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Sometimes, whether it’s a familiar place that has lulled him into a false sense of security or just being distracted, Peter’s spidey-sense doesn’t kick in until all the rest of his regular senses, which isn't particularly useful.
He’s at Bobst, doing research for his mid-term project and it's taking all his dwindling willpower not to fall asleep face first in his books.
Elbow-deep in the most god-awful dry study of splicing spider DNA with goats for super strong udder silk, vaguely thanking whatever powers that be that he didn’t grow an extra set of nipples or some shit when he got bit, because frankly having to engineer the stuff himself might have been a pain, but far better than milking spider silk from his chest...and honestly? Anyone that can make this study sound boring doesn’t deserve to be published.
There’s a group of sorority girls across the way. They’re trying to be quiet, but there’s an occasional squeal of laughter over something in the biology text they’re pouring over. Peter has gathered it’s some sort of project on reproduction for one of the low-level courses. At least someone is having fun with their research--when he hears the first scream, and then it’s too late for him to really do anything about it.
A handful of students come rushing into the room, followed by three guys with guns and masks. Peter tries to be inconspicuous when he stands and sidles along the desk. His costume is in his backpack. If he could just slip into the stacks unnoticed…
The sound of a round being chambered stops him dead in his tracks. Peter lifts his hands and offers his meekest, I’m-just-a-nerdy-science-major-not-looking-for-any-trouble-here expression.
“Over with the others,” the guy grunts, and Peter hurries to comply with the nudge of the barrel against his shoulder.
While the one who caught him is rounding up any other stragglers on the floor, Peter takes in the details of the other two. There’s nothing identifying them as part of any organisation on their suits. It looks like the sort of thing you could find at an army surplus store--and what would a group like Hydra or AIM want to do with the library at NYU anyway?
He bites his lip and his fingers itch for his mask. It would be a simple thing to ask Karen for some deets on who these guys could be. As it is he as to rely on his own enhanced hearing, instead of the Stark Technology spy-level espionage mode.
“--supposed to be taking hostages. Let’s just fucking kill them and get out of here before the cops show up.”
“Quit being such a pussy,” the second one hisses, getting up in the other guy’s face. “You knew what you were getting into.”
“I didn’t sign up for suicide by cop, asshole.”
The third guy comes back and the other two shut up pretty fast at his appearance. It’s hardly enough information to go on, but they’re young. Probably students themselves, or around that age. The guns, though, those are some serious pieces, not the sort of thing you come by easily, or cheaply. Or legally. He guesses it’s possible they’re rich, but it’s more likely someone else is funding this operation, whatever it’s about.
“Kelsey’s not here,” Number Three mutters. “Andy and Tom are looking for her and the other two. Mark’s got the doors covered.”
“Let’s do this shit, then,” number one says. He goes right for the sorority sisters who huddle together behind one fierce looking brunette glaring them down.
“I don’t know why you bothered wearing a mask Ted,” she spits out. “I’d know that whiny-ass voice anywhere.” Number Three shoves his gun at her face, and she doesn’t even flinch. Peter doesn't know whether that's impressively brave or incredibly stupid. “I kept telling Kelsey--”
“Shut the fuck up, you bitch, this is all your fault.”
Peter considers how long he’s been holding onto this whole secret identity thing, turning down Mister Stark’s offers of joining the Avengers in some vain hope of avoiding the limelight, but his backpack is across the room, and if he has to take these guys out without a mask, that’s what it comes down to.
“Okay, and I’m just spit-balling here, so stop me if I’m way off course but is it possible you fuck-weeds signed up to commit an act of terrorism because some chick dumped your fuckboy ass, Ted?”
The three of them whip around to find Deadpool perched casually atop the nearest shelf. Relief isn’t Peter’s usual response to Deadpool’s presence, but right now he’ll take what he can get, breathing a thank fuck under his breath. He doesn’t think it’s his imagination the way Wade shoots him a sidelong wink at that, before turning his attention back to the gunmen. He hops down from the stack with a fair amount more grace than Peter would expect, smoothly pulling his katana from his back once he’s on his feet, never missing a beat as he strides forward.
