Double Dipping

The summer heat was invigorating. 

Peering up to the sun that accompanied him as he leaned on the side of an old white house. Raising his leg against the wall behind him, it lifted the hem of layered fabric of the prairie dress. Wade felt the warmth his body was generating. Relief of the occasional wind slipped past the hem of and cooled the back of his legs. He knew it was his home but there was nothing about it that was inspiring, not feeling quite right about whatever was on the other side of this wall. Opening his eyes slightly, Wade was met with a clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and an expanse of a gold and green field swaying in subtle breeze just off into the distance.  

From it, a stirring of stalk, a young man he recognized emerged, clad in rural attire out of another time. Peter smiled and hithered, reaching out a hand and encouraging Wade to come with him. A rush of excitement and fear of leaving the house, but once Wade’s feet left the side paneling he took off into a run toward something that felt like adventure> the fabric of the dress made it difficult to maneuver, but when Peter grabbed his hand, his feet lightened and moved swiftly as he was lead deeper into the the ocean of maize. 

Wade attempted to keep up with Peter, his steps as if in flight traversed further into the field when suddenly came to a stop. Still in motion, Wade collided into him. The world seemed to spin before hitting the ground on top of Peter. Guilt began to consume Wade. He knew the speed and weight of the impact must have been painful. In his embarrassment, Wade scrambled his limbs in recovery but was restricted by the tangle of stalk and fabric on top of Peter. 

Defeated, Wade struggled to produce an apology, as if his mouth and throat were trapped in molasses. When his eyes met Peter’s they were welcoming, unconcerned with dirt or pressure from Wade’s body, with a soft smile Peter looked up at him warmly, invitingly. The tangle of fabric and grass kept his legs around Peter’s waist, his chest heaving at the violation of their personal spaces burned his hips with desire. Wade leaned into the hand that was effortlessly cupping his cheek, guiding him down to Peter, his lips tingling as their faces became closer and closer-

Wade’s eyes flung open.

“Fuck!” After a moment of disappointed panting, “What- what the fuck?” Wade questioned himself.

Weren’t we supposed to be dreaming about Spidey? 

Maybe so, but as Wade stretched over his bed the tension in his legs emphasized the pulsing strain between his thighs, calling attention to the image of Peter under him, looking at him, inviting him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The evening came quickly, much like Deadpool had earlier. He took out his confusion on King Pin’s thugs he and Spider-Man encountered, preventing an illicit deal that Deadpool could not care less about, putting them down more ferociously than usual, even without his katanas or firearms. A need to use his hands to think instead of the boxes incessant bombardments.

Deadpool scouted the downed criminals, ensuring none of them were going to get back up. Spider-Man walked up to Deadpool ending a call with his police contact, or more like they ended it with him in mid joke by the way he slowly finished the sentence.

“Nice work, could’ve saved a few for me, though. Overcompensating for something, big guy?” Spider-Man joked, nudging a fist to Deadpool’s shoulder, playfully. 

