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“Hey, Spidey, can I ask you a personal question?”
Peter’s legs stop swinging over the steel edge, coming to a hesitant stop as his hands tighten around the curved metal. The wind continues to blow in his face, stronger than it is a good thousand feet below, and he shrugs, bringing a hand up to blow a finger gun in mock nonchalance, even though personal questions scare him, because he’s a coward when it comes to diving deeper than cringe one liners and inappropriate banter—which is kind of the normal he has with Wa—Deadpool.
He doesn’t like diving deeper and crossing the line to personal territory.
He’s perfectly fine with the vigilante bromance slash jokingly flirting slash friends? colleagues? work partners? He doesn’t really know what label to put on them.
“... and you know, Reddit is a rabbit hole you don’t need to get sucked into, because you’ll join one reddit and BOOM suddenly you’re scrolling through a mildly-horrifying-but-hilarious-murder-attempts subreddit at 5 am in the morning after your 20th cup of coffee, which, by the way, is something you already probably do, minus the Reddit ofcourse. Unless you’re a Redditor. Fuck, are you a Redditor? Have we interacted? I hope not. Okay so as I was saying, there’s a good 34k members in the r/Spider-Man and also like 100k in the r/MutantTheories and can you guess what the latest theory is? Hm, Spidey? Guess?”
Peter is too busy trying to guess how this will relate to a personal question. Did someone doxx him on Reddit? He hopes not. He doesn’t even know how the site works, which is pretty fucking pathetic for a twenty-six year old.
“Well okay, grumpy silence it is. Anyway, the latest theory says you were originally a spider that turned human. And you had to learn human behavior and speech patterns and stuff, which is why you were so second hand embarrassment inducing awkward in your first months as Spidey.”
Peter stares. Wade takes it as his cue to ramble on. Nobody talks as much as this man can, Peter is convinced he’ll talk with a wall until the wall talks back to ask him to shut the fuck up.
(Also, Peter was 16 then. Sue him for being “second hand embarrassment inducing awkward” when his voice still cracked and he had algebra homework and lockers stuffed with cat litter to take care of.)
“And it’s also why you’re so Mean Girls hiding their Burn Book bitchy with your identity,” Wade pauses for dramatic effect, then puts both his gloved hands up. “cos you didn’t have one and had to build it from scratch! And of course the webs, nobody really knows if you produce it naturally or not, but hey! they did a poll and natural web-weaving won!”
Peter does, in fact, have spinnerets, two tiny slits, almost completely unnoticeable, an inch below the start of his wrists. Two web-weaving slits that had freaked him out five years ago, when he had shot a thin line of spider silk when he’d gotten startled at school. Having to explain that it was a prank had gone as well as him trying to lie his way out of anything: not good.
The spider silk he produces is not strong enough to hold a significant amount of weight, so Peter’s little nerd ass had used his own web silk as the core ingredient to create a polymer which is more durable, sticky, and has extremely high tensile strength. Strong enough to hold the weight of a train without snapping, this reformed web fluid is what’s curled around the inside of his web shooters. Thanks to his natural silk and his love for Chemistry, he’s able to swing around New York with ease, and not worry about plunging to his death because he added a little weight.
“So,” Wade says, and mimics smoothing out a dress, even though he’s sitting a few inches away from Peter in his full red and black suit with the katanas and the guns and the belt and god knows what else, but no dress in sight, “I thought, who better to ask than the man himself! or the spider… themself? Do spiders have gendered pronouns in their little spider language?”
Peter tries to imagine some little radioactive spider suddenly turning into a full-limbed scrawny 5’9 human white boy, with permanent eye bags and limbs that just refuse to put on muscle mass. And then tries to imagine the spider immediately deciding to become a vigilante who swings around in bright spandex to save human lives while living on cupped ramen and paycheck to paycheck, instead of like, murdering the president and making spiders the superior species or something.
He can’t help it. The laugh bubbles out of him in a quick burst. A spandex clad hand leaps up to cover his mouth to stifle the giggles, but they pour out anyway, leaving his chest infinitely lighter and his mask crinkled, a cozy feeling erupting in his stomach. The sudden relief over Wade not actually asking a personal question, coupled with the utter stupidity of this theory is enough to have him in a fit of laughter. It’s been a while since he laughed this hard, and if Wade could see his face right now, he’d be able to see the flushed cheeks, the one stupid dimple that forms on his left cheek, and the crinkles that form at the corner of each eye.
