Chapter 9
Saturday night. 9:41PM. Apartment. Manhattan.
The lights and sounds of the small TV projected against the otherwise pitch-black room, creating long shadows over the opposite sofa and coffee table. It’d be an almost anxiety-inducing environment for Peter Parker, if not for what was projecting on the TV itself, and the warmth of his sort-of-but-not-quite-I-don’t-even-know-what-to-call-you-other-than-my-”someone else”, Wade Wilson, sitting relaxed with his legs up on the table, allowing Peter to curl against his chest. They’d agreed upon going back-and-forth on the movie picking, and the contrast between genres every two hours was staggering, and almost comedic. Opposed to his last pick, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy , which he made evident did not do justice to the book, Wade’s choice of Labyrinth was… Interesting, to put it mildly. Upon meeting for the first time Peter wouldn’t have ever pinned his friend’s movie taste to be so… Strange? Flamboyant? He had expected Wade to be the type to enjoy dumb action movies, you know, that generic Tom Cruise kind of bullshit. Not David Bowie and Tim Curry. Nevertheless, the overreaction he received upon admitting he had never seen either Labyrinth nor Rocky Horror Picture Show lead Peter to the logical assumption his roommate’s favourite films were probably pretty dear to his heart. Best go along with it, I guess. Whereas RHPS had been an, uh, experience, he had enjoyed the parts he could make sense of. Labyrinth, however, was a painstaking, torturous experience for him. Sure, the songs were good, he could appreciate it objectively, but personally? Peter wanted to gouge his eyes out. Not that he’d say it out loud, because there were two certain ways Wade would react. A, immediate defensive mockery of Star Wars, or B, genuine expressed disappointment. The former seemed more likely, but out of kindness he didn’t feel like testing either one. He didn’t want to fuck it up if the reaction was B, anyway.
Peter’s eyelids grew heavy, and he curled closer to his friend’s chest.
“You’re like a cat when you do that.” Wade remarked fondly.
“You’re like a dick when you make me watch kids’ movies.” He mumbled.
“Ouch.” Wade put a hand over his heart in mock pain. “ Did you hear that? That was my heart breaking over your uncultured taste in film.”
“Sorry, no. I couldn’t hear you over Jennifer Connelly’s terrible acting.”
“That does it. You, my man, have crossed a line . If you don’t wanna watch, go back to your nerd room and study or something.”
Peter reached his hand upwards lazily to lightly shove his friend’s face away from him.
“You’re a grade A dick.”
“Funny. My last girlfriend said the same thing.” Wade gazed down and winked at him in the cheesiest way he could muster.
Peter scrambled to sit back up, checked his phone for the time, and yawned.
“Y’know, I think I’m actually gonna hit the hay. Tell me if Jareth ever puts on some appropriate pants.”
Wade stared at him as he turned the corner into the tiny hallway, saying nothing. It felt out of character (That’s because it’s a fanfiction) but Peter could sense the twinge of real disappointment in the air as he shut the bedroom door behind him. He felt bad, he really did want to stay sitting how they had been, even watching Labyrinth, but something internally just felt so bleh towards everything the last few days. It’d soon be two months since Wade had moved in, and about two weeks since the “date” incident. He didn’t like to consider an incident, but kept it that way in his mind for lack of better word. He liked what he and Wade had, a lot, and it was almost weighing on him more to keep stressing over making it “official”. Peter knew at some point he’d snap, but he was secretly just praying that Wade would snap first, just so he wouldn’t have to be the one to bring it up. Every part of Peter’s psyche was practically begging for one of them to snap, but he just lacked in the courage. He had it in his mind that everything would be clear after stopping whatever he had with Deadpool, but honestly, hardly any of his confusion had gone. Peter felt… Weird. Just, weird. Nothing but weird. Shoving away his thoughts, he laid down in bed, turned out the light, and stared at the ceiling. Just as the thoughts were melting away, drifting into sleep, he heard a deafening clunk , a loud snap, and a string of colorful curses, followed by a knock on his door. Peter glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 11:44. He sat up, turned the light back on, sighed and shouted, “ What do you want, Wade?”
His roommate let himself in, wincing instinctively at the quick realization light was being cast over his scarred upper body, as for a reason Peter didn’t care to explore, he was shirtless, with a pair of completely fucking unsurprising and God-awful ripped and raggedy, bright blue sweatpants patterned with floating muppet heads.
“Do I want to know?” Peter asked tiredly.
“I may or may not have just broken my bedframe and spilled Mountain Dew all over my mattress.” He said, avoiding eye contact, scratching the back of his head.
“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Go sleep on the couch.” Peter turned the light back off and rolled over.
“Awww, c’mon babe-”
“Don’t call me babe.” Peter grumbled from under the covers.
“Awww, c’mon dude-bro,”
“Don’t call me that either.”
Woah. Deja Vu.
He paused, recognizing that he still sensed Wade’s presence in the doorframe.
“... You’re gonna stay there until I let you sleep in here, aren’t you?”
“The couch smells like feet and bad movie taste. But mostly feet.”
With a slightly angry sigh, begrudgingly, “Fine. Try to cuddle me and I’ll knife you.”
“I’d really prefer it if you spooned me instead.”
