Chapter 1
October, Friday. 2:00 a.m
Three knocks echoed around his small apartment, loudly and abruptly. Peter awakened startled, heart beating fast. He lifted his head off his pillow and opened his eyes to be meet with his dark room . He checked his phone next to him and grimace at the bright light and hour that it read. He sighed after a moment and stood up from his bed with heavy limbs, lazily rubbing at his face to try and awaken himself even further.
He blindly turned on the lights in the living room and walked towards the entrance. Two more knocks echoed.
"I’m coming!" Peter groggily said, breathing out in annoyance as peeked through the small hole on the door.
When he saw who it was, he unlocked the door quite angrily, rolling his eyes while he did so.
Wade stood outside, with his hood up hiding new and old bruises, his hands were on his pockets, he looked up just in time as the door was being opened and stared down at Peter with a tired expression but he delivered a small, crooked smile.
"What are you doing here?" Peter sighed.
"Can I come in?" The other asked instead of answering.
Peter thought for a moment, looking up at him; he then nodded and stepped aside slightly, letting the taller man in. He smells like musk and cigarettes, like he’s been out. Probably in a club. Or a bar. Peter wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t really care.
"It’s two in the morning, Wade," Peter crossed his arms, looking at the other with a small frown.
He couldn’t help be slightly annoyed. Wade always is disrupting something in some way, mostly when Peter is sleeping.
"I know, I’m sorry," He mumbled, "I just really felt like seeing you."
Peter's frown prevailed, "You saw me like a week ago."
"Yeah, and we argued too. Really fucking badly," Wade said, sighing, "I couldn’t stop thinking about it."
Peter wanted to say me too. But he didn’t. He just continued looking up at Wade with crossed arms. Maintaining his expression neutral. Unlike Wade, he looked worried.
"I know I fucked up too but…Uh, you said some really shitty things, Peter. They hurt me," Wade said, hesitating, looking at Peter with small eyes.
Peter sighed in frustration, uncrossing his arms, "You made me say that, Wade. I was upset. You made me upset and you broke my fucking door, I had to get it fixed."
"I didn’t mean to storm out like that," Wade simply said, "I’m sorry."
Peter pushed Wade’s hand away when he tried to touch his arm, "It was just a fight, no big deal," He walked past Wade, going to the tiny kitchen.
Wade promptly followed him close behind, "Are you still angry?"
"I was never angry," Peter said calmly, opening the fridge to take out a cold bottled water. That’s a lie, Peter was fucking fuming that day. He still is angry.
"Then why aren’t you answering my texts?" Wade leaned against the counter, standing next to Peter.
"I just needed some time alone to clear my head, I guess," Peter shrugged, drinking from his water.
"You want me to go, then?" The other asked in a small voice.
Peter stayed quiet, still drinking. He felt Wade’s eyes on him, pleading, begging. Peter would roll his eyes but he held back.
"Mhm?"
Peter didn’t answer him. He didn’t even look at him.
"You want me to go?" Wade raised his voice slightly, frustrated at being ignored.
He shrugged again, indifferently so, "Do what you want Wade, I don’t care."
Wade sighed, straightening up and looking away. Peter thought that he would just leave. He always does when Peter’s acting like this. He kind of wanted Wade to leave, but he wanted Wade to stay too all the same. He couldn’t decide. He wants to see Wade beg, to see him throw away his pride for Peter. Peter finds comfort in that.
He wants Wade to make him feel wanted and special, like Wade can’t or couldn’t fucking live with Peter. He feels high on the feelings and thoughts of Wade desperately needing to function properly, that Wade needs his company and approval. Because, Peter’s got the upper hand here – he doesn’t need Wade as much as Wade needs him.
That's just the truth.
Then, Wade was getting closer.
He slowly stood behind Peter as Peter finished the water. He leaned his head down and placed small, sweet kiss on Peter’s shoulder. Wade waited for a moment, seeing Peter’s reaction; when Peter didn’t push him back or moved away, he gave his shoulder two more kisses. Peter stood still, still a little tense. Wade’s hands started to quietly sneak on Peter’s hips and sides, caressing him through his shirt as he started to move his mouth up and in the side of the pale skin of Peter’s neck.