When he calms down with a stuttering breath, he notices how still the merc has gotten, his head tilted sideways as he stares into Peter, eyes comically wide. The red mask is stretched upwards at the cheeks, indicating Wade must be smiling pretty wide.
“Wow. I think I’ve flown too close to the sun.” The merc looks up, shading his masked eyes and pointing at the sun that’s beginning it’s descend in the distance. “I think I just heard an angel laugh! Marking this on my calendar when I get home, folks!”
Peter coughs, fighting an unwanted blush. “Stop being a kissass, Icarus. It’s embarrassing, actually.”
“Oh I’d let my wings melt and fall a thousand feet for you any. day. ”
Biting the inside of his burning cheek, Peter offers no response, opting to take a look down, his legs swinging once more in the chill air. The metal railing they’re sitting on does indeed feel like it is a thousand feet above ground. Peter treats this place like his safe haven. Climbing up the Empire State at the heart of the city, situated above the bustling city centre enough to give it a sense of solitude, but close enough he can observe from it’s top, sitting on the railing and looking down, taking in the city that he protects. He’s been climbing to the top regularly since he scaled it once at eighteen and realised how secluded the top of the tower is, how easy it is to sit there at the edge and feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. Like the loneliest man in the world.
This is His Spot.
And he… let Wade follow him here today, even though he had plenty of chances to hide and back out or simply ask Wade to not follow, which he knows the merc will respect.
The thought makes him shift uncomfortably in his position, the curved surface of the railing pushing into his spandex.
“Alrightie then, moving on to the real question!” Peter’s head whips up at that, eyes blinking. “What are we doing?”
“What?”
Wade gestures around in cartoon-like moves. “Here! Why’d you let me tag along like gum stuck on your suit?”
“Oh,” Peter says, eloquently. He looks around the tiny space at the top of the tower, the smooth floor and the blank cylindrical walls. “It gets lonely here.”
“Really?”
Peter nods, exhaling quietly. There’s a little boy wearing a bright neon yellow jacket running below in the sea of earth-tone colours below. He stands out like a sore thumb. Peter’s enhanced vision helps him people-watch way more easily. A perk.
“Well,” Wade hums, “Is it still lonely?”
Peter considers lying, then thinks against it. “Yeah.”
“I know I’m the one who talks enough for the both of us, but, I can listen too, you know? You got something to say, say it. Vent out your little spider heart, baby boy. Nobody’s here except me and the clouds. And that weird looking insect that’s been creepily still since we came up here. Do you think it’s dead?”
Peter jerks up his knee, resting his cheek on it. His left leg continues swinging back and forth in silence. “I used to come to this place a lot after my girlfriend died.”
“Oh yikes. Welcome to the Dead Girlfriends Club. Movie night on Friday’s, this week’s theme is 80s Horror.” A beat of silence where Peter seriously considers a good 80s horror film to watch. “Is that why you’re lonely now?”
Is Nightmare of Elm’s Street 80s horror?
“Part of it, yeah,” Peter says, “but I think I was destined to be lonely.” Countless times he’s thought of a future where Gwen survives the fall: and it always consisted of him leaving her for good.
He gets no reply in return. Rare, so he takes it as a sign to continue.
“I come here to people-watch,” he admits, and then looks down again. There’s no sign of the boy in the neon yellow jacket. There’s a woman walking along the same road carrying a huge load of dark pink balloons. Someone’s up for a cute surprise today. “It clears my mind, wipes the slate, ya know?”
He gestures below at the tiny dots of people moving back and forth, walking, running, talking. “There’s them,” he points at himself, “and then there’s me.”
“Uh, yeah, I can see that.”
Snorting, Peter looks down. A girl falls off a skateboard, stumbling back and landing hard on her ass. He winces, intimately aware of how painfully humiliating that is, being a skateboarder himself, even before the spider bite happened.
“Damn, is your vision really that enhanced? I can’t see jackshit from here, baby boy.”
“Mmhm, and they can’t really see us even if they look up ‘cos the tower’s so tall. But yeah, my vision helps me focus on them better. I used to wear glasses before the bite, you know?”
