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“Fuck you!” Wade shouts at the dented, fallen giant wheel. “That fucking hurt!” He wants to kick it, but he’s not in any state to do that yet. His bones might break again on impact.
“You sure we can’t kill him, Spidey?” he says, looking down his nose at the bruised and bloody criminal lying prone next to the wheel.
“Positive.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“You’re the only person it is possible to kill just a little bit, my dude,” Spidey answers as he adds a last layer of webbing to the bonds around Wheele’s ankles.
“Fair point. So we’re just leaving him here?”
“Someone will find him.” Spidey rises from his stooped position over Wheele. “Let’s bounce.”
“Yeah,” Wade agrees. “It was cool to beat up a bad guy with you again, Spidey.”
He pulls up the bottom of his hood so Spidey can see his lips. My place or your place?, he mouths over Wheele’s head – he’s facedown on the concrete of the parking lot, there’s little risk he’ll see anything, but still, never too careful.
Peter grins and points to Wade, then raises a hand, holding five fingers up. Wade’s place, in five minutes. Got it.
“Likewise, Deadpool. See you. Too soon, I’m sure.” He shoots a web like a grappling hook at the apartment building and, just like that, he’s left.
“You love me, really!” Wade yells after him.
He does, he tells himself in wonder as he walks away, “accidentally” stepping on Wheele’s fingers.
***
When Wade gets home, Peter is crouching on his windowsill. Wade opens the window to let him in – when they started dating, he had the windows replaced so they’d open inwards. Peter jumps inside.
“Hey babe,” he says, and pulls off his mask. “Long time no see.”
“True,” Wade says, “but there, I didn’t get to kiss you.”
“Let’s fix that, then.” Peter smiles, and kisses him.
It’s always meaningful, the first kiss after a fight. They’re stronger than the vast majority of their opponents, of course, especially together, but nonetheless, something could go wrong at any time.
“It stays weird, the play-acting,” Peter says, pulling back. “I’m not used to doing that because someone else wants to protect me, and not just because I want to protect them.”
“I know,” Wade grimaces and pulls Peter closer. “But we have to.”
“I know - ” Peter starts, but Wade interrupts him, rubbing his thumb nervously against his boyfriend’s back. Fights with Peter are so much better than fights alone, but the aftermath of the worry always leaves Wade a bit of a mess.
“I can’t die. You can die. Someone figures out Deadpool and Spiderman are in cahoots. Someone who wants to get to Spiderman decides that infinitely torturing Deadpool is a good way to do so, and you feel horrible and guilty about it forever. Someone who wants Deadpool dead decides killing his boyfriend is a good plan B and you get killed because of me. I can’t let either of those things happen – I can’t be a liability to you.”
Peter cocks his head at Wade. “You’re the one who’s immortal and I’m the one whose mortality could be used against you, and you consider yourself the liability?”
“Well, yeah,” Wade answers, smiling wryly. It’s really not as silly as Peter thinks it is.
“And you are worried about the fact that you getting tortured would hurt me?” Peter seems torn between laughter and despair.
“Obviously!” Wade knows he can take pain. What he can’t take is someone he loves hurting because of him.
“Why are you like this,” Peter asks, deadpan.
Wade smacks Peter’s ass. “Deep-rooted trauma about causing hurt to the people I love, babe!”
He says it flippantly, trying to lighten the mood, but Peter doesn’t smile. He slides his arms around Wade’s waist and squeezes him close.
“I know,” he sighs into Wade’s shoulder. “I know. You wanna talk about it?”
Wade ponders the question. Does he? Is he in the mood to delve into the particulars of exactly how fucked up he is? It’s not a question of trust – he trusts Peter more than he’s ever trusted anyone before, and they’ve had this type of conversation several times over. But Wade often barely manages to admit to himself just how fucked up he is, so it’s not easy with Peter either, love of his life or not. Besides, he always ends up destabilised for several days after he’s looked a bit too closely at his own psyche. And it always hurts Peter too, seeing Wade’s pain. Wade doesn’t want to subject him to that. Also, he always ends up asking Peter about Gwen, because dumping all of his own trauma on Peter without returning the favor is not very fair, but then Peter is also a mess, and then they’re both messes, and then it’s all a mess, and he just doesn’t have the energy for all of that right now.
So he kisses the top of Peter’s head and says, “Not now, thanks, babe. But I do want to eat. Dinner, and then you. In that order.”
Peter snorts. “I reiterate: why are you like this?”
“Because food is delicious and so are you.” Wade gives Peter a lascivious wink and a quick kiss.
“Good reason,” Peter says, grinning like the adorable idiot he is. “What do you want to eat, then? I’ll have a look at what there is in the fridge.”
He disentangles himself from Wade to go take a look in the kitchen. Wade inelegantly flops down onto the couch. Fuck, everything hurts. Fucking Wheele drove over him with that ridiculous giant wheel of his. Multiple times. His body is still busy properly knitting torn muscles and broken bones back together.
“Wade!” Peter yells from the kitchen. “Why are the only things in your fridge a half-empty pot of salsa, one avocado – that looks way overripe, by the way – and three glass dildos?”
“Because I like cool things up my ass?” Wade sniggers at his own joke. “Get it? Get it?” He can’t see Peter, but he just knows he’s rolling his eyes right now.
“I know you like temperature play, babe, but you’ve told me at least a thousand times that I’m not cool,” Peter says, walking back into the living room.
“I’m a filthy liar and you’re the coolest person I know.” Wade lifts a hand to squeeze Peter’s ass as Peter makes to sit down next to him.
