Double Dipping

As Deadpool walked the bridge between portals, time seemed to stand still. With the full weight of solitude surrounding him, he was trapped in its peacefulness. Dragging his feet through the bizarre timelessness to have a few more moments, he finally emerged on the stone platform on the cliff of the Abbey. 

He was met with the sight of Illyana leaning with her hand on her hip, annoyed. “Took you long enough.” She complained apathetically.

“Where’s the witch?” Deadpool asked, scanning the grounds as if it were an I Spy book.

“Which witch?” Illyanna asked smartly.

“Which one do you think?” Deadpool paused, waiting for her to answer, only to be matched with a defiant cock of her neck. “The purple one.” He finally added.

“Out.” She said, flippant.

“Out?” Deadpool repeated, frustrated. He leaned to her, expecting, but without deliverance. Deadpool looked at her and Illyana back at him before he continued, again. “I need to see her. Now.” Deadpool prompted for more information, adding a sense of urgency to his tone, wiggling his fingers irritably in front of him.

“This is no taxi service. We are not on standby for you whenever you have the whim.” Illyanna scolded, then with another brief pause, “Unbunch your panty. She will return.” An astute roll of her eye, in fear or appearing too sympathetic.

Keeping eye contact, Deadpool hunched, defeated. He stepped past her and followed the worn path toward the sizeable cathedral-like structure. It towered over him, and he knew he should know it, but the ancient stone walls were as foreign to him as the “first” time he had come here.

After passing into the foyer of the common room, the chill subsided as he entered the library's warmth. If he was not going to get the explanation from the source, surely something in these tomes could aid him. The smell of old parchment and boiling essence from a cauldron filled his senses. Coughing, he quickly covered his nose, side-eyeing the vapors of some concoction. Deadpool peeked behind the large bookcases of the long room. Not another person was in sight. 

Moving about the space, Deadpool reviewed tapestries, etched symbols, and book spines. He hoped something would stick out to him. Pulling out a particularly ragged tome, he reviewed a few pages before plopping in the loveseat before the fireplace. If he squinted hard enough, he knew he could read the symbols of an ancient dead language. While flipping through its pages, something caught the corner of his eye from behind the book. Slightly raising it, Deadpool found Peter’s head lying in his lap, eyes widening as he followed the body, with knees bent and crossed at the other end of the loveseat. Peter’s eyes focused on a book in his hands. In the second Deadpool saw him, hazel eyes flicked upward to meet him.

The horror electrified every nerve, momentarily giving him the ability to fly as Deadpool jumped to his feet, holding out one hand in defense and the other pressed to his chest to soothe his shock. However, as quickly as Deadpool saw Peter appear, he was gone. Suspiciously scanning the area, it was just as it had been before, only him and a collection of dusty books. 

Well, that’s never happened before. Has it?

Mama, we finally made it. Really got ourselves a ticket to Halloweentown.

A burning smell alerted him to smoke from the fireplace where the tome had landed near and caught an ember.

“Shitshitshit!” Deadpool cursed, stomping out the flame with the bottom of his boot. In his fright, a sudden chill in the air left him uneasy, as if someone was watching him. Kicking the book under the loveseat, Deadpool promptly left the library, anticipating a less spectral experience. 

Walking past the common room again and into the courtyard, Deadpool steadied his heartrate, overlooking the training dummies. All was quiet except the gentle rustle of branches and the carry of the wind. Twilight approached like fire in the sky. It was magnificent and should have been peaceful, but for Deadpool, it was unsettling. An instinct overtook him. He should know this place, knowing he had been here but unable to connect it to anything tangible. Stroking his palms from his forehead to the back of his head, Deadpool sighed, agitated.

“Want me to spot you?” A voice rang clearly. Deadpool looked to his side to see vacant yoga mats and still punching bags. Deadpool’s eyes widened, turning to the other side with dumbbells and plates, seeing himself lying flat on the bench, with a light grip under the resting bar and Peter standing over him, supporting it in a steady over-under hand. 

