A/N: A decently speedy update! Hurrah!
A bit further explanation of the way I differentiate the voices in Deadpool's head when he's thinking. As in the last chapter thisis just him thinking. (This) is voice number 1, and [this] is voice number 2. I hope that helps.
Also, I've been playing around with perspective. The way I write sentences and refer to the characters depends on whose point of view I'm trying to capture. When they're together, and it's more of a strict narration, it'll be a more neutral mixture. Hopefully it flows in an intuitive manner.
Wade figured there was no way he could continue pretending to be unconscious. He struggled to untangle his limbs from the younger man's, moving onto his knees to relieve the kid of his weight. Quickly regaining his bearings, the merc stood without a word, offering a hand to the younger man (surprised when he actually took it). Wade took the chance to survey the room from his new vantage point, but found nothing of interest aside from the stained couch he'd been laying on. He turned his attention back to the kid, who was still standing silent, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Guess it's up to me to break the ice.
"So, um... I take it you found me in the alley?"
Peter was relieved that Deadpool had spoken first, unsure of how to broach the situation himself.
"Yeah... I figured you'd be fine no matter how badly you were hurt, but I have to admit that I was a little curious about who you'd been fighting that had been capable of knocking you out cold." He continued rubbing the bump on the back of his head as he spoke, "And after I found you, I kind of felt obligated to help a... friend." The word slipped awkwardly from his lips and hung in the air between them for a moment. Peter cringed as he saw the material of Deadpool's mask stretch in a wide smile. The merc suddenly broke out in laughter, doubling over while gripping his sides. He went on for a good long while. The younger man watched in a mixture of confusion and worry. Finally, he straightened himself, rubbing his eye through his mask as though wiping a tear away.
"No, no! I was taking a nap."
Peter was silent for a moment, his irritation flaring up. "... Really? In an alley?" As soon as he asked, he knew it was most likely true. Oh for fuck's sake... I risked my identity to try to help him, and he was napping!? And my couch!? My new couch! That damn thing cost a full paycheck! He rubbed his temples and remained silent while the merc continued chucking to himself.
Wade realized that Spidey didn't find the situation as funny as he did, connecting the dots. Ah, of course he doesn't want me to know where he lives. (Yeah, we are kind of crazy...) [And our reputation isn't that good. Even if we are friends, he probably wants to keep his identity secret from us. Now that we know where he lives, that's in jeopardy.] But he did call me a friend. (Come on, you saw him face after he said that. That was obviously a slip of the tongue.) [He's wearing a mask. We couldn't see anything.] A Freudian slip? (No, just a regular slip.) [Anyways, he's probably upset that we know. He tried to help, even though we were just sleeping.]
The older man was pulled from his musings when Peter cleared his throat. He wondered how long they'd been standing there in silence while he was conversing with himself.
"Hey, um, thank you. I know you took a risk bringing me back here. I won't... do anything, or tell anyone." The younger man was genuinely surprised by the mercenary's words. Maybe he hadn't given Deadpool enough credit for situational awareness. He smiled despite himself, genuinely feeling like he could trust the older man.
"No worries. I'm just glad there's not actually some monstrous villain out there capable of beating you."
Wade laughed, and the tension in the room was finally thoroughly dissipated. "I feel like there was a compliment hidden in there somewhere."
Peter turned his attention to the heap of spandex scraps next to the couch, walking over, picking up a handful and letting the pieces fall back on the pile. "Sorry. I kind of destroyed your suit. I'll pay to replace it."
Wade joined the younger man, kneeling next to the pile, sifting through the ragged pieces until he came to his belt. "Nah. It was already pretty torn up, and the most important part is still intact." He stood and put it on over the too-tight sweatpants digging into his hips. "Plus I've gotten pretty good at sewing!" Peter laughed in acquiescence, imagining the larger man bent over and meticulously stitching a quilt (in a rocking chair, wearing reading glasses).
"Alright. At least let me get you a bag to carry it in."
The younger man retrieved a black duffel bag from his closet, and in just a few minutes, all of the scraps had been loaded into it. Wade hefted the bag onto his shoulder and turned to face Peter. "Well, I guess I should be off then." They walked to the window, the younger man opening it in silence. Deadpool ducked out onto the fire escape, but hesitated. "Can I buy you a taco, Spidey? To say thanks?"
"Thanks, but I'll pass tonight. I'm pretty exhausted."
"Maybe in the future?"
Peter laughed. "Maybe."
