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For years, Deadpool thought love was only for people who hadn’t been shot in the head or burned with acid. But then he met a guy in a red-and-blue suit, and everything changed: the crush kept growing in direct proportion to the realization that fate is a real bitch, because Peter Parker would never return his feelings.
So all that’s left is to love from a distance—through double entendres and painfully obvious flirting that, of course, will just seem like part of the act. Peter’s too righteous, too good to fall for a chatty mercenary, and Wade did not expect that one day someone would knock on his window.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” came the muffled voice he would know out of a thousand. “Open up. Please, open up.”
Not daring to overthink it, Wade did just that—jumped off the couch and threw the window open, where he found him leaning against the wall. Peter Parker—his favorite superhero—with suspiciously flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, and absolutely useless coordination, because when he tried to climb inside, he tripped over his own foot, and Wade had to catch him.
“Whoa, whoa, Spidey.”
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Peter pressed a hand to the mercenary’s chest and froze, clearly trying to get used to the solid ground beneath his feet.
“Sure, you’re fine. I caught you,” Wade quickly scanned him for any injuries. “What happened to you, buddy? You look like someone dosed you with something.”
“Almost. I… had a little to drink.”
“Ohhh. Well, that explains everything—The amazing Spider-Man, wasted out of his mind!” A stupid grin spread across the mercenary’s face, the kind that usually made Spidey roll his eyes, but this time he even let out a small giggle and leaned in closer.
Of course, only so he wouldn’t fall, because in normal life he was a total touch-averse disaster, even when it came to serious injuries, and alcohol would hardly change everything that dramatically. Not to mention that in their duo, if anyone was constantly going in for hugs, it was Deadpool himself, who really should not be getting his hopes up. Again, Peter was drunk and that couldn’t mean anything, so there was no point in feeling the warmth spreading through Wade’s body from the other man’s touch. Much better to try to get the guy onto the couch and just take care of him like any ordinary drunk friend.
“Let’s move you onto a more horizontal surface, yeah?”
In response, Peter gave an approving hum, then let himself be guided to the couch, which was covered in a bunch of pillows, as if specifically prepared for this exact situation.
“Want water? Or should I just bring you a bucket?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then maybe you want something to eat? I’ve got some pizza left in the fridg—”
“Wade,” Peter cut him off, trying at the same time to focus on his face. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Well,” he hesitated, apparently trying to pull something halfway coherent from the stream of thoughts spinning around in his head, “so… handsome. And also cute.”
“Cute?” Wade’s heart skipped a beat from surprise, and he had to clear his throat to get back to his usual playful tone. “Dude, you are seriously drunk, Pete. I’m literally the walking embodiment of a nightmare!”
“That’s not true,” Peter frowned and, as protest, initiated contact again, this time poking a thin finger somewhere around Wade’s shoulder. “I like you. You’re good, and… sometimes I don’t understand what’s going on between us.”
“I’d call it ‘a toxic superhero-and-mercenary relationship,’ because every time I shoot bad guys, you yell at me like I’m some school kid,” Deadpool kept answering in his usual style, even though his heart was already hurting at the realization that whatever happened next, it should probably be counted as zero because alcohol was involved.
“No, I mean you flirt. Constantly. And I… I like it. I thought that if I got drunk, I’d be able to tell you that. So I am. There.”
That little “there” was the beginning of the end.
Wade genuinely lost the ability to speak. Maybe he misheard. Maybe Spidey just said the wrong thing. Maybe he meant platonic affection, because yeah, they are good partners. And maybe Peter had just lost his mind when he suddenly leaned in and, thanks to his poor coordination, first kissed the corner of Wade’s mouth, then, realizing his mistake, properly pressed his lips against his. So uncertain, like it was his first time—and even so, it was better than any fantasy. So of course Deadpool kissed him back. Slid a hand into Peter’s soft hair and heard him mumble something incoherent, clearly trying to process the mix of emotions and alcohol still fogging his mind.
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
“Wait,” Wade repeated, pulling back first and looking at him: flushed, tousled, with swollen lips and eyes full of not understanding why they had stopped.
“Is something wrong?”
“You have no idea how badly I want to keep going and end up fucking you right here, and then again in the kitchen, and maybe even in the bathroom if we’ve got enough water and imagination. But,” he paused briefly, “our first time should be when you can clearly say ‘yes.’”
“I can sa—”
“Let me finish before my brain shuts off and hands control over to the lower department,” Deadpool pressed a finger to his lips. “So. I want the best sex of your life—and whatever comes after—to happen when you’re sober. Completely sober. Got it? Because I don’t need you waking up tomorrow wanting to hang yourself with your own web out of guilt.”
“So, you’re… kicking me out?” Peter asked that completely sincerely, and almost disappointedly.
“What? No, of course not!” Wade touched his cheek with one hand and ran the other through his slightly wavy brown hair. “You’re staying here, we’re just going to limit ourselves to you getting a good sleep without trying to seduce me. At least until you sober up, okay?”
Peter seemed about to protest, but resistance was useless, if only because his body was barely listening to him. The old burst of energy vanished all at once, and the culprit had to be alcohol mixed with the exhaustion of the storm of emotions that would, of course, be worth repeating tomorrow. For now, all there was left to do was lift Peter into his arms and carry him to bed, where he would fall asleep before Deadpool even had time to give him a quick kiss on the forehead.