“I got a spot for you,” Deadpool watched himself say, thrusting his hips upward in a depraved fashion.

“Pervert.” Peter accused in a repulsed tone that did not reflect the lift at the corner of his mouth or the subtle stroke of his fingers across Deadpool’s.

Threatened by the trickery or sorcery- multiverse shenanigans, or whatever- Deadpool’s katanas rang in their unsheathing. The second he positioned his swords, Peter and the other him disappeared as swiftly as a blink. 

Pleeeease, tell me this isn’t gonna be a thing. It’s not gonna be a thing, right?

Disturbed, he scanned the area, keeping his weapons in front of him offensively, turning in quick, deranged motions in an attempt to catch what could be causing the hallucinations or the hallucinations themselves. 

Walking cautiously backward into the Abby, Deadpool returned his katanas to their sheaths. Making his way behind the bar. It was familiar, but he could not place it. He sighed, growing tired of the feeling of being between two spaces. He reviewed the varied colors and shapes of his choice of anesthetic, catching a half-emptied bottle of Hibiki. Pouring a glass, straight, Deadpool lifted his mask to get a whiff. Leaning his elbows on the counter, he took a sip. Smooth and leaving a faint tingle on his lip. Even though he could not get intoxicated from it, the taste reminded him of how it used to feel.

The stillness of the common room was calm in its emptiness, the fireplace crackling a cozy atmosphere, contradicting the chaos brewing inside him, thinking of how ignorant he had been. Having watched movies and chatting like old friends with Nico. Deadpool was used to making a makeshift home for himself, but when he had come here, he had slipped into it so easily. A somber purse of his lips comforted him. This time, when Deadpool spotted himself, it did not frighten him.

Across the counter, he saw himself spin a short glass on the bar and turned to Peter, who was turned toward him, too, leaning on an elbow. His duplicate stared at the glass slipping on pooled water over the wood while Peter looked at the other him, like an old friend who was seeing him in a different light. Deadpool did not want to blink, in fear he would never know the innocence of that look again. His gloved hand inched slowly to Peter’s. He wanted the way that felt back. He wanted Peter back. As soon as he might touch him, the visage dissipated. 

Deadpool did not know where these visions came from or why they followed him. All he could sense was his energy depleting with each reminder of what he had lost. In taking another swig, he finished the glass before leaving to find his room.

Through the hallway of doors, he found a set that showed a Spider-Man symbol next to it. No matter how much Deadpool jostled the handle, the door would not budge. Even when he thrust his shoulder against them, the doors did not give. Hitting a fist against the crease, Deadpool huffed, crossing the chapel to his room, unlocked and just as untouched and filled with idle debris. Exhaustion setting in, Deadpool lay on the small bed, debilitated from the commotion running through his head, replaying what he could remember of the visions that haunted him. In closing his eyes, the world seemed to spin, wondering if it would always feel like this, to agonize over Peter constantly. 

Deadpool took slow breaths, holding his chest as they began to steady. The darkness deepened throughout the room without a light source, disorienting him with a heaviness that trapped his body to the mattress. Every moment passed quickly and not at all. The silence of the room gave way to an uninvited presence. The longer he sensed it, the more it comforted him.

Intrusive thoughts crept in, keeping him awake. Unlike the rest, who were asleep or occupied with nightly endeavors. The presence slinked further into his room, making itself known with intentional sounds of soft footsteps creaking across the wood, welcoming the slights of pressure over his stomach and a clenching of knees at his waist. Wade’s toes tingled as his legs stretched under the body, straddling him. His hands traveled along spandex, perceiving dampness under thighs, feeling over curves of muscle up the abdomen and chest that was heaving silently for him.

“Were you safe?” Wade asked, fingers slipping into widening tears in the suit.

“Aren’t I always?” Low and seductive. Needing kisses found Wade’s cheek, migrating to tickle his ear.

