Chapter Text
Wade collapsed on the bed – panting and breathing heavily; remnants of his costume strewn across the room. He peered up at the ceiling, noticing the shadow of his mask (which hand landed precariously atop the lamp on the nightstand) peering back at him... almost appearing to smile.
“Fuckin' A...” he huffed. A satisfied smirk tugged on the corner of his mouth.
The gorgeous girl to his left was already babbling something about one of her co-workers, [Hey, wasn't she a stripper?] (Strippers can have co-workers!) {He's right. It's just very PC of us to call them that.} [Jesus. We're a catch, aren't we?] (Holla!). She was typing away on her cellphone, still breathing rather hard herself, looking like a complete, debauched mess.
[Oh no.] (Yup. Here it comes!!) {You owe me twenty bucks.} Wade glanced over, watching as the girl predictably extended her arm, plastered a 'sexy pout' on her lips, and took a selfie. [Were we in shot?] (Hell yes we were!) {I think that's the point, genius.} He couldn't complain, though. He'd gotten quite the rep as Deadpool. He wasn't like the other 90% of “costumes” in the great NY area; he didn't hide his identity, or who he was.
On the contrary, it was his identity that made him who he was. Starting from a simple, but respectable, reputation as 'gun for hire'... he would intimidate, fuck with, kill, anyone you paid him to. Though he'd been known to have a bit of a soft spot for the more innocent civilians who came to him in their greatest moments of desperation. Women who were being physically abused, children who were getting hurt, stalkers, bullies. Y'know, real creeps who he was all too happy to put in their place. Those ones – he did for free. Why not? He made enough money to support himself. Why not do something good once in a while to boost his self-esteem and further drive the point that he 'wasn't really a bad guy'.
Pretty good gig.
Then the cancer happened. Then the end of
that
life. Wade had joined Weapon X in the hopes of curing himself – gotten the shit beat, tortured, and experimented out of him – and come out of it a Legend; the perfect jumpstart to his mutation... his aid in the destruction of the very place that did this to him... and the birth of Deadpool.
He'd returned to New York with a bang, adopting his new alias to seek revenge over all those who'd wronged him. The city seemed to clash between loving and hating him. Some thought he was “awesome” and "not hurting anyone who didn't deserve to get hurt”. He went after the baddies; the same men he'd worked for and dealt with in his old life. He still took hired contracts sometimes (for the right amount of moola), but kept a weak code of: never whacking innocent civilians. He at least was able to draw the line there.
And that mindset had won him a very unlikely fandom. People who seemed to think that was entirely logical, given the hand Wade had been dealt. What he, and others, had been exposed to.
Then, of course, the other side – citizens and officials who hated and despised him. Calling him dangerous [Fair.] (Totes.) {You are a wee bit unhinged.}, or a menace, or destructive, or crazy. None of which Wade could
really
argue with. He hadn't really done himself any favours by “scaring off” the few officers who had tried to arrest him that one time. Not hiding his real identity meant those fuckers had showed up at his door a few times, foolishly thinking that Wade Wilson would go quietly, unlike Deadpool.
That's when the city learned the two were, surprise surprise, the SAME person.
He'd chased off the cops with a few slices of his katana... and that was that. He was considered armed and dangerous, but was unable to be apprehended. Weird, right? They didn't like him, they considered him a threat – but because they weren't getting calls about innocent people being directly harassed by him, SHIELD (and anyone important) seemed to turn a blind eye.
He was too scary for the local police to handle, but anyone further up on the chain couldn't be bothered to give a shit... because (Wade supposed): bag guys had to get got.
Might not be ethical, but hey. Who at the end of the day was going to be crying about some vigilante... “slicing the head off that aggressive, violent drug-dealer who also happened to be your landlord, and squeezing you for every penny you had?”
No one.
He had a pretty fucking amazing life. Case in point? The stripper next to him. His sexlife alone had increased a billion percent. Hot chicks really liked to brag about getting to 'fuck Deadpool, the dangerous, sexy Merc with the Mouth'. He was a motherfucking buff, gruff, wittier version of Ryan Reynolds. Eat your heart out...
Wade swung his legs out of the bed, and stood up with a stretch before beginning to gather up his things and get dressed.
“...You're not staying?” the stripper asked, [Wait, what was her name?] (CANDY!) {No, it wasn't. You're just inserting a stereotypical-stripper-name.} [And what's wrong with that?] (Yeah, does it really fuckin' matter? You'll never see her again.) {Contestant number 1834 come on dooooown!)
Wade barked out a laugh, “Are you shitting me? What for? You wanna have a deep, meaningful conversation about how 'sliding down the stripper pole is a parallel metaphor for how you slid further and further into New York's seedy underground cesspool'... but
hey
, at least daddy still pays the rent, and your summer-house in the Hamptons finally got renovated, huh?”
“Fuck you, Wade!” she spat viciously, tossing a small digital alarm clock at him.
He easily sidestepped it with a laugh, and pulled his mask on. He strolled from her bedroom – ignoring her indignant cries of protest, and went to collect his weapons from the living room on his way out.
Yeah... life was pretty good.
Except for the fact that he was kinda lonely as fuck...
It had been a few weeks since he'd seen him.
Wade had been bouncing and darting around the rooftops – doing a few 'errands' and a bit of patrol. Hell, he was bored, and wanted something to distract and entertain him. He'd been at it for about an hour, when that gorgeous red-and-blue spandex-covered ass came into view.
“SPIDEY!” he exclaimed excitedly, dropping onto a neighbouring rooftop to skip over to the other costumed man.