“OMG, so the natural spider theory isn’t true! I knew it! You were just a nerd then,” Wade puts a hand over his chest delicately. “That’s even worse.”
Peter ignores that. “Looking at them reminds me of the barrier between me and them, Wade,” he explains, “I come here often to remind myself they can never be here as much as I can never be there. I put people in danger. I get them killed.” He feels strangely vulnerable admitting this to Wade, but it doesn’t feel wrong in the way it feels like he’s peeling off his own skin when he tries to open up with other people. His voice takes the usual higher pitch when he gets emotional, but his throat doesn’t feel like a sea urchin is stuck inside it.
“The fuck, Spidey?” Wade’s indignant shout makes Peter flinch. In a softer tone, the merc continues, “Hey, is it opposite day? Are we saying the opposite of what’s actually true?” He sighs, and then moves his head till it’s inches away from Peter’s, and those impossibly animated eyes are blinking right at his ear. His voice, when it comes out, lacks the usual humour it accompanies. “You’re a hero, Spidey. And a damn good one, too. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I—um, I mean, I-Uh…”
“Jesus, dude. Just take the fucking compliment.”
“Alright! Alright, ok!”
“So why’d you really bring me here?”
“I just told you—”
“Yeah, Webs, I heard ya, but that’s it? You’re telling me this got nothing to do with me asking you out the other day?”
“It’s got nothing to do with—wait, what?”
“Hello?” Wade waves his hand comically. “Me? Asking you? For dinner? Like, two days ago dude, and you laughed and said “Good one!” and swung off like you left the stove on or some shit.”
“Wh—Wade, what?” Peter had thought that was a joke. Because that’s what Wade does, right? Joke? A little laugh, a big fat slap on the knee! “Wade, that’s not funny.”
“Funny? What’s funny? I’m being dead- serious right now. Ha. Now that’s funny. Anyway, if I made you uncomfortable or something, I can stop it. Just know there wasn’t anything funny about it.”
Peter fidgets. The pads of his fingers trace the webbing on his gloves in furious messy circles. “So you weren’t asking me out as a… joke?”
Wade looks shocked, for a second, which is crazy because he’s wearing a mask. “Webs… of course I wouldn’t ask you out as a joke. Why would I do that?”
Peter is once again grateful for his mask, because he can pretend he’s looking at Wade when in reality he’s staring at the maybe-dead insect that Wade was talking about earlier. “I don’t know… people’ve done that.” In High School. Before Gwen. He shrugs and attempts to lighten the mood. “But um… good to know?”
Wade makes a small noise of displeasure, clears his throat and hums in thought. “Okay. So clean slate. If I were to ask you out, and I have never been more serious, ever, in my long, miserable life, would you say yes?”
Peter’s fidgeting very bad now, and if it weren’t for spandex covering his hands he’d be picking at his skin and nails. He feels very put on the spotlight right now, and he hates hates hates that. Plus, he isn’t sure if Wade is still being actually serious right now and Peter wants to say yes but also no because dating is not on the table for guys like Peter Parker and also Wade isn’t cruel! Wade isn’t cruel! So he’s being serious? He wants to date Peter? His thoughts jumble and pounce on themselves and he winces, slightly. Wade is patiently glancing at him, silent.
Yes, Wade, I’d like that!
C’mon, Parker.
Somewhere along the line, his primal need for human contact and affection, a hug from the back, a warm presence on the other side of the bed, a cheek to kiss good morning, a smile to share—it had all changed into something more. Because Wade came into his life, and wormed his way in until his presence became permanent.
But dating Peter Parker is bad.
“No. I’d rather keep what we have, Wade,” he says quietly. “I don’t—I’m not… ready? Or just… I don’t want to lose—”
“You don’t gotta explain yourself, Webs. I can handle rejection like a big boy.” Wade’s voice waivers before it goes back to it’s usual raspiness.
I’m sorry, Peter wants to say, I don’t want to ruin what we have by holding you too close. I don’t want to ruin you, too. You don’t deserve that.
His eyes are back on Schrodinger’s insect, and the silence is stretching thin and it’s getting awkward, so he diverts the topic. “I’ve been researching the multiple universe theory,” he blurts out.
“Yeah? Getting into the spiderverse?” Wade asks, who looks equally relieved and excited for a new topic of conversation.