Spider-Man was touching him more than usual, or was he noticing it more? Deadpool was not getting any closer in his dreams, far from it, and the physical contact with Spider-Man when he was awake put him on edge. In desperate need of an outlet, he needed to find a release for these pent-up feelings, and soon. Hopefully, his nightly rituals were still confined to his subconscious. Every gesture made Deadpool want to give it back and it made him think of the person who would be willing to receive it. 

~~~~~

The day had been long, the sky hovered in overcast, another impending storm was brewing off the waters but had not quite reached land again. The heaviness of the clouds were threatening night to come early, creating hollowed and cold hues in the alley Deadpool and Spider-Man found respite. 

He discreetly watched Spider-man thumb his phone, knees bent and heels nestled under his bottom as he hung upside down from the building. Deadpool stood next to him, shifting a leg to casually rest against the wall, pretending to play a game on his phone. He could tell the uplifting sounds of bells and beeps annoyed Spider-Man by the way he sighed when the sounds cascaded.

It was beginning to be that time for them to head out for another patrol, Deadpool checked his loadout in his Glocks, making sure they were loaded with nonlethal rounds. Spider-Man patted his wrist, lifted his suit by his waist, his hands searching more wildly with each second he could not find what he was looking for. A frustrated growl escaped from Spider-Man, instinctually, Deadpool knew what to rummage for in his utility belt, outstretching a hand to Spider-Man with the small cylindrical cartridge he had been holding on to since The Abbey.

“Erm,” Spider-Man started.

“Found it, somewhere,” Deadpool explained before Spider-Man could ask.

Spider-Man looked at the cartridge then back at Deadpool, holding onto what Deadpool could see was confusion and relief before it was taken quickly from his palm.“Thanks.” 

A moment of tension was held, eyeing the web shooter at Spider-Man’s wrist curiously before Deadpool finally broke it, “Did you always use those?” He asked.

Spider-Man’s jaw tightened under the mask, clumsily inserting the cartridge. Deadpool could not understand why Spider-Man would get frustrated with him out of no nowhere. Especially when he was not trying to do it on purpose. “Mm, more so, recently, I guess.”

“You make ‘em or?”

Spider-Man clicked his tongue, “Yes.” He said sharply.

“The cartridges or… by you?” Deadpool asked, an excited higher pitch coming through his voice, thinking of the implications.

“Both.” Spider-Man said with an audible groan. 

Deadpool clenched his hands into fists and stomped his feet upon the ground giddily. “Can I see? Oh, Spidey, lemme see.” Spider-Man glared at Deadpool through his mask. “Pretty pretty please?” Deadpool continued. “With a cherry on top?”

Spider-Man looked at him for a long moment, it was obvious the thought was being weighed, analyzed even though Deadpool did not understand why it was a big deal, he waited. Even with the missing time, Spider-Man knew what he looked like when he was brutally hurt, the way his body grew and regenerated, Hell, his skin on a good day was an image of nightmares. Still he never hid the most embarrassing or disgusting parts of himself, inside and out, so when he watched Spider-Man slowly remove a glove, he saw it as trust finally being reciprocated without ridicule or jokes. All Deadpool could ever want, Spider-Man sharing himself too. 

The glove was peeled away, exposing pale skin with thin brown hairs and marks of beauty. Twisting the forearm outward to Deadpool held the arm in his hand, who followed the veins with his thumb as they deepened and became more flush against Spider-Man’s skin. Their prominence connecting at Spider-Man’s wrist, Deadpool cocked his head, finding the small gland that must produce the webbing. He could have missed it if it were not for the deep color of the brightly colored strands that led to it.

“Oh, wow,” Deadpool commented, turning the wrist slightly from side to side. Spider-Man hung on the wall uncomfortably, Deadpool glanced at him, checking to see if it was okay before reviewing the little slit again. Deadpool strolled his thumb a little too close to the sensitive spot and it made Spider-Man tense then retract slightly “Sorry. Does it hurt?”

“N-no.” Spider-Man replied defensively. 

“Why don’t you use these instead of the shooters?” Deadpool asked, thankful his mask could suppress his nervousness, but the lack of an explanation from Spider-Man discouraged him. 

Lessening the hold on Spider-Man’s wrist, he quickly added, “They haven’t worked right. Ever since you…lost your memories, I lost something too.”

It was the most Deadpool had heard Spider-Man speak upon that time, the reveal of even the slightest of information riled questions he had been pondering over for months. More commiserating enough, that he was not the only one to had lost something.