Wade gave him there opened mouth kisses, going slow and soft, licking slightly and warmly breathing against him; damping his skin.
Peter relaxed back against the tall and firm body. It felt like a cocoon, all warm and strong. Embracing Peter and protecting him. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as he enjoyed the little kisses on his neck. A shiver run down his leg. He shut his eyes and leaned completely back against Wade, he threw his head back to rest it on the broad shoulder. That action gave Wade more room on his neck for him to kiss and savor.
Peter felt surrounded by Wade’s scent and touch –he'd be a fucking liar if he said that he didn’t like it. He is keen to it, possessive of it, he feels like it only belongs to him and it should always stay like that even if he doesn’t wants it.
Wade placed his cold hands under Peter’s oversized shirt, it probably belongs to Wade or other guy, Peter wouldn’t know. Peter liked the coldness of them resting on his belly, playing irreverently low with the waistband of Peter’s underwear. Peter likes the feels of just wearing that as Wade’s completely dressed, rubbing against him, against his skin.
Peter hummed when Wade started to gingerly drag his lips on his ear.
"I've got you, baby," He murmured against his ear, sweetly and lovingly, he then breathed in Peter’s washed hair, "God, I fucking missed you."
Peter rolled his eyes, "You’re so fucking corny."
The man just hummed, busy with swinging Peter side to side as he kissed the other side of his neck.
Peter enjoyed that for a second before he moved his hands that were just resting on his sides, not quite touching Wade. But then he moved them behind himself, just in-between their bodies. He touched Wade’s thighs first, then he quickly reached up and strongly gripped his soft, clothed cock. He squeezed it twice, feeling Wade up. He likes it. He likes Wade’s dick. The bulge felt large on Peter’s hand, he licked his lips just as Wade started kissing his cheek sloppily, getting closer to his lips.
"Naughty," Wade murmured, shifting closer. Trapping Peter’s hand between them.
Peter smirked when Wade dragged a hand down his front to grip his crotch too, in a softer, looser hold. Peter bent his knee involuntarily at the sudden, pleasant touch, he moaned and giggled when Wade palmed him with his rough hand through the thin fabric of his briefs, teasing him playfully.
Then, they kissed each other in that awkward angle with Peter’s head thrown to the side, tilting upwards into Wade’s warm lips. He tasted like mint and nicotine. Peter likes it. He likes Wade’s taste. It’s manly, strong, prominent. It reminds him of Beck.
Oh, Beck. His one and only Beck. His weakness. His love, Beck.
Peter sighed into Wade’s mouth.
They ended up facing each other when Peter turned himself around, barely pulling away from Wade’s mouth. It was intense, the kiss. It was wet and heavy, it was hot and intimate. Letting out all of their feelings and frustration from their last fight that they left unspoken, ignored. Their tongues danced together, lithely and passionately. Wade held Peter’s small ass, bringing him flush against him. Peter hugged his shoulders, almost clinging to him as they emitted this wet, messy noises that were inevitably turning them on.
Wade tilted his head and moved his hands upwards, slowly caressing the skin of Peter’s back under his shirt.
Peter doesn’t likes to admit but he did miss Wade Wilson.
He likes the worship and adoration that Wade gives him no matter how much of an inconsiderate prig Peter’s been or can be. Wade’s love for him is unconditional. Peter feels powerful, he feels mighty and full –just sometimes he feels guilty. For not giving that love back, perhaps.
But that guilt always and shortly fades away.
Peter is left with no burden.
Wade pulled away to deliver soft, small kisses all over Peter’s face. He held both sides of his neck, pulling Peter closer, tilting his head up. Wade is just so much taller. Peter likes that too. He’s always liked stronger, bigger, imposing men. Wade seems grateful to be able to feel and be with Peter once again; judging by the way he is so heartedly holding him.
Peter just held Wade’s sides, gripping and feeling the firm muscle there.