Peter nods, and his hands are already raising to gesture around as he begins to explain in detail about the String Theory and about its many failures in explaining space-time and gravity itself, but it does open the door to other theories, Wade, and the possibility of parallel universes, are in fact, very high, but due to our lack of understanding of the quantum realm, it’s nearly impossible to find any proof yet but Hank Pym’s recently published article on his ventures into a deeper observation of quantum mechanics might change the entire foundation of it as we know it!
“…oh and by the way, I applied for a position as a high school Physics teacher. Wish me luck, the interview is next week.”
Wade is bouncing up and down with new energy by the time he’s done, which basically means they need to swing down and unwind. “You’re getting that job and owning it, Spidey. You just managed to keep me interested in Physics right now, so you’re already the best teacher on the damn planet right now. Who needs all this mumbo-jumbo for evidence of the multiverse anyway? It’s real!”
Peter laughs, getting ready to swing both Wade and him downtown for another patrol. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
*EVENTS OF NO WAY HOME TAKES PLACE*
The first thing he does when he materialises back home, in his universe, is visit Aunt May.
It’s raining, when he’s poofed back, so he’s soaked through in his civvies when he makes it to her doorstep. There’s a loose board on the stairway, that’s quite slippery when stepped on with more force or less attentiveness, and Peter can’t stop staring at it, thinking. Thinking about how Aunt May could walk right out of these doors and slip and fall. Thinking. Thinking of his Aunt May, and of how heart wrenching those sobs sounded when Peter #1 cried his heart out on that rooftop. He sits, his trousers, wet and cold, crumpling up at the knees, and takes the loose nail out and positions it over the surface of the board, an inch away from where it is loose. With one clean punch, his fist makes contact with the head, and it digs in smoothly, cementing the board. He stands up and does a jump.
Another jump, harder.
The board doesn’t budge.
The door, however, opens.
“Peter?” He looks up just in time to see May, her face pinched with worry and confusion, eyes doing a quick scan of his body, from the strands of wet matted hair on his forehead to his foot, hovering over the newly punched nail. “Peter!”
“What are you… it’s pouring. Oh, honey, you’re soaked, you come in right this instant!” And suddenly there’s a hand on his arm, herding him inside, and he can’t find the words to express what he feels. The warmth in her open palm sends a pleasant shiver, her smaller body feels so much bigger and full of life. He silently lets her pull him around, let’s her grab the hem of his t-shirt (the closest one he found at his house before he had sprinted out) and allows her to pull it off. He waits in May’s living room, shivering, dripping wet, and watches the way she speed-walks back with a giant fluffy towel.
When she starts to furiously scrub at his hair, muttering about catching colds and irresponsible behaviours and Peter, you’re twenty-six! I can’t be scolding you like this! He thinks of the numerous times they’ve been in this exact position. Aunt May fixing his wounds from middle school bullies. Aunt May wiping Ben’s blood from his hands. Aunt May holding him close as he cried and cried and cried over Gwen. Aunt May just being… there. All his life, she was just always there.
He thinks of the kid he caught in his arms—the fear and concern in her eyes. MJ, they called her. Alive in his arms and immediately worrying about him. Are you okay? she had asked.
He thinks of the relief in that Spider-kid’s voice when she answered back when he had immediately screamed “MJ?”, with a nauseatingly familiar fear in his voice.
He thinks of Gwen’s lifeless form, the trickle of blood on her face, the closed eyes and the way she hung limp in his arms. Dead. Deaddeaddead.
Memories in his head, jumbled and random as they bounce off his skull.
He thinks of the older Peter—“You’ll get through this. Because that’s what we do.”
If I were to ask you out, and I have never been more serious, ever, in my long, miserable life, would you say yes?
It doesn’t have to be this way.
That boy lost his Aunt May at seventeen. Just a few months younger than how old Peter had been when he lost Gwen.
When Peter finally feels the tears that have been burning in his eyes since the moment he glanced at the other Peter and MJ holding each other, foreheads pressed in a gentle sort of firmness that comes with a fierce type of love, he sags forward. The build up in his chest is painful and begging to be released, a legitimate floodgate waiting to be opened.
When a choked sob escapes and fat tears leak down his face, Aunt May simply holds him tighter. Scrubs his hair faster. The towel grows damp beneath her fingers.
