Double Dipping

Morning was still hours away and amidst dispatching hooligans it was now the most difficult time of the night, for it to end. It was common to call in an order to refuel before they parted ways with greasy entrees upon a rooftop that blocked the incoming chill of winter. Deadpool thrilled on these little moments that were so part of their routine. Trading sauces and watching the city pulse as their feet dangle over the ledge of a high rise. When Deadpool grabbed a lemon wedge from the takeout box, he bumped hands with Spider-Man’s. 

“Oh, you can have it.” Deadpool conceded in the silence of meeting Spider-Man’s lenses.

Spider-Man grabbed Deadpool’s hand and placed the wedge in it, letting his hand linger around Deadpool’s. Spider-Man was looking directly at him, delivering a piercing stare of the material that protected eyes he had never seen, all the while, knowing their mannerisms entirely. The lack of light at this height made the edges glimmer of what tech they were lined with, though, Deadpool found himself where he always did, stealing the patterns of freckles across Spider-Man’s cheeks and nose. Memorizing their placements, yet again. It reminded him… All he could think about when he saw them now was Peter.

“If you want it, just take it,” Spider-Man said before relinquishing Deadpool’s hand, casually looking back down to the street below. 

If you only knew what I would take.

In Spider-Man’s withdrawal, Deadpool could make out a faint discoloration he had never noticed before, a bruise just under his jaw. A fading yet oddly familiar shape. The whites of Deadpool’s eyes widened in jealousy when he realized what it was, swiftly followed by disappointment. Fighting against an explosive outburst but against his better judgment he leaned theatrically toward Spider-Man with a flaming attitude. 

“What is that?” Deadpool pointed and poked harshly at the deep coloration on Spider-Man’s neck. “Who did that to you?” He asked, a little too loud with fake enthusiasm, a poor attempt in hiding his disdain as to who could have captured Spider-Man’s affection.

“Wha? Tsk- nothing!” Spider-Man declared angrily, slapping Deadpool’s hand away. “None of your business.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Deadpool inquired, one of soon to be many harassments. Talking about it excessively as his only way to deal with Spider-Man dipping into the wrong pool.

After a drawn out pause of an irritated sigh, “A stupid dumb idiot, that’s who.” Spider-Man said begrudgingly.

“How barbaric.” Wade commented, wishing he could know who this mystery lover could be, for reasons that absolutely did not include violence, but he had changed, dare say grown , Deadpool reminded himself, when a thought traveled into the forefront of his mind. What if, no, it couldn’t be. What if that person who had so unceremoniously marked his Spider had been- Peter. 

Deadpool laughed deeply at the thought, a light kick from Spider-Man threatened him from his outburst, making him wobble precariously on the ledge. That was impossible! That would be so weird, right? As Deadpool recovered, he sat in his thoughts, preening it over. This was a big city, it could be anyone. Though, there were only so many people Deadpool knew about who could be more familiar with Spider-Man other than him. Not wishing to, he calculated how much time he and Peter had known each other, of what details Peter probably knew about Spider-Man that Deadpool was never privy to. Deadpool felt volatile picturing Peter, the smart, handsome, just the right amount of annoying in a gullible way kind of person. Would he be capable of such a thing? If Deadpool had become sprung for Peter, who was to say Spider-Man had not too? Not including if Spider-Man had already fallen for him long ago, as if in some poorly written comic book. A sense of defeat wavered over Deadpool.

“So,” Deadpool started, straightening his spine in defiant confrontation. “I met your stalker.”

“Yeah? Which one?” Spider-Man asked flatly, taking a noticeably irritable bite from his stuffed burrito, now doused in juiced lemon.

“That photographer, Pete.” Spider-Man hacked on the bit of food that was halfway down his throat, bringing a hand to his chest as he coughed to bring back air flow. Deadpool squinted at him suspiciously. “Mhm, yep, sure seems to know a whole lot about you too.” With a probing stare, “What’s that all about?”

“Oh, well,” Spider-Man started, 

“I know it’s more than pictures, Webs.” Deadpool said pointedly, confident in his accusation. 

“I’ve- the papers, been in the papers so much, that’s what a stalker would do. Yeah, he knows where I go all the time. Terrible things, those articles.” Spider-Man said in an unjointed flow.

Deadpool knew it took a liar to know one, and his bullshit meter was off the charts. Not to mention he was personally offended by the fact Spider-Man thought that collecting completely public information and/or items, legally discarded, about one person specifically in any possible capacity was now considered ‘stalking’. Bah! Spider-Man knew this was different and Deadpool knew he was deflecting.

“I just want the truth.” Deadpool insisted, leaning even closer to antagonize a real answer out of Spider-Man. Even though he tried to not let it show, the discrete nature of their relationship was torturing him.

“He, erm, makes some of my tech. Yeah, that’s it. You have to know when to outsource these things, you know.” Spider-Man replied quietly.

“Really?” Deadpool knew Peter could get invested into the mumbo jumbo he spewed, but never thought about how that knowledge could help the icon he admired. It was a secret Peter had been keeping from him. Suddenly, Deadpool became wise to the open book he had thought Peter to be, yet who was still capable of keeping this really fucking important information to himself. 

“Really.” Spider-Man insisted.

“Makes your tech, huh?” Deadpool said, still skeptical and accusatory.

