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"Come here, Petey," Deadpool commands when Peter's chattering teeth show no signs of slowing.
He holds open an arm, and Peter hesitates for all of two seconds before he's across the room in a burst of super speed. Those big arms come around his body to pull him in tight, and Peter finds his nose pressed to the bare space between suit and half-rolled up mask.
Peter is still shivering, pretty violently if he's being honest, and it doesn't seem to want to stop. But Deadpool is holding him in place so he doesn't shiver-vibrate right back out the door and his face is thawing from the little spot of breath and pulse warmed air where his face is rucked up tight.
He lets his eyes close and his body calm. They came close to freezing out there. Deadpool would have de-iced come spring thaw, worst case, but Peter -
"Thank you," he says softly, and his lips graze across Wade's warm skin.
Wade chuckles. "I think it's well established that any and all touchy-touchy is A-OK with me. You probably shouldn't thank me for it," his arms tighten around Peter's middle and he ducks his head to press his face affectionately to Peter's mask.
Peter shakes his head, eyes still hidden because he can't face Wade when he says this. "For that, too, honestly - I told you already I'm fine with the - with the - " ugh, he's fine with it, but he still has so much trouble saying it.
"The snugglin’?" Deadpool sings in suggestion.
"Yes. That, "Peter says flatly. "But thank you for the rest of it, too. I wouldn't have made it out there long without you. You saved my life, and this morning I was arguing that you shouldn’t even be on this mission."
Wade sucks a breath in sharply through his teeth, but he doesn't respond. Peter's not surprised - he's slowly figuring out just how far Wade's affection for him goes, and this is one of his biggest tells. A real tell. One Wade has successfully hidden for months, but the cat is pretty much out of the bag at this point.
Wade Winston Wilson does not do silence. The fact that Peter, with the natural verbal skills of a cactus, can leave Deadpool speechless - that means something. With a motor mouth like Deadpool... when he shuts up, Peter listens, even if no one else does.
What does everyone else know, anyways? Clearly nothing, since they tried to send Peter into the worst blizzard in recent New York state history, alone and unprepared.
“Guess I lucked out for once, huh?” Peter tries to joke when the silence gets to be too much; as nice as it is to be able to read Wade, he could use a distraction from thinking.
“Luck ain’t got nothing to do with it, baby,” Wade growls next to his ear; Peter flinches, but Wade keeps holding him tight. “Someone needs to buy Tin Man a brain for Christmas - genius my muscular, magnificent glutes. All I had to do was watch my morning Weather Channel marathon to know Spidey’s don’t need to be out on no outdoorsy spy adventures today.”
“You knew there was a blizzard coming? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because no one ever listens to me! Best I knew I could do for ya was come along for the ride and steer you close to one of my safe houses.”
“Oh,” Peter peels his face away to take in the room, now that his eyelashes aren’t freezing his lids shut. There are an awful lot of fast food wrappers scattered across the dilapidated, cracking floorboards. “So not luck then, huh?”
Wade snorts, letting Peter free from his strangling embrace (Deadpool hugs are not for the faint hearted, nor are they for the unenhanced). “Spidey, your luck is atrocious.”
It’s nice to have someone who’s willing to commiserate with him on that one. Everyone else just claims he's exaggerating. Except, Spider-Man wouldn’t be half as effective if trouble didn’t literally find him half the time. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know Wade has been working overtime to make sure he finds Peter first.
Or, the warm fuzzies could just be Peter’s super healing battling off the hypothermia.
“Either way, next taco date’s on me,” Peter’s legitimately proud to have gotten the words out with minimal teeth clacking; now that they’re out of the biting wind his enhancements are properly working their magic.
He’s still going to end up with a cold, science be damned. If there’s one person in the world who could catch a virus from the weather, it’s him.
“Uh, hello - record scratch moment, here,” Wade holds up his hand like a kindergartner (as if he's ever asked for permission to speak in his life, but Peter will play along. He owes the guy, after all).
“Yes, Mr. Wilson?” Peter puts on his best harried professor face.
“Can we circle back to the date part? And more importantly, the next date part? Are we dating?!”
Peter frowns, a little confused now himself. “Are we not? You always say they’re dates. It’s been a long time since I’ve made any fuss about it.”
“I thought you were just humoring me! That’s what everyone does - well, not about the date thing. Mostly they just shoot me down hard there. Like, waaaay harder than you ever have - ”
“Have you just been humoring me about the Parker luck thing?”
Wade stops mid-rant to gasp in offense. “Never, Webs! Every word I vom at you is one hundred percent the ugly, chunky truth.”