“What happened, exactly?” Deadpool asked somberly. Trying to find some answer in the mask that subtly turned away from him. As Deadpool leaned closer, his thumb pulled at the sensitive opening at Spider-Man’s wrist, flinching in back to him slightly.

“Sorry.” With all of his confusion, Deadpool genuinely apologized, though was not sure about what anymore.

“It’s okay.” Spider-Man paused before continuing in a lowered tone. “You can…touch it- only if you want. It doesn’t hurt.”

Deadpool did not know how to feel about the request. Spider-Man had never initiated or so explicitly given permission for something like this. At least, it appeared to be an offering, not for information, but of another kind. Before Deadpool could think any further, or for Spider-Man to change his mind, he continued to softly maintain his grip upon the wrist, pulling Spider-Man’s arm slightly closer to him. A gentle tug of the skin around Spider-Man’s slit revealed a small protrusion. Spider-Man’s arm tensed, his breaths turning heavy but did not pull away as Deadpool ran his thumb over the nub in light strokes. 

“Is this good? Like a massage?” Deadpool asked, bending his head to lift his mask over his mouth enough to lick the thumb of his glove, removing any friction upon the smooth gland that was beginning to swell before his eyes. In a slick motion the nub resisted and flicked under Deadpool’s thumb and with it came a heightened pitch from Spider-Man that could have resembled a squeak. Deadpool’s eyes met Spider-Man’s lenses, reviewing each other. Deadpool began to recognize his motions and how Spider-Man was responding, but it could not be, unless he was finally succumbing to a long awaited dream.

“Feels nice, huh?” He said before making small circular motions around the opening that was beginning to blush and stiffen. “Webs,” Deadpool asked, restraining his touch when Spider-Man did not respond to him.

“Mm, mhmm, yes.” Spider-Man finally replied.

It was the permission Deadpool needed. Only wanting to continue and feel the tension in the wrist in his grasp tighten and contract. His chest felt like he was being crushed in witnessing Spider-Man’s posture relax, how the wrist was pushed closer toward the loving touches he was delivering. 

“Hah,” Spider-Man’s fingers curled slightly. 

“Can I?” Deadpool asked, looking cautiously, bringing his mouth toward the wrist that was glistening with production. 

“Wade,” Spider-Man responded, pushing his wrist hesitantly toward him. Licking his lips, Deadpool kissed the engorged gland. With nothing between them he could feel it pulse and weep. The little presents generated warmth and a musk that was bittersweet, knowing he was breaking his own rule, but as his lips moistened and his tongue lightly flicked, he slowly tested rhythms of satisfaction. Spider-Man covered his mouth with the back of his hand before letting out a restrained moan. 

“Damn,” Deadpool breathed before pulling away slightly, bringing small strings of webbing with him. A confident smirk crossed his lips, hoping he had helped lessen the seal that was plaguing his Spider. “Seems to work just fine to me.” 

Spider-Man’s composure returned with a quick retraction of his arm completely disengaging from Deadpool’s grip. 

“That’s enough.” Spider-Man said, regloving his hand. Deadpool did not know how to respond to the sudden defense. It almost appeared Spider-Man did not know either as he frantically began to furiously move about on the wall, regretful. 

“You’re stupid.” Spider-Man added sharply, full of spite, and it made Deadpool feel so. Deadpool stood beneath him in silence, letting Spider-Man process what he needed to. Whatever Spider-Man needed Deadpool to be for him right now was the only thing that felt right. 

Spider-Man did not even look at him before he thwipped away, leaving Deadpool befuddled and embarrassed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thinking about you.

Always thinking about you. 

Wade did not know what to think of himself anymore. Endless thoughts of Spider-Man spiraled relentlessly. It had been a couple of days, when would he text back? Wade checked his phone again. Not even a telemarketer. Was Spider-Man patrolling without him? No, why would he do that? It would kill Wade if Spider-Man even thought about teaming up with one of those other freaks. What if Spider-Man got into a sticky situation he could not get out of? If he got injured. What if Spider-Man liked the other vigilantes more than him? 

It’s always about you…

Wade knew the answer, knowing no matter what he would be right back to be at Spider-Man’s side. Heal him, praise him, distract him. Wade’s face went long as he sighed, looking up the newest article. As expected, a familiar dynamic pose splayed across the screen. An impossibly well-executed shot. Wade thought of Spider-Man as such a hypocrite. Having all this publicity and doing nothing with it. Letting these journalists write slander and use his picture to push forward some political agenda. While Wade was barely able to get a promotion for his social media account. 

