It had definitely been a tall order, Peter realized, as he lay in the cocoon of Wade’s arms; hard, but soft as they cradled his body because Wade was a sweetheart and loved him too much to let anything happen to him even as he slept. And how he loved that, appreciated it, and now he felt like the worst person ever.
Why?
Because he asked Wade to do something he was uncomfortable with and it consequently blew up in his face.
And they had fled home, spent the day curled up on the couch and then gone out on patrol which seemed to finally calm Wade down enough to rest. Peter had, of course, spent most of the day apologizing profusely, though Wade had assured him it wasn’t his fault and he already knew that, but he still felt dreadful about it. How was he supposed to not feel bad about it?
When they had first started seeing each other, it had been as Spider-man and Deadpool. Never before had they seen each other’s faces and it was fine that way. Wade never pushed and Peter now wondered if that had been Wade’s consideration of him or if Wade just really wanted to put off showing his face until the very last minute.
It was probably both. Knowing the Wade he now knew, he wouldn’t put it past him. The man was a sweet heart, in all honesty, with a heart too large for a mercenary. With the knowledge he now knew, he could only imagine how the comments of people, simple backhands about him, his job, what he looked like, his commentary, how his mind work, could slowly kill the man.
It was heart-breaking, but at the same time, eye-opening. Because Peter was one of those people who looked down on Wade for his job, for what he did, but when he thought about it, what choice did the man have?
No one would hire him with his appearance. The super-heroes all thought Wade was a joke and even if they didn’t, the public would question his sanity so much, he wouldn’t make it. With all the torture Deadpool had undergone, also, it was no wonder he had developed such a skill in killing—not saving. Killing…
He couldn’t blame the mercenary, though it didn’t mean he liked it.
Fortunately enough for him, Wade had gathered enough money from his mercenary jobs to be legitimately classified as a billionaire. Why the man had never stayed at a motel during his jobs then was beyond Peter, though he wasn’t going to question. But, due to the massive amount of cash Wade was sitting on, he dropped being a mercenary altogether, though it had been gradual work.
Deadpool had explained it to Spider-man when he had first gone to Peter requesting for the man to team up with him. When they started dating, Peter had made his displeasure clear and Wade had explained the situation in better detail.
It was dangerous to drop out completely all at once, apparently, so Wade had become more selective with the jobs he accepted and then pickier until eventually he could slip away nearly unnoticed.
Of course, the odd call for a job came now and again and Deadpool always questioned the people thoroughly before declining the job. He could never go and save the victims of the jobs, though. That would put Peter at risk, according to Wade, because they would trace him and it could escalate to something unwanted.
But when Peter first saw Wade’s face, his breath had been taken away. Of course, it took some getting used to. Although he wasn’t grossed out by all the scars or horrified by seeing them—they were not a turn off, contrary to Wade’s initial assumption—it still took a while to acclimate himself with seeing them.
And when they went on their first real date—though it was in a park away from people—without the masks, it had been sweet and hopelessly romantic, put together by Wade and Peter had fallen in love with the soft shy smiles, the genuine full-belly laugh, and those glittering blue eyes that looked at him like he had single-handedly saved the world.
Peter had told Wade that once, told him about how the mercenary looked at him. The former mercenary had ducked his head shyly and gave the brunette a side-long glance, muttering quietly.
You saved my world.
Peter had kissed him until his lungs ached from the lack of oxygen and his head spun.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t truly settled in how there were very few who saw Wade the way he did. It was hard to look at the man, a man who was so full of insecurities that they marked every part of his body with a heart too big for anyone to handle so he locked it away instead, as anything other than beautiful for Peter. He never regretted his obliviousness before.
Wade had told him stories of what people said. There had been people who had outright puked from the sight, others who called him a freak, a handful who offered to call a doctor to get his face fixed because there was no way in hell they could get down with that.
It made him wonder why he had thought now would be any different. The world may be changing, but Wade often told him that some things never change.
The majority of people don’t change, Peter. They adapt.
If only he had listened.
Humans are more like animals than we care to admit. We adapt to our surroundings. Practically no one changes for them.
Peter reached his hand up and laced is fingers with Wade’s as he turned around, curling up against the man’s chest. Wade was wearing a long sleeve shirt and sweat pants, the only visible testament to how much the day had hurt him. Normally the man would happily waltz around their apartment in nothing, moving along with his day completely in the nude and Peter loved it—loved that it meant Wade was comfortable enough with him to do that.
