Somehow, this isn't where Deadpool imagined the night going. If he'd had any say in it, he'd have Spider-Man drooling all over him, limp and unresponsive in his arms. And ideally that'd be because of a massive, glorious orgasm and not because of some second-rate criminal with a needle full of radioactive nonsense.
[Aww c'mon, having Petey drooling on our shoulder ain't half bad. Look how cute his bedhead is!]
{Does it really count as bedhead if it's from being smooshed against your shoulder?}
"Sure it does," Deadpool grunts, adjusting Peter's weight in his arms. "And I'd appreciate this moment a lot more if I didn't have to haul Petey up a half dozen flights of stairs. What kind of motel has enough money for this many stories but not a fuckin' elevator?"
It takes a few minutes and many muttered curses before Deadpool manages to shoulder into the motel room, careful not to slam Petey's little head into anything on the way. He's a complete deadweight in his arms. Deadpool had been ready to haul his cute behind to the nearest hospital, but as soon as the word 'hospital' had come out of his mouth Bambi had jolted and tried to pull out of his grasp. He was barely coherent at that point, eyes wide and wild, but he's surprisingly strong for being about as buff as a string bean. Deadpool had only gotten him to calm down when he'd promised no hospitals.
So here they are. Deadpool burned his last safehouse in the city a few days ago so Weasel's go-to 'lay low and stay the fuck down' motel's the obvious choice. He's just glad he already had Dopinder drop some of his gear here or else he'd have to leave Petey all alone to go and grab it. Which is not an option.
Petey makes a precious little groaning sound in his arms and Deadpool lowers him as gently as he can onto the couch. The puncture wound on his leg hasn't improved at all but it also hasn't gotten any worse. He wonders idly if Dopinder bothered to drag his narcotics chest all the way up here.
{Peter wouldn't need any pain killers if you hadn't invited him to a hit.}
[He's just a civilian, what if he dies?]
"He can't die, it's not in the tags," Deadpool snaps but it feels like there's a hole in his chest. And not a metaphorical one but a real, gory, Rated R hole that's weeping shame and guilt. God, he can't get the sound Petey had made out of his head. Deadpool has heard a lot of screams of pain in his time and Bambi's doesn't even hit Top 50 Most Agonized, but the sound of it's gonna stick in Deadpool's brain no matter how many bullets he ends up putting in it.
The gun had been in his hand before he'd even realized what had happened and it was only Petey at his side that stopped him from blasting that dickwad goon's brains all over the warehouse wall. And Petey's twitching presence in front of him is the only thing that keeps him from going back and finishing the job.
[We know what jail the cops like to hold those fuckers at, it'll be light work to find him again]
{We know which guards to bribe, too. No one will bother us for a long, long time if we don't want them to.}
Deadpool hums at the idea, flicking the safety of his gun on and off soothingly. It's a nice fantasy but if Spidey ever found out…
Petey groans again and tosses his head, eyes fluttering open to stare blankly up at Deadpool. He looks a bit feverish, flushed and sweaty, and Deadpool can't help his grin. He crouches down in front of the sofa and after a dazed moment Petey rolls his head to follow his movement.
"How ya feeling, Bambi? Never had a taste of the Green before, I'm guessing? A straight edge like you, 'course not. I never did like it myself, I've got enough hallucinations to deal with already." He taps the side of his head and Petey blinks slowly, eyes following his hand to his temple. "Now listen, I'm sure you're not feeling too hot, aside from the fever and tight ass, obviously. So how's about we get you out of those blood soaked clothes and pop a couple of downers in your system before the Green really starts amping you up, huh? Don't wanna ruin your pretty skin with someone else's blood, do we?"
Deadpool stands before Petey can summon a confused look and pulls a few items from one of the trunks Dopinder had dropped off. There's no t-shirts for some reason, just a collection of his softest sweaters and sweatshirts. It might be a bit too warm but chills are bound to come soon enough with a hit of Globulin Green. Deadpool picks the smallest one of those and a pair of pajama bottoms and returns to sit beside Petey on the couch. Peter's sitting up now, hand to his head and watching Deadpool through bleary eyes.
"Alright, you with me Bambi?" A slow nod. "You want help changing or do you think you manage yourself? 'Cause, like, believe you me, I'd love to get you out of your clothes but the context's not quite right and I'm shady but I'm not that shady, ya feel? So, whaddya say?" He holds the sweatshirt out and Petey just stares at it. Then he reaches out and runs his fingers over the material. He makes a pleased noise and takes it from Deadpool's hands, holding it in his lap and plunging both hands into the fabric. He makes no attempt to put it on.
[WHY are you giving him the option? This is, like, wet dream territory! Just do it!]