Peter takes advantage of their momentary distraction to get himself between the gunmen and everyone else. He gestures urgently toward the door and it takes a second, but finally a few of them are moving cautiously away. Of course that’s the second that Number Two notices and grabs Peter around the neck.
“Hey sweet stuff,” Wade says cheerfully. “Can’t keep yourself out of trouble for five seconds, hmm?”
Peter huffs in mild discomfort at the grip on his neck and annoyance at Wade’s words. Wade is supposed to flirt with Spider-Man, not random dwebby undergrads he stumbles across in the course of a rescue mission.
“Another step, and I’ll shoot him,” Two says.
Wade does stop then, and somehow manages to make it look like it was entirely by choice. He twirls one of his katana casually. Looks at the guy and Peter, and then just hurls it through the air, and it’s not like Peter actually expects Wade to miss, but he can’t help closing his eyes and gritting his teeth at the sound of steel meeting flesh and then bone. The arm around him falls away with the thump of a body hitting the floor.
Number One takes off, running in the direction the others had gone, but Ted pulls the trigger, emptying half a clip of his semi-automatic in Wade’s direction. Wade dodges most of them with a roll and comes up bleeding from a hole in his left arm. “Jesus fuck, that stings,” he shouts. “What the fuck, Ted?”
Peter manages to make a handful of steps in the direction of his bookbag before Ted realises the futility of shooting at fucking Deadpool and points the gun at Peter instead.
“Can you believe this asshole?” Wade says, drawing close to Peter’s side and slinging an arm over his shoulder. He pitches his voice low and conversational. “I haven’t taken a job on charity in a fucking age, but when I heard about little Teddy here, how could I fucking resist?”
“Someone hired you to, uh,” Peter squeaks out, because last he knew Wade wasn’t taking jobs like that anymore, but it explains how he was so Johnny on the Spot.
“Kill the shit out of him?” Wade finishes for him. “Nah, I was just supposed to put the fear of god in ‘em, but that was before he showed up with his pathetic-ass little MRA army.” He punctuates his words with a kick to the body of Number Two, making the katana wobble in his eye-socket.
Peter feels vaguely ill, but he still can’t help himself. “Eye guess he didn’t see that coming.”
Wade lets out a little cackle of laughter and casts a sidelong conspiratorial look at Peter. He does an actual double take at how their sides line up and Peter’s just the right height for Wade to rest his arm across the width of his shoulders like he’s having some sort of revelation. “Yeah well I mean I prefer it that way,” he says, apropos nothing, “but you gotta admit baby boy’s just got little spoon written all over him.”
It’s a familiar position that Peter’s used to in a long-suffering sort of way. At the end of a long fight when they’ve teamed up and he’s sweaty and tired and just wants to go home and faceplant on the bed, but he's found himself indulging more and more as of late. So much so that it’s no longer habit to shrug Deadpool off--at least not right away. Now he does so belatedly with an eye roll.
“Look, your friend is dead, and the other guy is gone,” Peter says to Ted. “Don’t you think it’s time to give it up?”
Ted’s arm is shaking, but he doesn’t budge. “That bitch turned me down in front of everyone. She deserves what’s coming to her.”
“Oh come on,” Deadpool whines. He flops his arms dramatically at his side. “Look, I get the whole anti-unaliving thing--no, wait, I actually don’t--but if anyone ever deserved it, I think we can both agree it’s this vile weeping asshole here.”
Peter is a little shook, because it’s hardly like Wade to give a flying fuck over anyone’s opinion when it comes to killing people. He’s gotten pretty good at derailing Wade’s more murderous impulses by webbing up the bad guys first, and Peter’s not above putting a little bit of a sway in his hips for added distraction, even if he can’t stop blushing for hours after the fact.
Of course, that gives Wade all these ideas, like it isn’t entirely inappropriate to grope Peter’s ass with the Avengers right there. I mean. Not that it’s ever appropriate.
