Work Text:
Spider-Man landed lightly in the alley behind the bathhouse.
Well.
Mostly lightly.
His left foot skidded half an inch against the pavement, and he windmilled one arm before catching himself against the brick wall.
Still graceful, Parker, nobody saw it.
Maybe he was a little nervous. But this was fine. This was healthy.
Yeah. The first time Peter had been at Yelena’s “office,” he was mostly playing along for information. Her “office,” being a private room in a bathhouse with a tub roughly the size of Peter’s entire apartment. But five minutes in the steamy, hot water had done more for the knot between his shoulder blades than two weeks of pretending it wasn't there. Not to mention his psyche.
So when Yelena told him the place would be empty tonight, as she was busy with some “big potatoes,” Peter took her up on the offer.
That’s right. No patrol. No errands. No emergency bodega run because he'd forgotten powdered coffee creamer (again). Just one hour where Peter was going to sit in some hot water and do absolutely nothing.
A little Spidey self-care.
The bathhouse was quiet when Peter slipped inside, just a low hum of water lapping gently against the tiles. He made his way toward the changing room, undressed down to his mask and boxer briefs, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then, he padded barefoot toward the steaming water.
“Ho-ly shit!”
A red-and-black mask faced him from the opposite side of the bath.
“Spider-Man? Is it really you? Hey, do you believe in fate? Because I totally had a dream about you last night. Nothing spicy, although between you, me, and the water, I've prayed for it before. Yep. Right to the panini gods.”
Oh no. Deadpool. Peter didn't know him, but he knew of him. Loud. Weird. Unpredictable. Maybe technically heroic sometimes?
Peter grabbed the edges of his towel, cinching them a little tighter. “Uh. haha. No? I’m not Spider-Man.”
Deadpool’s mask looked him up and down slowly. Once. Twice. Three times for emphasis. “No? You're not Spider-Man? Because I feel like the mask is kind of a giveaway. Not to mention your ass.”
Peter backed up towards the door. “I, uhh. I must have the wrong room.” He reached behind himself for the handle. “Sorry about that. Long day. Enjoy your bath.”
“Wait, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” Deadpool sat up, water rippling across his chest. “Don't leave on my account.”
Peter looked at him. Then, despite every instinct screaming at him not to, he looked lower.
Phew. Just water.
He snapped his gaze back up. “Sorry, uh. Yelena said nobody would be here.”
Deadpool stroked the chin of his mask like he had a beard there. “Weird. She told me there’d be snacks.”
Peter tilted his head. “You, uh, like to eat snacks in the bath?”
“Obvs. Where else am I going to eat them?”
“In literally any room that isn’t a bath?”
“Spidey, Spidey.” Deadpool tsked. “Apparently you’ve never shoved tortilla chips in your mouth in the steam, licked salt off your lips, dropped a few in the water, then eaten ’em anyway because fuck it! You’re relaxed.”
Deadpool spread his arms. “Do you know how big of a snack bowl you can fit in a tub this size? I lo-ho-hove hanging out here!”
“... You actually come here to hang out?”
"That surprise you, sweetheart? Your boy has chronic pain and skin like an angry lasagna. Pretty sure a hot soak is just what the doctor ordered. It's medicinal." Deadpool tilted his head. "For realzies, stay. I can be totally normal. Maybe for thirty seconds."
Peter snorted. “That isn't reassuring.”
“Twenty seconds?”
“What? That’s literally less.”
“Aww, c’mon, Spidey. Y’know you want a soak. Why else would you have come here?”
Crap. Peter really did want one. But getting in the bath with Deadpool of all people?
“Big bath, plenty of room. I’ll stay on my side and keep my hands to myself. Pinky promise. You came all this way to relax, right? I ain’t gonna bother you.”
Peter should leave. He absolutely should. Instead, he stood there while warm steam curled around his ankles and looked at the enormous bath he'd swung across half the city to unwind in.
Peter sighed. “You're not going to make this weird?”
“Define weird.”
I mean, maybe he could deal with a little weird. His whole life had felt extra weird lately anyway. What was so strange about sharing a bath with Deadpool? Could be worse. He could be sharing it with Tombstone. Or Scorpion.
“Y’know, what, fine.” Peter caved. “I do kinda need this.”
“Yay!” Deadpool clapped his hands together. “Super buddy bonding time!”
