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Nothing like lukewarm droplets dripping down in between the skinniest shoulderblades to exist, coming to a mildly desolated home yet this was his sanctuary, that short, daily moment of having water glide over the sweat-slicked skin, washing away all of the days packed with a responsibility he didn’t ask for in the first place. Yet there it was, weighting down his shoulders with every minute passing by, submerged by the worst possible guilty feelings sneaking into the back of his mind anytime he took some precious, magnificent time for himself rather than saving the people of a city he, quite frankly, didn’t like as much. But he liked the people, to some extent. He liked the grateful looks, he liked the feeling of importance, and he liked the sole fact of liking it. Yet sometimes, just sometimes, he may have wished those days to be gone forever so he could come back to being just a regular college student.
He knew his own touch, he knew the calloused fingers grazing over the smooth sternum, so familiar yet so distant at the same time, so unhuman, so foreign. The pads of his fingers occasionally caught on a fresher scar, making the boy barely flinch, yet a stinging sensation quickly approached him. It was nothing that Peter would pay any specific attention to, there were so many different kinds of pains resting deep within his body that a stinging, fresh scarring was barely at the front of his mind. Those fingers drifted all over his body, stopping at the right hipbone. A slightly hazy thought crossed his mind over the bone being more prominent than usual, did he lose weight? How could he with eating nothing but fast food and other junk? As if Peter was fully aware he usually eats one bigger meal per day. Of course, he would lose weight. But once again, his mind didn’t pay a lot of attention to that, he knew, he probably should care yet he didn’t. Oh well.
Only when those slender fingers reached over to turn off the faucet with a squeaky sound was the time he realize how incredibly worn down, tired, and hungry he felt after the day. Hungry enough to feel his belly collapse onto itself, a grumbling sound loud enough and strong enough to shake his whole skeleton yet the appetite just wasn’t there, food becoming a chore, just a fuel for the body to survive, it was no longer a pleasurable ritual of unwinding and relaxation, at least not on his own. Peter stood there in the shower, individual droplets of water falling onto the crown of his brown hair, the frequency of the droplets slowing down eventually when the remains of the water stopped funneling into the plumbing.
A cold, quiet sigh left the boy’s lips as he force-opened the shower door, an immediate wave of cold air hit his drenched body. His arm quickly reached for a towel before Peter closed himself in the small, enclosed space again in hopes of surviving a little better with the remaining steam and heat from the water as he dried off his body as quickly as possible. He hated getting out of the shower, the wet body clinging to clothes, the changes in temperatures, the mess of scattered clothing to clean up later, the squishy feeling in the ears, it was all just a huge sensory nightmare for Peter. He usually speed-ran such occasions yet today, he was incredibly sluggish to get his underwear on, a t-shirt for good measure and a pair of socks that may have been white a couple of months ago, only if Peter didn’t toss them in with dark clothes, they would’ve remain pristine white. Or maybe he could’ve cleaned the floor occasionally to prevent the bottom of his socks from getting stained with dirt permanently.
It was the drag of a foot that made an old, wooden floor creak under his weight, an occasional, chipped piece of wood getting stuck in the thick material of Peter’s sock, going completely unnoticed despite the slight scratchiness against the side of the big toe. His hair was getting dried and ruffled from constantly rubbing a towel back and forth, his hearing was all muffled thanks to it and he absolutely overlooked the tall, muscular figure standing in a kitchen with a slice of pizza, that was very appetizingly dripping with oil, between thick, gloved fingers. Peter walked right past Wade without glancing at the shadowy figure. Just once the spidey senses could’ve done what they were supposed to, only if Peter had perceived Deadpool as a threat and they would be working, but no. Peter perceived that man as everything but a threat or danger.
„Tough day, Sweetums?” The man spoke with a husky voice, a familiar voice yet not familiar enough for Peter to not swing his towel that man’s way and distance himself towards the absolute other side of the room.
„For fuck’s sake, Wade!”
„How so you didn’t hear me?!” Deadpool replied as his oil-soaked gloved hand caught the towel, conveniently using it to wipe down the grease before dropping it to the floor. A part of him may have regretted dropping it so quickly without taking in the scent of Peter’s body wash just deliciously soaked up in the fuzzy fabric.
„I was in the shower, you dumbass!”
„I can see that and I am pissed you didn’t wait for me, rude!”
Peter let out a sigh of mild frustration, watching a grin spread across the man’s face like a sly fox after chasing down prey. His fingers pinched the bridge of his own nose, feeling like a headache might settle in, and quite frankly, there was little to no strength left in his body to deal with something else other than the deep tiredness within his body. Yet there he was the headache in his full, beautiful, hot, handsome glory, eating a slice of pizza and Peter wasn’t sure what he wanted to eat more, the half-devoured slice or the greasy mess surrounding Wade’s mouth.