Wade questioned to himself why the news and blogs could not see what the people on the streets saw in Spider-Man. The way he saw him. Continuously shunning the name given credit to the visuals. Knowing they would and he would see it, understanding why Peter sold them, but he hated it, hated him for it.

Following a trail of links he was all too familiar with, Wade swiped through older articles, months and years in the past, with pictures of the man he wished he was with right now. Wishing Spider-Man would look at him with the same desire and loyalty he was feeling. Wishing he could touch him, again. If that evening in the alleyway happened or if he had imagined it, but the eyes of that mask, they were always so cold and static. How he lived for those moments of expression, not out of necessity but because Spider-Man wanted to. 

A striking vision of hazel eyes looked back at Wade, haunting him, riddled with guilt at sharing his desires with someone else. Wade could not understand why he felt so bound to Spider-Man, but he knew it was the right thing to do, the only thing he could do.

Another sigh, filled with need. Opening a new tab with a familiar feeling. It would not be quick, not at all. Just slow enough to enjoy every little movement, generous and giving, yet always anticipating for more, until he was satisfied. 

Varied pressures of his fingers, streaking lightly along his neck. Wade felt how cold his hand was against his throat and chest, getting used to the chill the longer he let his palm rest there. What it would be like for Spider-Man to swipe those spindly fingers in the same places. 

In the safety of his thoughts, Wade would let those fingers moisten his mouth, licking each one gently. In a brief moment, he tapped open a video, a much-needed visual. The attire was recognizable, cheap, close enough. The body was tight and rippling, but much too muscular. Still, it fueled Wade with a heat in his belly and an ache in his groin. It barely mattered what was on the other side, as long as the mask stayed on and he could see the flush of what little of the man on the screen was visible. The motions of pleasure in the suit made Wade throw his head back against the headboard, rolling his eyes as he tightened his grip, naturally lubricating himself, easing the rough grip of his hand. 

How many times has he done this? Losing time to the fantasy of a substitute. A placeholder to ease the pangs of what he aspired to have. Desperately weak. Not in the way his thighs flexed or how the muscle in his forearm burned, but in his soul, which he thought had left him, long before it had mattered to him, before Spider-Man made him someone that mattered. 

When the screen talked it was as if it was directly to him. Words of sex and pleasure, vocalizations to lead Wade to his destination. Patterned glove soiled by leaking and moaning the same way he was. Saying little nothings while looking at Wade and for him alone. He needed it, to think it could really be him. Getting off from him too. Together. 

As the phone shifted from his hand Wade shook, for a moment releasing his loneliness, entering into a flux of endorphins where Spider-Man eased him into a state of tranquility.

Exasperated with a thin layer of sweat, Wade closed his phone and threw it to the other side of the bed. Relief. 

As his breathing steadied, the fulfillment from his climax waned, and a solace settled. 

Still alone. 

Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes, hours. He could barely feel his body anymore, only the absence of a fantasy that curled him in the coolness of sheets. He searched for warmth that never appeared. A sinking feeling that left him wanting more, and everything. Anything. Anything…

Wade felt for his phone, smudging streaks as he thumbed through his messages to find the replacement, sending, 

<33

Did it look too much like an ice cream cone? He thought before the return of,

X3

<3

"Busy? Want to come?"

A pause.

My place lol

Miss you

The three dots taunted Wade, anticipating. 

Miss you too

omw

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ah!...Fuck!”

“Hah! Yeah! Oh, fuck yeah, take it!,”

“Nonononono- wait- wait!”

“Booyah!” Peter jumped up from the couch as Wade threw the controller half-heartedly onto the safety of the couch cushions while a performance of victory was paraded in front of him.

“Let’s see how good you are at a real game.” Wade sulked on the couch until Peter plopped back down, confident in the last several streaks he sustained.

“I hope you’re better at fighting in games than you are in real life.” Peter teased.

“What. Ever. I was going easy on you.” Wade was getting that feeling. Aside from a bruised pride, a dangerous one. One where he was letting Peter into his mind and what he said or how he felt mattered. Wade enjoyed it, looking forward to the snark, even though it felt like he was postponing an incoming pain. They had not touched or talked about that night in the dance studio since it happened and they acted like it never did, but it had meant the world to him. He had missed Peter. Even getting his ass handed to him by OG Storm characters was good enough for him, as long as it was Peter who was doing the pounding. 