“Heh. Yeah. Right,” Peter said, dropping his towel and lowering himself into the water.
He settled on the opposite side of the bath and folded his arms over his chest.
There.
Normal.
Super casual.
Just Spider-Man sitting mostly naked in a bath with Deadpool.
Yep.
Totally normal.
Across from him, Deadpool had apparently never experienced self-consciousness in his life. He was sprawled against the edge of the bath, arms stretched along the tile, completely at ease with the fact that there was absolutely nothing between them except several feet of water.
Deadpool tilted his head. “So, uh, why are you wearing your mask, Spidey?”
The whites of Peter's lenses narrowed at him. “Why are you wearing yours?”
“You do NOT want to see what’s under here.” Deadpool gestured vaguely at himself. “Trust. So, why are you wearing your underwear?”
A small, nervous laugh slipped out of Peter. “Why are you wearing yours?”
“Ha! Jokes on you, I’m not.”
Oh.
Peter felt a little flutter in his chest.
“Okay. I suddenly feel overdressed.”
“Well.” Deadpool clicked his tongue. “By all means, if you care to join me. Let that web shooter be free.”
“I, uh.” Peter swallowed. “I’m okay.”
Change the subject, Parker. Change the subject.
“So, how do you know, Yelena?”
Smooth.
“Top secret superhero stuff. Plus, I pet-sat for her guinea pig last weekend as a favor, and she told me I could use her office as payback. Only under one condition that she not be here when I decided to come by.”
“Aw. I didn’t know she had a pet guinea pig.”
“Betcha don’t know a lot of things, Spidey. Hoo-boy, the Avengers or the new Avengers or whatever the fuck they’re calling themselves nowadays sure got some gossip on them. But ya wanna know the biggest tea of them all that I’m about to spill?”
Peter shrugged. “I mean, I don't know if I should.”
"Too late!" Deadpool leaned in just a bit. “You can call me, Wade.”
“Oh. Okay. Hi, Wade.”
“Hi, Spidey.” A beat. “Bet you’re feeling a lot more relaxed now that we’re on a first-name basis.”
“But I didn’t give you my name?”
“And I wouldn’t want you to do that. Only when you’re comfortable with me. I’m comfortable with you.”
“Heh. Thanks.”
Peter let out a long breath, and his shoulders dropped. He leaned back against the cool tile and felt some of the tension begin to uncoil from his tightly wound body. Maybe he was getting more comfortable. Not comfortable comfortable. But comfortable enough. Maybe the bath was doing its magic. He sank back a little farther, letting his legs stretch out until his feet bobbed above the surface.
Wade stared. Intently.
“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” Peter jerked his feet back down.
Wade crooked his head. “What are you sorry for? Feels nice, take a load off, sweetheart… don’t worry, I don’t have a foot fetish, but I know people that do. I'm more of an ass man, myself.”
Wade shifted with a little groan, rolling onto his stomach and stretching his arms out along the edge of the bath.
“Oh, that’s better.”
Peter barely looked up.
Then Wade adjusted again.
His hips rose just enough above the waterline.
Oh.
That was an ass.
Wade’s ass.
I mean, Peter knew what asses looked like.
He just hadn’t expected Deadpool’s to look—
No.
Absolutely not.
Wade flashed a glance over his shoulder. “You staring at my flotation devices?”
Peter whipped his eyes away. “I was looking at the wall.”
“The wall’s behind you.”
Oh.
Up until now, Wade has been mostly a masked head, scarred shoulders, and jokes. But now, Peter was maybe, kinda, sorta noticing that Deadpool was built. Big shoulders. Thick arms. Broad back. Wet skin. Muscular ass breaking the surface of the bath like some kind of deeply inappropriate marine mammal.
I mean, if Wade was going to put his ass up first in the bath, what was wrong with a little floaty feet?
So, Peter let his feet bob back above the surface.
And y’know, what?
It felt kinda nice.
Wade let himself drift for another second before rolling onto his back again, water rippling out around his shoulders, and settled against the edge of the bath.
“So, Spidey, about the mask,” he said. “Do you eat with it on?”
Peter glanced over. “Hm? Sometimes. You?”
“I’ll just push it up on the bridge of my nose. Sometimes I forget I'm wearing it though and oopsie-daisy! Popcorn just bounces right off.”
“Heh. Yeah. Same. I did it with an ice cream cone once.”
“Ha! Melty mask mouth! Do you sleep in it?”