“That would be a lot more touching if I didn’t know you were going to take it back within the next twenty-four hours,” Peter says, but he still wiggles his ass in Wade’s grasp. “What do you want to eat, then?”
Wade bites at Peter’s ass, making Peter yelp.
“Yes, okay, except for my ass!” Peter sits down on the couch, snuggling close to Wade. “You’ll get that for dessert.”
Wade doesn’t have to think for long. “Chicken,” he says. “I want that grilled chicken piri piri from that Portuguese place. With fries. Lots of fries. Please.”
“Oooh yes!” Peter exclaims. “Fantastic, I’m super down for that.” He looks Wade over, clearly concerned. “You feeling up to moving or not?”
Wade stretches his left leg, lifts his right arm. Everything hurts like fuck. He makes as if to stand up anyway, but Peter knows his “I’m in pain but pretending I’m not” face by now, and gives him A Look. Wade slumps back into the couch.
“Okay, maybe not,” he says. “The Portuguese place doesn’t do delivery, though.” Which he’s all for – all those courier companies that restaurants work with are pure exploitation anyway, but it makes things very unpleasant when he’s in too much pain to go out. He can’t technically starve to death, but sometimes it sure feels like it.
“I’ll go pick it up, don’t worry,” Peter tells him.
“You sure? You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it! We can order from a place that delivers!”
Peter pats his knee. “Babe. You got driven over four times by a dickhead in a giant wheel. I managed to avoid getting hurt because I, unlike you, can kind of sort of fly.”
Yeah, Wade knows this. The third time he got crushed by Wheele’s wheel (god, does the idiot not realise how ridiculous his whole spiel sounds), it was one hundred percent because he got too distracted by Peter’s highly impressive aerial acrobatics. His boyfriend is super hot when he’s fighting.
“You want chicken,” Peter continues. “I want chicken. The chicken place is three blocks away. Chill.”
“Far be it from me to stop you if you want to act as my personal servant, baby!” Wade says, grinning.
“Oh I’ll service you alright.” Peter slides his hand up the inside of Wade’s thigh, dangerously close to the crotch seams on Wade’s spandex suit. “After we’ve eaten.”
He kisses Wade, a bit longer than strictly necessary for an “I’m just off to pick up some takeaway” goodbye kiss, but Wade is emphatically not complaining.
“I won’t be long,” Peter says as he stands up. “Fifteen to twenty minutes or so. Try to take a quick nap, yeah? It’ll help with the healing.”
“I know that,” Wade grumbles, but he’s grateful that Peter remembers that he’s so often in pain; that he notices when he is; that he knows, by now, what helps.
“And yet, you never seem to take care of yourself properly,” Peter says, bending down for one last kiss.
Wade grumbles but kisses back, then lies down onto the couch. He hears Peter getting changed in the bedroom, then letting himself out – it’s so easy, ever since they got the keys to each other’s flat he doesn’t even have to get up to let Peter in or out anymore – and a few seconds later, he’s out cold.
***
When he wakes up, it’s to a pair of shorts being thrown at his head. They bounce on his forehead and fall to the floor next to the couch.
“Hey!” he shouts, but he’s interrupted by Peter leaning down and kissing him.
“Why are you sleeping in your suit, you buffoon?”
“My body is literally knitting itself together after getting crushed under over a ton of metal several times over. An uncomfy suit is the least of my worries.”
“You could allow yourself a tiny bit of comfort, though.” Peter shakes his head. “Scoot over. I come bearing chicken.”
Wade turns his head to look at the coffee table and indeed, there’s a tied-off plastic bag on it. Wade can see the grease stains on the waxed paper through the see-through plastic, and his mouth waters.
“Fuck yes,” he exclaims, and he tries to bolt upright. “Trying” being the operative word. His abs protest, heavily, and he ends up sitting up very slowly instead. He croaks like a dying frog throughout, and Peter pats his knee.
“I’ll give you a massage after we’ve eaten.”
“You’re fantastic and I love you,” Wade tells him, and gives him a big slobbery kiss on the cheek.
Peter yelps and wipes the spit off his face. “Stop being disgusting!”
“Impossible,” Wade tells him with a grin. He stretches gingerly, trying to get his muscles to work with him. God, he’s really looking forward to that massage. They really help – super quick healing powers are great, but healing means scars, so he’s basically a big ball of scar tissue all the time. Peter has gotten really good at massaging some suppleness back into his muscles, and it’s a marked improvement to Wade’s quality of life.
“Suit off first, food after,” Peter tells him.
Wade tries to reach the zipper behind his back, and groans piteously. “Pe-eter! I can’t do it on my own.”
“Come here, you,” Peter says. He reaches behind Wade’s back, undoes the zipper, and helps Wade pull off his suit. He even picks the shorts up off the floor and slides them up Wade’s legs. He purposefully catches Wade’s dick in the waistband – Wade doesn’t wear underwear under his suit; panty lines are so not in – and giggles to himself. Wade shakes his hips – ouch – to make his dick bounce around, and Peter slaps it, very gently.
“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles.
“You started it!” Wade protests. “You promised me food and a massage and now you’re already trying to get in my pants!”
“I am trying to get you in your pants, you idiot,” Peter says. “And you were the one trying to seduce me just before I left. Can you blame me for succumbing?”
He runs a hand up Wade’s chest, exaggeratedly fluttering his eyelashes.
“You shameless slag,” Wade tells him. “I notice you haven’t even brought me a shirt.”
‘Guilty as charged,” Peter says, blatantly ogling Wade’s pecs. They grin at each other.