“Mm, makes my tech.” Spider-Man reiterated, sinking into defiance.

“And that’s it?” Deadpool asked, lowering his tone, becoming to feel ridiculous by his previous train of thought.

“That’s it.” Spider-Man repeated in that same convincing tone. Deadpool could not help but again review the hickey that taunted him. It disappeared behind Spider-Man’s hand as he rubbed it. “He’s an alright guy, you know. Do you, uhhmah, like him…or something?” Spider-Man inquired with a sheepish laugh.

Deadpool expressed stunted breaths as if he was going to laugh, speak, or make some kind of retort but no prominent reaction could morph, not knowing what he should or wanted to say. As the seconds dragged on, Deadpool failed and tapped on the to-go box of jalapeno poppers, finding two delicious breaded-cheesy peppers to crush in his mouth. He was already full and he knew these peppers would soon give a whole new meaning to ‘fire in the hole’, instead of saying anything worthwhile out of the one on his face. 

Spider-Man chuckled lightly, “Jeez, it was just a joke!” Deadpool mocked the chuckle with his own. Even though he was always happy to hear Spider-Man laugh at his expense, knowing that he did not have Peter’s trust made him completely lose his appetite.

~~~~~~~~~~

Air rushed past Wade feeling a whimsical whirl of movement from the roller coaster. The threat of gravity swayed his body, letting the contraption of metal and gears steer his fate. 

The firm bar pressing against his waist lulled him to open his eyes, witnessing his partner keeping him from tripping over his feet. The ride he held onto was pressed closely to him in a wide swing, though if he were to let go he knew the lack of gravity under his feet would surely let him fly away, naturally, he held onto his partner’s leading hand and waist. 

The vibrations of the air brushed harsh and wildly as his boots, lifting from the ground and they separated wildly with only their fingers keeping their contact. The stress of their push and pull exhilarated Deadpool before settling in a soft melody of a down swing, it was as if they were whispering to each other without saying a notable word. The more they lightly stepped, the more glued Deadpool felt against Spider-Man, resting his chin just under his ear. 

It was a debilitating comfort, coming off of overwhelming sensations into a Waltz with no gravity, true and without question, Deadpool could not help but close his eyes again to feel it more fully, cursing all throughout his body as he felt the world around him transition, squeezing them tightly before reopening. 

Darkness. With just enough light to be confused by the clearing view of his pillow. Wade resisted believing this reality, though as he stirred, the chill of the mattress under him made it strikingly clear how bitterly cold and alone he was.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was as if these freaks came out every week like some creature feature. This guy was particularly relentless but easy to predict. 

The most incredible part of wrangling this behemoth were the displays of elegance by his Spider. He swung around the Rhino from angles that would even make this creature see stars. Strategic thwipping led the Rhino’s attention away from the street and  scattering civilians, repeatedly charging the giant man into the thick structures of buildings. A brief signal from Spider-Man, shown in his movements of his lure as he distracted the creature to face away from Deadpool. 

A few seconds of diverted attention was all Deadpool needed, running up to them with all the strength his legs could muster and with a swift lift of his right leg he pointed his foot outward keeping his momentum as he slid on his other leg under him. The drift he created with his body as he crossed his arms to impressively acquire his best stunning devices. In mid drift, Deadpool found himself between Spider-Man and the Rhino, deviously holding then releasing the pins of two EMP grenades in each hand, that’s right, four of those babies, and rolled them under the massive gray man that he could only imagine had gotten lost from some costume party. As soon as his own party favors were delivered, Spider-Man swung over Deadpool, thwipping a string of webbing to his boot, increasing his sliding momentum as he was shot into the air with the combination of the web strand that pulled him away from the explosion, propelling him directly into the safety of Spider-Man’s arms. 

Pressed into Spider-Man’s strong chest, Deadpool wrapped his arms tightly around his teammate’s neck and his leg hiked up to Spider-Man’s waist in a submissive squeeze. Nothing turned him on more than the implicit combos. The whirl of destruction and air combusting suppressed his senses as the lush hold of victory carried him away.

“We should do this more often.” Deadpool commented with a twinkle in his eye.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Save the dirty talk for when we’re alone, snookems.”

Spider-Man made an exhausted sound, reviewing the surroundings Deadpool chose to be oblivious to, instead pretending to be the pretty princess in the arms of her prince he always wanted to be. As soon as Spider-Man effortlessly landed, Deadpool’s painfully sweet fantasy also ended now that his feet were planted on the ground as well, released from the hold he savored. 

“Not the time.” Spider-Man insisted, investigating the pile of debris left in the side of the caved in building.

“Anytime is a good time, honeybuns, I’m at your mercy.” Deadpool said with confirmation. “Though, we should really come up with a safe word.” Spider-Man slowly approached the rubble trapping the Rhino, stalking the area in an altered animalistic hunch, inspecting his prey. “That means I like it rough.” Deadpool added in a louder voice, as Spider-Man was actively ignoring and moving further from him.

Steel and cement trapped the Rhino, though suddenly, brief movement was detected and the Rhino ejected from the debris, forcing it all in a projection outward. Spider-Man acted quickly, thwipping the monster's head with layered thick webbing that pulled their head to the pile of structural material that was currently confining the rest of their lower body, restricting their movements even further but with the strength of this creature, they both knew the restraints would only last so long.

Deadpool wanted to act but he was stunned, viewing his Spider as if in slow motion, he watched as Spider-Man held multiple lines of webbing to keep the creature down, adding another one when one snapped or needed additional support. Spider-Man held his feet steady in a wide stance, sinking into the foundation of the sidewalk, balancing the strength in his legs with the pull of pressure rippling through his shoulders. Contracting the muscles along his spine, accentuating the crease and development of every inch of definition of a toned physique, the color of red and blue fabric deepened with moisture between flexing shoulder blades, trailing down his back to just above the round glutes perking with tension. The magnificent image of quivering blue buns swirled in Deadpool’s eyes, not quite noticing the desperation in Spider-Man’s voice calling to him for support. 

Shaking the memorization of damp crevices, Deadpool searched his belt for something with more oomph to knock down the exceptionally large creature. Ah! Time for one of those Pool Bombs. Pulling one out, Deadpool saw the creature wrestle himself free and with one swift pull of his arm, became an anchor that lifted Spider-Man from his feet and snapped him directly to the Rhino. Capturing Spider-Man in their unnaturally large grasp. Spider-Man was not able to struggle for long in the Rhino’s squeeze, a pained cry for survival erupted from Spider-Man and it alerted Deadpool to gain the Rhino’s attention to him instead, by instinct releasing his pistols and pulling the triggers without a second thought. 

Doing the trick he soon discovered it was not as intended as the Rhino flicked their wrist, and Spider-Man was whipped tactfully in the Rhino’s hand, now held by a leg and was shaken like a rag doll, pulverized into the ground again and again. Deadpool’s eyes widened at the Rhino’s ferocity, not having a plan to rescue Spider-Man other than charging directly into the beating, though before Deadpool could get close, the Rhino threw Spider-Man’s limp body in his direction. Throwing the Pool Bomb toward the beast at this distance for maximum impact, Deadpool let Spider-Man collide with him, hopefully, being a little cushier than the pavement. Though the magnitude of the impact crushed Deadpool’s insides, feeling his organs and bones squish and crunch. 

As Spider-Man hit him, Deadpool met the ground forcefully, blood erupting from his mouth, coating the inside of his mask and between his teeth. Spider-Man laid on him with his full weight, grumbling incoherently. Deadpool was not motivated to get up quite yet, letting his insides heal for as much time as he had bought. He soon heard the bomb go off, hopefully giving them a few extra seconds to recover.

Coming to, Spider-Man lifted himself up, hands on Deadpool’s chest, he could feel Spider-Man adjust over him, straddling the soft flesh under his belly with the heat of his inner thighs. In Deadpool’s recovery, he felt the hands propping Spider-Man up squeeze his pectorals.

Was he… Did he… 

 It was more than once, noticeable. Deadpool opened an eye to see that it was still Spider-Man fondling him and not some terribly timed imagination. 

Cop a feel?

“Thanks for, ha, cushioning the blow.” Spider-Man said, stumbling to his feet, looking majestic as the light of the sun hitting his suit in a powerfully determined stance above him before returning to the fight.

My boobies!

Our sensibilities!

Something about this did not seem right. Perhaps Deadpool had been delving too deep into his fantasies and was beginning to fall into another desperate delusion. Collecting himself, Deadpool stood to his feet and readied himself, reviewing his environment to make sure this was all still happening and not something he was concocting in his subconscious. Either way, he needed to stop the menace that appeared to be directly in front of him and absolutely not about if it was his broken mind or the tea that was confusing him.  