{We're a fucking creep.}
"You're killing me here, Bambi," Deadpools tells him seriously. Petey just blinks at him. "Alright, just… Put your arms up, 'kay?" Petey raises his arms, sweatshirt still in hand, and Deadpool helps him pull his blood-soaked t-shirt up and over his head. It takes a few more moments of maneuvering to get him to let go of the sweatshirt long enough to toss away the shirt and pull the soft fabric over his head.
It's one of the smallest Deadpool owns but it completely swamps Petey, swathing him in excess fabric and pooling around his waist. Petey has to bunch the sleeves up around his wrists so he can access his hands.
[WET. DREAM.]
{What is wrong with us? This is the most innocent thing possible.}
[We saw his chest!]
"Pants?" Deadpool asks weakly, holding up the pajama bottoms. Petey just takes them from his hands, pushing the sweatshirt sleeves up to his elbows so he can run his hands over the soft cotton. He makes a pleased noise. Deadpool sighs. "Lord beer me strength. Okay, Petey, look at me." As gently as he can, Wade puts a hand on Peter's jaw and eases his head up so he meets his eye. Petey's eyes are lidded and they sink lower as he nuzzles slightly into Deadpool's palm.
[Holyyyyy shit]
"C'mon Bambi, I need an answer." Deadpool pinches his cheek lightly and Peter looks up to meet his gaze again. "Can I help you into these nice soft pajama pants or no?" Petey hums contentedly, nodding into Deadpool's hand. Wade hesitates but then Peter holds up the pajama bottoms for him to take. "Alright Bambi, here we go."
Petey doesn't react when Deadpool carefully moves his hands toward the buckle of his pants, or when he pops the button on his jeans. When he starts to slide the zipper down, though [fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck] Petey's hand wraps around his wrist, yanking it away from his groin. When he meets Deadpool's gaze and his eyes are more alert, if a little wild.
"Wha'?" He doesn't finish the word, mouth smacking closed dryly. He looks down at the pajama pants in his hand and his open fly, then back up at Deadpool in cute brow-furrowed confusion. Deadpool holds up his hand in Petey's grasp placatingly.
"Hey, it's alright! Nothing untoward, Bambi, promise. Just tryna get you out of those bloody clothes and into something more comfy, 'kay? We already did the sweatshirt, see?" He points loosely and Pete looks down at his shirt, confused frown tugging at his lips. He plucks at the material with the hand not holding Deadpool's wrist then looks at the pajama pants in his lap. Slowly he nods.
Deadpool goes to reach for his zipper again but then Petey lifts his hips off the couch and Wade quickly pulls back. "Bambi, what…?" Peter doesn't respond, just hooks his thumbs under the waist of his jeans and begins to tug his pants off with clumsy hands. Deadpool pulls back fully as Peter begins to work the jeans down his hips. Wade had only managed to get the zipper halfway down so the jeans are still tight on Peter's hips, so much so that his underwear starts to get tugged down with them.
[Hnnng]
A wheeze escape's Wade's throat and he quickly clamps his hands down on Petey's hips, pinning the boxer-briefs in place where they've slipped down just far enough to allow the beginnings of golden brown curls to peek out of the waistband. Bambi continues to pull off his jeans in a torturously slow and clumsy manner, completely unaware of Wade's alarm.
[Move your fucking hands! Move!]
{If you move your hands, I swear to god I will find a way to kill us.}
"Jesus fucking Christ, you guys are not helping," Deadpool groans, tilting his head back to stare at the mildewy ceiling. He is not going to let Petey expose himself to the creepy stalker mercenary he met three days ago because he is kind of very drugged right now and has no idea what he's doing. It doesn't matter how warm the skin of Petey's hips are even through Wade's gloves, or how he's shifting and wriggling as he struggles to push his pants all the way off his legs. He's wearing skinny jeans because of course he fucking is, the little hipster bastard, and it takes a lot more wriggling before he's finally able to peel them all they way off. He flops back on the couch, exhausted, and Deadpool risks a look down.
"You all good, Bambi? Gonna be able to… uh…" Petey's splayed back on the couch, even more flushed and sweaty from a combination of Green fever and exertion. Most of his torso is covered by Wade's oversized sweater but his lower abdomen is bare, a little happy trail marching dutifully down to where the band of his underwear is pulled tight over his hips. He's wearing bright blue boxer-briefs and it's truly impossible not to notice the soft bulge stretching at the fabric.
Deadpool stares and holds his hands very intentionally in place. He wants to touch very, very badly. More than he's ever wanted anything, possibly. He wants to trail his finger over the thinly covered flesh there and watch Peter twitch and whine and harden under his hand. He wants to circle to the top, feel the ridge he knows is there and watch the bright fabric darken with moisture and pleasure. He wants to squeeze and tug and pull mewling, gasping moans from Peter.
