Peter had had a crappy day and it was turning into an even more crappy late afternoon. There had been two failed job interviews. One had looked at his resume and told him he was overqualified and they weren't about to pay him that much money. The other had told him he didn't have the experience necessary for a really simple test run that would last about six weeks and any college student in their first year could have done it.

Peter was frustrated. Extremely and utterly frustrated. He would have drowned his sorrows in greasy fast food and a ridiculous amount of sugar, but his budget for this month was tight and he couldn't spend more than he already had.

At least the Bugle had given him something for his latest batch of pictures, even if that meant just two weeks of rent were now secured and he would probably have to eat Ramen for the rest of the year.

He evaded some cars as he sprinted across the streets, listening to the honks and yells, then dove under an overhang.

Sleet came down heavily, turning the pavement treacherously slick, and there were smaller accidents all over the place. The police were busy and pedestrians tried to stay out of the freezing rain.

Peter ducked into his street and breathed a sigh of relief when his key worked right away, without the necessity of jiggling the lock. He was cold and hungry, feeling tired and worn.

His apartment was thankfully warm, though the heating was still pretty much unreliable. Today was one of the better days for warmth.

Peter was greeted by the sight of pizza and donuts on his table, and he had to smile involuntarily. Those were about the calories he would need to make it through the rest of the day and not fall over half dead throughout patrol.

So he grabbed a large slice and dumped his bag.

It was then that part of him rippled, though not in alarm. It was just a reminder that there was someone else there, but no one with an ill intent, and Peter knew before he turned.

"Hey," he greeted Deadpool, giving him a wide smile. "Thanks for the food. I really need it. Crappy day. Job interviews were a bust. So how was yours?"

The first slice disappeared lightning fast and Peter grabbed a second one. Wade just shrugged almost nervously. He was wearing one of his habitual plain hoodies, face in shadows, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his aged jeans.

They had both unanimously and without any words decided to ignore the whole 'I offered you a humongous apartment for free' incident. It had been eight days ago and those eight days had been Peter trying hard to find work, even if he only worked for five days in a pizza joint that gave him barely minimum wage, but he could eat for free. After the five days the regular worker had come back and Peter was jobless again.

He wasn't desperate yet, but he was getting close.

Deadpool had been at his side throughout those nights he was Spider-Man, enjoying patrols and helping people. There had been no private get-together and Peter had respected the distance.

Now he was here.

"Epiphanies and all," Wade said with a one-sided shrug. "Weasel says hello, by the way. He would have sent cake, but his baking is shit."

Peter finished a third slice. He was really hungry. "Epiphanies?" he queried, mouth full.

"A sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience," Wade quoted, sounding like a walking dictionary.

"Oh-kay?"

"Happens from time to time, even to me. Usually in the shower. Or while unaliving someone. Rarely when I eat. Somehow tacos require all my braincells while the rest is just… well, like getting off in the shower. Practiced motions. No brain required. All blood down south and busy elsewhere."

Peter blinked, still chewing. The pizza was heaven and he was ravenous. He picked up a donut after he had swallowed the last pepperoni piece.

"So I got my ass kicked. By Weasel, who happens to be my best bud, and my brain, which happens to be my worst enemy." Deadpool shrugged again. "Two against one, what can I say? And it's me against me, too. I should listen to myself when I lose against myself, right?"

"Wade, what…"

And suddenly the hood was down, the scars there for all the world to see. Peter stared, the donut halfway to his mouth, now forgotten.

It had come so out of the blue, without a real warning, he was dumbstruck. All he could do was take in the face revealed to his eyes. All of Wade Wilson; not just the chin and lips.

All.

Peter felt something inside of him unfold at the sight, something that was sending an unexpected surge through him.

"Wow," he whispered.

"Yeah," Deadpool snorted, averting his eyes. "I know, right? Stomach turning. My very own horror movie. It walks and talks in all its haunting reality."

Peter slowly shook his head, the words not really making any sense.