And the thing is, Peter totally sees Wade’s perspective here. Maybe he doesn’t have all the details, but he’s got enough of the pieces to get a picture of what must have happened. Ted the spurned asshole and his friends venting online, catching the eye of someone well-funded and well-armed. It’s sort of becoming a depressingly common story in the city these days, terrorists capitalising on angry individuals to spread their hate.
“Kelsey is the one who deserves it, the cu--” Ted’s word is cut off by the sound of a single bullet being fired. Even with his heightened senses and reflexes, Peter is still caught off-guard by how fast Wade moved--when did he even pull a gun?
Deadpool leans over Ted’s body, examining the bullet-hole in his forehead and shrugs, a sort of what-can-you-do expression. “Sorry babe,” he says, reholstering the gun. “I guess I just wasn’t that interested in his motive after all.”
Peter doesn’t even have to fake his white-faced reaction. Yeah, dead bodies happen from time to time, but he’s never gotten used to it, especially not when it's so up close and personal. “I mean, I might be the one dead on the floor if you hadn’t shown up,” he says at last.
“Yeah, right,” Deadpool gives him a sly little smirk, and it’s amazing the way that sort of expression translates on his mask. “Pretty sure you’da managed somehow. But,” he sidles near again, an arm around Peter’s waist in the blink of an eye, “if you’re looking for someway to repay me…”
Peter holds up a quick hand to his mouth to forestall whatever proposition is about to spill forth. He clamps down on absolutely absurd jealousy, too, because Wade flirts with the fucking air, for god’s sake. It’s not like Spider-Man has some claim on that. “There’s still Andy and Tom and Mark.”
“Psaw.” Wade waves a dismissive hand. “I took care of those d-bags on the way in.”
“Number One, then,” Peter says, exasperated.
“Hmm,” Wade says, the white eyeholes of his mask shifting skyward as if he’s thinking. “I mean, there was the Big Gulp an hour ago, but nah don’t gotta go right now.”
“Oh my god, go. Get the one that ran away.” Peter shoves him away, and he probably uses more of his super strength than he should, but Wade just manages to look smitten instead of suspicious.
It wouldn’t be hard, even without a name, for Wade to figure out his identity if he had Peter’s face and the fact he was a student at NYU. It would only be a matter of time. That thought should cause Peter more concern than it actually does.
“Hang out for just a mo,” Wade says hopefully in parting, before he disappears after the others.
Peter sags gratefully against the table for a split second before springing into action. He snatches his backpack and glances out the window. Far below he can see a crowd of students standing around outside, including the girls who’d been on this floor. Not that he really expected Wade to be lying, but there might be others they don’t know about.
There’s a police cordon around the area. If they follow procedure and go floor by floor, he’s got a good fifteen minutes or so before they make it up here. Enough time to don the suit and do a sweep, just to be sure. Peter ducks back into the stacks and unzips his jeans while toeing off his shoes. He’s got this stripping in strange, semi-public places thing down to an art, but sometimes he has to admit Mister Stark might have a point about wearing it under his clothes.
The newest suit has a lot more structure to it than the one previous. Something about not getting shredded like wet tissue paper, if Mister Stark’s muttering after the fight against Doc Ock was anything to go by. Peter thinks if he really had his way, he’d have Peter in an Iron Spider suit or some shit. But he can’t really complain about the extra protection in particularly sensitive places, even if it means he has to go commando underneath.
He’s reaching into the backpack for his suit when he hears a high-pitched squeak behind him and spins around, clutching the bag over his crotch. “Deadpool,” he hisses, “what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of the bad guy.”
“Done.” Wade says absently, with a wave of his hand. “Didn’t even have to kill him! He tripped over his own feet and broke his neck going down the stairs, fucking hilarious, but enough on that, baby boy, I gotta ask if this is some sort of exhibitionist kink, because I could totally be down with that if so.” He lets out a low groan that goes straight to Peter’s dick.
“Um.” If Peter holds any more tightly to his bag it’s probably going to start ripping under the stress. “I have an explanation for this.”
“Oho, I really hope it involves my dick in that ass,” Wade groans.
“Excuse me?” Peter squeaks, because, well. Wade isn’t usually quite that direct in his flirting with other people as all that.
