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The interrogation room was a masterpiece of fluorescent lighting and existential dread. Peter Parker, still in his rumpled jeans and a t-shirt that had seen better decades, was fairly certain he’d rather be back in the sewer fighting a man made of discarded dental floss.
The source of his dread sat across the polished steel table. Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, was humming a jaunty tune, his mask peeled back just enough to reveal his chin and the straw of a rapidly depleting juice box.
And by the door, leaning against the frame with the casual menace of a man who could fold steel with his pinky, was Doctor Otto Octavius. Doctor Octopus. The man who had just witnessed a scene so profoundly awkward that Peter’s Spidey-sense had short-circuited from sheer embarrassment.
Otto cleared his throat, a sound like grinding gears. “So. Let me see if I have this straight.”
“Otto, buddy, pal, it’s not what it looked like,” Peter began, his voice cracking on the last word. He instinctively scooted his chair closer to Wade, a move that was probably counterproductive.
“No, no, allow me,” Otto continued, his tone dripping with condescending scientific delight. He began to count on his four mechanical arms, which were currently folded behind his back like a disapproving swarm of metallic cobras. “I, the world-renowned super villain, Doctor Octopus, burst through the window of a lower-East-side bodega, ready to enact my brilliant plan to destabilize the city’s power grid using a modified microwave magnetron, only to find the city’s resident web-headed nuisance.”
“We were just getting snacks!” Peter protested. “Wade had a craving for those little powdered donuts.”
Wade nodded sagely, finally abandoning his juice box. “The chemical analysis of those things is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Also, they’re delicious.”
“Snacks,” Otto repeated, his voice flat. “And yet, when I burst in, I found you,” he pointed a terrifyingly precise index finger at Peter, “on the counter, your back against a rack of potato chips, and your legs wrapped around his waist.” He then turned his accusing finger to Wade. “And you, you mercenary with a mouth, were about three seconds away from a very intimate exploration of his tonsils. Your hand was on his…”
“His incredibly firm gluteus maximus,” Wade supplied helpfully. “Which, by the way, should be classified as a national treasure. The architectural integrity alone…”
“Enough!” Otto roared, making the light fixtures rattle. “The point is, I did not come here for a front-row seat to your sordid, frankly bizarre, love life!”
Peter felt his face heat up to a shade of red that rivaled his suit. “Okay, okay, you’re right. It looked bad. It looked… compromising. But we were just… I had a cramp! A terrible, deep-tissue cramp from all the web-slinging, and Wade was just helping me stretch it out!”
Wade shot him a look of pure, theatrical betrayal. “Babe. You’re gonna use the cramp excuse? That’s weak. You’re a bottom, not a liar. We’ve been dating for four months, and you’re a very enthusiastic bottom, may I add, and you’re telling me you’re going to try and gaslight a man with sixteen PhDs?”
Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Wade, please.”
“Fine, fine,” Wade sighed, turning his attention to Otto. “Doc, you have to understand. When you’ve got a man as precious and tight-lipped as Spidey here, you have to take your moments where you can get them. The bodega was empty, the powdered donuts were on sale, and he just looked so damn huggable in that fluorescent light. It’s a story as old as time. Villains, am I right?”
Otto’s eye twitched. His mechanical arms began to unfurl, their claws clicking softly.
Peter shot up from his chair, holding his hands out placatingly. “Otto, please, just listen to me. You’re a man of science, right? You understand controlled variables. This was a high-stress, high-adrenaline situation. Wade and I, we’ve been working together on and off, and sometimes, in the heat of battle, or, you know, in the heat of a donut aisle, wires get crossed.”
Otto tilted his head, a single eyebrow arching. “Are you claiming this was a… battle-induced physiological response?”
“Yes!” Peter latched onto the lifeline. “Exactly! Adrenaline! It’s a powerful aphrodisiac! It’s basic biochemistry. We were just conducting a field experiment in pheromonal reaction and its effect on stress reduction. It was purely scientific.”
Wade snorted. “Oh, honey, there was nothing purely scientific about the way you were whimpering my—”
Peter slapped a hand over Wade’s mouth. “The point is, Otto, it was an isolated incident that has absolutely no bearing on our professional dynamic! We are still Spider-Man and Deadpool. I will still stop your nefarious schemes, and Wade will still… occasionally help me, or hinder me, depending on his mood. This changes nothing! We can just, you know, put this behind us.”