“You’re right, though,” Peter says, undoing the knot in the plastic bag. “Food first. And then a massage, because sex with you in this kind of pain would be the wrong type of kinky.”
“So considerate.” Wade helps him unwrap the waxed paper. It reveals cardboard boxes of grilled chicken and thick fries, and Wade and Peter moan in unison.
Wade grabs a handful of fries and stuffs it in his mouth before handing Peter a chicken leg. The grease runs along his hand. Wade grabs a paper napkin from the wad the kind restaurant workers put into their plastic bag to wipe it off.
“Oh yum,” Pete moans, mouth full of chicken.
Wade swallows his mouthful of chewed-up fries, grabs his own chicken leg, and takes a bite. The spicy, greasy, grilled-just-right taste explodes in his mouth, so good that he takes a second bite before even having swallowed the first.
“Delicious,” he slurs, delighted. “I fucking love that place.”
Peter hums in acquiescence.
They eat by the fistful, getting stains all over the couch. Not that it changes much – the couch is already dirty beyond repair, indiscriminately covered in food stains, lube stains and come stains. Wade has a nice red sheet he throws over the couch on the rare occasions when he has non-Peter visitors. Peter bought one too, to remedy the same problem at his place.
“God, I’m stuffed,” Peter groans, patting his stomach. Wade snorts and shoots him a leering look.
Peter elbows him. “Yeah, no, not that way. Yet. But that’s your fault, handsome.”
“Gimme a bit and I’ll solve that problem, babe,” Wade tells him. He eyes the last remaining piece of chicken. “You gonna eat that?”
“Nah,” Peter answers. “Take it. If I eat any more I’ll throw up while sucking your dick.”
Wade cackles. “Classy!” He grabs the chicken and waves it at Peter. “You absolutely sure? You don’t prefer this chicken to my dick?”
“They’re kind of on the same level,” Peter tells him, and Wade gasps and clutches a hand to his chest.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, babe! My dick, on the same level as this absolutely divine chicken!”
Peter laughs and elbows him again. “You’re the worst. You’re lucky I’m just dating you for your dick. But no, please eat that, I genuinely will explode if I eat it.”
“Your loss,” Wade says, and starts munching. They’ve gone through all the paper napkins, and Wade gets grease abso-fucking-lutely everywhere. It runs through his fingers, over his hands, even to his forearms.
Peter laughs at him. “Who’s classy now?”
“Shut up,” Wade says, mouth full, and threateningly waves the almost-gnawed-clean bone at Peter.
“Hey!” Peter yells. “You got grease on my leg!”
“Whoops, sorry,” Wade says. He eats the last bite of chicken, swallows, and bends over to lick the grease off Peter’s leg, right below the hem of his shorts.
“Gah!” Peter yells again. “You disgusting gremlin!”
Wade grins at him and proceeds to lick the grease off his own hands and forearms.
Peter snickers, shaking his head, face half-hidden in his hands. “I can’t believe you.”
“Sure you can,” Wade tells him, and kisses Peter’s stained mouth, slippery with grease.
“Yuck,” Peter says against Wade’s lips. “Or yum. I’m not quite sure.”
“Both is good,” Wade says.
“True,” Peter says, and then he pulls back. “Still, let’s at least wash our hands and faces before I give you that massage. I love chicken grease, but it’s not my preferred massage oil.”
“Oh now there’s an idea!” Wade says.
Peter smacks his chest, laughing. “Hard limit!”
They go wash up in the kitchen, elbowing and pushing each other around in front of the sink. Despite the playful jostling, Peter clearly makes sure to offer Wade constant support: two strong hands around Wade’s waist, a hand under his elbow, a very insistent hand under his ass as he bends over to rinse his mouth. It’s cute, and great, that Peter knows not to treat him like he’s made of glass but still helps him out.
“To the bed, now!” Peter tells him when they’ve gotten rid of most of the grease, smacking Wade’s ass.
“Aye aye, sir!”
***
In the bedroom, Wade flops facedown onto the bed. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, pushes them below his ass and leaves them there.
“That’s as far as I can get them,” he tells Peter, voice muffled by the mattress.
“Poor babe,” Peter says, and places both hands on Wade’s naked ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “I can’t believe you’re making me bear the terrible burden of undressing you.” He takes Wade’s shorts all the way off, then squeezes his ass again. “Scoot up a bit. Half your legs are hanging off the bed.”
Wade grumbles but complies, wriggling himself up the bed like a huge and very naked caterpillar. He hears Peter take off his own clothes and let them fall to the floor.
“Music?” Peter asks.
“Yeah, sure, gimme a second.” Wade rummages between the bedsheets for his phone. “Aha, there it is.”
“So we’re gonna fuck, right?” he asks Peter.
“You bet we are,” Peter tells him, smacking his ass.
“Sex playlist, then?”
“Yup!” Peter answers, popping the “p”. “But the actual sex playlist, not the joke sex playlist, please and thank you.”
“Awww,” Wade says. “Still too traumatised by having come to the dulcet tones of ‘Oooh, you touch my tralala’?”
“Stop it!” Peter yells, but he’s cackling.
“Mmm, my dingdingdong,” Wade keeps singing, and Peter smacks his ass again to shut him up. Laughing, Wade pulls up his sex playlist, and Little Mix’s “Your Love” starts playing over the Bluetooth speakers.
Peter opens the bedside drawer. “Which massage oil?” he asks.
Wade hums thoughtfully. “Lavender, I think.”