Wade gestures dismissively. “I mean, I’m up for whatever, soooo up, you’ve got my full attention, and by my, I mean my dick’s.” He points to his groin as if Peter could miss it when he’s wearing that suit. “It’s just...when I thought an ass couldn’t be more perfect than the one in the Spidey-suit you gotta go and prove me wrong. Not that I’m complaining, oh, don’t look that way.”
Peter’s all but forgotten his inappropriate nudity in the wake of Wade’s comments and the even more inappropriate jealousy over himself. “Do you try to sleep with every person whose life you save?” he asks testily.
“Only the ones with big brown doe-eyes and an ass that slays in blue and red spandex.” Wade risks reaching around for a handful at that. His fingers dig into the curve of Peter’s ass and give a firm knead, and it’s not his fault that Peter’s mind just kind of fuzzes out--he’s nineteen years old, and Wade has really nice, strong hands.
“Wha--Wade--you knew?” Peter puts a hand up to Deadpool’s chest, not really sure if it’s to push him away or slide up over his shoulders and drag him closer. Wade has a way of sparking warring impulses in people.
“Give me some credit, kiddo,” Wade purrs, and he still has his hand on Peter’s bare ass. “Like I wouldn’t know that voice (or that sense of humour, if you can call it that) anywhere.”
“Oh, like you have any room to talk,” Peter says, words ending on a yelp when Wade squeezes again, and the bag falls from Peter’s nerveless fingers. “Fuck.”
Wade wiggles his brows under the mask and slips a leg between Peter’s. “That’s kind of the idea.”
And, like, there’s a million reasons NOT to do this, primary among them the whole it’s Deadpool thing and being in a library with the police outside, but Peter has a feeling this isn’t going to take very long, and they’ve been dancing around this forever. Wade gives a roll of his hips and Peter’s hands are suddenly working without his permission, rolling up Wade’s mask until the second his mouth is visible.
Wade licks his lips, and then Peter’s back is slammed up against the bookshelf as Wade crushes their mouths together. Wade’s lips are slick with spit and rough against Peter’s, but there’s something almost reverent about his kiss, like he can’t believe he’s been allowed it. Peter holds onto Wade’s still-masked cheeks and keeps him in place so he can take a moment to appreciate the feel of Wade’s full bottom lip caught between his own, and how it gives when Peter bites down.
That sets Wade off, licking into Peter’s mouth with all the force of a hurricane, and Peter doesn’t have a second to catch his breath. He brings his legs up as an afterthought, winding them around Wade’s hips in a death grip and oh, that’s just the perfect alignment of their hips, for Wade to brace a hand on the small of his back and another on the shelf and just grind their dicks together.
“Oh, fuck, Wade.” Peter tears his mouth away to draw a panting breath. He’s so hard he’s leaking all over Wade’s suit where it’s stretched over his cock. Wade doesn’t skip a beat, sucking sloppy kisses down Peter’s throat.
“Yeah, baby?” Wade asks, and shifts just right that the next thrust drags his cock across Peter’s ass. “Public sex doin’ it for ya?”
Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Oh god.”
Wade chuckles, and he has no right to sound so fucking sexy. The rough texture of his scarred chin drags over the sensitive skin of Peter’s neck, and his teeth nip his ear. “You can call me Wade.”
Peter laughs in spite of himself, grabs the loose edge of the mask and drags Wade up into another kiss. “How about this,” he mutters against Wade’s mouth. “You manage to get us both off without anyone catching us in the act, and maybe I let you explore this whole exhibitionist kink thing again in the future.”
“Ooh, Spidey, you’re on.”
“Peter,” Peter gasps, when Wade rocks up against him just right, because what’s the point? Wade’s seen his face, and if Peter has his way (and given Deadpool’s eagerness, he doesn’t see why he won’t), he’s going to see Peter’s bed pretty soon, too. Might as well be on a first name basis with the guy whose dick he’s rubbing off on.
“Peter,” Wade breathes back, with a wicked grin and another breathtaking kiss. Somehow Peter doesn’t think this is what Mister Stark meant when he was talking about Deadpool’s smart mouth, but damn if Wade doesn’t know how to use his tongue in a way that makes Peter’s legs feel weak imagining what it would feel like on other parts of his body. Wade shifts Peter’s weight to get both hands on his ass, massaging now, sending sparks of electricity right to Peter’s cock.