He had known Wade’s self-esteem was fragile. Eighty five percent of the man’s humor consisted of self-deprecating comments and the voices were certainly no help when it came down to building it.
According to Wade, though, they were happy with just Peter thinking he was attractive, thinking he was worth it.
I don’t need the world to like me, baby boy. I just need you.
Peter had laughed softly and nuzzled his nose, the tip cold from the bitter wind outside, against the underside of Wade’s chin. “No, you don’t,” he had giggled softly and Wade had pulled back and gave him a weak sad smile.
I really do, though, Petey. I really do.
“What are you thinking about, baby boy?” Wade murmured drowsily as he slowly woke, eyes staying firmly shut. Peter smiled softly at the slurred speech, dragging his thumb across scarred knuckles as he craned his neck up to press a soft kiss to slightly parted lips.
“That we didn’t have dinner,” he mumbled back, pressing their palms flat together and wiggling their hands from side to side until it pulled a slight snort from Wade as he shifted, rolling onto his back and stretching. They had left the restaurant before their food arrived.
“Let’s order in tonight,” the ex-mercenary mumbled as he dragged himself to sit, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, his other one finding Peter’s own easily amongst the mess of blankets. “And stop thinking about today. Don’t argue with me. I know you’re thinking about it.” There was a teasing smile tossed his way as the larger man got out of bed, bare feet padding across the floor.
Peter watched as Wade unconsciously pulled the sleeves of his shirt down to cover scarred fingers.
“He looks like he’s been in the army.”
Wade walked back in with a handful of take-out menus, handing them over to Peter as he clambered back onto the mattress, tugging the brunette in between his legs as he rested his back against the headboard. Peter smiled softly, leaning his head back against a broad shoulder, letting his body melt against the muscular chest.
“Which one do you want?”
Wade made an incoherent noise in response, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss to Peter’s temple.
“Alright, I’ll choose, then,” he mumbled with the slightest upward quirk of his lips as he flipped through the array of menus.
“I did fight in the military. I had to drop out, though.”
“Mexican,” Peter pondered and nearly laughed as Wade grumbled his protest, eyes blinking blearily at the menus. Despite it being Wade’s favorite food, he could understand the man not wanting to eat it now. “You said I could choose.”
“I didn’t say that,” Wade muttered hoarsely and Peter let out a soft laugh at the disgruntled look on the man’s face.
“Why?”
“How about sushi,” Peter offered, holding up the menu and Wade leaned forward a bit; chin resting on Peter’s shoulder as dazed blue eyes scanned the contents of the menu, even though they both knew Wade knew it by heart.
“Yeah, okay,” was the murmured consent as the man turned his head to the side to press a soft kiss to Peter’s jaw line, the smallest press of scarred lips.
“Cancer.”
“Alright, hand me the phone.”
There was some grumbling as Wade stretched, whining about how Peter was so much closer to the phone, why couldn’t he get it? It landed in his hand and he went about dialing the place while glancing over the menu.
“What do you want, Wade?” Peter asked as he held up the menu and Wade merely buried his face in Peter’s neck, breathing in his scent which was really just a bit of sweat and the lingering effects of the bit of cologne he put on along with a slightly musky smell that was just purely Peter.
“Four monster rolls, two sweet potato tempura rolls, a veggie roll, and a shrimp roll.”
“What kind of cancer?”
“Prostate cancer and—”
“How’d you get that? Too much sex?”
Peter felt Wade’s arms sneak around his abdomen, hugging tight while Wade’s legs tangled with his, clinging on like a koala as Peter held the phone up to his ear while it rang. “So, the usual,” he snorted and Wade breathed out a laugh against his neck, nodded his head.
God, he loved this man so much.
Honestly, Peter had no idea how he could live his life without the simple beauty that was Wade with his loud voice and energetic vibes, his vulgar jokes and sufficiently R rated gestures that could make a porn star blush.
“Uh—that’s not funny.”
“I thought it was.”
“It really isn’t.”
“Oh.”
“But, prostate, liver, lungs, and brain cancer; those are what I have.”
After hanging up with the Japanese place, getting assured that their order would be delivered within the next half hour, he turned to look over at Wade. All he could see was the top of the bald head and he reached his hand up, fingering the scars marring the skin.