„I was tired and wanted to go to bed, is that so bad?” Peter replied with a clear frustration in his voice, one would say a little out-of-character type of frustration.
„Well I do have to say a grumpy Petey is an adorable Petey but leaving me a few blocks away waiting for our food, yes our food babes, not just my food, would be considered rude!” Wade spoke with his mouth full and Peter just watched, starving for more than just food.
His eyes dropped lower, Deadpool’s mask long gone and forgotten on the messy, crumb-covered countertop of his own kitchen, just resting there. Somehow, he found the freedom of Wade’s to take off his mask at any given time, admirable. A part of him may have been a little jealous of the carelessness, but at the same time he knew Wade’s deep-rooted self-conscious talk about his looks and Peter did feel a lot of empathy and sorrow for that part of the man’s thoughts. Empathy yes, understanding? To some extent but it was undeniably difficult for Peter when he saw Wade in the most beautiful light. With all the scarring, the blisters, and the roughness of the skin, he couldn’t care less as the figure in front of him could be the most handsome man he had ever seen in his life.
„You’re acting childish, Wade.” He spoke as his feet naturally led him closer into the kitchen, claiming a spot right beside the man’s hip. He could feel how cold the spandex material was against his own, t-shirt-covered hipbone and a part of him knew Wade’s body just took a screenshot from the unexpected touch. Peter didn’t pay much attention to him though as his eyes and full interest were in the box of pizza, taking a slice with extra-melted cheese right for himself.
„I thought you got used to it.”
Peter smiled faintly as he took a bite of the pizza and his head lifted up to get a good glimpse at Deadpool’s expression. There it was, so smug, so provocative.
„You thought wrong, then.”
„I always do, don’t I?” Wade’s voice grew in thickness, setting the slice of pizza aside just to invade Peter’s personal space. He loved doing that, in his head, he must have been intimidating to Peter when in reality, the spider couldn’t be more amused by the greediness and impatience of the man above. He wanted Peter so bad, too badly to even compose himself, hold on, and not take every single sign of flirting as an invitation.
Peter felt Wade, he felt him always this close, they may have not been face to face, their sides may be just barely touching, both of the figures standing close to the countertop with their stomachs touching the side yet he felt it, he felt the ignition between them, he felt the heat, he felt the tension like nothing else in the world. It was there, so heavy, so good, so delicious to both of them yet Peter would rather disintegrate in acid than admit that out loud. Admitting, that he enjoyed the obnoxious, annoying Deadpool, the merciless approach to life, the carelessness, jealous-worthy carelessness.
„Only sometimes,” Peter replied, swallowing a piece of the pizza with a little smile before turning his head to the side.
„Does it mean you approve of me, Spidey?”
Peter felt a chill run up and down his spine from the slight eagerness resting deep within Wade’s voice.
You approve of me.
You approve of me, of course, Wade, of course he does.
Peter’s eyes met with the glistening lips that were so close to his own face, maybe too close to his own liking yet this day, ah, this day was too rough, too much to process and Wade was his distraction. Those lips so close, amusing, so daunting and so there, only to reach up a little bit in such an embarrassing way of admitting he is, in fact, quite short against Wade and just allow himself to slip, to make one little slip he wanted to do for the longest time, just allow their lips to melt into one another. It left him wondering what a kisser Wade is, is he abrupt? Is he gentle? Does he kiss the same way he kills, swift and merciless? Or slow and passionate to take in the smell of blood oozing from around him, to take in the presence of the partner so deeply it engraves itself into his quickly healing bones? Does it mean Peter would get wiped away so quickly from Wade’s system? Would he be just a mere fun or something more?
Peter needed that man, he needed the distraction, the opportunity to unwind, he needed to know he would come around to take the load of the day off his shoulders, he needed to be just Peter and he could be around Wade, he could take the suit off fully and not feel the dread of the responsibility. The boy couldn’t risk losing any of that, he couldn’t afford to make a move, make a mistake, making Wade walk away. The sheer thought of not having Wade around was gut-wrenching, as if something pulled his heart out and squeezed it like a drenched towel, blood dripping off the fabric, water dripping off the scarred tissue of his heart.
At last, the boy pulled away.
„Are we watching something?” He asked nonchalantly yet an obvious choke to his voice could be heard miles away and his ears were too sensitive to overhear the slight sigh of disappointment behind himself, as he walked himself to the messy, unmade couch with a slice of pizza.
„Yup.”