You’re okay, Peter, she’s whispering, holding his damp cheeks, his trembling frame, you’re okay, honey. I got you, my boy. I got you.
May leaves the room once his tears dry, promising a warm cup of honeyed tea, and Peter takes the time to quickly bundle up his wet clothes and place them on the coffee table. He sprints to the spare room May keeps furnished and cleaned for visitors and changes into a pair of loose boxers with a broken elastic band and a t-shirt with a fading picture of a wizard in it. Fitting, considering he did see a wizard do some pretty mind-blowing shit a few hours ago.
Oh, crap.
He had been in a parallel universe. There is so much to unpack right now and so much for his greedy science hungry brain to latch onto, now that the spiral of grief and pain his PTSD created was somewhat sated. The after effects had him shivering like a drenched kitten (which he kind of is, right now) on May’s couch.
“Peter, drink this up, Lord, look at you! Where were you? I called you five times! I keep telling you to please leave a message when you go into another hibernation period and—”
“Sorry, May. I um, didn’t find the time. It was… sudden?”
May gives him the look. He shrinks in on himself. “Where were you?”
How does he put this into words? “Just far… away? Like, far? Far from home, for sure.”
“How far? Did you leave New York? Peter, what’s going on?”
“No! No, it was New York! Look, May, I’m tired and this won’t happen again, I promise.” As long as Peter #1 keeps the space-time continuum in his universe intact and doesn’t spontaneously summon him again, even though he wouldn’t mind it. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
May just sighs, and her Look of Intense Won’t-Take-Bullshit-and-Can-See-Through-Peter’s-Lies softens into her usual glance of love and affection. Something inside Peter’s chest constricts and turns to ash.
“Of course you can,” she says, “We’ll talk in the morning.” She turns around to go upstairs.
She climbs three whole steps before Peter mumbles, around a mouthful of hot sweet tea, “May?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“I love you. I just hope you know that. Forever. In—in every universe.”
-
“And then the flying red magical cape just covers the kid’s shoulders and guess what? Guess!”
“Um? he falls to his death but the cape covers all the gore?”
“ No, Wade. He flies. Or like, floats? In mid air! I was like!” Peter mimics his head exploding. “And then the sky started to crack and there was purple lightning and Peter #2 was… something, God, I hope I stay that good when I reach his age. I even cracked his back! And his Goblin actually covers his face with this giant shiny green helmet thing and Peter #1 was…Anyway, Wade, so uh, where were we?”
“The sky starting to crack?” Wade says around the straw his lips are wrapped around. They’re a small diner and Wade had ordered a big fat sugary drink that made Peter’s stomach scream with the sight of it. Peter himself nurses his hot chocolate in his hand. Both in costume, and their masks rolled to the nose, they make the usual sight of Spidey and DP spotted in their numerous rendezvous in NYC.
“Oh! Yeah! So you know the wizard I mentioned earlier?”
“Um, no, I don’t know the wizard from your very impressive acid trip that I was so sadly left out of, but I’d really love to see the sky cracking. And Spidey?”
“I was not on acid! And what?”
“You’re being terrifyingly similar to Chicken Little right now.”
Peter huffs, crossing his arms, unsettled. “You don’t believe me?” His voice comes out smaller and more hurt than intended.
“Hey—what? No! No, I believe you!” Wade sits up closer and grabs his shoulders. “Stranger things have happened. I’m just glad you’re back. Imagine if you were stuck there with no way home. I’d be pissed. And lonely. Might eat a coupl’a bullets or something.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Peter scolds, but smiles nonetheless. “And yeah… that universe… Wade it was so… so advanced. They had nanotechnology perfected. Their Spidey—Peter #1– fought in space and is part of some inter-galactic band? I think? I mean I can sing but I haven’t really sung in public since my eighth grade play. And Peter #2 was so mature. It was like meeting your older brother, but like, he’s also you? Or something. That sounds weird. His spinnerets are more advanced than mine. They… uh. They have the perfect webbing naturally? That’s so freakin’ cool!”
“OMG!! SPIDEY! So you do produce some of it naturally, I fucking knew it!”
Peter laughs, his body relaxing completely. “Don’t go snitch on me on Reddit, Pool.”
“Your secrets are safe with me, Spider.”