~~~~~~~~~~

Autumn of New York was quickly dissipating, leaving the days in dreary overcast. 

They both liked this spot, even though they knew they should not be here. Taking advantage of the shelter in an exceptional upscale patio of some penthouse meant for hosting and schmoozing, surely. Built-in lighting that turned on automatically, must be nice, as the owners never seemed to be home. It made the large outdoor space appear that much more eerie as the rain poured unrelentingly. 

It was the way Spider-Man hunched, the slight rigid twist that looked uncomfortable when he should be recovering. Regardless, Spider-Man looked at peace, although bored. Not interested in getting drenched at the moment, instead residing on the other side of the outdoor couch they both took refuge upon, under the protective cover that hung above the seating area. As much as Deadpool admired looking at him, he fully understood the need to alleviate the discomfort that must be contributing to Spider-Man's posture.

“You good?” Deadpool asked, breaking the sound of uninterrupted rain hitting the cement and high grade plastic.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” Spider-Man affirmed, taking subtle notice of Deadpool with a lean of his neck before returning to his previous posture with a small but noticeable groan. He squeezed the muscle between his waist and hip, twisting slightly before sighing. “Old injury is acting up. Getting old, I guess.”

“It’s still giving you trouble? Did you try those exercises I told you about?” Deadpool asked, a little offended Spider-Man not having taken his advice to heart. “You know you’re supposed to do them every day.”

Spider-Man turned to Deadpool, it was quick and with an audible wince. It took him more than a few seconds to respond, struck in the headlights of Deadpool’s words. “You…remember that?”

There it was. What it felt like to be a ghost.