“How are you feeling?” Peter murmured and Wade hummed softly, nuzzling his nose deeper into the crook of Peter’s neck.
“’m fine, Peter—trust me.”
“You don’t sound fine, Wade. Hey, look at me,” Peter urged, turning around and cupping Wade’s face in his hands. Wet blue eyes met brown and Peter cooed softly, stroking scarred cheeks. “I am so sorry for today…”
“It’s not your fault, Petey. You did nothing wrong.”
“I should have listened to the stories you told me,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Wade’s nose, knocking their foreheads together gently. It was a sweet gesture and Wade’s lips quirked upward into the beginnings of a smile, brushing their noses together as the smile spread into a teasing grin.
“Those happened; it’s the past, baby boy. We could only hope that things had changed.”
“You knew they hadn’t, though.”
“So, have you ever considered plastic surgery?”
“Why would he consider surgery?”
“I know it’s all about what’s on the inside, but your friend is kind of ugly. You know, with all the scars and stuff.”
“Peter, sit down.”
“No!
“Peter, it’s fine.”
“I didn’t know anything, Peter.” Now it was Wade cupping his face, lips pressed into a thin line as he stared seriously at Peter, his eyes boring into the other males. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably have never gone out without the mask. What if the world had changed? I would have never known.” The scarred man gave him a weak smile as he pulled back and rested back against the headboard once more.
“Wade… I know how you feel about your appearance. It was wrong of me to ask you to go out without the mask—and to a restaurant of all things!”
Now he wasn’t sure whether to regret the words that left his mouth or not as Wade seemed to draw himself up straighter before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing.
“What do you want to hear, Peter?” the man bit out, glaring at his brunette lover, fingers curling into tight fists. “That it’s your fault? That—that you’re completely to blame for the insensitivity of everyone else?” Wade was gesturing wildly now and it took Peter a moment to realize that the scarred man’s eyes were glittering with unshed tears. “That it’s your fault I look like this? That you’ll never ever be able to go on a regular date while you’re in a relationship with me? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Wade—”
“No, Peter, no—it’s not your fault. It’s mine because I,” he paused, breathing in shakily, “I can’t give you that. I can’t give you what you want because I look like,” Wade floundered for a moment, struggling to come up with a word that wouldn’t set Peter off on a rant before simply settling on gesturing to himself, “ like this; because not everyone in this world is as accepting about this stuff as you are.”
And those tears were falling and Peter was up and out of the bed in less than a second, crossing the room in two quick strides and pulling Wade to him quickly. The man crumpled in his hold, thick arms coming up to wrap around his waist. Running pale fingers over the top of the towering man’s head, Peter wrapped his other arm around Wade’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t give that to you, baby boy. I’m so sorry.”
Peter clung on hard and gripped Wade tight as he slowly walked them backwards to the bed before twisting them around and letting Wade fall on the soft mattress on his back before crawling on top of him, resting between muscular thighs.
“You don’t have to apologize for something that’s not your fault, Wade.” Peter soothed and god, did he love this man. Here he had been apologizing for the ruined day and Wade had been reassuring him while suffering his own inner turmoil. “You have given me everything I could ever want and more, Wade. I don’t need to go on a ‘regular date’. I just want to be with you.”
It was cheesy, he knew, but it was true and Wade knew that, too.
There was no more said as Peter pressed their chests together, their lips meeting in shaky kisses that slowly morphed to languid ones as Wade relaxed until the doorbell rang with the delivery of their sushi. Reluctant clambering off of Wade, Peter grabbed his wallet before quickly hurrying to pay for the sushi.
Thanking the man and giving him a generous tip because Wade always did that—especially when it was three in the morning and no one sane would order sushi at this time.
When he walked back to Wade, he set the food on their bedside table before crawling on top of Wade again to resume their kisses while his fingers kneaded the muscled chest.
“Please tell me this is okay. Make it okay, Petey,” Wade whispered softly, hands cupping Peter’s hips softly, fingers flexing. The brunette smiled and pressed down harder, licking inside the warm mouth and letting their tongues slide slickly together before pulling back.
“It’s okay, completely okay, Wade. Trust me.”
The man wrapped Peter up in his arms, pulling him even closer. “I do, baby, I do.”