Then, he pulled away to look at Wade. Wade tried to follow his face and kiss him again but Peter pulled his own head further back, looking up at the man with a small frown and curious eyes. Peter eyed him, hazel eyes stared back at him.
Wade still has his hood up, hiding his blond hair, still wet from a shower. Though, it barely hid his bruised eye and cheekbone. It wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t as bad as other times. It just was reddened and a little purple, it wasn’t that big. It wasn’t that big of a deal.
Like that time when they were drunk and clubbing down town, arguing loudly in the back of the club. Peter got into a ridiculous, foolish jealous fit and ended up slapping and punching Wade in the face, pushing him away hard against that brick wall that belonged to the lonely alley. That was the first time and only time that Wade looked at him with remote hatred and loath, it was the first and only time that he had touch Peter in an aggressive way. With a reddened cheek and busted lip, he had grabbed Peter by the front of his jacket and threw him to the wet, dirty ground harshly, lowly muttering ‘don’t fucking touch me like that again'.
Peter had fallen down with so much ease. Wade barely moved his arms to push him away.
Wade has always been so much stronger and bigger than Peter. That’s what he liked the lost about Wade, because Peter knew that even though he, himself is weak and small; he can hurt Wade so much more than Wade can hurt him. And not physically. Wade could fuck Peter up if he wanted to, he could crush him and hurt him badly, oh, it would be so easy – but of course, Wade would never.
That night, that fight on the alley, with the club music buzzing from inside, that was the first and only time that Peter has been afraid of Wade, he remembers looking up at him from his spot on the ground, shredding angry, frustrated tears, clenching his jaw, he was almost fuming. Wade was just staring at him with an blank, upsetting expression, breathing agitatedly, a tear did rolled down his cheek, a tear produced out of anger. He couldn’t believe Wade had touched him like that. Peter is the only one allowed to do that. To treat Wade like shit. Peter felt despised, disrespected, disregarded and fucking hurt.
But, perhaps, Peter really did deserve that, perhaps Wade was fed up that night because Peter was being a fucking pain in the ass, demanding attention, saying hurtful, mean words, pushing Wade around, humiliating him in front of their friends and claiming things that weren’t true. Peter wasn’t his best self that night.
He never is.
What had grounded them and sobered them to the moment was Peter raising his hand from the ground to look at it, he had fallen on broken glass and a piece had cut through Peter’s palm where it was resting on the grimy pavement, he was bleeding slightly, a small red line rolled down his wrist, staining his sleeve. It didn’t hurt that much, he was too drunk to feel. It wasn’t too bad. Wade’s face looked worse because of Peter.
But, oh God, Peter loves playing the victim.
He started whimpering and crying, holding his hand to his chest, still sitting on the wet, disgusting ground. Making himself small and miserable.
And, it worked. It always works – because Wade was quickly showing remorse in his face and kneeling in front of Peter, grabbing Peter’s hand and helping him take out the small glass encrusted in his palm. He apologized continually, desperately muttering a mantra of 'I'm so sorry's', kissing Peter’s wet face and cleaning him. He had helped Peter stand up and he held him to his chest, hugging Peter tightly, still apologizing and holding him for dear life.
It was funny, Peter should be the one apologizing. But, of course he didn’t.
He continued being the victim. He was the victim. He convinced himself. He let Wade take care of him and make up for him. He let him bathe him and kiss him. He let Wade make love to him and whisper 'I love you's'. Peter even whispered that back once, but it was just because of the mere overwhelming euphoria and pleasure of being fucked with so much feeling and precision; it made Peter bite Wade’s shoulder to contain himself from screaming out loud. Peter felt full, he felt wanted, he felt powerful.
So, yes, Wade’s bruise now weren’t that bad, it’s been worse, Peter has hurt him more.
Wade tried to kiss him to distract him but Peter moved his head away to continue looking at him.
Peter raised his hand and traced the bruise on Wade’s cheek and small cuts on his lip with a careful finger, not stopping even when Wade winced slightly.