Deadpool could not handle but be broken down in the worst way by that look. One that he knew he could never be able to meet the expectations of. Moments like this were making Spider-Man hold onto some kind of hope. To be able to grasp onto something Deadpool never knew he held, falling straight into the deep end where the strings Spider-Man held could be tightened that much further.

“Most fuckin’ stubborn mother fucker- c’mere,” Deadpool deflected.

“Oh, no.” Spider-Man protested. “You always go too hard.”

A tongue click, “Meh mehmeh, pfft! Want these knots out or what?” Deadpool offered aggressively, making a snapping motion with all his fingers indicating the rubbing Deadpool was going to perform was now or never. He could see that Spider-Man needed it, and Deadpool was ultimately all the more willing to provide the service. With a glare and strained swivel of his torso Spider-Man turned away from Deadpool, sinking to his stomach and onto the couch. “That’s what I thought.” Deadpool said with surprising confidence, not realizing how much power he was currently wielding.

“No funny business.” Spider-Man insisted as he fully lay flat and sprawled over the cushioned furniture. Deadpool not so absently admired the length of Spider-Man’s vulnerable form. The fabric of the suit stretching along Spider-Man’s back was tight and form fitting over every ripple of his body. Deadpool gulped pressing his fingertips to defined shoulders, first letting them slither over the material and test the contact with his leather. Alternating pressures until the lack of talk-back allowed Deadpool to press his palms along the squish and warmth of the body protected by the thin material, partly worn and separated by the assault it had taken just a couple of hours ago. Skin peeking through was so available yet not close enough. 

Deadpool’s brain was firing with consuming desire. Since when was it this easy to get Spider-Man to comply with a sort-or pretend favor he could always demoralize into a joke? Yet here he was, rhythmically working his thumbs outward from the divot that marked the length of Spider-Man’s spine. He could see how high the shoulders below him settled as he worked his fingers therapeutically, attempting to find… Ah, here, the tension near the center of Spider-Man’s back but just above the last rib on the right side, the source of the pain. Deadpool moved his hands along the area gently at first, feeling a release of breath escape from Spider-Man as he increased the pressure, and the knot popped against his palm.

“Feel alright?” Deadpool asked.

“Hah, yes,” Spider-Man confirmed in a breathy whisper.

Little else fueled Deadpool than using his fingers that once took life to lovingly melt away deep seeded stress and trauma of the form he was quenched for. Between shoulder blades, releases of stress just under Spider-Man’s neck, using his body weight to apply pressure, expulsions of breaths and tension under Deadpool’s palms left with every motion outwards of the starved body under him.

He could not help his fingers traveling down the small of Spider-Man’s waist, rewarded with a moan that called attention to the lower back. A working of the joint of his thumb at narrow hips that released built up stress with every rub. With each motion, Deadpool wished he could contact the skin under the suit that blocked him from having complete control of their relief efforts, but the last thing he wanted to do is complain at this moment. 

He allowed his hands to naturally compress even lower feeling the sides of Spider-Man’s hips, avoiding the mounds of plump flesh that taunted him. Merely staring at how round and prominent the glutes were begging for a soft little bite, just one. How they flexed when Deadpool pressed a little too hard and how the muscles eased when the pressure was just right. Motioning in the sweet spot at Spider-Man’s lower back, spawning another moan, the sound of sweet surrender that made Deadpool shiver. A hymn that could make him disintegrate and believe that he was going to heaven.

If he stopped he felt as this would be the only and last of his passions, it would all be gone in an instant his hands stopped delivering. Being this close, could this be close enough? Spider-Man needed him. Only Deadpool could give him this relief, if only in this moment, no matter what he engaged in when they went their separate ways, and this meant something. At least Deadpool hoped it did. 

Moving his hands unfortunately moved directly past Spider-Man’s buttocks, Deadpool instead pressed them down toned thighs, tight knees connecting calves that even while relaxed were stiff with strength. Slipping his palms around ankles that felt small in his hands in comparison, at the same time, a contributor to the support system of this body Deadpool was all the more desperate to admire. How often had he done this? He cursed at the thought. If Deadpool could take on Spider-Man’s pains, physical or otherwise, he would do so. To be able to see himself as the pinnacle of heroism the way Deadpool did. If he acquired the pain of another, perhaps that would help him relieve some of his own.

Feeling up the protection at the arches of Spider-Man’s feet, flexible yet stiff. The sole was soft and mailable through the high-grade fabric. He hoped that his fascination with the strange texture was sensed as a continuation of his service rather than a sensory curiosity. Deadpool was drawn to give light pressures to the arch and increase the magnitude of touch towards the heel and toes. He knew he was doing good work with the lax position of the body benefiting from Deadpool’s touch of flattery. So good, maybe he could get away with bringing the scuffed and soiled thin material of the sole of Spider-Man’s boot to his nose, taking in a deep breath and exhaling through his mouth. As if transcending time and, for a moment, an intimacy he only attempted to dream of. 

That’s when the tension in the leg Deadpool was holding returned, connected to the turn Spider-Man was making to look at him. “What’re you doing?” Spider-Man asked, so alert it disrupted the relaxation Deadpool had meticulously created.