Now Spiderman had a similar rep to Deadpool's (though nowhere near as awesome or adored). Half the city seemed to like him, while the other half hated him. He knew Spidey had it a bit harder, since like other heroes, no one knew who he was or what he really looked like. And opposite to Wade, the spider-based hero only did good things. He helped anyone and everyone, and didn't believe in killing to achieve it.
It made Wade both admire and pity him. But mostly admire. And crush on.
He was just so cute; shorter built than him – but toned with lithe, agile muscles. He also had a gorgeous voice. Wade could listen to it for hours. Spidey was equal parts sassy and nerdy when around him. He was the only other hero he'd met who got almost
all
of his references and jokes! They'd become friends in a very short amount of time – and now, Deadpool was thrilled each time they bumped into one another (which was happening more and more). They'd even teamed up a few times! Wade had convinced Spiderman to take an Instagram selfie with him after one particular bust; they had posed [Well, Spidey just stood there.] (We through up a peace-sign though!) {Yes, it was very kawaii.} and he'd uploaded it to his account.
It was, to date, his most liked picture on there. [70 million followers, and counting] (FUCK YEAH!) {I think we're beating Selena Gomez.}
“How's it hangin' bro?” he asked, strolling over and raising his fist up. Spiderman seemed to sigh, but pounded his fist against Wade's anyway. “We have to stop meeting like this. We should change it up, sometimes! I'm thinking... a romantic candlelit dinner at Taco Bell. I'm one of their favourite customers. I'm sure they'll let me light some candles in there...” he said confidently, draping his arm around the hero's shoulders.
Spiderman gave a small, anxious laugh, “I dunno. It's been a long time since I've hung out with someone outside of work... might be too awkward. Probably best that we keep meeting like this.”
“That sounds like a rejection! I'm hurt.” Wade whined, prodding at the other man childishly. “I wanna see what's beneath that sexy spandex. You have such a pure, young voice. I'd be worried you were jailbait, but... the way you look in that suit, and the references you seem to get, indicate you're at least 20 years old. Right?”
Spiderman seemed to be smiling beneath his mask, “You're not wrong. Not jailbait.” he nodded, “But definitely not anyone worth looking at. Trust me.”
“I would like to be the judge of that.” Wade reached for Spiderman's mask, but the other did a fantastic ninja-esq dodge, and jumped right over his head... flipping over and landing in a classic 'crouched on the ground' superhero pose. “Jeeze. You that agile in the bedroom?” he purred.
Spiderman laughed, “That's none of your business.”
“That's not a no.” Wade tossed back victoriously. He took a seat on the ledge of the building, “Come on, Spidey. I thought we were friends. You know who I am.”
The younger hero tilted his head, standing up straight again, “Wade. Everyone knows who you are. That's your shtick.”
“It could be yours, too! Imagine. The classic lovable duo of Wade and Insert-Name-Here. Come on, insert-name-here, I know you want to. We're this generation's Batman and Robin.”
Spiderman made his way back toward the Merc to sit with him, “It's nice you think that. But seriously. You don't wanna see what's beneath this mask. I'm no Andrew Garfield.”
“Ooooh... sounds like someone called you that one time, and now it's your frame of reference when trying to describe yourself.” Deadpool mused, scooting over to press right up against Spiderman's side. “That makes me wanna see you even more.” His eyes glanced down to see the kid wringing his hands together. It was a subtle movement, but judging by the tension in his fingers and arms, it was more of a sensitive subject than Spidey was letting on. “Y'know, I'll settle for just learning your name, too.”
Spiderman froze, but not in a way that implied he was threatened. He seemed to be seriously weighing the pros-and-cons of giving up that bit of information. “Just your first name,” Wade clarified, “Y'know. So I can call you something other than your alias, or... insert-name-here.”
His companion chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck in an adorably sheepish gesture. “Yeah... well... guess you're right.” he agreed. Looking up through those big white mask lenses, he continued with, “I'm Peter.”
“Petey!” Deadpool boomed, grasping Peter's hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you. Peter. Pete. Huh. Classic, kinda dorky, I like it. Easy to remember, too.” he rambled.
Spiderman laughed and tugged his hand away, “Yes, yes. Hi. Nice to meet you.”
“So. Wanna grab some grub, P-Money?” he asked, standing up and trying to urge Peter to do the same.
“P-Money?” the younger man huffed, “After all that, you're still just gonna call me nicknames? Lame.”
Wade gasped, “It's not lame! I just reserve the right to continue calling you cute, affectionate nicknames, baby boy!” he grinned. “Come on. Let's get some food. I could easily eat, like, 15 tacos right now.”
“Sounds nice, but... I really shouldn't. I gotta finish my patrol.” Peter explained. It was an obvious dodge, but Wade knew it was better not to call attention to it. “But next time, ok? Promise.” he approached Wade again, and grabbed the mask that was tucked into his utility belt. Peter tugged it gently back over the Merc's head – hesitating, almost, to let go once he'd done it. Wade could feel the heat from Peter's hands gradually leaking through the material of the mask the longer he kept his hands cupped on either side of his face.
It made his heart do a funny, small somersault in his chest.
Huh...
Wade raised his hands, instinctively wanting to draw Peter into his arms – but the hero suddenly stepped away and out of reach. “See you later, Wade!” he bid happily enough. He launched himself right off the edge of the building – shooting a web and slinging away gracefully. [He's like an air-swan.] (A spider-swan!) {Enough. That sounds terrifying.]
“Rats.” Deadpool grumbled.
He was definitely getting closer to learning who his adorable Spider was. A first name was a good start! Plus, it would make masturbating
much
easier. Gripping his dick, stroking intensely, and muttering 'Spiderman' ended up making him laugh more often than not. Harder to get-off when he was giggling the entire time.
“Peter...” he murmured fondly to himself.
[Yup.] (He's got it baaaad.) {Definitely smitten.}