Despite Deadpool's continuous statements that people would turn tail, puke their guts out, Peter felt no revulsion. Curiosity, yes. Questions welling up inside him, sure. The surge turning into a relentless push to get closer, to touch, to feel all he had never been allowed to see. He wanted to explore the texture of the scars, compare them to the fleeting touch of the already revealed hands.

Wade Wilson wasn't a monster. He wasn't a freak. He wasn't the stuff nightmares were made of.

He was a man marked by the ordeals of his life, by his terrible illness, by the experiments. The scarring resembled gruesome burns that had healed badly in places. Here and there a web of scars crawled along the strong jawline or up a sharply defined cheekbone. There wasn't a single visible hair. No eyebrows, no stubble, nothing on his head. Neither his ears, nor his nose, were deformed.

What stood out were the eyes. Expressive, brown eyes that reflected fear, longing, apprehension and need. Eyes that were so much older than Deadpool could ever be, full of anger, full of self-loathing, doubt and self-hatred, all flashing through them in a second.

Eyes that averted their gaze as Peter tried to look into them, with a stubborn set to the tense jaw. A muscle twitched.

And there was something else. A fine sheen of silver along the edge of the brown, almost like a hallucination on Peter's part, but it was there.

Wade Wilson was a man, a human being, not a monster. He was a preternatural. He was a lot of things, but no abomination. Not a freak.

"Hey," Peter murmured when he had slowly closed the distance.

"Hey," was the hesitant reply.

Wade's eyes tracked quickly over his face, refusing to meet his own eyes, and he was visibly fighting not to hide underneath the hood again. There was a stubborn determination there, to ride this out, to face it all, even if instinct told him to cover himself and run.

Peter felt the bond coming to life between them. Slowly unfolding. Slowly reaching out. And at the other end sat the chimera, strong and unwilling to back down again, that strongest of instincts in Wade, the one that had finally outvoted the human fear.

Something seemed to scout around the forming connection, looking to get closer but still strangely hesitant despite its nightmarish hunger, wanting more of Peter, but afraid to take it.

SDSDSD

Wade swallowed, mouth dry, as he finally looked into Peter's open face. He was waiting for the grimace, the expression of discomfort, the pity maybe.

None of it came.

The chimera stretched, purring, almost smug. It was scooting closer toward Peter's end of the connection they had, sharp claws ready to strike and lodge themselves into the other man's very self.

For good.

Forever.

If the last barrier fell… when it fell… it would strike.

A million thoughts that normally ran through his messed up mind were suddenly silent, hiding behind a corner and leaving him out in the open, lost for words.

Traitors.

"It can't be real," Wade murmured, sounding almost frightened.

That feeling, that pull. This singular need.

"Why not?"

"She died… and I died with her."

Peter regarded him steadily. "You didn't. The hellhound did, yes, but the chimera came to life and it is so much more. It can bond. I've felt it before. Several times."

He shook his head, less in denial than in desperation. Wade wanted this man. More than he had ever wanted Vanessa. What he remembered of the time before her death was fragmented and sometimes a little like a freakish trip, just without the fun drugs. They had made her appealing, had pushed his preternatural side into craving her, seeing her as perfect.

Even now, asked about how they had met, he would think of the beautiful woman who had shared his warped sense of humor, hadn't balked at his crude answers to teasing questions, and he wondered whether it was real or not. How much had been Weapon X's manipulation and how much was at least based on real events? Were his memories planted, a manipulation? Was there a core of truth?

He would never know.

She was gone.

Peter was… hadn't been made for him. He was beautiful and very real, so tasty to the hunger inside him.

And he offered.

Patiently.

Repeatedly.

His very presence was overwhelming.

"I can't do this," Deadpool groaned. "I want you so much, but this… this thing… it's a monster! I can't let you touch it!"

"You're not a monster, Wade," Peter told him calmly. "Neither you nor the chimera."