Deadpool increased the pressure, resuming the expectation and agreement of this contact. “N-Nothing.” He defended.

~~~~~  ~~~~~

It wasn’t healthy.

But it made him feel right. 

The rain of the evening had wailed deep into the night, and now in a pause, it was that much easier to follow Deadpool in these early morning hours. Such the colors in the sky had not yet changed. A part of him knew this subtle routine was deceitful, simply watching. Sometimes finding Deadpool minding his business, usually going straight to his apartment. Sometimes finding some trouble along the way, always making him so proud when Deadpool dispensed the righteous responsibility he would have done. The standards he set for himself and such followed suit by his… teammate. The word was so impersonal now. Even if the dispatchment was more brutal than he would like, especially this time of night. But that was his Wade, and Wade would do it in his own way. A flare of pent-up aggression that was transformed when he laid his hands upon others. Assuming it was the same aggression he thought Wade was suppressing when he stumbled out of that dingy hideout full of degenerates. He hated how Wade still went there. Never coming out the man he knew Wade could be.

The incoming winter shrouded lives behind windows with blinds and curtains, keeping the bitterness at bay, but not Wade’s. Never having bothered to even fix the crack in the glass from having slammed it too hard during one of their little spats. That argument seemed so trivial now, he did not even know what it had been about. 

A solemn exhale, he did not know why he subjected himself to observing Wade, night after night. The memories always came quickly and lingered like a sickness. Images and sounds fading like lights twinkling in a black cold sky, only to wink back and burn his retinas when he gazed over the dark quadrants that he thought were finally uninhabited. 

He remembered how those hands appeared to act one way in exaggerated movements but when they made contact with him they were weary and testing. Afraid to hurt him, as if they could. He knew it because he felt the same way. It had taken him so long to tolerate what had been lost, but in Wade’s presence he wanted it back ever desperately so when the chance came… he regretted that now. 

All that time wasted. When he could have been enjoying moments of inconsequential bickering and tender grasps that exuded care.

Please. Forgive me.  

Watching Wade like this, it struck him. How Wade did not sit for more than a few minutes. Grabbing snacks from cupboards, always eating and never satisfied, swigging from a quickly deleting bottle of mixed liquids. This new thing, making little concoctions every other night, all while browsing the phone, swinging his hands and arms around, talking to himself heatedly. 

He still could not predict it. 

When Wade would just stay in his suit, or leave it partially unzipped. He was sporadic as ever, but as the weeks had grown colder, as Wade and him grew closer, he made efforts to change his clothes, bathe his body. Switching to old sweatpants and holey T-shirts, sometimes bundling up with that hoodie he was so comfortable in, but no matter what he wore, there was never enough fabric to stretch over the bulk of the beast of the body he never stopped wanting. How the hands felt up every inch on him soft, deliberate to release the tension of the day, or night. A solemn smile crept over his lips when he saw those busted crocs come out. Deep blue and screaming sad and alone. He thought Wade had gotten rid of those by now.

He felt left out when Wade would lazily watch a program, he could not tell what it was, reviewing Wade find comfortable positions, knowing that Wade would be so much more content if he could slip through all the nooks in Wade’s arms and legs, knowing if he were there Wade would stay still long enough to lean his head back in a snore that always annoyed him.

Wade would touch himself, he did it shamelessly. Cocking his head inquisitively released a latent crack of pressure, trying to capture every detail of Wade’s stoking and strained motions of his mouth and rising of his hips. That same expression when he was feeling good and not some chore to navigate the rest of his night.

A memory. One he missed to experience when Wade would search him out in the middle of the night, initially frustrated at his awakening but succumbing to the touch he attempted to relieve as he massaged his loins. 

Holding a hand over his masked mouth, he held it there, warming his fingers, a consequence of suppressing the sounds of regret moving through his airways. He could see Wade hurting with every look he did not return, all the testing touches he had shied away from when he now knew he should have embraced them. All of them, mistakes, but he could not bear to think about doing it all over again. He had wished his own memories had been taken along with Wade’s. No matter how much Wade thought he was suffering, it was nothing compared to being the one waiting and hoping that maybe what they used to be would come back. Regretting every lie and half-truth he told to feel what he used to help him survive this torment. Without it, he was not alive, as if he had disappeared too. 

Failure.

A state of decay, and the rot was pure agony. Feeling the wounds of what was and what could have been dissolving into him into poison. But if he were actually dead, he would not be able to be this tired of the misery that haunted him. It was the small sparks of escape that made him take advantage of the opportunity that had been laid before him. A chance to change the narrative of the constant battle inside of him. Taking the mask off when he was around Wade, to tease him mercilessly, squeeze and hold him again, have all of him angina, unconditionally. He found something that resembled his old self.

Yet with all of the deceit, he could not help but feel it would sooner drive them further apart.

The control of being so close, yet not close enough, while always having one foot out was safe. Even if it was not honest, it was not hurting him. Not now at least, and that was all he craved. A reprieve from the constant grief that had been plaguing him since he had lost the person who had finally repaired him. 

He knew it could not be, but he had wanted it to be forever. Unfortunately, forever was not in the cards for someone like him. All that was promised was right here, right now. 

Choking on the silence of the neighborhood, he was being destroyed all over again. Lifting the mask to fit numb fingers through to smear salted steams pouring over his cheeks. If he was smart he should not get this close again. Hating this deception and hating himself for playing this forlorn game he created, but every time he was summoned, he was weak to the call.

As many had taught him before, he knew his life could end in an instant, and now he was sick. Tired of the same old fucking story. He was ready for a change.