Distantly Peter’s super-hearing is picking up the sound of boots on the floor below. “You’ve got like two minutes here,” he gasps out.
Wade doesn’t answer directly, but he spreads Peter’s ass cheeks and runs a finger between them, just the tip of it giving a teasing pressure against his hole, and Peter’s mouth drops open in an o of surprise as he cums. Wade grunts, presses his smirk into Peter’s jaw and bites down on the hinge of it, sucking hard.
“Oh you sweet fucking thing,” Wade says, “bet you never even guessed how much you’d like that, hmm?” He pushes a little harder, just enough to make Peter’s hole open for him, and it makes the pleasure that much stronger on the last couple pulses. “I am going to wreck you.”
Somehow, rather than finding that intimidating, Peter's chest thrums in helplessly aroused anticipation. He reaches down, barely able to get his limbs to cooperate in the post-orgasmic haze and with Wade still sucking a chain of hickies across his throat, but he manages to get his fingers around Wade’s cock--fuck, so much wider and longer--and squeezes. He rolls his palm up rhythmically, in time with the thrust of Wade’s hips, and his gut lurches pleasantly at the little uhn uhn uhn noises Wade makes when he starts to come. It’s so fucking obscene and it’s going straight to Peter’s spent cock.
The footsteps are on the stairs now, and Peter gives Deadpool a rough nudge. He goes with a wounded sound of protest, lips clinging to Peter’s throat until the last second. “Hah, I’d like to see how you’re going to explain those to the cops.”
Peter rolls his eyes, already scrambling for his clothing, shoving the Spider-Man suit deep in the bottom of his bag. His limbs don’t really want to cooperate, and Deadpool isn’t any help, lounging against the shelf. Peter glances up the length of him in the process of fighting with his boxers. “Like how you’re going to explain that?” He gestures to the unmistakeable twin wet spots on Wade’s suit.
Wade shrugs, entirely unperturbed. “Hardly the first time I’ve been caught covered in bodily fluids. My own or someone else's…”
“I must be losing my mind,” Peter mutters. The skinny jeans are at least easier to pull on than they are to take off, small mercies.
“You really must,” Wade agrees cheerfully. When Peter straightens, he’s holding out Peter’s t-shirt from his fingertip, already right side out and all. He’s got his mask back in place, but Peter’s familiar with how it looks stretched over his grin. Peter snatches his shirt testily; he doesn’t know who he’s kidding, when he can’t stop grinning in return.
There’s the sound of swat issue boots in the hallway and then the door opening. Peter tugs the shirt over his head, slapping away Deadpool’s helping hands when it gets caught around shoulders. Deadpool holds up his hands defensively and takes a step back just as the swat team turns the corner on their row.
“Hey guys,” Deadpool greets. “Good of you to finally show--you just missed all the action.”
It’s clear none of them know what to do about Deadpool standing in front of them, and there’s some mumbling about calling Tony Stark or SHIELD, and that’s Peter’s cue to get the fuck out of dodge.
“Thank god,” he says, practically throwing himself at the nearest cop. “Can someone get me away from this maniac?” He has to bite his lip against the laugh that threatens at Deadpool’s affronted noise, but it does the trick. Peter’s being ushered downstairs to be looked over by a medic while the rest of them stand around trying to figure out what to do with Wade.
Peter gets wrapped in a blanket and poked and prodded, and manages to slip away in the chaos just as a SHIELD issue SUV is pulling up. He feels a little bad leaving Wade to their tender mercies, but he knows he’ll find his way out of it soon enough.
Once he’s on the train home and his heart is no longer lodged in his throat, Peter pulls out his phone and opens Wade’s thread. A bunch of song lyrics and incomprehensible lines of emojis make up the majority of Wade’s (unanswered) texts. Peter rolls his eyes fondly and taps out a single line, his address, and hits send.
Give Wade a little extra incentive to give SHIELD the slip.