“You grandma.” Peter says, rummaging through the drawer, and then the mattress sinks a bit as he gets onto the bed.
“Sexy grandma, though,” Wade says, wiggling his ass.
“The sexiest,” Peter agrees.
“You good if I sit on your ass?” he asks. “Or will that hurt?”
“Nah, I’m fine,” Wade answers. “He managed to avoid my ass while driving me over.”
“Good to know that heathen still has some respect for art,” Peter says, straddling Wade’s ass and sitting down. He pops open the cap on the bottle of oil, and the sweet smell of lavender fills the room.
Wade laughs. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Even up that gorgeous ass?” Peter asks, grinding down gently on said ass.
“Especially there,” Wade answers.
“Excellent,” Peter says. He digs his thumbs into Wade’s trapezoid muscles, and Wade moans out loud.
“Good or too hard?” Peter asks.
“Good,” Wade answers. “It hurts, but in the good way, where I feel like I might be able to lift my arms above my shoulders again if you keep doing that.”
“High praise,” Peter says, and he digs his thumbs in again. “I’ll try to do better than that – we can’t have you unable to benchpress me for your workout tomorrow morning.”
“You and your strength kink,” Wade teases him.
“As if you’re any better!” Peter retorts, punctuating his point by bearing down onto Wade’s shoulders, hard enough that there’s no way Wade could escape. And yeah, Wade totally is into that.
Peter works down, along Wade’s spine, loosening the muscles bit by bit. Wade feels the fresh scar tissue loosen where it had started to cling to around his vertebra. He hisses through his teeth – this always stings.
“Sorry,” Peter whispers, and he kisses Wade’s ear.
Wade shakes his head. “’S fine.”
Peter works his way back up with broader movements, using the entire surface of his hands. When he gets to Wade’s shoulders, he spends a long time kneading them, slowly working out all the stiffness and knots. He massages the nape of Wade’s neck, too – Wade is prone to torticollis after healing. As the muscles loosen, the sting fades into pleasantly dull pressure, and Wade stops gritting his teeth, letting soft moans and sigh escape him.
When Peter is done with Wade’s back, he moves to his arms, and then his legs. He rubs and squeezes along their entire length, and even pays attention to Wade’s fingers and feet.
“Turn over?” he asks Wade, lifting his weight off Wade’s ass to allow him the room to move.
Wade groans but complies, rolling over between Peter’s thighs.
“Hey!” Peter yells, lifting himself higher off of Wade. “You almost hit me in the balls with your hip!”
“You should have gotten all the way off me,” Wade says.
“Rude.” Peter pushes against Wade’s shoulders so he lies completely flat against the bed again. Wade purses his lips at him, making smacking sounds, and Peter laughs but leans down to kiss him anyway.
“You’re lucky I have a thing for extremely handsome nerds.”
“Pot, kettle, babe,” Wade answers, and Peter laughs and kisses him again.
Peter gives Wade’s front the same treatment as his back, gently but firmly coaxing his scarred tissues into an acceptable semblance of suppleness. Not for the first time, Wade thanks his lucky stars for Peter’s superstrength – without it, it would take literal hours to get to this point.
As the pain starts to subside, it makes way for other sensations. The tone of Wade’s moans starts to change, from mild pain and relief from it to pleasure and arousal. Peter notices – of course he does.
“Getting interested, are you?”
Wade grunts. “Well yeah, of course I am.”
“I guess I’m just that good,” Peter says, grinning, and Wade wants to smack him but that would require moving so, nah.
Peter runs his hands down Wade’s abs, to his hipbones, drawing firm circles around them with his thumbs. Heat pools in the pit of Wade’s stomach, and he moans, long and drawn-out.
“Mmm, I love your noises,” Peter says, and he bends down to kiss Wade deeply. Wade kisses back, lifting his arms – hallelujah! – to wrap them around Peter’s waist.
Peter’s hands move up to Wade’s pecs, gently massaging them. The V of his fingers is strategically placed to catch on Wade’s nipples at every pass – the sneaky bastard. Wade’s moans are non-stop, now, and he feels himself growing hard against the swell of Peter’s ass.
“Oh, hello,” Peter says, and he drops the pretence, starts to gently pinch and tug at Wade’s nipples. Wade hisses happily and pulls Peter closer for a long, passionate kiss. He slips his tongue into Peter’s mouth and Peter moans for the first time that night and damn, that goes straight to Wade’s cock.
Wade moves his hands from Peter’s waist to his ass, pulling him against him, and oh – Peter is hard too. Wade thrusts up, grinding his cock against Peter’s, and they moan in unison.
With one last nip at Wade’s bottom lip, Peter breaks their kiss, then slithers down Wade’s body until he’s lying between his thighs. Wade lifts his head and shoulders to look down at him, but Peter smacks his thigh.
“Lie back down, you. I won’t have you ruin all my hard work.”
“Yes sir,” Wade answers, gently mocking, and he lets his head fall back onto the mattress.
“Oh shush! I’m letting you be a pillow princess for once; enjoy it.”
‘For once.’ Liar. Wade wants to verbalise the thought but Peter goes straight for Wade’s cock, giving the head a long, broad lick, and Wade gasps.
Peter stretches his lips around the head of Wade’s cock, gently sucking on it, and oh boy, he’s so fucking good at this, holy shit.
Peter removes his mouth from Wade’s cock with a pop. “Hand me the lube, will you?”
Wade reaches for the bedside table, fumbling around for the tube of lube. He knocks his phone onto the floor in the process. Miraculously, the music keeps playing – it’s gotten to “Work From Home” by now.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and Peter laughs at him.