~~~~~  ~~~~~

Waiting for Peter to show up was part of the routine by now.

Wade passed the time by grabbing a few free weights, performing a few reps. He liked watching himself in the wall-length mirrors through bright fluorescent lights, though it was not the same without his suit. Even with this gym being mostly empty this time of night, Wade was uncomfortable being around Peter in his civilian attire, tonight even more so. It still did not feel right, showing himself, lying to himself, lying to Peter about what he wanted to be, not knowing what that was himself anymore. It was all a part of the routine. 

Wade watched the becomingly familiar form anxiously enter the gym from the far side through the reflective glass. Wade could not tell if Peter actually showing up was making him excited or disappointed. Knowing he needed to present what they both expected him to be.

Looking upon the face where concerned eyes searched for something to latch onto, they met Wade’s, who hithered Peter. The smile that crossed Peter’s mouth and the rush of his steps made any hint of frustration and uncertainty fade away. Wade ushered Peter into the large room, meant for dancing and group work. It made Wade feel giddy, albeit extremely nervous just being in Peter’s presence, as a hesitant relief continued to wash over him by the follow through of their meetup, another date. 

“Hey there,” Peter greeted, “Barely recognized you.” He added looking over Wade, a satisfied expression plaguing him. Wade savored it as he unconsciously touched the loops of his hoodie, black and a little too tight. Running across his chest and touching the surgical material covering his face. It was more apparent than ever that this disguise covering his form was not becoming, more put on for himself than for others, even if he did it for Peter. 

“Monsters are everywhere, and can look like anything.” Wade said lowly. His head was dipped under the hood, eyes peering slightly to still conceal himself, still he looked at Peter who was beginning to appear concerned in Wade’s demeanor. Changing the mood quickly, Wade straightened his back, clapped and rubbed his hands together in confident preparation for the lesson. “Ready to get wrecked?” He asked jubilantly, more as a statement than a question.

Peter cocked his head with a lift at the corner of his mouth. “Show me what you got.” Now that was the playful smirk Wade called Peter here for.

“Patience, patience, gotta stretch first.” Wade insisted, feigning being rushed.

An audible groan came from Peter. “Do we really have to do this?” A slight tilt of attitude in his hips. Wade felt acquainted with the movement and he lingered upon it for a moment.

“Can’t take the chance of getting your little self hurt now, can we?” Wade insisted as Peter now placed both hands on his hips, making his insistence even more apparent. Wade pointed to the ground. ”Stretch. On your back. Now.”

With an exaggerated puff from Peter, he followed the instruction and laid flat on his back over the smooth wood. “‘Kay?” He said, with a pitch of lively irritation.

“Pull your knees up…to your chest.” A not-so-subtle chuckle with humored nervousness. “Now let go. Like that.”

Peter followed by bending his legs up and over himself, arms flat beside him. “Why aren’t you stretching too?” He asked, looking up at Wade, from the angle it made Peter’s eyes look particularly wide.

“Way ahead of you. Perks of being on time.” Wade lied, not that he minded Peter usually being late, but only wanted to retort and frustrate him some. “No,” Wade coached, looking down at Peter. “Like this,” Kneeling over Peter, Wade took chilled hands into his and firmly placed his and Peter’s hands over his bent knees. The hold of Peter’s knees brought them even closer to his chin, pulling his lower back off the floor and resting on his shoulder blades. Peter’s cheeks became flushed, surely with the new rush of blood pooling to his face. “Feel the tension?” Wade asked, taking a finger to stroke it down the back of Peter’s thigh. Hopefully, the nervous gulp was not audible. “You want to feel it here.”

“Mmhm,” Peter replied. A deeper shade of pink now crossing the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact for a few seconds.

“Good, hold onto that feeling and rock your knees a bit, yeah, like that. Now in a circle.” Peter lamely moved his hips from side to side. “No, like this. God, loosen up a little, would ya?” 

Wade positioned himself over Peter and placed his hands over Peter’s again, slightly spreading his bare knees, and motioning them in tight circular motions. Wade made the smallest of glances at Peter’s shorts, the fabric fought the tightened, riding up muscular thighs, surprisingly sculpted for a lab rat. The shorts were far too old and small, with ESU faded on the side, the fabric creased in all of the right zones to outline what Peter was working with underneath. Wade quickly panned his eyes up to Peter, meeting eyes already looking back at him, rosey lips partially dry and open from frequent inhales and exhales. It was obliterating Wade’s last brain cell as to why he had not already been halfway deep in Peter already.

“Stretching me out real good.” Peter breathed haughty.

And that was it. The last straw, Wade was crumbling. “Well, I’m sure that’s good enough.” Wade got up and turned around, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Good job.” He finished trying to think of something else, anything else, anything. His Amazon wish list, lines from the second season of Golden Girls, the menu from his favorite taco truck. That’s making it worse!   

Looking back, at Peter he was up and brushing his behind of dirt from the floor, shaking his thighs and buttocks with every pat. Wade shook his head, attempting to shake away impulsive thoughts. Slightly prepared for the role-play he had planned, Wade approached Peter with a broadness and hunch of his shoulders. Those brown eyes were closing in as he approached, noticeably defiant as Wade intimidated him to take steps back until Pater was against the wall of full-length mirrors, meant to recite practice. 