"Did you get into another fight?" Peter asked, but it sounded more like an affirmation.
"I did it for the money," Wade shortly answered.
"Did you win, at least?" Peter raised his eyebrows.
"I did," Wade nodded, moving his face to plant a sweet, long kiss on Peter’s palm; he smiled at Peter, "I can take you to dinner tomorrow. Now that I’ve got cash now. We’ll go wherever you want, baby. I can buy you something, whatever."
Peter stared at him.
"We can do whatever you want," The man added, kissing Peter’s hand again.
"Maybe," Peter shrugged and hugged Wade’s middle loosely. He then grabbed the hand on his face and inspection it shortly, "Your knuckles are bleeding, Wade."
Wade looked at his own knuckles too, not really seeming to care.
"So is your face," He added, not being too careful to touch the small open cut above Wade’s eyebrow.
He hissed and pulled his head away from Peter’s hand, frowning.
Peter sighed and pushed himself off Wade, "Come on, I’ll help you clean them."
Wade let himself be guided by the hand. Peter gripped it loosely as he walked in front of him the short distance to the bathroom. Once in there Wade sat down on the closed toilet lid as Peter stood in front of the sink, searching for the small first aid kit that he has. He has mostly just used it on Wade, in nights like this when Wade arrives in the middle of the fucking night beat up or just slightly hurt, drunk or completely sober. It doesn’t matter, Wade always finds a way to get into a fight.
His aunt would always tell Peter that he'd make a great nurse.
Peter honestly doesn’t think she is right; he is just a tad bit to careless, a bit too harsh and distant; he thought as he poured alcohol into a gauze and walked to stand close in-between Wade’s legs.
Wade looked up at Peter with a gleam in his eyes. He looked happy, admiring Peter. Probably wondering what did he possibly do to deserve Peter, wondering how lucky he was to have Peter, wondering why Peter was so perfect and just wonderful. He is blinded, he is a man walking by blindly –not really seeing the reality.
Peter's reality. Peter’s true self. Peter’s awful, rotten, mean self.
But, yet again, Peter craves, he gets off on, he adores and wants that high, euphoric, addictive feeling and knowledge of being. So. Fucking. Wanted. Loved. Admired; by someone. By Wade.
Especially Wade – because he is innocent in his own way, he is a child at heart, he is hurt, he is kind, he is caring, he is loving, he is passionate, he is romantic and so fucking blinded by the love he has for Peter.
It doesn’t matter that Peter disrespects Wade’s attention and commitment towards him, that he totally discards it. Because, he just knows assertively, surely, that no matter what, Wade will be at his feet, begging, asking for erroneous, unnecessary forgiveness and worshiping Peter.
That Peter can stop talking to Wade for days, make him feel like shit, make him feel like nothing, insult him, belittle him, making him angry or cry; and Wade still be reaching for Peter.
Wade is Peter’s back up plan, he is Peter’s second option, he is his alternative, his distraction, his chaotic pleasure, the person that fills in that empty spot in Peter’s ego and heart.
Peter goes to Wade, searching for comfort and care when Beck hurts Peter, when Beck ignores him, when he insults him, when he hits him, leaving Peter bruised, when he yells at him, when he humiliates him, when he makes him feel like meaningless shit.
Because just as Wade will always fall back for Peter – Peter will always fall back for Beck.
No matter fucking what.
It's a vicious, addictive, repetitive cycle.
That's why Peter sometimes feels for Wade and understands his pain when Peter doesn’t reciprocate anything.
Because, Quentin Beck, his love, his heart, his whole fucking, stupid world does not reciprocate anything too.
He just wants Peter when he wants to talk about himself, when he wants to brag, when he wants to feel important, when he only wants to carelessly fuck Peter and let him forgotten, naked, empty, hurt and sorrowful.
Peter has unconsciously become what he hates the most in Quentin Beck.
And after a storm, all Peter has left is Wade.