“You’re cheating!” Wade accused. Mashing buttons furiously on the controller deep in the third round of a split set.

“Or, you’re…just bad,” Furious mashing of joysticks and triggers “At the- fuuuuucking- game- YES!” Peter retorted in victory. Wade watched as Peter gloated in silence as Team Guy performed another ultimate finisher on Wade’s carefully curated overpowered Hokages. “Oh, yeah! Finish him!” Peter sported, doing yet another victory lap between Wade and the T.V.

“Wrong franchise, dweeb.” Wade pouted, secretly enjoying the victory moves Peter wiggled and taunted toward him. “You ever watch this anime?” Wade asked.

Peter chuckled, “Oh yeah, all the time. Remember when…” Peter stilled his movements as his words wandered off. “I guess, it’s been a while.” He finished, catching himself in a thought.

“Up for watching some? I just started, and the chunin exams are lit. Dead ass.”

Relaxing his shoulder, Peter smiled warmly at Wade. “The ass is so dead.” He agreed? Peter rolled his eyes cutely. “Let's pick up where you left off. Are you a dub or sub fan? Hold on, lemme guess”

Dissecting and defending their favorite characters was as much fun as watching the all-out fights. As the episodes went on, and two bowls of microwave popcorn later, the light threw the windows grew darker and the room colder. Wade could see a wobble of Peter’s teeth as he sat through scenes. Wade became irritated, realizing he did not own a blanket, quickly going to his mattress and smelling the top sheet as a precautionary measure before bringing it to the couch and placing it over Peter.

“Not cold?” Peter asked after looking over Wade as he sat back down, who was not sharing in the sheet experience. 

“Nah, I stay toasty.” Wade deflected. It was true, he did not need it the way Peter obviously did.

“Hm,” Peter scooted to Wade’s side of the couch and nestled a shoulder against Wade’s lightening up from the contact but quickly nestling into the cuddle. If Peter wanted it, it was not a question whether he wanted it either. “You are pretty warm,” Peter assured. 

“Yeah? Come get some more then.” Wade wrapped his arm confidently around Peter who had fully curled himself, not missing how Peter cradling in the sheet up to his neck, and the long audible inhale that came with it. Wade felt a stirring from their closeness. It was all he could think about as he continued to look at the T.V. Between the flashing lights and still images of dialogue, Wade stole a glance from the top of Peter’s head, a face concentrated on the screen. Though in the slight movement Wade had made, Peter’s attention went to him. Wade flashed a nervous smile, then went back to the show. 

“Why this still?” Peter asked, tugging at the hoodie Wade kept over his head.

“Well, I-” Wade did not know what to say.

“You don’t need it, you know. I want to see you, just the way you are.” Peter tested, an attempt of pulling the hood down, and Wade let him. It still made him nervous but it was nice to see Peter’s face brighten in seeing him fully, even if he did not agree.

“You must be some kind of freak.” Wade deflected, looking back at the screen like it had not affected him.

“Well, so are you, so it works, okay?”

“Makes sense,” Wade agreed with a small chuckle, all too aware of the hand that had not left his collar. Peter was becoming a morph of cuddles with him, and Wade did not want to look away from the eyes looking back at him, alluring as they were. The one to the left was shining with a light from the T.V. and the one on the right was dark and voiding with the darkness of the rest of the room. Wade wanted to look away and back at the mitigating comfort of the T.V., but Peter’s eyes were calling for his attention. A call to answer the stare, a need Wade knew all too much of someone who was willing to pursue him, but he was too scared to move and draw colors on the black abyss of his memories.

A subtle lean, tilting of curious necks. The soft heat of breath and teasing lips. Wade could feel the thumping of his heart bursting from the tender place under his jaw. All of the concentration of his mind focused on every small movement of his body, responding to the light tease of connection. Peter’s inclination hovered ever so close. What was he waiting for? Wade thought. At the same time, thinking he couldn’t, shouldn’t. If he knew what was good for him. 

Wade moved closer, brushing the tip then the side of his nose with Peter’s. The only presence between them was the warmth radiating at the center of their faces and under the sheet that was creeping slowly over him, conveniently capturing agitated excitement. 

Tenderness.

Just as he thought, a touch that sparked, anchoring him. Slights of pressure moving against the moist velvet of Peter’s lips. It had been so long since he had last felt it… Sinking into a plush embrace of comfort pulling up from the full bottom lip between his own. Receiving little flavors of Peter, mixed with salt and microwaved butter. The small of Wade’s tongue traced the soft of Peter’s lip only to be reciprocated. Silken and wet. Umami. A small exchange that overpowered his senses. If he were not careful, he would devour Peter right here.