“It’s okay to be scared when an attacker gets close, use that fear.” Wade’s hand went to Peter’s neck. His arm was tense, but his hand left plenty of slack around the soft skin under Peter’s jaw. It was pretend, after all. “Like this, you’re pinned, but you still have a lot of leverage. See how my thumb is here, and my other fingers are on this side?”

“Yeah,” Peter said with halted breaths. Wade could see he was listening but he was not as surprised as he expected. Wade did not want to scare him, but he wanted to make sure Peter would learn something from the practice. Better now than on a late night when Wade was not around to walk him home.

“Move your body toward my thumb, good, pivot. And you're out.”

“Nice.” Peter encouraged. It seemed sarcastic with how easily he followed the instruction.

“Again.” Wade positioned Peter against the wall again with his hand over that pale supple neck like before, harder this time. “Remember the movements.” They repeated the actions until Peter escaped from Wade’s grasp in a quick movement, faster than Wade could even anticipate. “You’re a quick study,” Wade commented, proud.

“Cause you’re such a good teacher.” Peter obnoxiously complimented.

“Well, that’s a given,” Wade replied, obviously confident of himself. “Now let’s try this.” Wade’s hand led Peter to the center of the room, giving him space to grab Peter from behind and lock his arms behind him. Wade was able to squeeze Peter and his arms completely, able to lift him up easily, if Wade wanted to. In this position, he could truly feel how massive he was compared to Peter. The images in Wade’s head formed of how Peter could defend himself from an attacker, how he would like to mutilate the man who would dare attack him. Disgusted by what that attacker would smell being this close, pressed against Peter’s body. A ripe scent of sweat, a light version of the usual alluring odor that Wade gravitated to when he was patrolling…  Captivating and infuriating him all at the same time. How Wade would like to bend over the lean body in his grasp, lift him off the ground, and make Peter truly breathless. Pressed against Peter’s back, Wade could feel muscles flexing. 

“I am…grabbing you from behind.” Wade attempted to focus himself by stating the obvious.

“Uh-huh,” Peter retorted with a heavy sigh.

“Facing your attacker is the best strategy, so drop your weight, get into a squat, alright, good,” Peter’s bottom slid down Wade’s groin, and a rush of heat flared. “O-okay, when you’re on your back, get your feet up, good, then hit me here. Peter spun and pushed his heels touching Wade’s stomach softly. 

Adorable . 

“Harder!” Wade said. “Like your life depends on it. Do it again!” 

The next time, Peter slid out quickly and pivoted on his back, throwing his foot up at Wade and kicking him in the face. It hurt, as expected, but the shock of the landing was what made Wade turn around and hold his nose. He smelled blood, and he was not sure if it was the adrenaline, the pain, or that it was Peter who inflicted the injury that was making his arousal difficult to ignore. 

“S-sorry!” Peter squeaked. 

Wade waved his hand absently, collecting his thoughts. “You’re- that was…good. Let’s try it again, a little differently.” Wade motioned his finger for Peter to turn around, this time a higher difficulty, and wrapped his arms under Peter’s armpits. This way, he could not slide out. Peter stood there waiting for instruction but Wade only continued to steady his grip. “Struggle a little, would you?” The words came out as a plea more than a request.

Peter wriggled his body absently as if trying to escape. “Oh. Oh-no. Whatever shall I do?” Peter spoke the words robotically and sarcastically. 

He must think this is a joke . 

Wade could feel the heat coming from Peter’s neck but he was not even sweating. It was confirmation he should be working Peter harder. “Grab my ankle,” Wade instructed. Peter bent over and did as he was told. Even with Peter folded over, Wade still had his feet planted on the ground, his hips aligned to Peter’s bottom, and his balls tightened as he tried not to thrust into inviting cheeks tight against nylon fabric and instead remembered what Peter should do next and not what his instincts were urging him to do.

“And?” Peter said, slightly exasperated, expectant. 

“Right, erm, because I’m still holding you…”

“Yeah?”

“Drop down, and I’ll come with you-” Peter did just that, throwing Wade back onto the floor with a loud thud. Wade was hoping Peter could accomplish it, being as big as he was, but even without letting himself get swept off his feet, Peter flipped him and was able to leave Wade reversed, flat on his back, looking up at Peter surprisingly. 

“Oh-no, you good?” Peter asked, sounding feign concern.

“Yup,” Wade assured, watching stars and hearts swirl around his vision while Peter slowly came back into vision. It made him look that much more angelic from this angle. Viewing  strong legs supporting a confident stance all night if Peter would let him.

“Where’d you learn all this?” Peter asked, that smug smile never leaving his lips.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” Wade playfully threatened.

“Ohh, scary, spooky.” Peter made a small genuine laugh that made Wade want to die. “Seeing you so taken out on your back is…” Peter smirked widely. “Another go?”

Wade wanted nothing more.  