Otto was silent for a long moment, his arms slowly retracting. He looked from Peter’s panicked, earnest face to Wade’s unrepentant, goofy grin. Then, a slow, terrifying smile spread across his own lips.
“An interesting theory, Parker,” Otto said, his voice silky smooth. “And I appreciate the attempt at a scientific explanation. However, I’m afraid you’ve made a critical error.”
Peter’s heart sank. “What error?”
“You see,” Otto continued, stepping fully into the room and folding his human arms. “I didn’t just barge in on you. I filmed the entire encounter on my phone. I wanted to record the look of terror on your face when I sprung my trap. What I got instead is considerably more valuable.”
Wade’s face lit up. “Ooh! A sex tape? Does it have good lighting? Can I get a copy for my personal collection?”
Peter felt the world tilt. “Otto, you can’t. That’s… that’s an invasion of privacy! That’s—!”
“It’s leverage,” Otto purred. “The one thing you’ve never had against me, Parker. A secret. And now, I have the best one of all.” He tapped his temple. “Now, I’m not going to release it. I’m not a monster. But I have a new list of demands for your ‘professional dynamic,’ as you call it. You leave my next five heists alone. You’re on a very short leash, Spider.”
Peter was speechless. He had been out-villained. He was going to be blackmailed by a man who had a video of him making out with his boyfriend on a bag of Fritos.
Wade, however, was gazing at Otto with newfound respect. “Wow, Doc. That’s… that’s actually a pretty solid play. I respect the hustle.” He stood up and clapped Peter on the back. “Well, babe, I guess we’re taking a vacation from crime-fighting for the next few months. But hey, every cloud has a silver lining. Think of all the quality time we’ll have.”
Peter’s brain finally rebooted. He looked at Wade, then at Otto, who was smirking with insufferable smugness. A thought, beautiful and terrible in its simplicity, dawned on him.
“Yeah, Otto,” Peter said, a slow, matching smirk spreading across his own face. “I guess we will have a lot of time on our hands. But before you go, you might want to check the video quality.”
Otto’s smirk faltered. “What are you talking about?”
Peter pointed a thumb at Wade. “Wade’s not just a mercenary, Otto. He’s also an expert in surveillance and counter-surveillance. He’s got a jammer in his utility belt that disrupts phone cameras within a ten-foot radius. His is the only tech that works in the field.”
Wade puffed out his chest. “It’s for my own personal content, obviously. Gotta keep the fans happy.”
Otto’s face went pale. He fumbled for his phone, tapping the screen. The video file was a garbled mess of static and pixelated noise. He looked up, his eyes wide with rage and disbelief.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” Peter crossed his arms, feeling the familiar confidence of a plan working. “You just got outplayed by a bottom and his boyfriend, Doc. How does that feel?”
Otto sputtered, his mechanical arms lashing out, knocking over a chair. “This isn’t over, Parker! Wilson! I will have my revenge!”
“Yeah, yeah, you and every other guy with a grudge and a cool power source,” Wade said, dismissing him with a wave. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were in the middle of a very important scientific experiment. You can find the door.”
With a final, frustrated roar, Otto turned and stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him.
Silence descended. Peter let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for four months.
Wade turned to him, his eyes wide with admiration. “Babe. Did you just lie to Doctor Octopus to save our reputations? Or did you know I actually had a jammer?”
Peter shrugged, a tired but genuine smile on his face. “I knew you had a jammer. The one you use to keep paparazzi from getting pictures of you in your Star Wars pajamas.”
“They’re not pajamas, they’re tactical loungewear,” Wade corrected, stepping close and wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist. “And that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My brainy, bottom-y boyfriend, using his head for something other than screaming my name.”
Peter rolled his eyes, leaning into the embrace. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still on the counter in my mind,” Wade murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now, about that scientific experiment…”
“Shut up and kiss me, Wade.”
With a cheerful whoop, Wade did just that, and for the first time that day, there were no supervillains, no blackmail, and no interruptions. Just the sound of happy, slightly awkward, and deeply in love heroes, finally getting some peace.