Chapter Text
The thing about being Spider-Man is that you're constantly upside down. It's practically your brand. So when Deadpool had webbed him to the ceiling of their shared apartment again, Peter Parker really shouldn't have been surprised.
But as he hung there, mask off, watching Wade Wilson dance around the kitchen making chimichangas in nothing but an apron that said "Kiss the Cook" (and nothing else), Peter had a moment.
Hold on.
He swung gently, like a very depressed piñata.
Why am I the bottom?
"I can hear your brain short-circuiting from here, baby boy!" Wade called up, flipping a tortilla with theatrical flair. "Is it because I'm wearing the apron? I knew the apron would do it. I've been saving this moment for months."
Peter blinked. "No, Wade, it's not—I mean, the apron is a choice—but I'm having a moment."
"What kind of moment? The 'I'm having a crisis about my sexuality' kind of moment? Because we've had that one. Tuesday, I think. Or was that the 'I'm having a crisis about my hair' moment?"
"Neither!" Peter wiggled, trying to free himself. "I'm having a 'why am I the one webbed to the ceiling' moment!"
Wade paused, spatula in hand. "Because you're... flexible? And I like the view?"
"That's not—" Peter sputtered. "I'm Spider-Man! I'm the one who webs people! I have super strength! I once held up a building! A whole building!"
"And it was very hot," Wade agreed. "Top energy, really. Very dominant. Very 'I can lift heavy things and also you.'"
"Then WHY," Peter demanded, "am I the one who ends up—" he gestured vaguely at his suspended state, "here?"
Wade put down the spatula and walked over, standing directly beneath his boyfriend. He looked up, and even without the mask, his expression was pure chaos.
"Okay, let's break this down, Spidey. Who tops in the bedroom?"
"Technically, it's a mutual—"
"WHO tops?"
Peter sighed. "You."
"And who, might I ask, initiates 90% of our... activities?"
"You," Peter admitted.
"And who has an entire drawer full of themed harnesses?"
"That's not—it's a collection—"
"And who," Wade continued, reaching up to gently boop Peter's nose, "is currently stuck to the ceiling because he tried to do a dramatic pose while we were making out and accidentally webbed himself?"
Peter went very still.
"...That happened one time."
"You've done it four times, Pete. This week."
"I was testing the web fluid!"
"And that's why you're the bottom, sweetums." Wade patted his cheek fondly. "You're too busy being a disaster to notice you're being a disaster. It's adorable. It's why I love you. Also, the butt. That butt is so bottom-coded it practically has its own gravitational pull."
Peter opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"...I don't know if I should be offended or flattered."
"Why not both? That's my whole vibe!" Wade grinned, then clicked his tongue. "Anyway, I'm almost done with dinner, but I can't reach you from down here. You wanna come down or should I get the ladder?"
Peter looked at the webs. Looked at Wade's apron. Looked at the ceiling.
"...Get the ladder."
"THAT'S MY BOTTOM!"
"Wade!"