After a rough night on patrol, Peter needs a hug. And Wade? He’s just happy to help.
Wade knew something wasn’t quite right when Peter entered through the front door, slipping into the apartment with little more than the sound of the lock clicking back into place. Because, first of all, if there was anything Wade Wilson knew, it was that Peter Parker would avoid using doors as much as possible, if possible, and that, second of all, he was raised by his lovely aunt to always say hello, even to half-crazed immortal mercenaries.
A blur of blue and red, Peter was across the threshold and belly-down on the couch in seconds, hardly giving Wade any time to process what exactly was going on from where he stood in the kitchen. He’d been in the middle of putting together a quesadilla of epic proportions, complete with seven cheeses, three different salsas, a lovely homemade pico de gallo, and chicken prepared three ways, and had to force himself away from the glorious creation to see what was going on with his favourite spider-themed super-buddy.
Peter, flattened against the black leather of the den’s couch, didn’t even lift his head when Wade approached, his features hidden behind the Spiderman mask. Alongside two discarded webshooters was a box of takeaway Chinese that must’ve been on the couch before Peter had come, its day-old contents seeping into the mostly clean carpet Wade had just put in. And had just had cleaned, in an effort to make the other man more comfortable when he was around- which, lately, was pretty damn often. Wade didn’t mind the mess, so used to living in it himself that he stepped over the spilled food without another thought.
“Hey, Petey-boy,” He drawled, uncertainty heavy in his voice. Peter didn’t react that time either, his body endlessly tense, curling in on itself. The taste of dread lay thick on his tongue, not used to seeing the usually-charismatic man so unresponsive. A catatonic Spidey was a sad Spidey, and Wade didn’t like it one bit. “Not that I don’t like you all folded up on my couch, but uh, everything alright?”
No answer- not verbal, not physical. Still as the dead, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Okie dokie, uh,” Wade whistled, nudging Peter’s spandex-clad legs over a couple of inches and taking a seat. The old piece of furniture squeaked unhappily. “Not alright, I mean, I could tell- you’re a creature ‘a habit, baby boy. Never ever come in without showin’ mama a little love.”
And, if it’d been anyone else curled up on his couch, in the middle of the night, refusing to answer him or even like, look up at him (although the looking part was excusable, Wade knew he wasn’t exactly the prettiest apple in the orchard), there’d be no doubt that he’d beat the shit out of them until they showed some damn respect. But this was Peter, and Wade would do anything for Peter because honestly? Peter made him better. Without Peter around, he’d probably just go back to his old ways, killing for nothing, making money that meant nothing, being with people that made him feel nothing.
Wade had become too accustomed to somtimes feeling good to go back to that, didn’t want to resort to existing in that way ever again. He wasn’t a changed man, not completely, but Peter had him well on his way to something better, something worthy of being around someone like Peter Parker. Almost.
Unlike Peter, Wade wasn’t in his suit, opting for a more comfortable getup consisting of sweats and a pullover, and for a moment, he felt too naked, too exposed to be physically comforting the other man. But the moment passed, mostly without issue, and he brought his hand forwards to press against Peter’s thigh, the lean muscle beneath his fingertips perpetually tense. Touching Peter should’ve been weird or unwelcome or something, but for the last couple of months, Peter had been surprisingly okay with Wade’s touch, be it on patrol or during game nights or whenever, really.
They were more physical with each other than two friends should have been, Wade knew, the distance between them non-existent on most days. It had taken him a while to warm up, but Peter was a hands-on type of guy that, and if possible, would almost always have some part of his body touching Wade’s, whether through light brushes of their forearms as they ate together or with legs tangled together during movie nights. If Wade were being honest with himself, the fact that Peter not only accepted, but encouragedthe physicality made his heart soar and his brain ache.
They weren’t a thing, was the thing, and it wasn’t that Wade didn’t want them to be - God knows how far from the truth that was - but Peter had always been so against it all, right from when they’d first met. Wade hadn’t really expected anything less, his status as the famously dreadful Deadpool not exactly charming to most people, much less someone as morally-rigid as Spiderman.
Really, there weren’t many reasons Wade could come up with as to why Spiderman had spent so much time with him those first few months, why he’d revealed his face and name and personality within the year. He wasn’t complaining, wouldn’t ever complain that the most perfect mutant being on the planet hung around, but he’d be lying if he denied that it confused him relentlessly.
Yet, after a long while of further curling in on himself, Peter eventually began to lean into Wade’s touch, his joints loosening incrementally. He didn’t truly move, but Wade could feel the weight of Peter’s thigh gradually increasing against his palm.