Wade looks at Peter as if he is the moon, as if he is a magical phenomenon, as if he is pure gold and stars. He looks at him with pure, embarrassing love and veneration, with affection and adoration as if Peter is just a whole mere world and goodness of all kinds.
When in fact, Peter is far from being that.
Still, fucked up enough, Wade holds a special place in Peter’s grey, small, crumbled up heart.
-
Wade has his eyes shut as Peter cleaned his cuts carefully, dabbing the wet gauze on Wade’s eyebrow and lip, Wade only winced slightly, trying to pull his head away for the second time out of reflexes.
"Wade," Peter sighed and firmly grabbed the side of his face with his hand, bringing his head close again, "Stop doing that."
"It fucking stings," He frowned but stood still once again.
"I need to clean them. I don’t want to hear you complaining that they got infected," Peter rolled his eyes and started brushing the gauze on his skin, less careful.
Still, Wade smiled at him, he held both sides of Peter’s bare thighs, softly gripping the flesh, bringing him even closer between his legs. He leaned in to place a kiss on Peter’s flat belly over his shirt. Peter didn’t push him away this time, he just continued cleaning his cuts as Wade placed more playful kisses on him.
"Give me your hand," Peter mumbled.
Then, Peter started cleaning his reddened, injured knuckles. Wade’s hand is bigger than Peter’s, rougher than Peter’s. Peter likes feeling them run all over his body, caressing him, pleasuring him. Wade just knows Peter’s body so well.
Wade winced slightly, resting back and closing his eyes as if to ignore the uncomfortable sting that the gauze with alcohol caused on his busted skin. Wade groaned, hand twitching when Peter dragged the gauze a little too roughly.
"I’m almost done," Peter said, trying to comfort him, "Quit being a baby."
Wade grinned crookedly at him.
He is so handsome. Peter couldn’t help thinking. He is so handsome, just like that. With his bruised skin, wet blond hair combed back, strong jaw and hazel eyes. Peter would dare to say that he loves Wade. But he couldn’t. He does loves Wade, sometimes.
"Was it a big guy? The one that you fought with, I mean," He asked, distractedly, he was busy wrapping Wades hand with an elastic bandage.
"Eh," Wade shrugged, watching what Peter was doing, "I fuck him up, though. You should’ve seen me fight. You would’ve like it. I know you like seeing me fight."
Peter bit his bottom lip to try and hide his smirk but he failed, he murmured, "It’s hot. I like it."
"Yeah?" Wade has a lazy, tired smirk on his face, he eyed Peter up and down, "Makes you horny?"
"Yeah," Peter giggled, letting Wade pull him closer by the grip on his thighs.
"Come here, baby."
And Peter couldn’t resist, he placed his hands on the broad shoulders and leaned his head down to kiss Wade. It was a small, languid kiss. Wade held him and kissed him with so much care and commitment; it made Peter feel good even if he doesn’t really like the sweet nothings.
"Fuck, I missed you," Wade murmured lowly against his mouth, pulling away to breath for a moment.
Peter nodded. Silently and discreetly agreeing.
Then, Wade was sneaking his hands over the small of Peter’s back and down his ass, squeezing it strongly, bringing Peter flushed against him even in that awkward position with Wade sitting down and Peter standing between his legs. Wade played with the waistband of Peter’s tight briefs, he fingered the fabric around, sensually caressing Peter’s skin before he slowly started to pull them down.
Peter quickly brought his own hands down to grip Wade’s, stopping him from going any further, "Not here," He whispered.
"Why?"
"I need to do something first."
"What?" Wade frowned.
Peter glared at him in annoyance and pushed himself of Wade, adjusting his underwear.
"Fine, damn, okay," Wade sighed, smiling down at Peter’s irritated expression and crossed arms. He stood tall as he held Peter’s hip with a hand and leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.
It was so meaningful, loving and adoring.
It made Peter look away. He felt slightly guilty. Just slightly. Not too much. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He pushed Wade away slightly and walked past him to stand in front of the sink to put the first aid kit away.
"Wait for me in my bedroom, I’ll be there in a sec," Peter said, looking at Wade through the mirror.