“Mm, you know what I mean.” Wade continued, distracted, curling his toes.

“Careful, as always, o-kay?” Peter confirmed cutely, dismissive. “Do I get my reward now?” Wade submitted to the pull to remove his sweatpants. His hands gripped Peter’s waist steady over him, only to be met with a noticeable distressed pull away from his touch. 

“‘As always,’” Wade said with a pout. “I should have been there.” 

“It’s nothing,” Peter claimed, giving consoling touches to Wade’s chest. “You worry too much.” 

“That why you got hurt? Too distracted by just the thought of me?” Wade retorted with a strained laugh, too easily giving in to the attempts to redirect him and pushing down his disappointment.

“Something like that,” Peter humored. “See, this is actually your fault.”

A strained moment of quiet passed almost too long to recover.

“You should be more diligent with your body, Mr. Goody Two-Shoes.” Wade continued scolding.

Leaning slowly to the peak of Wade’s jaw, “The only diligence my body will be doing tonight is being fucked by you.” Peter declared in a haughty whisper, making Wade twitch at the trapped heat over his groin.

With a sly smile, “Just be quiet this time. I think the neighborhood is starting to get suspicious.”

Feeling Peter leave him, the shifting of tight fabric peeling away prompted him to shimmy his sweats off in time for Peter to anxiously return to him. Legs wrapped to either side of him, and Wade moved his hands up skin, taut with sweat. With the spread of Peter’s legs came a scent that made his eyes cross and lick his lips with excitement. As Peter leaned over him, Wade leaned into the kisses delivered to his neck and collarbone. Wade ran fingers through Peter’s damp hair, sighing with anticipation of him. Trading breaths, becoming heavier with every grind of Peter’s hips. Eyes that had acclimated to the dark, Wade could make out Peter’s shape. Vague indications of Peter’s eyes and edges of his hair silhouetted the sickly sweet perfection of him.

“Ow!” Wade exclaimed in a whisper after a finger poked his eye. The finger traveled down to find his nose, feeling two push into his mouth. He could do nothing but comply. Peter used the saliva to slicken himself and Wade’s tip, the sudden attention tightening his balls and buttocks, raising Peter’s higher at his hips from the tension. Sliding between the wet crevice, Wade slid further and further into warmth, dilating his view to Peter’s pale skin, exposing the view of his neck and chest, tight, and nipples flush as the body above him worked his. His hands caressed Peter’s body, half in light and half in dark, Wade watched Peter take his pleasure, heaving and threatening to vocalize, a patter of sweat falling onto him. Scared to blink, Wade did not want to miss a moment of this performance. 

Mesmerized by Peter enjoying every movement with increasing vigor. The gratification of being taken, body and soul, and facilitating the desire that felt more like a goodbye every time, as if every moment was a souvenir. Perhaps Peter could feel it, too. 

Taking his pleasure, Wade tightly held Peter’s cheeks, spreading them to feel him that much deeper, causing a sharp moan of rapture to echo throughout the small room. Clapping hands to his mouth, Peter paused, simultaneously stopping the recently prominent creaking of the bedframe. In the newfound silence, they both listened for any signs of discovery. The stone walls and cold air carried the sound of snores and distant footsteps. The outline of Peter’s head turned back to him, making a strained chuckle. Resting flat on Wade, Peter lay calmly steadying his breath, tucking his hands under Wade’s back and inhaling deeply at the base of his neck. Returning the hold upon Peter, Wade supported the full weight of him. Running fingers gently down the curvature of Peter’s back, becoming chilled with each passing moment. 

Slight of legs turned them to their sides, breaths now heating the small space under Wade’s chin. He could still feel the pounding of Peter’s heart, just as Wade’s was. Laying here like this, with him, reassured Wade of where he was. Not what was or what was going to be, not how Peter ever held anything against him or the trepidation of how much time Peter had bought was left, all for precious little moments such as this. No, all there was was right here and right now. As if thinking of it simultaneously, they met each other with soft kisses, reminders that there were no regrets. That it had all been worth it for a few more nights where they could feel as they do now.