Calling Peter a quick learner would be an understatement. Peter was precise and proficient, though Wade could tell Peter was holding back, as if it was not his first time wrestling. Though sloppy in the executions, as if he were faking them. A lie,  Poorly through i=his body and words that he assumed Wade was not detecting. As Wade pondered the thought, the more ridiculous he felt, the more he taunted, the more Peter could not ignore his competitive nature, becoming satisfied with the practice, Wade now found Peter in a compromising position, pinned under him. It did not feel like teaching anymore, but a spar, play, but neither of them wanted to feel the sting of ‘losing’. It was not the physical activity, but the controlling position Wade held over Peter that made the thumping in his chest difficult to breathe. Peter seemed to tolerate how Wade was dominating him, straddling and held down by wrists. Wade felt like he was overstepping a boundary, but Peter’s eyes were signaling to him, curious to know how he was going to be played with next. 

“This one is a mount.” Wade started.

“No kiddin’,” Peter retorted flirtatiously.

“Yes, erm, in this position, I have all the power.” Peter let out a small snicker, making Wade smile under the surgical mask. 

“Just cause I’m the bottom doesn’t mean I don’t have any of the power.” Peter said, pursing his lips into a wide smirk.

Wade’s mouth was watering. All he was waiting for was Peter to tell him what he should do to him, and he would do it. If it were not for the clear glass where the entire, conveniently empty gym could see them… Somehow, the exposition was becoming less and less pertinent to Wade’s desires. “T-that’s right!.” Wade licked the excess saliva from the sides of his lips. “Now try to get me off you.” 

“What if I don’t?” Peter said with light brevity. Making a half-hearted attempt to remove Wade from his wrists. Wade’s entire body thumped with anxiety looking down at those big brown eyes now taunting him.

“Gravity- gravity and my weight are on my side in this position.” Wade continued matter-of-fact. “Push your hips up,” Peter did just so and raised his pelvis, lifting Wade slightly with him. It was instruction and technique, but the shift in weight of Peter thrusting up to Wade was sending tingles down his loins. Surely, Peter was not able to feel the growth threatening to greet him. “Right, see now how I’m losing balance,” Peter slipped below Wade and forced him up and over. 

Peter’s smile was devious and…cute at the execution. 

Fuck.  

Wade was distracted but was not about to let some rookie get the best of him. Grabbing Peter’s ankle, Wade swept it close to him, pulling Peter off balance and landing hard on his back. Wade maneuvered quickly over him, between his thighs, and clasped both hands over Peter’s neck. There it was, that struggle, a startle in the light of Peter’s eyes, one he did not need to order or for Peter to pretend. Those eyes lit up and became narrowed, focused. Wade had seen the pose of this expression, analyzing, calculated. Wade let Peter’s powerlessness persist, just for a moment longer than it seemed Peter would have intended. Wade wanted to tell him to grab his shoulder, moving a leg to bring his center of balance off, and reverse to pin him down. That way, Peter would have the advantage. Instead, Wade held steady, matching Peter’s gaze. Relaxing his grip slightly before leaning down toward him. Closer to the freckles collected under the defiant contortion of brows and little muscles around the mouth. Panting breaths rushed toward Wade’s face, smelling like cheap greasy food. Feeling the heat of Peter’s breath upon him. It was all addictive.

All for Wade’s downfall when he was tossed with an arm that propelled him with his own weight, rolling him just enough while Peter held a grip on Wade’s shoulder and straddled over Wade in dominance. Peter had used himself as a distraction, and the reversal had thrown Wade’s hood off, now making the bare back of his head feel the contact of the cold wooden floor. He was exposed. Irritated skin, wounds, all of it, the monster he tried to hide. Wade knew he was not in real danger, but the reality of being revealed in this fluorescent light was petrifying. Looking up at Peter, surely, he should be disgusted, turned off by the disfigurement. Instead, Peter took the back of his knuckles and applied the slightest of pressure down Wade’s cheek. Knees tightened around Wade’s waist as Peter lowered Wade’s surgical mask. 

With the most subtle of motions, Peter’s nose brushed past Wade’s. Peter’s upper lip then the lower, pressing at the opening of Wade’s mouth. The mask snapped gently under Wade’s chin, keeping his eyes on Peter, watching every movement of the creases of full brows and contently closed eyes open slightly to view him, studying. The crinkle of his nose when he smiled softly. Wade was still baffled at the little show of Peter’s teeth when the corner of his mouth, creeping upward, as they came closer and closer to him.

Warmth. 

Supple upon his scarred lips. 

Heaven. 

The motions were free and unconditional. Wade’s heart was erratic, his body’s reaction was to flee, but as the little pressures on his lips became a part of his being, the pumping began to steady. Returning sensual movements with his own. As if it were any of those other nights outside of that apartment building. A dance of heat and moisture that made Wade’s chest full and alive with emotion that surged passed all of his expectations. Wade was resurrecting himself in the image Peter turned him into, someone worthy of affection too. Muscles relaxed into the elevation of their exchange, pondering the feeling that was coursing through him, of being accepted, wanted, and raised from a long perplexing slumber. 

It was everything Wade had ever wanted since he could remember, and as soon as it started, it was over. Still glazing over the moment, Wade looked upon Peter, who was returning the heated exchange with heavy lids. Caressing Wade’s cheek with gentle fingertips, running over craters and grooves. 

“Beautiful,” Peter commented. The first amount of sincerity he had shown all night. The stare of those eyes becoming too much, as if looking at them anymore would break him entirely. Wade looked away only for it to be corrected with a small movement of Peter realigning into his view. “ You are beautiful,” Peter repeated, insistently.