Wade looked so tired but yet so content because he was with Peter.
"I love you," Wade whispered eloquently and honest, when he stood behind Peter, hugging his waist and kissing the back of his neck, "Thank you for fixing my cuts."
Peter rolled his eyes and nodded distractedly, he washed his hands and elbowed Wade playfully, "You’re suffocating me, man. Come on, wait for me in bed."
"Don’t take too long, baby," Wade gave him a last kiss and walked out of the bathroom.
Peter kept the water tab running, to have some noise with him, he turned back and shut the door. Now standing alone in the small bathroom. He stood in front of the sink again and took of his sleeping shirt to stare at himself in the mirror. Peter contemplated as he stared at the red, bruised, small marks that Beck had left behind since he last saw him which was like three days ago.
Part of his chest and belly were affected by the hickeys, there weren’t many, just three of them. Peter had asked Beck to mark him, hit him, bite him, something. Whatever. Peter had begged. He had cried and Beck had stared down at him with derision and sneer in his blue eyes, probably wondering how Peter could be so pathetic.
He didn’t worry at the time about it. About the marks. He was too high on the feeling of just Beck. Too consumed with his scent, touches, blue eyes, voice, beard and dick. He didn’t except to see Wade so soon too.
They usually don’t speak for almost two weeks after a big fight, like the one they had.
It’s not like Peter cares too much but he doesn’t want Wade to see the marks. At least not tonight. Peter doesn’t wants to fight and argue, he is too tired, to bored. He doesn’t wants to give an explanation or get so worked up and say something hurtful because he just hates having to explain himself. He feels like lying. He always feels like lying.
He doesn’t feels like hearing Wade yell and cry angrily because – Peter. Did. It. Again.
Be with some else, not with Wade.
Of course Wade has seen the marks before, from other times and it’s chaos. They had Break up a bunch of times. Curse at each other uncontrollably. Peter has lied, punch, yell and sob even if he doesn’t have a right or reason to do so.
Still – Wade always comes back to him.
Peter put on his shirt again after he was done cleaning himself and washing his teeth to be ready for Wade. He will make up some fucking excuse about why he didn’t want to take his shirt off. Maybe he will tell Wade how much clothed sex turns Peter on and he knows it will work because Wade is complete and okay as long as Peter is liking and enjoying it.
He puts Peter first. Always. He puts Peter’s pleasure, thought, emotions, happiness and wellness first. He puts himself second. Peter feels loved.
Oh, he does.
Wade was waiting for him in bed, he was falling asleep but he gave Peter a tired, happy grin when Peter entered the room and went straight towards his bed. He crawled on it and quickly straddled Wade after delivering a long kiss on Wade’s clothed dick. They kissed intensively hot, passionate and desperate. Desperate for being apart and angry. Passionate because Wade just fucking loves Peter.
Peter rode Wade like he likes. Like they both like. Precise, hard, smooth and messy.
Wade looked up at Peter like he hung or created the fucking, bright, giant, burning sun.
Peter just kissed him ardently and in the heat of the moment, as Wade was fucking up into him and gripping his hair, he told Wade to hit him because he likes it like that. Wade didn’t really do it because he hates hurting Peter, he never would, not again. And that made Peter frustrated so he rode Wade harder and kissed him carelessly, distractedly, painfully.
Wade tried to take off Peter’s shirt a few times to feel his warm, damp, soft skin on his rough palms, but every time Peter stopped him, he distracted Wade by licking into his mouth hotly and pushing his hands away, guiding them down, to grip, hold, slap his ass. It worked every time. Wade stopped insisting after a while, after trying and losing. He just put his hands wherever Peter guides them and wanted them. He did whatever Peter wanted.
Yet again, Peter just felt so fucking powerful.
Maybe Wade knew what Peter was hiding. Peter was merely sure. But Wade didn’t care. He said nothing. He asked nothing – because he has Peter now.
And Peter knew how blinded by him Wade could be and become.
Peter felt loved, he felt needed, he felt wanted – he felt fucking incredible.