“Peter.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
Wade stills. “What?”
“You can call me Peter?” Peter’s heart is thudding in his chest, suddenly.
“Your name is Peter too?”
“Well, I was Peter #3, actually.”
Wade splutters, startling Peter. “Your name is actually Peter?” He’s staring at Peter like he grew two heads. Peter cannot believe that after talking about wizards and magic and flying carpets and Peter #2 fighting an “alien made out of black goo” and the goddamned sky cracking in half, Wade is spluttering in disbelief over Peter revealing his name. His mundane average name.
“…yes? Peter Parker. That’s,” he coughs, suddenly bashful. “That’s me! Or Peter #3.”
“So you were Peter #3?”
“Yeah?”
“S-M-H! You know you’re always number one in my heart, right?” Wade’s tone wobbles between the line of seriousness and jest. But Peter’s heart skips a beat nonetheless, because now he’s aware that Wade is sincere and actually has romantic (and sexual?! Hello!!) interest in him.
Before he could reply, Wade rambles on, “And I bet you were the most good-looking one too! Mmmmhm! Cos you’re my Peter, not Peter Numba Three.” He wiggles his eyebrows flatteringly, and Peter flushes red, and quickly sips his hot chocolate to cover his face before Wade can spot the redness forming on the revealed skin.
Peter #2, older Peter, who talked about making a marriage with a civilian woman work, which? Peter cannot even wrap his head around it!
It’s complicated, but we made it work.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be like that, Peter.
“I—I’m your Peter?” he asks, voice stuttering as he licks off chocolate from his lips. He feels Wade’s eyes trace the moment and feels a rush of confidence. “Your Peter?”
“Well, um, if you want to,” It’s Wade’s turn to fumble, the straw forgotten and sadly turned down. Pete can’t see the scars on his face clearly anymore because the lights of the Diner had turned dim and the evening sky is getting darker. But he can make out the rough patches of maroon skin and his fingers ache to touch. His mouth itches to feel. He’s lived seven years convinced that he brings bad luck, that his Parker Luck latches onto the people he keeps near and chews them out until there’s nothing left.
People he’s met as Spidey have told him that Deadpool is bad news, but honestly in any other situation it’s him who’s bad news. Dead parent with connections to genetic experimentation, trauma from being a vigilante that he cannot even begin to unpack, much less unload on another person , a murdered uncle, a mutant who gets everyone he loves killed—
A hero, Wade had said.
A pretty face will get you nowhere in the long run. Three dates later, people will realise Peter is not the guy to bring to their parents.
But Wade is different and he understands Peter in a fundamental way. He understands the bad memories, the bone deep ache that never really leaves your body, a troubled mind, the panic attacks that leave you slumped, no energy left in the system.
For the first time in his life, he actually wants. And he’s not so sure if he should continue to live with the people he loves at arm’s length, never too close. He’s not sure if he’ll survive.
He can see the younger Peter hugging his friends in his head, just a teenager, really, what a fantastic little man, Peter hopes that they meet up again one day. He can see the small nod the older Peter gave him when he said he’ll consider another chance at love. Feel the pat of encouragement, the silent “If I can do it, you can too, Peter.” There’s someone out there for you, Pete. It doesn’t end here.
It’s complicated, but can he make it work?
He can still hear Wade rambling around in the background about certain nothings, so he interrupts with a soft, “Yeah, I can be your Peter.”
The silence that follows is deafening, which is saying something when Peter’s enhanced ears can pick up the endless chatter of noise in a diner.
Wade slaps a hand on the table so hard Peter jumps, and then laughs nervously. “Yep, you’re my Peter, you go ahead and tell Peter #2 and Peter #3 that!”
“Um, they were actually Peter #1 and Peter #2 and I was Peter #3 and also I haven’t figured out dimension hopping yet so technically I can’t…” Peter trails off when he sees Wade’s lips curled into a fond grin. “But… yeah. I’m your Peter. And Wade?”
“Yes, my Peter?”
“I lied.” When he sees the way Wade immediately stiffens he quickly continues, “Last week! I lied last week! On top of Empire State! When—when I said no.” His hands fly around as he tries to explain, almost knocking down the hot chocolate that’s probably lost its warmth by now. “Like when I said I’d rather keep what we—we have? I don’t! I mean wait, wait, that came out wrong I mean I’d like to—” He groans and covers his face.