"It's not just the outside!" the other man snapped, fury briefly surging. "This… this is the ugly-ass wrapping to a horror that you can't define! Look up every synonym of ugly in a thesaurus! It's not enough! I don't know what this would do to you, Spidey!"

"You wouldn't hurt me, Wade. No part of you would."

"You don't know that! You know nothing of what's inside me, because no one does! I don't know! Fuck, I haven't touched another human being outside of killing them, breaking bones and dealing out bruises and open wounds! I could lose it… hurt you… and I couldn't live with that, Spidey! Ever! I can't let you… Because… I can't trust myself!"

"But I trust you. I trusted you when we fought together, to have my back. When I was injured, at your mercy. You were never anything but protective. I trusted Deadpool without knowing who was underneath the mask, who you really were. It was part spider sense, part human instinct. But… bonds don't have to be sexual," Peter said slowly, offering an out. "I know it. I researched it. We wouldn't have to touch more intimately."

Wade gave him a tired smile. Horror and hope warring inside him.

The horror of not getting to touch Peter more than he already did, listen to him voice his pleasure. And the hope that Spidey understood, that he would finally just… go. Leave Wade to suffer alone until the end of time.

"Yeah," Deadpool breathed, tethering on the edge and about ready to jump, simply to end the torture. "No sex needed. What a relief, right? You don't have to touch this cabinet of horrors more than you should have to. I won't touch you either. Not any more. Pinky promise."

Hellhounds didn't need sex to confirm a connection, to get close to a person they trusted. It was just… surrendering to the need inside him, handing over his life, his soul, his everything… and give power to someone else.

Deadpool was soulless and his hellhound was dead. He was a chimera.

Deadpool's life was… nothing. All sharp, serrated edges and pain.

He had nothing to offer and everything to take.

The chimera wanted the physical side, wanted to taste Peter's skin, hear his cries of want and need. It was a lot more sexual than the hellhound it had been born of. It wanted to take what wasn't its to take, wanted to make him its own, and Wade was terrified of how strong those needs were.

No one knew what could happen.

SDSDSD

Peter saw and almost felt the warring emotions running through Wade. His eyes were truly a window to his soul, what was left of it, and the terror of hurting Peter, physically or on a psychic level, was plain to see.

He felt no revulsion, no fear. He knew he was staring at something powerfully dangerous, something that could erase his very self, but he knew it wouldn't harm him.

It wanted him. He filled an empty slot inside the chimera's being. The hunger was plain to see and he felt it coming along the ever-strengthening bond, but it wasn't dangerous.

"I didn't say I don't want you, Wade. I never said that. You keep running when I come too close. I want to touch you," he said calmly. "Very much. And more. A lot more. Do you think you're the only one jerking off in the shower?"

Wade's jaw dropped, then snapped shut again. His eyes were huge, reflecting shock and disbelief. His inner turmoil was now very plain to see. It pained Peter to realize how much the man was into the self-flagellation, how much he hated the exterior and thought it was all there was left.

Peter reached out. Deadpool jerked back reflexively, minutely shaking his head in denial.

"Please?" Peter murmured.

And he was touching Wade's skin, running an exploratory caress over it. Peter felt the unevenness, the raised scars, the slightly rougher patches. It was warm, human skin. Nothing but human skin. For all Peter cared it could be scales. This was Wade. This was the man he had wanted to touch for ages; forever. This was the human being underneath the mask of Deadpool.

The contact was firm, but still gentle, giving Wade ample time to retreat, but he didn't. He was frozen to the spot, just about catching himself from flinching back once more, and then his so expressive eyes closed.

It was like a surrender.

The tension that had locked his body in place flowed out of him, shoulders lowering a little, and there was a soft whine, barely audible as he leaned into the touch more firmly.

Peter smiled. "I also want to kiss you. May I?"

The eyes flew open again. Wade's expression was thunderstruck, mouth opening slightly.

"Really?" he whispered.

"Yes. Really."

"How much did you drink?" he blurted.