“I really wish I hated you.”
3:02AM. Apartment. Manhattan.
Peter Parker lie on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling. Wade Wilson lie next to him, sprawled out like a starfish, fast asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the whole building. “My one fucking night off, my one night of full sleep, does God hate me? I think god hates me.” His thoughts were filled with annoyance. “Is this really what I want? Why do I keep convincing myself he’s so annoying? He just wants to be affectionate. God, Parker, you have some commitment issues.” He rolled over onto his side, facing the half-pillow and arm-obstructed sleeping face of his now biggest source of internal conflict. Why? Why, why, why, why? He slowed himself as he began to stare at the unconscious face of his roommate/friend/semi-sort-of-boyfriend, cringing at the thought of boyfriend and some, well, most of the anger melted into appreciation. He was who he was, even though it got on Peter’s nerves, he had no right to try and change Wade. Maybe they might actually work. Maybe it was actually Peter that needed to change. Suddenly, his running mind was interrupted by the realization Wade had opened his eyes, and was now staring back appreciatively, and a bit quizzically.
“Hey.” Wade whispered.
“... Hey.”
“What’s new? Any riveting commentary on the pattern on the ceiling?” He rolled slightly onto his side to face Peter. Suddenly, Peter was very aware of the lack of space between them. He breathed out, you know, that breath you do when something’s kind of funny, but not funny enough to laugh out loud. That breath. Quickly realising neither of them seemed intent to break eye contact anytime soon, his heart rate started climbing, the nature of the conversation setting in. Every single part of Peter’s psyche was chanting at him, “ snap,snap,snap,snap” .
They lie there, staring, half-smiling, half-asleep, for an indefinite amount of time. Neither knew how long had past before Wade finally broke the silence.
“So what happens here? You talk first? I talk first?”
“Was that a Force Awakens reference?”
“It sure was.” He half-whispered proudly.
Thirty seconds passed.
“Do you want to, like, talk about whatever this is?” Wade raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever what is?” Peter’s voice heightened a bit unintentionally. His heart started climbing up his throat.
“Seriously?”
“What?”
Please, for the love of God, tell me he’s going to snap first, please, for the-
“I guess not then. Should I stop? Like, all together? I gotta be honest man, it started as a joke, but we have this tension that I find like, totally hot, but if you’re really not into this, I’ll stop.”
No,no,no,no,no,no, this is NOT what we wanted, c’mon Parker, just do it, just snap, just-
“Thanks.” Peter swallowed.
Do it, just do it, grab him, say fuck it, tell him not to stop, never to stop-
“... Yeah.” Wade shifted to roll over. In a split second, with his heart in his throat, Peter reached out and grabbed his friend by the crook of the neck, quickly and shakily pulling him into an intense and frankly awkward kiss. Wade shifted back to face Peter, mind racing with a million “ I told you so-s” and “ what the FUCK-s ”. After a second, both of them softened into the puzzle-piece-like-fit of their colliding lips. They stayed there for a few seconds in absolute euphoria on both sides. Finally, with all his self restraint in place to do so, Peter pulled away and retracted his hand from the place it’d found gripping the back of the other man’s head. Both breathing shakily, both staring wide-eyed in surprise, the doubts and confliction dissipated into pure, unadulterated certainty. Yeah. Peter snapped. Wade shifted to lie on his back, and laced his fingers over his chest. After a moment the other man did the same. As they lie there, side by side, both grinning like idiots, there was an innate sense of right. Suddenly, Wade’s neck twisted to face Peter, and he spoke with frank confidence.
“So you’re Spider-man?”
Peter’s heart started beating rapidly, dropping into his stomach.
What? Is he joking? That’s Wade making a joke, right? Why the hell would he ask that? Do you think he really-
Peter swallowed nervously. “What?”
“Yep. It’s you.” Wade lifted his hand to the side in gesture of a handshake. “Friendly neighborhood Merc with a mouth, at your service.”
Hooooooooooooooo shit. Hooooooo shiiiiiiiiittt.Whatttttt the fuck. Whaaaattttttt the fuck.
Peter was suddenly drenched in sweat.
“Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”
6:59PM. Apartment. Manhattan. Three months later.
“ Hey, Douche-pool, what did I tell you about katanas in the dishwasher??”
An un-masked but Spider-suited Peter Parker stood in the kitchen, yelling.
“Sorry, darling. Have you seen my left glove?”
“Just wear one from the winter clothes bin, asshat.”
“My gloves are protective and leather and custom-made , you monster. They’ll tear a winter glove to shreds. You don’t want my hand to get cut off, do you?” Wade wandered distractedly into the living room, also fully suited apart from his mask, which he held in the same hand as the dagger he was sharpening.
“It’ll grow back.”
“Okay, mom.”
Pausing to admire his work, and deeming the dagger “ stabby stabby” enough (Wade’s words. Not Peter’s.) Deadpool sheathed it in a pouch on the top of his boot.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Peter swiftly walked over to his boyfriend, grabbing the Spider-man mask from the kitchen counter on his way, and indulged in a peck on the lips before both put on their night-time identities. Waltzing out the door together, the red-clad duo rode the elevator to the roof, from where they began patrol for the night.