me to tuck you in?" Wade asked, the teasing hilt to his tone tinged with an air of something that could be construed as nervousness.
The younger man did as he was told, getting into the bed and slipping under the covers, pulling them tight up to his chin and laying rigidly on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Wade shuffled around the room for another few moments, clearly trying to prolong getting in beside him for as long as possible, before finally heaving a sigh and sitting down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to turn off the lamp.
As the room was engulfed in darkness, Peter could just see the outline of the mercenary as he climbed under the covers and after a lot of tossing and turning, eventually settled.
The bed was large enough that there was a decent amount of space between them both, and yet, Peter was hyper aware of the warmth radiating from the other man. He was like a furnace cranked all the way to eleven.
How had he never noticed that before? He had known Wade over five years and had no idea that he ran hot. Or that he only played video games aimed at kids because his life was violent enough. Or had a row of rubber ducks in his bathtub all named Bucky Ducky (if the inscriptions were anything to go by) and made really delicious peanut butter and banana pancakes.
Peter wasn't a fool. He knew that what he and Wade had over the years didn't quite pass as true, normal friendship and yet, he couldn't help but feel ashamed. The older man seemed to know a ton about his alter-ego, from his favourite movies to his favourite type of taco, whereas Peter knew that he couldn't say the same about the Canadian.
It had taken these last few weeks for him to realize it, but now that he did, he found that he wanted to know more. While Deadpool's past always fascinated him, now it was more than that. He had seen a side to the merc that he never had before and it just made him more and more curious about the world of Wade. He wondered what other layers there were still deeply hidden within the man's shadowy intrigue, what nuances and neuroses deeply entwined in his chemical make-up that made Wade, Wade.
It was that gnawing curiosity that had him reflecting on their earlier encounter, the desire to know what he had meant by those words growing deeper with each passing second.
I haven't seen him in over three months and ever since he started hangin' out with those Avenger assholes, he's not been the same!
Those words had been haunting him ever since they erupted from Deadpool, spat in his face with as much force as a back-handed slap.
"What—what happened between you and Spider Man?" he quietly murmured into the darkness, giving in to his longing to know Wade's side of the story, preparing himself for what could lie ahead, however uncomfortable and guilt-ridden it may prove to be for him.
The Canadian seemed surprised that Peter had spoken up. Shuffling in the darkness, he turned towards him, sitting up slightly.
"Nothing, really. The guy…he just—wasn't who I thought he was," Peter could feel Wade shrug as he leaned back on his elbow.
"What does that mean?" the younger man compelled himself to ask, his stomach churning into knots.
"He—it's stupid, really. I…thought we were friends. Turns out, we weren't. No big deal."
Peter's heart lurched painfully in his chest as that sentence reverberated around the otherwise quiet room. His breath caught in his throat at the flippancy of it, it containing a practiced nonchalance, as if it were something that Wade had repeated to himself over and over in front of a mirror.
Maybe he did.
Don't think about that night, don't think about that night, don't think about that—
"Well, if it's any consolation…I think he's an idiot," words fell from Peter's lips suddenly, desperate to drown out his inner chant, "I-I know we don't know each other very long, Wade, but even I can see you're…you…make a good friend. Things would never get boring, anyway."
There was a beat of silence while seemed to stretch for eons as Peter fought the rising sense of panic in his veins, forcing himself to close his eyes and take a deep, calming breath.
"Thanks Peter," Wade replied eventually, the sincerity in his tone doing something to the brunet's insides.
"You're welcome," Peter murmured, turning slightly to face him, hand resting comfortably at his side as he waited for sleep to claim him.
"You make a good friend too," he distantly heard Wade mumble softly close to his ear a little while later as he was being tugged into unconsciousness, "a Slytherin like me and a Hufflepuff like you? We could take over the damn world..."
[Don't freak out. Don't freak out. STOP FREAKING OUT!]
{Petey is totally still staring at us}
[Was he gonna touch our face?]
{We better get a goddamn grip, quick}
[I know what I'd like to get a grip on]
{He can't just keep staring at us. Bad things will happen. This has to stop. Self-preservation! Say something! Say anything!}
[Ooh, I see what she did there]
"Is this the part where you snap, rip off my skin and make yourself a meat-suit? 'Cause I gotta tell ya kid, there are a hell of a lot more viable options if you're in the market for a new face."
{Really? That's the best thing you could come up with?}
[You know, this 'he' 'I' 'us' 'we' business is confusing]
{What can I say? We're complex}
[There it is again]
Wade ignored his boxes, instead focusing on the adorable blush that was painting Peter's face, his dark hair standing up in every different direction.
{Damn. Of course he's cute in the morning}
[He's cute every time of the day. And bangable. So. Very. Bangable.]
{Schwing!}
"How long have you been awake?" Peter asked, the sound of his deepened voice causing a little shudder to shoot up Wade's spine.
A sly smirk crossed the mercenary's face at that question, he feeling a little impish this morning, happy to have woken up to such a beautiful sight beside him and glad not have an embarrassing case of morning wood.
[Yet]
"Depends," Wade murmured shrewdly, "how long have you been staring at me?"
He watched with unadulterated glee as poor Petey shone an even darker shade of crimson, his hazel eyes alight with shock.
"I don't—"
The younger man was saved by the bell, or rather, the incessant beeping that began from across the room.
Frowning at one another, they both sat up in the bed, their gazes falling on the culprit.
The tracker.
"Blye...he must be on the move," Peter mumbled, running a hand through his already delectable hair.
Tearing his eyes away from that delicious sight and barely stifling a groan, Wade sprang into action, throwing himself across Peter, their bodies connecting for a split second before he rolled out onto the other side of the bed, landing on the floor and shuffling over to snatch up the tracker.
{Was that entirely necessary?}
[Nope. But I'm thankful anyway]
"You know what this means, dear Watson?" Wade half-yelled with excitement at his rumpled friend who was clearly trying to recover from having his large frame draped across him for the second time in less than twelve hours, "the game is afoot!"
So this chapter was originally titled 'Hero Stark Flirty' but I've decided to split that up to become the next chapter.
Yeah...nobody cares. Onto more exciting news! Woo! We're gettin' an R-rating, baby!
So I heard.
And not your weak-ass R-rating, either. A proper, balls-to-the-wall, knock down, drag out, shit-hits-the-fan, big tits, bigger guns, blood, guts and gore rating!
You're like a kid at Christmas.
You're sure as shit, I am! Morena Baccarin is gonna be CopyCat too...me-ow!
She is hot. And a good actress.
All I know her as is that weird alien chick from V, but I'll take your word for it.
Uh huh. And how do you feel about the whole Vanessa thing? I know it's a sore point in your past.
All part of the origin story. I'll deal. Sigh.
What?
If only Spidey and I could appear on screen together...
I don't think the world could handle that.
But I could totally rock that upside-down kiss in the rain! I would out-Dunst Kirsten!
Sure ya would, Wade.