“That’s it, Pete, I’m right here,” He chattered, sliding his hand up until it cupped the sharp edge of a hip bone, “Wanna tell mean ol’ Deadpool who he’s gotta slaughter for makin’ you so sad?”
It was a joke, really, he didn’t mean it- Spidey hated when he killed people so he’d sworn the practice off (so long as it wasn’t absolutely necessary), but Peter flinched nonetheless, an almost undetectable movement that he wouldn’t have been able to notice had he not been so close.
Lowering his voice, Wade tightened his grip on Peter, something guilty and metallic ringing in his ears as he spoke. “You know I didn’t mean that, hun. Tryin’ to make you feel better, can’t stand to think that those pretty lips are pouting under that mask’a yours. Could be doing something else, I reckon, bet ya if we just-”
Peter’s abrupt and muffled-beyond-comprehension voice interrupted his ramble, quiet and hardly a whisper, but there nevertheless.
“I can’t hear you, Pete, gotta sit up, maybe take that mask off or somethin’, you’re mumbling and gagging yourself on the couch isn’t helping. But y’know, if you want a gag that’ll really do ya some good I’ve got a couple of things we could use in the bedroom, if you catch my drift?”
Relief swept along Wade’s spine as Peter moved ever so slightly, head turning just enough so that his masked face became visible.
Scratchy and wet, Peter’s voice cut through the dim room like a dagger. “Whole dorm full of kids went up in flames.” He paused, dragged his head against the couch’s arm to hike up the mask just enough to free his lips. “Couldn’t save them all.”
And- oh, did the anguish in Peter’s tone strike a chord deep in Wade’s psyche, bringing memories of young children he didn’t get to in time, couldn’t protect, hadn’t saved into his field of vision. Years on a job where saving people wasn’t the priority had taught him to cope with the loss and get over it, but kids had always been different, more difficult. He couldn’t remember most of their names or even their faces, and yet the pain throbbed on anyways.
“I’m so sorry, Pete.” Wade murmured, abandoning his uncertainties to reach over and grab at Peter’s inward shoulders. With little effort he pulled the other man up and against his chest, gathering his limbs tightly in his arms. He didn’t risk saying anything else- Wade hadn’t always been the smartest when it came to talking but he knew that nothing else he could say would be beneficial to Peter. This wasn’t the first time Peter had fallen into despair after an unfortunate time as his alter ego, nor would it be the last. Spider-man, in Wade’s opinion, was the best superhero this earth had to offer, strict morals and arachnoid mutation and all, but his coping skills were dismal- the result of an overly compassionate heart. Peter wanted to rescue every soul that needed it, regardless of how impossible that was.
All Wade could offer was company, and that was alright. For Peter, he’d do just about anything, even if it meant silencing his infamously abhorrent mouth.
Some time passed without much movement from either man, the digital clock flashing on Wade’s cable box counting as the hours went by in near-total silence. The only thing interrupting their mute bubble were the faraway sounds of the city below, cars accelerating and voices rising because there never really was a minute in New York where something wasn’t happening.
At some point, Peter’s mask had come all the way off, Wade gently tugging the offending fabric off of the younger man’s head and tossing it behind the couch. Of course, Peter had let him do it, sparing him only a momentary glance before tucking his face into the junction of Wade’s neck without another thought. Skin against skin, Peter’s forehead against Wade’s exposed throat should’ve been terrifying, but all Wade could think about was making Peter feel better- and if that meant, for whatever reason, letting Peter get physical with his grotesque flesh, so be it.
It wasn’t until Peter began to shift against him, body restless and sore, that Wade made the executive decision to relocate the two of them elsewhere, if not for Peter’s comfort then for Wade’s own.
Indefinitely regenerating mercenary or not, Wade Wilson still very much got uncomfortable, and regardless of the adorable spider cuddled against him, he couldn’t sit still for that long without his back’s complaints increasing in volume.
“I’m gonna move us, alright?” He muttered into Peter’s ear as he tightening his hold on his back. Peter’s response came in the form of hands grasping the cotton of Wade’s sweater, dull fingernails ghosting against the scarred skin below with little reserve. Wade had to suppress a shiver as he carefully hoisted the other man up, needing only to support the light frame with very little effort.
Within a couple of paces, they were in Wade’s bedroom, which was really only considered a bedroom because of it’s furniture contents and not because Wade ever actually slept there or used the bed for much else other than getting off. Regardless, the mattress itself was some expensive bullshit he’d purchased in the rare case Peter ever needed to crash- something that had mostly ever happened when the other man found himself too worn down from patrol to swing himself home.