“That distracted already, babe?”
“Oh shut up,” Wade tells him as his fingers finally wrap around the tube of lube. Damn the phone – its screen is already completely shattered anyway. He’ll just have to steal a new one off of the next bad guy they beat up.
“Never,” Peter answers.
Wade reaches down to hand Peter the lube. “We’ll see about that.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?” Peter asks, sassy, but he still kisses Wade’s hand before he can pull it back. The cutie. But then he puts his mouth back on Wade’s cock and all thoughts of “cute” flee Wade’s mind. His boyfriend is fucking amazing at giving head.
Wade is so into it that he doesn’t even notice Peter has opened the lube until his slick fingers prod against Wade’s ass. Oh fuck yes. Fingering during blowjobs is one of Wade’s absolute favourite things. Peter circles his rim for a bit, and then pushes a finger inside. Wade moans appreciatively.
Peter bobs his head up and down on Wade’s cock, his movements a counterpoint to his finger gently thrusting inside Wade’s ass. After a while, he curls his finger and –
“Fuck,” Wade chokes out, strangled. Peter chuckles, and gah, those vibrations against Wade’s cock are not helping. Or helping too much. Either or.
Peter takes Wade in deeper, until Wade can feel the back of Peter’s throat against the tip of his cock. Peter chooses that moment to add a second finger, the absolute maniac, and Wade can’t help himself – he thrusts up.
Peter chokes and pulls back, spluttering, wiping spit off his mouth. “Careful! That’s not my preferred kind of choking!”
“Sorry!” Wade half-shouts, apologetically petting Peter’s hair.
“It’s okay,” Peter laughs. “That was on me. I underestimated your responsiveness.” He winks. “I should know better by now.”
“Oh shush,” Wade tells him. He’s blushing a bit – not in embarrassment, but rather in pride at how obviously hot Peter finds his reactions.
“Gimme a sec,” Peter says, and reaches under the bed, pulling up Wade’s Big Box Of Toys. Wade props himself up on his elbows, curious, and watches as Peter selects the clear, open-ended cock sleeve. Nice.
Wade lies back down and Peter settles back between his thighs, squirting some lube into the sleeve and smearing the rest over his fingers. He slides the sleeve over Wade’s cock – god, Wade loves that little toy – and his fingers back into Wade’s ass. Then, he puts his mouth back on Wade’s cock, swirling his tongue around the head.
Between the sleeve and Peter’s mouth, Wade’s cock is completely engulfed in wet, tight pleasure, and Peter is free to focus entirely on the head of Wade’s cock. Which he does, licking it, sucking on it, running his tongue along Wade’s frenulum, never ceasing to gently move the sleeve up and down Wade’s shaft. His fingers keep thrusting inside Wade’s ass, curling insistently against Wade’s prostate, and Wade feels full and filled and engulfed, moaning and groaning unashamedly. His noises seem to urge Peter on, because he moans around Wade’s cock in response and increases his rhythm with the sleeve, pressing the pad of his fingers even more firmly against Wade’s prostate. Wade half-gasps, half-shouts, deep, hot pleasure unfurling within him. He rocks back onto Peter’s fingers, not having to hold back now that Peter’s not in any risk of choking, and just as he’s about to come, Peter stops, completely, fingers stilling inside Wade’s ass and pulling his mouth off of Wade’s cock.
“Oh, you bastard,” Wade moans, but he knows he can’t hide the note of fondness and oh-fuck-so-turned-on in his voice.
Peter grins up at him, all smug, and Wade feebly smacks at his head.
“Stop looking like the cat who got the cream, you.”
Peter’s grin grows wider. “Well, technically I haven’t gotten the cream yet.”
“You’re awful,” Wade groans.
“You love me,” Peter says, and he bends his head again, licking over the tip of Wade’s cock like it’s a lollipop – except lollipops generally aren’t that salty – right, maybe Wade’s brain is starting to ooze out of his ears, but his boyfriend is sucking his cock with three fingers up his ass, he has excuses, okay.
Peter starts pumping his fingers in and out of Wade’s ass again, working up a rhythm, and keeps swirling his tongue around the head of Wade’s cock. His strokes with the sleeve are shorter than before, small back-and-forths near Wade’s balls. Such sustained attention to the head and the base of his cock at the same time makes Wade moan low in his throat. He knows what’s coming, knows that Peter never edges him just once, so he tries to stave off his building orgasm, but it doesn’t take long until his cock is twitching against Peter’s tongue and he’s clenching his ass around Peter’s fingers, trying to pull them deeper. Of course, that’s when Peter stops.
Wade makes a half-growl, half-whine sort of sound, but Peter doesn’t stop for long this time. As soon as Wade’s orgasm has subsided a bit – see, this is the problem with long-term partners, they learn to know your tells – he starts blowing Wade again, sucking with rhythmic consistency on the head of his cock. His strokes with the sleeve grow longer and slower, imitated by his fingers, which press against Wade’s prostate at irritatingly accurate intervals – making Wade wait just long enough for the sensation to make him even more desperate, but not long enough for the deep, smouldering pleasure to ever truly subside.
Wade gives his wantonness free rein, fucking himself on Peter’s fingers with boundless enthusiasm.
“If you don’t let me come this time – “ he starts, and of course, Peter stops and pulls off.
“You were saying?” he asks, smirking up at Wade.
Wade throws his pride to the wind. “God, no, please!”