[Hnnnnnnng]
Very carefully, movements intentional and slow, Wade tucks his thumbs under the waistband of the underwear and pulls them back up, re-covering the expanse of soft skin and golden curls. He leans back against the cushions, removing his hands from Peter's waist and gripping the back of the couch instead. The wood groans and cracks under his hands. He struggles to rip his eyes from Petey's groin, but Bambi's shaking with delirious fever and Wade is not a goddamn sex offender.
{Yeah, let's keep it that way. Get his fucking pants back on.}
[SPOILSPORTS]
Deadpool clears his throat and claps, startling Bambi who jerks and looks up at him blearily, features arranged vaguely into a glare. "Alright, how are we feeling about the Hello Kitty bottoms?" He asks a little too loudly. "I've also got a pair of Spider-Man ones here but those are for, ah, special occasions so I think these are your best bet." Wade holds up the bright pink pants and Peter immediately reaches for them.
It takes far less time for Petey to pull those on, as loose as they are, and Deadpool breathes a sigh of relief as those gorgeous legs and hips and other things are once again covered up. The effect is no less striking, though, with Petey swamped in Wade's clothes. His fluffy brown hair is stringy with dried sweat and the bags under his eyes are darker than Wade has ever thought possible, but he's never seen anyone fevered and shaking look so adorable.
"Bambi, how do you feel about Valium? Cause trust me, you are not gonna like the high Green gives you. Best to get you blissed out before the hallucinations and mood swings kick in. Here, find something you wanna watch while I figure out where Dopinder stashed my goodies."
He presses the TV remote into Petey's hand, not sparing a glance at his frowning face, and goes to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut behind him and, shuddering, turns the tub's faucet on full blast. He tugs one glove off with his teeth and stuffs it into his mouth, shoving his bare hand down his pants. A groan rips itself out of his chest and he bites down on warm leather. It's rough and dry but, god, the mental image of Peter's strong thighs fuzzed with blond hair and the thin stretch of his underwear is more than enough. Wade pulls himself out of his pants and it only takes one, two, three more short pulls before he's grunting and spilling all over his fingers.
He stays there, shaking in the aftermath, and tries to control his breathing.
{We are so fucked up.}
Doesn't he know it.
By the time Deadpool makes it out of the bathroom, thoroughly washed up and Valium in hand, Petey is dozing to the dulcet tones of Gordon Ramsey screaming at some incompetent chef on the TV. He's curled up like a kitten in a corner of the couch, breath coming in soft puffs.
[Should he even be able to sleep right now?]
Definitely not. Green is not the kind of thing you sleep off, not unless you're Deadpool and you burn through drugs like they're nothing.
{I think we should be more concerned about him breaking his neck than anything.}
White's got a point, the bastard. Petey's head is resting at a frankly painful angle on the arm of the couch, cheek digging painfully into the wood. Wade frowns and approaches, crouching down in front of him.
"Bambi," he says quietly, poking at his curled up leg. Peter hums sleepily and cracks open an eye. His brow furrows in askance. "Why don't we get you to bed? Looks like you won't need the drugs after all, but I've got a soft mattress with your name on it."
Peter hums again and slowly starts to unfold himself. He cringes when he picks up his head, hand going to his neck. Deadpool gently guides him to the bedroom, making sure not to slam the door open too loudly.
[What sort of shitty motel has a separate bathroom, living room, and bedroom?]
{A really convenient one.}
Bambi collapses onto the bed, immediately snuggling on top of the covers. Wade hesitates before carefully folding the excess blankets over him.
[Aww look, we're acting like we're actually human]
"I know, I know," Deadpool grumbles quietly. "He just looks cold."
{You got him shot up with street drugs and a dirty needle then didn't take him to a hospital. I think being cold is the least of his worries.}
Something in Deadpool's chest twinges but he bites his cheek and heads to the door. Petey doesn't need to listen to him argue with the voices in his head about the morals of forcing someone into a hospital they don't want to go to.
Petey makes a discontented noise from the bed and Deadpool looks over. He's twisted around to peer at Wade in the dark, face scrunched up. "Y're going?" He rasps.
Wade freezes. "Just out to the living room, Bambi. That okay?"
"Mmph," is all Peter says before turning over. Then he waves a hand at him, signing sleepily.
Stay.
[Huh.]
Deadpool slowly eases back into the room.
{Just for the record, this is a terrible idea.}
[We think everything you do is a terrible idea but this one is totally gonna bite us in the ass]
Deadpool settles silently on the bed, careful not to sit on Petey's legs. Bambi gives a happy sigh and presses a foot against the outside of his thigh.
"G'nigh'," he mumbles. Deadpool places a gentle hand on his ankle.
"Night, Bambi."