Peter grimaces, because yuck, but he does believe him.
“So then those were dates. Which means we’re dating,” ipso-facto, easy as that.
Or, Peter really hopes it’s as easy as that. Deadpool might be easy to talk to, but feelings chats? Ick, count Peter out. Though maybe he could have been a bit more transparent about his intentions.
“Listen, Spidey. I would be the first to shout from the rooftops the extent of my devotion to you, so don’t take this the wrong way, but those couldn’t be dates,” Deadpool reasons, and Peter perches himself on the rickety bed to snuggle into the one blanket (of course there’s only one blanket - dating or not, Peter is not sharing) while the Merc with the Mouth vocalizes his way to his point.
Another perk of Deadpool? He can have an entire two-person conversation while Peter lazes around doing his own thing. Zero effort and he doesn’t have to worry about sticking his foot in his mouth.
(Peter is very, very good at sticking his foot in his mouth, and it has nothing to do with his flexibility.)
“For one thing, one must actively consent for a date to be a date, otherwise it’s just one red suited sad fuck getting tacos with his aesthetic stealing idol,” Wade explains; Peter is too comfy now to be lured into that debate again, but for the record, he made his first costume long before Deadpool crossed his radar.
“For another, we never use real names! And I know you know mine, and you were stupid enough to let yours slip - ”
“Stupid? My IQ is sky freakin’ high, Wade.” Some insults just cannot be ignored.
“ - which may actually be a point in favor of your argument, now that I think about it, but it leads to point the third: masks! No one wears masks on dates! We always wear masks when we taco stand. And also every other time we’re together. Always!”
Well, that’s easy to fix. The mask was starting to get uncomfortable, anyways, damp and cold and clingy. Peter slips it off and tucks it into his waistband, because no way is he letting something that covers his mouth touch that floor. The fact that this is an Official DP Safe House just makes him trust it all the less.
“I agree with that one,” Peter concedes, ignoring Wade’s strangled choking at the casual reveal. “But I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Plus, buh-bye secret identity if Peter Parker is caught hanging out with Deadpool in full gear. I like being able to swing under the radar.”
Wade looks a little gobsmacked, but that could just be his mask.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this step in our relationship,” Wade admits sheepishly.
“Yeah, cuz you didn’t know we were in one.” Peter glares back at him.
It’s kind of nice to have full range of facial emotion - much easier than talking. Maybe he should have tried that move sooner.
“Spidey,” Wade whines.
“Peter,” Peter reminds him.
“Peteeeeey. This is so not fair.”
Peter huffs and rolls his eyes and tells the sarcasm that’s threatening to unleash itself to back the fuck off, because even he knows now is not the time. Wade deserves a little annoying vulnerability for saving Peter’s life, if nothing else.
“Wade, do you want to date me?” The ‘check yes, no, or maybe’ only barely stays in his head.
“Uh… yes?” Wade clears his throat. “I mean. Yes. Without the question mark. Definitely yes.”
“Ok, so we’re dating. Get that wood stove over there fired up and get your ass over here, and I bet you’ll even make it to third base.”
Peter’s never seen someone move so fast in his life, and he spends his free time surrounded by super heroes. One sacrificed wooden end table later and the fire in the stove is crackling cheerfully. Peter pretends he didn’t see the lighter fluid come out and lets Wade bask in his fake boy scout glory.
Now that the immediate danger has passed and the room is warming up, exhaustion starts to creep in. His eyes fall shut while he waits for Wade to join him.
It’s starting to feel like an overly prolonged sort of waiting when a shadow falls over his face, blacking out the orange fire glow behind his eyelids. He’s expecting the shadow to pass and the bed to dip when Wade finally gets with the picture and joins him, but no cigar.
He cracks a sleepy eye to find Deadpool fingering nervously at the edge of his mask.
“No masks in the bedroom,” Peter informs him - if Wade can make up dumb dating rules, then so can he.
Wade takes a wide mask-eyed look around the room, but Peter stops him before he can try and out-logic the situation. “There is a bed in the room, therefore bedroom. And I’m declaring this our first official date, so by your own rules, it’s gotta come off.”
He knows he’s coming off as mean here, and ultimatums aren’t the best start, but he’s afraid he’ll just keep giving in if he does so now.
Wade keeps fidgeting. The mask stays in place. “But Petey-pie - ”
“Don’t you want to be able to tell the story of how you saved my life on our first date?” Maybe if he keeps emphasizing it, it’ll sink in. Peter is not above manipulation, but that shouldn’t be a surprise considering who he’s… courting. Deadpool is, after all, the self-proclaimed king of underhanded tactics.