A gentle swipe of his nose against Peter’s, an absent brushing of lips. A warm inner thigh wrapped around his legs, becoming ever more intentional as they traded haughty whines. Turning on top of Peter, Wade found his way into all the spaces where he could fit around the body, embracing Peter like he was made for him, returned entirely. 

Wade held onto a small illumination reflected in the eyes below him, dilated and focused. Peter’s mouth parted as Wade rocked back and forth slowly into him. Lovingly, Wade searched for the pleasure that made Peter’s eyes flutter. Arousal sent a thunder of energy through him, conflicted in the slow and silence of his rhythm. Wade thrust deeply, slightly lifting Peter’s hips in the act that released a pitched cry of bliss. Wade placed a secure hand over Peter’s mouth, desperately attempting to maintain the deliberate yet restrained pace. With each delightful taking, Wade filled Peter as much as he was allowed. Every defining feature constricted and pulsed around Wade, forcing out a growl in a low, lusting anguish. Placing his palm in Peter’s, Wade’s fingers intertwined with his. Softly, he squeezed, not letting his eyes leave the yearning pair below him.

The breaths under his hand became longer and more ragged, moistening his palm as Peter writhed and hooked an arm over Wade’s shoulder in receiving passions. Straining in and out of an oncoming climax, Peter whimpered. 

Wade enjoyed every part of him. He wanted to tell Peter everything he had ever thought. How much Peter saw him for who he was, as a person, a confidant. How he was the luckiest person alive to have Peter as his man, in his arms, and in his heart. He was everything.

He had said the words so many times before. As a jest or part of banter, but this time, like this, he had never meant it more. He felt exposed from saying them, but it did not frighten him, and he was never more content, affirmations returned by the tightened intertwining of their fingers.

Deadpool pressed a palm on his chest, letting out a wounded sigh. The friction of his legs warmed him as he rubbed them together while the vision left, though the remnants of it washed through him in steadily decreasing waves. He had not wanted any of it to end, not like this. 

The longer he lay in the small bed, the more he failed to remember. He needed to be away from this place before the despair consumed him completely.

The dirt path under his feet kicked up loose pebbles and earth. Every step, aimless. He followed up every thought with judgment, successive and relentless. Taking a break, he looked up at the trees that lined the path up a hill. The leaves were vibrant, mostly green, with beginning colors in an ever-living state to turn. The top of the hill presented a clearing with bright, blooming flowers surrounding an ancient crypt. Morbid and beautiful. Wade was compelled to sit within the sprawling flower bed of blues, pinks, and yellows. Laying down, the sky was a bright view. Suddenly, the tug of a tether held him in place. Another echo amongst the noise, welcoming it more than ever.

The scent of the forest air was just as fresh. A sensation of being whole struck him as a rustle next to him in the flower bed, not even looking to acknowledge the presence.

“Whatcha doin’?” Peter asked tentatively.

“Picking mushrooms,” Deadpool said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Oh yeah? How’s that going?” Peter questioned in a leading tone.

“Great,” Deadpool replied flatly.

A brief moment passed before Peter called out the awkwardness. “Okay, what is this?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just so busy, you know, with all my pals here. I think I’m going to need a calendar to start keeping up with everyone.”

Peter shook his head with a smirk. “It’s just Shop Class,” Peter said with frivolous exasperation. 

“The whole Midnight Suns thing, I get it. They have that spooky badass vibe. Young, hot, and so trendy.” Deadpool said, slathering his words with sarcasm.

“Is this going somewhere?” Peter asked directly.

“I mean, the car is super sexy. It goes vroom vroom, and it’s on fire, fire. Damn, it even turns me on.”