He swears he can feel Peter’s lips spread in a grin on the tip of his cock, and – thank fuck – Peter thrusts his fingers deep inside Wade, constantly keeping them against Wade’s prostate, just curling and uncurling them, pressing them over Wade’s prostate over and over. He keeps sucking at the head of Wade’s cock, but he slides his tongue along the underside of his shaft, insinuating it into the cock sleeve and swirling it around Wade’s cock inside the sleeve and fuck, the combined sensations are magical. Wade comes, his pleasure cresting abruptly, spurting inside Peter’s mouth and moaning with an intensity that would be more honestly described as shouting. His orgasm comes in waves, and he rides each one on Peter’s relentless fingers.
He has barely come down yet when he pulls Peter up for a deep, heated kiss. He can taste himself on Peter’s tongue, and wow, he really needs to eat better, but it’s also really hot. Peter looks self-satisfied as fuck but also turned on beyond belief, his pupils blown wide and his breath coming in quick, shallow pants.
“You’re so hot when you beg for me,” Peter says, voice breathy, and all of a sudden, Wade wants to wreck him.
He sits up, taking Peter with him, and in one fluid motion, he flips them over.
“Hey!” Peter yells as he finds himself pinned to the bed. His eyes sparkle. Wade puts more weight on Peter’s wrists – he knows he’s going to try to get away – but then he gasps in surprise as Peter hooks an ankle around Wade’s calf, pulling his legs from under him. Wade falls with a – okay, let’s be honest, with a shriek, and Peter takes advantage of his surprise to roll them over. He covers Wade’s body with his full weight, putting all of his strength into it. Wade tries pushing up, but when Peter means business, even Wade has a hard time putting up a good fight.
“Is that the best you can do?” Peter taunts him, rolling his hips against Wade’s in an obvious challenge.
So Wade is sneaky instead, whipping his body sideways from under Peter’s. Peter scrambles to catch him, but in doing so, he releases one of Wade’s wrists, and that’s all Wade needs to turn and land on Peter’s back, pushing his face down into the mattress. Peter growls, bucking his hips to push Wade off. Wade plants his knees on either side of Peter’s hips and one hand between his shoulderblades, pinning him down. He loves this – if Peter wanted to, he could free himself in two seconds flat, but instead he’s pushing his ass up into Wade’s crotch in a simulacrum of protest and fuck, that’s hot.
“Come on, big boy,” Peter tells him.
And that means that he wants something. That he wants more. That he wants to be pushed harder, until he chooses not to push back.
Wade’s a quick thinker, during sex as much as during fights. Lightning-fast, he reaches under the pillow next to Peter’s head and pulls out the knife he always hides there – he’s a paranoid, kinky bastard with an equally paranoid and kinky boyfriend, okay?
He pulls Peter’s head back by his hair and presses the blade against his throat. It’s the dull side, it always is, but Peter can’t see that and he goes utterly still before moaning “Oh, fuck, yes.”
“You gonna behave now?” Wade asks him, and Peter nods, oh so carefully, only moving his head the tiniest bit because, hey, there’s a knife against his throat.
“Good,” Wade purrs, and he bites at the nape of Peter’s neck. Peter doesn’t moan – he never does, at first, when they get kinky. He has told Wade that he’s usually too overwhelmed by sensation to be able to do anything else than concentrate on that for a bit. It’s hot, the deer-in-headlights aspect, and it makes it even hotter when he lets go and starts reacting in earnest.
Wade moves down Peter’s body, trailing the blade over his shoulder and his back. It’s a big, scary-looking knife, with a wide blade that curves at the tip, a metal crossguard and a ribbed black handle. The curved bit on the dull edge of the blade makes it easy for Wade to press the tip into Peter’s skin without actually cutting him. He runs it lightly under Peter’s right shoulderblade, down and across to his right hip, then lifts Peter up by the hips to pull him onto his knees.
“Spread ‘em,” he tells Peter, nudging his thighs apart, and Peter complies so quickly that Wade has to bite back a moan. It’s so fucking hot, having Peter ass up, face down on the bed, so desperate for him. Wade bites Peter’s ass in delight, and Peter’s hips jerk, once, before he stills, obviously acutely aware of the knife on the small of his back.
Wade licks the place he’s just bitten, then moves inwards. He really, really wants to eat Peter out. Everything about it is beyond hot – the way he tastes, the noises he makes, the feel on his tongue, getting to bury his face into such a glorious ass, the way Peter pushes back against him. So he does, licking at Peter’s hole, and that – that’s when Peter moans. It’s small, choked-off, but he pushes back onto Wade’s tongue, heedless of the knife. And fuck, that’s hot, but Wade also knows to be careful, so he takes the knife off the small of Peter’s back, laying the flat of the blade against Peter’s inner thigh instead. It’s a more fragile place, way more dangerous, but easier to control when Peter is thrusting his hips.
It also has the added benefit of making Peter gasp when he feels the cold steel against the tender skin, so near to an artery, so near to his balls.
Wade circles Peter’s rim with his tongue, pushes inside, licks into him with flicking strokes. Peter’s breathing is heavy, and when Wade sticks his tongue inside Peter, as far as it can go, he still tries to push back even further, utterly shameless. Wade moans into Peter’s ass. God, he loves him like this.
He fumbles with the lube, one-handed, and coats two fingers in it. He presses one of them into Peter, alongside his tongue, taking it slow and gentle to give Peter time to adjust. When Peter feels less tight around him, he starts curling his finger, pressing it against Peter’s prostate.