Wade harumphs, and snorts, and Peter’s kind of worried he’s going to start straight up neighing, but no one out-stubborns Peter Parker, not even Wade Wilson.
“See?” he croons, trying to be supportive as Wade finally gets with the picture and slips off the mask to reveal an epic pout. “Not so bad, right?”
It occurs to him that this is actually a big moment, and he should probably take it seriously, but he doesn’t have a whole lot of practice schooling his features outside of the mask. He really can’t help the big grin that plasters itself across his face, because he's getting to see all of Wade’s face.
He burrows farther under the stale smelling blanket and shuffles over closer to the wall to make space. It’s a small bed, and Wade is a big guy, so he’s still going to end up smushed, but that sounds like heaven after being stuck in blizzard hell.
Wade does him one better and also kicks off his boots (Peter discreetly does the same under the covers - oops, bad manners), removes his belt and swords and - wow, he knew DP traveled loaded, but there is such a thing as too many guns and too much ammo. Especially for what was supposed to be a covert mission.
With one knee on the bed, Wade gives his pathetic, woe-is-me act one last shot. “Are you sure you’re sure about this, Pete? You’ve had a hard day. It’d be a shame to ruin your beauty rest with a Freddy Kreuger cameo come dream time.”
Peter has officially run out of patience, mainly because he’s dead tired, and even with the stove heating the room the chill of their miserable trudge to shelter is still lodged deep in his bones.
“The only thing nightmare worthy about you is your table manners, but we can work on those later. Get in this bed, please, and let me use you for your crazy unnatural body heat.” He turns his own pout up to eleven.
“Ok, ok! Enough with the face,” Wade lets his body tumble onto the bed and hover-hands an arm over Peter’s waist. “And thank you,” he adds primly. “I am pretty hot.”
Seeing as he’s getting his way, Peter wisely does not point out how thoroughly Wade is willing to contradict himself for the sake of an awful joke. Instead, he grabs Wade’s arm and rolls towards the wall so Wade is forced in close, snugging them up together tight and pulling a little ‘oof’ from his bed partner.
He turns over in Wade’s grasp so they’re facing each other properly. “Better,” he sighs into a yawn - yep, reaching max exhaustion here. “Maybe third base is gonna have to wait for the morning. Maybe after breakfast. I’ll call Nat for a pickup when we wake up.”
“Gasp, I knew third base was a lie! It’s like we’re already an old married couple.”
No one does fake outrage quite like Deadpool trying to save face.
“That’s what - ” oh, damn, Peter can’t stop the yawns from coming at all now. He gives himself another two minutes before his body calls it quits and powers down into Spider-Man recovery mode. The cold always takes more out of him than regular ol’ bodily harm. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
He pats consolingly at Wade’s naked face, feeling Wade for the first time instead of sticky, unwashed leather. “Here. How about…” Peter wraps his hand around the base of Wade’s neck and pulls him in to slot their mouths together in their first kiss, Wade’s mouth hot and wet and perfect for thawing that chill right out of him.
Wade responds immediately (Peter knew he was just putting up a front), tightening his grip around Peter’s middle. He bites at Peter’s lower lip, and yeah, that’s real nice. Peter likes that.
It’s still not enough to stave off the next yawning jag. He pulls back before he yawns right in Wade’s face, because that would not be sexy at all, and buries his head against Wade’s chest. He grins up sheepishly when it passes, pleased to see Wade grinning, too.
“Aww, sleepy spidey.” Wade pets at his hair, and it’s just sending him deeper into the throes of sleepy comfort. “Conk out, baby boy. Catch them Z’s like they're pokemons. First base is probably all this bullet riddled brain can handle tonight, anyhow.”
“K.” Peter’s already drifting off. “More bases t’morrow.”
“No complaints here, shnookums. Maybe we’ll give Spider-Lady a show. Then she’ll owe us one.”
Natasha shows up the next morning a prompt thirty minutes after Peter sends out the pick up signal. She does not tip them when she walks in on third base, but she does step outside to give them a few more minutes to themselves. Wade insists it’s because she needed a moment herself; Peter’s pretty sure she’s tattling to Tony.
Whatever. If Tony didn’t see this coming, maybe someone really should buy him a brain for Christmas. Wade, too, for that matter.
Or maybe Peter is just going to have to work on that communicating thing. Either way, he and Wade are on the same page now, and Peter’s pretty sure their story is about to get nice and steamy.
And he is most definitely going to have a talk with all the Avengers about checking the freaking weather from here out.