As if sensing Wade’s restraint, Peter tugged on Wade’s collar, keeping him in place as he motioned over him in an unmistakable dominance. A work of Peter’s neck to capture Wade abundantly. Peter was showing- taking what he wanted. Entangling his tongue around Wade’s who was all the more willing to comply. Licking and sliding in the mouth that was consuming him. Finding a small inflammation from the salt and curing it with loving laps of his tongue. 

Sensual smacking filled Wade’s ears when their mouths parted only to reunite intensely. Peter’s ascension over Wade was the indication he needed to allow himself to lean deeper into the couch, Peter following and keeping a firm grasp over his clothing. 

The body above Wade was tense with intention, hands exploring on their own, finding their way under Wade’s hoodie as Peter continued to suck and tug with Wade, breathing quickening with his own haughty need. Wade’s leg relaxed on the side of the couch, foot planted firmly on the ground as Peter’s leg cradled it. His other leg was placed between Wade’s, knowing exactly how Wade was intoxicated by their exchange. Wade grabbed the back of Peter’s head, rustling fingers between hairs and gripping Peter’s hip with the other, following the grind of his hips and tension behind his jeans. Wade took a handful of the plump muscle facilitating the movement, it was returned by a groping of his chest, skin on skin, Peter’s cold fingers brushing over his erecting nipples. Wade pushed his hips upward, adding friction to the excitement Peter kept trapped under an easily removable layer of clothes. Through the contact, Peter moaned a wanting sound, a collection of saliva traveling with him as his mouth opened, responding to the play of his erection.

Wade felt uneasy, in a way only an epiphany could, recalling his nightly rituals. Were they influencing more than just his dreams? Even if they were, did he really want it to stop?

“Pete,” Wade whispered through the reconnection of their lips.

Another desperate moan from Peter as he moved warming fingers over his chest.

Wade hated turning his head away from Peter. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do. At this moment, it felt like the most challenging thing he ever had to do in his entire life, squinting his eyes and biting the inside of his cheek. “Pete,” He repeated, a little louder and more definite. 

Peter hesitated over him. Wade could feel Peter looking at him. It took all his strength to not look back or he would falter. What he wanted from Peter, what he called him here for was undeniable. It was torture, but he knew where the desperation was stemming from. What he really wanted and could not have. Who he was hopelessly waiting for. It was not right.

“I like this,” Wade began, not knowing how to finish it. “A lot.” He tried. He could feel Peter begin to restrict his movements and Wade immediately regretted speaking, though he was still there, feeling Peter, and Peter feeling him, what they both wanted. Before things went too far, “I should go.” Wade suggested.

“This is your apartment.” Peter reminded. Wade moved an eye at Peter. How was he denying those brown eyes?

“I can’t,” Wade said, defeated. Not meaning it but knowing where his loyalty lay.

“Mm,” Peter released the hold of his hands. A loss. The opportunity seeping away as their contact was severed. Wanting it back the moment it was taken away. 

“It’s not you, really,” Wade attempted to recover. Fumbling over his thoughts and words that managed to come out. “I- I just-”

“You don’t need to explain, it’s good,” Peter said, obviously frustrated at the rejection, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and adjusting himself in his jeans. Wade’s heart raced, trying to find a way to make it all better again, in his head failing again and again. He felt a hand move to his cheek, pulling him out of the spiral and looking at Peter. “You’re good,” Peter assured with a strained smile. Forced, yet understanding. “You’re good. I’ll wait… I’ll wait for you.”

Wade touched the hand cupping his cheek. Holding it as he leaned deeper into it. What Wade truly wanted was unrequited, unreciprocated, and unwanted, he was still holding onto the fantasy, even though something incredible was right in front of him. 

Looking upon this delectable little face was the closest thing to a complete connection he could have. He did not deserve it. A missing piece to a puzzle and he did not want to give up just yet. 

Giving a slight pressure to the hand Wade leaned to peck Peter’s cheek. It would be wrong to give himself to someone so especially ordinary. He did not need to ruin what they had because Wade was weak for a connection, even though he regretted not pursuing it further, more so with how Peter responded. With understanding and tenderness. 

Wade wondered if he knew why and how Peter was so good at not showing his jealousy unless he meant what he said. Wait for Wade to realize Spider-Man was not attainable, but Peter was.