Peter didn’t react as Wade lowered their bodies down onto the bare mattress, their combined weight sinking low into the soft upper layer. “This okay?” He grumbled, maneuvering his limbs so that Peter was free from as much unwanted contact as possible.
It came as a surprise when Peter shook his head, a deft movement that made little noise, and reattached himself to Wade’s larger body, their points of contact increasing dramatically. Leave it to Peter Parker to deny a king-sized bed and all the room he could’ve dreamed of in favour of closeness with America’s ugliest bachelor.
“There, there, little spider,” Wade soothed, moving past the initial reactionary discomfort with the closeness to smooth his hands along the spider-man suit’s textured spandex. Peter, whose cheek was flush against Wade’s chest, only curled in further, his thighs slotting in between the larger’s, fingers knotted in the soft fabric of Wade’s sweater. Despite his constant innuendos and sexual prowess, not one atom in Wade’s being made any move to transition their intimate position to something beyond what it was. He was so far beyond wanting to disrespect or upset Peter in any way it sometimes scared him. Peter only seemed to move closer, press tighter, as Wade kept his hold steady.
Another beat of silence, and then; “I wish I could’ve saved them all.”
And really, that was all Peter needed- the acknowledgement, the unconditional understanding. There wasn’t anyone else in his life that could comprehend the grief like Wade could, that knew just how hopeless the losses could make someone feel. Wade didn’t push for conversation and he didn’t try to console him - he stayed and held Peter’s hand as he figured out how to cope with the casualties.
Neither were sure how long they lay together for, the dim room gradually lightening as the sun began to rise.
Peter slept briefly, his evened-out respiratory cycle putting Wade’s mind at ease. He was still too concerned to truly let himself relax, let his focus linger on the weak snoring of the younger man occupy his ever-running thoughts.
When Peter woke, the tension in his muscles had loosened considerably, slowly lifting with the crushing weight atop his shoulders. He reveled in the feeling of Wade wrapped around him, the warmth emanating from the larger man an indefinite source of relief.
“Hey, Petey,” Wade whispered as the other shifted in his arms, head pulling back to get a look at Peter’s waking face. Even with his hair flattened to his head and eyes cushioned by dark bags, Peter looked gorgeous as ever as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”
Popping his shoulder without slipping from Wade’s arms, Peter smiled softly, the action nearly reaching his eyes. “Better, I think. Still hurts, but-” he tilted his head to the side, peering up through dark eyelashes, “You know how it is, takes a little while, always does.”
A grin and a sly, “Nothin’ sleeping with good ol’ DP can’t fix, you know,” earned Wade a smack to the shoulder, the other man rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance.
“You’re terrible,” Peter accused, chuckling under his breath. The barely-there sound was like music to Wade’s ears, which had been deprived of Peter’s infectious laugh for much too long.
Without so much as waiting for Wade to respond, Peter closed his eyes and brought his face forwards to press his cheek to Wade’s, smooth skin easing against rough, sighing as the older man’s breath caught.
Wade could feel Peter’s jaw move against his own as he spoke, still-gloved hands reaching up and around his exposed neck. “No one else gets it but you.” Peter mumbled simply, ignoring the fact that Wade had yet to breathe. “I can’t thank you enough, for any of this.”
And then, lacking any distinguishable warning, Peter rotated his head just enough to join their lips. There was no hesitation in the action, nothing less than urgency and need in the way Peter’s grip tightened against Wade’s shoulders as he pressed forwards and waited for the other man to kiss him back.
It took Wade a moment too long, perhaps, to get over the initial shock and return the kiss, but when he was finally able to regain control over his body, he met Peter’s desire with that of his own. Peter hummed against his mouth, the pads of his fingers dancing across uneven skin.
Despite the arousal burning in Wade’s veins, things remained chaste and slow, tongues staying put as lips stayed mostly dry. Mostly.
Peter withdrew, chestnut eyes trailing the outline of Wade’s solid body. “Thank you,” he breathed out. Exhaustion settled numbly in his bones and his throat was dry, breath most definitely stale from the hours spent unmoving, so his words were little more than a croak. He ignored whatever Wade had to say next, instead opting to mold his body back against the other man’s, returning to sleep in under a couple of minutes.
If Wade had beamed for nearly an hour after Peter had passed out, he wouldn’t have admitted it, not even to himself. And if Wade had kissed Peter senseless when he’d woken up again, it really wasn’t anyone else’s business.
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