“Okay, wow, no. Robbie is harmless.” Peter deflected. “It’s. Just. Shop Class. You’d be so bored, honestly.”

“That’s not the one I’m talking about.” Deadpool clarified. Peter lifted his brows and closed his eyes in a brief pause. Deadpool could feel eyes on him, making him more determined not to meet them. “He’s a bad influence. You even said it, gets all up in your business. A pretentious jerk-off of a brat that can’t even make good on a plan that doesn’t almost kill everyone. He probably can’t even tie his shoes. Alfred has to do it for him. He got rid of all the booze, too. You know that, right? Peanut’s going to lose his shit.”

“I don’t see you contributing anything.’ Peter returned, defensive. “All you do is sulk around here and get Blade all worked up, making everyone pass messages between you two like school girls-” Peter rested his head against the ground and took a deep breath before speaking again, lightening his tone. “Where is this coming from? Do I detect some jealousy?”

“From twat-bag with a goatee? Nah. Never,” Deadpool poorly defended.

“Well, you don’t need to worry about him. Trust me.” Peter assured, finding Deadpool’s hand and lightly intertwining their fingers. 

“Mm, I can only trust you if you help me with a tiny, itty-bitty favor.” Deadpool inquired.

“Hm?”

“Get his favorite ‘artisan soda’ for me and replace it with oil,” Deadpool suggested.

“Absolutely not, Wade. No. Too mean.” Peter denied adamantly.

“Erm, okay, what about hiding all the coffee filters?” Deadpool continued.

“I’d rather not see any of these people without their go-go juice. Especially Tony. Or Illyana, she scares me.”

“In the good way or the bad way?” Deadpool teased, a pinch at the skin of his wrist sending a strike of pain up his arm. 

“Okay, okay,” Deadpool shook his foot, thinking. “Ah! Got it! What if we started small, leaving bundles of mushrooms by the forge and in his room? Every day, he finds one and thinks it's a ghost or something, like a spooky curse. We can get Nico to make up some spooky lore, just to make sure he browns his pants, just a little.”

“Hmmmm, alright, I’m in,” Peter said, gripping Deadpool's hand and making an excitable tap to the ground with their fists. “You better start collecting. Besides, we should go before Caretaker finds us ruining her garden again.” Peter finished as he sat up. As Deadpool looked up at him, Peter blocked the view of the sun that seemed to shine brightly behind him. Giving this look that ignited a spark within Deadpool, one that said he was loved by him. “You coming?” Peter asked tenderly, sweetly, when Deadpool did not indicate any movement. 

“Just a little bit longer,” Deadpool asked, a heaviness coming over him, not ready to let go yet and face the world. Peter looked at him with a loving timelessness. It could have been forever if not for the small kiss that lingered on him. Closing his eyes, Deadpool felt his lips depart, and the rustle of footsteps faded.

The shuffle of leaves and branches, wind whirling softly. It sounded like peace, bittersweet, and for a while, he held onto it.

The sound of an approach interrupted, bringing with it all the uncertainty he could not help but return to.

“Caretaker’s gonna kill you.” Nico’s voice warned. Sitting next to Deadpool, in the silence with him.

“You know when Charlie Bucket and his grandpa meet Wonka in his office, and all the furniture is half what it should be?” Deadpool started.

Nico furrowed her brows, eyes looking up, trying to piece together the reference. “Sure.” 

“And how he didn’t get the factory 'cause he broke the rules?” 

“Mhm?”

“Well, I broke the rules. I lost. Good day to me!” Deadpool flapped his arms unceremoniously.

“Oh, Wade,” Nico said compassionately.

“But it’s kind of been a really stinky shitty poo-poo of a day.”

“Are you supposed to be Charlie Bucket or the furniture?” Nico asked, not following what she should be sad about with Deadpool.

“What is happening?” Deadpool asked, exasperated.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Nico returned.

“Did everybody know? This whole time? Was I the only one who didn’t know? He kept who he was from me. Me.”