“More,” Peter whines, and Wade gives him more, sliding a second finger in alongside the first. He licks at Peter’s rim, stretched so nicely around his fingers, and presses the pad of both his fingers against Peter’s prostate. Peter breathes in sharply, and Wade moans into him, self-satisfied and incredibly turned on. He keeps it up until Peter’s pants start resembling actual moans, until he’s not so much pushing back anymore as full-out fucking himself on Wade’s fingers and tongue.
“What do you want?” Wade asks him, and Peter doesn’t answer with words – he just pushes back harder and repeatedly moves his thigh against the knife. Wade gets the hint – they’ve done this before – and almost chokes on his own spit due to the wave of arousal that hits him.
He takes the knife away from Peter’s thigh and turns it over in his hand, holding it the wrong way, with the dull edge of the blade held in his palm and the handle sticking out. He touches the handle against Peter’s hole.
“Is this what you want?” he asks in an almost reverent whisper.
“Yesss,” Peter hisses, sounding absolutely wrecked. Wade’s cock is rock hard – who cares if it’s barely been twenty minutes since he came.
“You little slut,” he whispers lovingly into Peter’s ear, and Peter pushes back against the handle of the knife, moaning out loud.
Wade gets the hint. He doesn’t want Peter to actually injure himself by taking too much too fast, so he lubes up the handle – it’s silicone, which he chose in the first place to avoid bad guy blood staining his pretty knives, but has since proven to be very useful for other activities as well. It’s blunt, but not much thicker than two of Wade’s fingers, and Peter tends to like a bit of a stretch. Wade pushes it against Peter’s hole, pressing gently but persistently until it breaches him.
As soon as the tip of the handle is inside him, Peter goes completely rigid. His breathing and moaning quickens until he’s almost sobbing, and Wade just has to palm his cock for a second because fuck, his boyfriend is the hottest person in the galaxy, what the fuck.
Slowly, Wade starts pushing the handle inside Peter. Peter’s rim catches slightly on every rib in the grip, and every time, he lets out a tiny moan. Wade keeps going until the knife’s crossguard touches Peter’s ass. He leaves it there for a few seconds, until Peter starts thrusting his hips in small increments. His cheek is squashed against the mattress, he’s on his knees, ass in the air, and he’s fucking himself on Wade’s knife. Wade feels like he might faint, he’s so turned on.
He starts fucking Peter with the knife, slow and steady, letting him feel the full length of every thrust, letting him dwell on the fact that he’s got a knife up his ass. Peter seems to be just as blown away by it as Wade is, because he’s full-out moaning by now, gasping, clutching at the bedsheets. After a while, he even starts rutting into thin air, his cock bobbing up and down between his thighs, and fuck, that’s a pretty sight.
“Please,” Peter chokes out, broken and desperate. “Please.”
“What do you want, babe?” Wade asks him, trying very hard to appear more composed than he’s feeling.
“Your cock,” Peter begs, reaching back for Wade with one hand. “Please, Wade, give me your cock.”
Wade pulls the knife out of Peter’s ass, aligns himself, touches the head of his cock against Peter’s hole, and then –
“Hm, no, I don’t think so,” he says.
He flips Peter back over, one-handed, and doesn’t know whether he should laugh or just straight-up die of arousal when he sees Peter’s flushed, fucked-out face, with his plush lips and wide, unfocused eyes.
“Fuck you,” Peter groans at him, but he’s too turned on to put any bite into it.
“Patience, babe,” Wade tells him. He straddles Peter’s hips, right above his cock, and picks up the bottle of lube. He slicks up his fingers, then reaches back, staring right into Peter’s eyes. Peter’s breath hitches, and Wade has to stop himself from wanking himself off there and then, because man, that ego boost goes straight to his cock. Instead, he presses one finger inside himself, and Peter’s moan almost drowns out his own.
The second finger follows quickly – he’s still quite open from when Peter fingered him – and Peter stares at him the whole time, utterly enraptured. Wade puts on a bit of a show, but honestly, it’s barely exaggerated. He’s good at fucking himself, but Peter’s eyes on him are what really melts his insides with pleasure.
“Come on rude boy boy,” he hums along with Rihanna, and Peter chuckles softly.
Finally, finally he reaches a hand back to grab Peter’s cock, and positions himself over it. He slides himself down onto it, slowly. Fuck, Peter has a glorious cock. Wade only stops when Peter is all the way inside him, and he stays there for a while, letting himself enjoy the stretch, get used to it. Peter reaches out, grabs Wade’s hips, but leaves his hands there, not trying to make Wade move.
Wade rewards his patience by starting to move up and down himself, and is rewarded in turn by Peter’s long, drawn-out moan. He quickly realises that his thighs are not up to the task of bouncing up and down on Peter’s cock, so he settles down onto Peter’s hips instead, his cock all the way inside him, and rolls his hips. It’s easier this way, more comfortable, and Peter’s cock drags against Wade’s prostate on every back-and-forth. Peter is moaning, looking up at Wade like he’s the hottest thing on Earth, and Wade gives his own cock a stroke to stop himself from looking away in embarrassed overwhelmedness.
Peter reaches out a hand to touch Wade’s cock as well, and that’s enough to put Wade back on track.
He smacks Peter across the face. “You can touch me when I tell you.”
Peter gasps, then nods, frantic, turning his head to expose his other cheek.
“God, you’re hot like this,” Wade whispers, and he slaps Peter again. He does it again, and again, riding Peter through it, and only stops when Peter’s moans get a desperate quality, clueing Wade in to the fact that he’s very close to coming. He lifts himself off of Peter’s cock and Peter curses.
“You had it coming, babe,” Wade tells him with a grin. Peter can only roll his eyes at him.