“Is our friendship bothering you, Peter?”
“No, no, no! It’s bothering me, yeah buut not in the way you think!”
“Well, tell me and I can fix it, Peter.”
“I’d like to go on that date, okay!” Peter finally says and then slaps the last couple of dollar bills he had in his pocket onto the table and grabs Wade’s wrist, pulling him off the chair. They stumble out, Wade being half-dragged, but keeping his body limp as he lets Peter swing him up to a roof of a building with significant height. Peter let’s go of Wade for a moment only to place his palms on the back of Wade’s neck.
“I have never been so terrified in my life,” he breathes out, “and I was fighting like, five different multi dimensional bad guys a few days ago. But can I kiss you?”
Wade’s nod has him leaning in, fast and desperate, and when their lips touch, Peter sags into the taller form in front of him, feeling hands settle at his waist and pull him close. The kiss deepens until Peter feels Wade bite at his bottom lip, the scars and the scruff of Peter’s unshaved face creating a delicious friction. Wade backs him up and his wobbly legs stumble back willingly until his back hits the door to the penthouse.
His legs shake with the ferocity of the kiss—he hasn’t had a kiss this intense since Gwen. And it hurts, still, to think about her, so he focuses on the sting in his lips. He lets go of Wade’s neck to quickly pull off his mask, blinking slowly, feeling dizzy with nerves and excitement and fear and arousal. All these feelings just stirring in his gut and leaving him breathless.
Wade pulls back. “Peter… oh, Baby Boy, you—you’re beautiful. Look at you, oh my—You—Peter, are you sure about this? You know I ain’t pretty under here. You can still say no. You can always. I don’t—I don’t want you to regret this, baby, it will destroy me.”
“Wade,” Peter whispers, and he moves forward to give a quick kiss to the corner of Wade’s mouth. “I won’t regret this. We can—we can go slow? I want slow. I’m not… scared because it’s you. I’m scared because I’ve never taken a leap of faith like this since. Since Gwen. But somebody older who’s lived a couple of more years told me that—that guys like us can make it work too.”
He gulps, his breaths turning into pants. “I want to make this work, Wade. Please.”
“You know I’ma freak show under all this leather, Webs.”
“I don’t care! And stop saying that! Go slow remember? I’ll never force you to unmask yourself, okay? You can take your time and—and—and I know this feels sudden and I kinda sprung this on you after I said the most crazy tale ever but—” his voice trails off when Wade pulls off his own mask, and bright brown eyes meet his own hazel ones, unblinking. Wade’s face, as Peter expected, is covered in the same pattern of rough raw patches of scars and harsh painful lines, which Peter’s fingers tentatively raise to settle against. Wade leans into his palm as he looks down at Peter, his eyes vulnerable.
“Slow,” Peter repeats, voice hushed. “But we can make it work?” he asks again, and he knows he sounds desperate and scared, but he wants that yes, that confirmation more than anything, so when Wade whispers the affirmation into his ear with the rough rasp of his deepened voice, he bites back a sob of relief, wetness pooling in his eyes. “You’re my Wade too you know? Next time I meet ‘em I’ll tell them the same. They’ll say “My MJ” and I’ll say “My Wade.” And I’m your Peter.”
“Take a chance on me, Pete, and I swear I’ll never fail you.”
Peter can only nod, and when two stray tears escape and trail down his cheeks, he can only lean closer as Wade kisses them away.
“Last time,” Wade whispers, and the feel of his lips on Peter’s skin makes him gasp and his body burn. Now that he’s had Wade’s hands on him, his voice at his ear, and his lips on his skin, he never wants it to stop. “You said there’s a barrier. Between you and the world.”
Peter nods, dizzy with the feeling of so much touch.
“So where am I?”
Peter blinks. The answer sits easy on his tongue. So much has cleared in such little time, and he can’t believe it only took a push from himself in another universe. “You’re right next to me,” he replies easily.
“I made space for you. Here. You can stay. As long as you need. You can come home to me here.”
They kiss once more, noisily, and it makes Peter smile in a way he hasn’t in a long, long time.
“Sooo date night? Prepared to woo me with your impressive planning skills?”
”Oh, I’ll make you swoon, baby boy.”