With that, the merc was off, teleporting himself down to the street and disappearing into the nearest alley. Peter watched for a moment before shutting the window, pulling the curtains shut and trudging to the bathroom. He disrobed along the way, leaving his suit strewn across the floor, thankful to finally breathe freely again. He stood in the shower under the water for a long time, replaying the past couple of hours in his head, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation. Pushing away the unwelcome memory of Deadpool naked that briefly flashed through his mind, he turned his thoughts to his newly altered opinion of the older man. He may be a psychopath with questionable morals, but he really does seem like an alright guy. I actually feel like I can trust him. ...He is a psychopath though. Napping in an alley?
Peter at last managed to will himself from under the hot stream of water. He walked naked to his bedroom while listlessly drying the water from his body, and flopped on his bed without bothering to even put on underwear. The perks of living alone.
Wade had been quite tempted to spy on Spider-man, and on any other day, knowing exactly where the younger man lived, he would have in a heartbeat. But since Spidey'd been considerate enough to leave his mask in place when he had the perfect opportunity to remove it, he figured he was kind of obligated to respect the kid's privacy. He did, however, take a mental note of the exact building, floor, and location of the apartment while he was leaving (for a later date).
As he made his way back to his own apartment, Wade thought back on the evening's events. It'd been a good one: he finished a hit, gotten paid, had his favorite dinner from his favorite food truck, taken a nap, and gotten a sponge bath from his favorite sometimes-accomplice (who had then even referred to him as a friend!). He had doubted it when the kid first said it, but then he'd both shown his concern for Wade's well-being, and complimented him. (That might be stretching it a bit.) Still, it was nice to feel like someone actually cared for him. Maybe we can really be friends!
When he'd finally reached home, Wade immediately shucked the too-tight sweatpants, and retrieved a sewing kit from his bedroom. He donned a pair of reading glasses over his mask, sat down with the duffel bag and sewing kit in his rocking chair, and got to work patching up his suit, chuckling to himself at how Spidey had almost fallen over when he'd seen him naked.
Unfortunately for Peter, who had really wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep after his trying evening, his brain seemed intent on self-punishment via exceedingly vivid dreams. He was laying on his couch while Deadpool hovered over him with a pair of scissors, cutting off his suit. Try as he might, he couldn't speak to let the merc know that he was awake, and couldn't move more than to squirm in place, which somehow didn't seem to catch his attention. Worse still, the older man pulled his mask off, not even stopping when he saw that Peter was awake. Not even reacting to seeing his face despite going out of his way to unmask him (or having the decency to cover up his nakedness). Peter wanted to thrash the merc, but could only lay writhing as he began wiping him down with a warm washcloth.
To his horror, he felt a twinge of arousal. No no no no no... Deadpool's hands were running over his body way too gently; it was more like he was caressing him. Peter inhaled sharply (and would have gasped, had his mouth been working) when the merc grabbed his shoulder firmly, shifting him to run the washcloth down his side. Another sharp jolt of arousal coursed through his body, and he redoubled his efforts to yell and move, managing only a pitiful whimper and more squirming. He looked down, and was overwhelmed with shame when he saw he was erect. NO NO NO... The older man again didn't make any outward indication of noticing, and only moved down to work on Peter's legs. The feeling of the mercenary's hands on his thighs was too much. Goosebumps worked their way down his spine, and his toes curled. Oh god, please just touch me already... Peter was ashamed of the thought, and refused to even acknowledge that it'd crossed his mind, but it had, and continued to do so repeatedly over the next few torturous minutes. He was so close to release, but it just wouldn't seem to come. Pride and shame were temporarily suspended, and all he could think of was needing those damn hands to- NO! He was stopping! Why was he stopping? Peter twisted his head to the side with sheer will, just about ready to beg the older man, but his eyes fell upon that. Despite being fully suited up, Deadpool's enviable endowment was out, and very hard. Jesus H. Christ!
With that, Peter jerked awake, and it slowly sank in that it'd all been a dream. He swallowed hard, still panting, his heart still racing, and his body still on fire with need. He didn't care about the circumstances; he was just happy to be able to move again, eagerly taking himself in his hand and pumping like his life depended on it. Curling up on his side with his face buried in his pillow, Peter moaned loudly while he worked himself back up to the brink until finally, finally a wave of pleasure like none he'd ever experienced before crashed down upon him with mind shattering intensity. He was vaguely aware of the sharp, hoarse cry that escaped his throat, but was much too busy trembling and writhing in ecstasy to fully register his own lewd display.
As the feeling slowly subsided, he turned to lay on his back, sprawled across the bed, breathless and sweaty. Pride and shame no longer suspended by blind need for release, Peter immediately began questioning himself. What the hell was that?
A/N: That's all for now, chickadees. I hope you're enjoying things so far. As before, feel free to provide constructive criticism/ideas, or just let me know what you think so far!