Peter let his amusement show. "Nothing at all."

Then he leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

This time he moved with more purpose than on the roof, with the mask between them. There was no mask now. His tongue licked over the chapped lips, asking gently, never pushing too hard.

And finally, finally!, Wade reacted.

An arm around his waist, pulling him toward the hard-muscles, firm body. Lips opening, meeting his tongue, responding warmly, hungrily.

It was a bone-deep hunger, surging forward, along the anchor line, pulling Peter closer on all levels. Wade made a desperate sound, still controlling himself, still not letting go completely, but he was losing.

Quickly.

Peter felt it, the wave of desire rising along the connection they shared.

It couldn't be compared to Gwen. Or anyone else he had ever kissed. It was Wade and Wade was unique. The texture of his skin, of his lips, was strange, but it felt nice.

Another wave thrummed through him. He felt Wade shudder, the low whine barely audible.

Let go, Peter thought. Trust me. Trust me to trust yourself. Let go.

The kiss grew deeper, Wade wanting more.

Peter was all too happy to comply.

SDSDSD

It was a shock to the system, feeling the soft, pliable lips against his own rough ones. It was human contact, intimate contact, one he hadn't had in too long.

It was freely given. It was voluntary, not forced under pressure, not because Deadpool had threatened him.

Intimacy.

Not just crude words falling from his lips, reflecting his admiration for a certain anatomy.

Wade felt himself react, the kiss hesitant and close to shy, then growing in intensity, ending with the sensation of a smile forming on Peter's perfect lips.

His mind blossomed with warmth, the sensation running down his spine and settling there. All his senses were on overload.

Something ruined and forgotten seemed to knit itself back together, surging forward and enveloping Peter with everything it could muster.

There was a hum.

Peter didn't fight, welcomed the presence with open arms, wanted it.

The next kiss was harder, hungrier, with more intent. No hesitation. Just need.

There was a soft groan from his perfect little Spideyboy. It went through him, making the darkness unfold with a vengeance.

This… this was it. This was what he had so desperately wanted. This was what he needed.

And more. So much more. He wanted to never let go and just fall into the so freely offered contact.

Then there were hands on his neck, sliding up his scarred skin. No hesitation. Firm touches. Driving him crazy. A warm body flush against him, all hard muscles and lean lines that begged to be touched.

Emotions lay thick between them and they both knew that only one step would turn everything upside down, destroy their old world and create a new one. One step, one action, and things would never be the same.

"I want you. Like you are. Wade. Deadpool. The chimera. Let it go."

"Peter… don't…"

The plea was there, open and bright, Wade vulnerable and close to the edge before him.

He hadn't been touched by anyone in a very long time. It had been only own hand, or the enemy driving a knife or assorted other lethal objects into his body. There hadn't been any other touches.

"Just let it happen, Wade. You won't hurt me. I'm not that breakable. I can take it. Fuck, I want you so much!"

Wade drew a shaky breath. He wanted this, too. He wanted this man. He didn't think there was a time he hadn't wanted him deep down on that primal, carnal level.

Peter nipped at his lips, those eyes open and without shields. There was pure desire there, the still standing offer, the longing, and in the middle was this core of strength that wasn't just Spider-Man.

Do you know what you're doing? Are you aware of the consequences? How can you want this?! How can you accept this?! ran through Wade's already whirling mind.

Peter's answer was just as wordless. He was this steady, calming presence, open, accessible, offering everything.

The last barrier went down, crumbling to ashes. The cage opened. Deadpool's whole world collapsed and then realigned itself.

The harsh, cold whispers along the ever-strengthening bond increased, sounding comforting and reassuring. There was no maliciousness, just unbridled, almost wanton desire.

The chimera gave a triumphant shout and tore free, turning the ancient ruins of his shattered soul to dust, wiping the slate clean. Like a phoenix from the ashes the unrivaled apex predator rose, insubstantial, black wings spreading.

And insanely sharp claws buried in Peter's soul forever.

tbc...