“What now?” Nico interjected, becoming tired.

“We did things, like, all the things. I mean, not just the do. He made himself out to be someone he wasn’t, but it was him, ya know? The things he said to me, made me believe in. I’m a freakin’ fool, Nico. And the thing is, I still don’t know how true it all was. I might be a monster, but so is he. I gave him everything, all of me, and he lied to me. Took and took and took. You wouldn’t believe how I found out.” Deadpool turned to her, conflicted. She still had a look of confusion. With an irritable sigh, Deadpool sputtered. “The person I was dating was Peter, and for, like, a while, and let’s just say, I was kind of hooking up with Spider-Man too. When I found out he betrayed me, it did not go well. He’s a crook. A cheat and a swindler. How could he do a thing like this? Make me think he was two different people. Use me like two different people.”

“Ohh- ohhhhh. Oh-no.” Nico clenched her teeth awkwardly.

“This can’t be my fault, right? It wasn’t the tea, was it? Is this some kind of counter-spell thing? I fucked up, and this is a sick dream I need to wake up from. Or a cruel prank where Ashton Kutcher is gonna come out with a camera and confetti and a cake. Red velvet, puh-lease.”

Nico covered her mouth with her fingers and rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God.” Processing, she lay next to him in the flower bed. “How much did he tell you?”

“Everything. He told me everything.”

“Damn, Wade.” After a moment, “I’ll start at, no, none of that is your fault.”

“How can you be so sure?” Deadpool asked, needing her to confirm it.

“I made the tea. I know for a fact you didn’t do anything to make Peter do what he did.” A pause, “Look, listen, I’m prefacing with Peter, who was not in the right, but you know how he- or you know, Spider-Man- is with the whole secret identity thing.” Deadpool gave her an irritated look. “But! But I guess I’m wondering why you didn’t just jump for joy when you found out they were the same person. That’s like the best-case scenario, right?”

“You…weren’t there.”

“I dunno, it sounded like Peter made you super happy. You can still have that. It’s okay to have it.”

“I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” Deadpool lay conflicted in his words and emotions.

“I’ll just say, when they took Wanda,” Nico started, “All I could think about was getting her back. The Suns did anything and everything, and every time we failed. I can understand how Peter felt. Think about it, you were lost, and so was he. It was bad, real bad after you, you know, lost your memories. When we got Wanda back, she couldn’t just pick up where we left off, either. It takes time. I don’t envy what happened between you two, and I’m not one to preach forgiveness, but I know that can also take time, too.”

“You don’t make any sense,” Deadpool said, pretending not to listen to her. “Sounds like you’re on his side.”

“I’m not on his side. I’m saying you can’t go back and change what happened.” 

“He was there the whole time. Helping me, talking to me, while not saying anything at all. I’m so…uhhg, this sucks.” Nico rubbed his shoulder. “He’s such an asshole, but I can’t live without him. It feels like I’m dying.”

“How do you think he’s feeling? How he felt every time he lost you. No one is perfect, Wade. Especially not him.” 

Deadpool sighed heavily. “He was perfect, for me.” 

“Just think about it.” She said, getting to her feet and brushing off dirt and grass from her clothes.

“I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know what I should do.”

“‘So shines a good deed in a weary world.’” Nico said, releasing the tension in her shoulders. “If there’s anything I know about you, is you’ll do anything you set your pretty little screwed-up mind to. This is your choice now.” As her footsteps left, Nico’s absence returned Deadpool to his ruminations.

He could see it now, all the little moments that left him pondering. Peter fighting or succumbing to the demons in his head, in Wade’s bed, acquiring any semblance of comfort just as Wade had. Peter had been right there this whole time, waiting for him, as he said he would be. His home had been right in front of him, and he found himself slipping back into the feeling of it. 

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. Looking at it, the name that raised his anxiety appeared on the screen. Cautiously, he swiped to answer the call.