Wade leans off the bed, reaching into the Big Box Of Toys that Peter left open on the floor. He selects one of his favourite plugs – a silicone one with a metal ball inside, which gives it a lovely heavy weight. He spreads some lube onto it and pushes it inside his ass, keeping himself open.
When the plug is inside him, Wade sits down onto the bed and pats his lap. “Come here?”
Peter complies, limbs languid with pleasure. He arranges himself over Wade’s lap and gives him a cheeky look over his shoulder, wiggling his ass.
“Lay into me, babe,” he tells Wade.
Wade laughs. “At your orders!”
He smacks Peter’s ass, just firmly at first, but when Peter moans encouragingly and pushes his ass back into his hand, he ups the strength of his blows. Peter is moaning, gasping, squirming in Wade’s lap. Wade can feel his cock leaking against his thigh. He dips a still-lubed-up finger into Peter’s ass, and Peter’s answering whine makes Wade’s heart skip a beat. Fuck, but he’s so fucking sexy.
Wade spanks Peter in the same place five or six times, until Peter hisses and bucks forward, trying to escape the blows. Only then does he spread out his blows again, fingering Peter all the while, first with one finger, then with two, then with three. Peter is utterly wanton, moaning as loudly as he ever does, rocking back onto Wade’s fingers and into his blows and then forward, grinding his cock into Wade’s thigh.
Finally, Wade can’t resist him anymore. He bodily picks Peter up off his lap and arranges him so he’s lying on his back. He kneels between Peter’s thighs.
“Still want my cock?” he asks.
Peter nods frantically. “Fuck, yes!”
Wade lines up and pushes in in one smooth motion. Peter is slick and open and Wade slides in easily, with just the right hint of tight resistance. Peter feels fan-fucking-tastic around his cock, and Peter seems to agree, because his moan when Wade bottoms out highly resembles a shout.
“Fuck me,” he growls, and grabs Wade’s hips, trying to pull him deeper.
“Cocky,” Wade tells him, and as he thrusts, hard, into Peter, he reaches out a hand and wraps it around Peter’s throat. Peter’s mouth falls open in a silent, overwhelmed O, and he rests a hand over Wade’s, almost reverent, feeling how it’s pressing lightly against his throat.
“You like that, don’t you?” Wade asks. Peter’s answering “yes” gets lost in a moan when Wade presses down a bit harder – never enough to constrict his airway or bloodflow, but enough to evoke the threat of it.
Wade puts his other hand on Peter’s cock, stroking it with twisting motions. He swipes his thumb across the head at the end of every stroke, just the way he knows Peter likes it, and fucks him at the same rhythm, with deep, powerful thrusts.
The weighted plug inside his ass; his hand around Peter’s throat; his cock up Peter’s ass; Peter’s cock twitching between his fingers; Peter’s face, flushed and wide-eyed and open-mouthed; Peter’s noises, alternately loud and shameless or strangled and chocked-off – all of it makes Wade head spin and his heart beat at a rhythm that should probably worry him, but hey, he’s immortal, so who the fuck cares, right? What he is worried about, however, is his ability to last until Peter has come, because fuck, this is testing his endurance.
Just when he thinks that, Wade feels Peter’s thighs tense around Wade’s hips, the way they always do when he’s close to coming. His nails are digging into Wade’s hand, and Wade has a stroke of genius. He presses down again, just a bit, against Peter’s throat.
“Don’t breathe until you’ve come,” he tells Peter.
Peter moans, utterly desperate, and nods frantically. His gasps and moans cease, his chest stops rising and falling frantically. It’s almost scary, but it’s perfectly safe, and it’s so hot, how he unquestioningly obeys such an order. Nonetheless, Wade can’t take too long to make Peter come – he’s stubborn, his boyfriend, and that could be less than ideal, in situations like this. So Wade fucks Peter harder, deeper, and luckily, it takes just one, two, three more frantic strokes over Peter’s cock until Peter is coming, back arching, gasping for air. His ass clenches around Wade’s cock, and Wade finally lets himself come, shouting as he fucks Peter through his orgasm.
They collapse in each other’s arms in a panting, sweaty heap. It takes them a while to come down. When their breathing has evened out, Wade kisses Peter, deeply and gratefully.
“Well, that was awesome,” Peter says, running his hands up and down Wade’s back.
“So fucking awesome,” Wade agrees. He pulls the plug out of his ass and lets it fall on the floor, next to the cock sleeve. They’ll clean up tomorrow. “You’re so fucking hot, babe, what the fuck. I almost died like four times.”
“Pretty sure I was the one not breathing at the end there,” Peter says with a grin. “God, I love sex with you.”
“Same,” Wade agrees. “So fucking much. And I love you so fucking much too.”
Peter’s smile lights up his eyes. “I love you too, babe.”
They kiss, sweetly, wrapped around each other, Peter’s hands cupping the back of Wade’s head, Wade caressing the soft hair at the nape of Peter’s neck. Wade only pulls away when he feels a yawn coming on, tiredness catching up to him.
“Sorry,” he apologises mid-yawn. “Long day.”
Peter grins and kisses Wade’s cheek. “Glad to see I exhausted you.”
He snuggles down under the duvet and holds up a corner so Wade can join him. Wade cuddles close to him.
“You’re staying here tonight, then?” Wade asks, smiling broadly. Having to give up his boyfriend to patrols is never fun.
“Absolutely,” Peter tells him, giving him one last kiss and snuggling down into his side. “But tomorrow we’re going to mine, for tacos and riding crop action.”