“Depends on where I’m sleeping. But no, if I’m home I’ll just take it off.”
“Do you kiss in it?”
Peter’s brain short-circuited.
Up until now, this had been somewhat easy. Food. Guinea pigs. Flotation devices, apparently. Dumb little logistics questions about masks.
But kissing was different.
Peter looked away.
“Heh. I don’t know. Uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while.”
“Been a while since you’ve been kissed? Get outta Bath Town. A cutie like you?”
Peter’s toes wiggled.
Cutie?
Holy crap, blush much, Parker? Speaking of masks, it's a good thing you're wearing it right now.
“H-how do you know if I’m cute? You can’t even see me.”
“Puh-lease! I’ve seen enough.”
“You've seen my mask.”
“I've seen your belly button.”
Peter looked down. Yep. There it was. A flush crawled up the back of his neck. “My—”
“Belly button. A cute one.” Wade whistled. “Let’s make out, Spidey. Me, you, masks up to the bridge of our noses. My tongue, your belly button.”
Oh. Uh. Umm. Okay. What.
Say something, Parker.
Instead he went still. Just blinked at Wade.
Wade with the big shoulders. Wade with the thick arms resting along the edge of the bath. Water shining over a rough texture of scars. A broad chest rising and falling beneath the steam. Telling Peter things no one else had, like he was cute and his belly button was cute… of all things! And suddenly Peter remembered the brief glimpse he’d gotten when Wade had rolled onto his stomach.
Oh no. Is Deadpool kinda hot?
That thought was deeply inconvenient.
“I, uh… don’t even know you.”
Classic Parker deflection. Nice.
Wade gave a little shrug, like that was hardly an obstacle. “I know you. I know you're Spider-Man. I know you wear black boxer briefs. I know you apologize to people when you accidentally relax near them.” And then, a little softer: “Could know the rest. Maybe you, me, and our masks go out for tacos after this? I know a killer spot around the corner from here.”
Peter tilted his head, white lenses open and considering.
I mean, he was kinda hungry. He’d been planning on ordering a pizza when he got back to his place, but tacos didn’t sound bad.
Tacos with Wade didn’t sound bad.
Which was probably why some old, stupid reflex answered before Peter could think too hard about it.
“I can’t tonight,” Peter lied.
He hesitated.
“But maybe some other time.”
Wade chuckled. “Silly me. What am I thinking? Inviting you out for tacos when you’ve got wet underwear on. Okay, logistics question: are you putting the wet undies back on under the suit, or are we discovering whether Spider-Man swings commando?”
Peter went hot all the way down his neck.
He looked down at himself beneath the water.
Oh.
Right.
“I… guess I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Commando swinging is an option.”
“No.”
“Chafing risk?”
Peter snorted. “I hate you.”
“Pfft. No, you don’t. We just had our first spa day together.”
A little smile tugged at Peter's lips. “Yeah. I guess we did.”
For a moment, he just sat there. The water was warm enough that his limbs had gone pleasantly heavy, his shoulders finally somewhere below his ears. He’d stopped thinking about how little he was wearing. Stopped thinking about whether he looked stupid.
Mostly.
Then there was the whole tacos thing.
And the cutie thing.
And the fact that Peter now knew exactly what Deadpool’s ass looked like.
And maybe, just maybe, Peter had a good time.
With Deadpool.
Wade.
Peter wasn't sure what he was feeling, or if he even had the capacity to deal with it right now. Before his heart could catch up, he decided maybe that was enough relaxing for one day.
He pulled his feet back and sat up.
“I should probably get going.”
“You and me both, cuz now your boy is hungry. But you should totally get out first since you’re the one wearing underwear, and you do not want to see Wade Jr. in all his pruney glory. Or maybe you do. I'm totally winking under the mask, bee-tee-dubs.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, pushing himself out of the bath. Water streamed down his legs as he stepped onto the tile and bent to grab his towel.
Behind him, Wade let out a low whistle.
Peter froze.
Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” Wade leaned back against the edge of the bath. “Just appreciating the view.”
“Wade.”
“What? You looked at mine.”
“I did not… I was just –”
“Equality, sweetheart.”
For a second, Peter almost left it there. Then he smiled beneath the mask. “I did have a nice time, though.”
“... Yeah?” Wade paused. “So am I gonna see you again, baby boy?”
Peter ducked his head. “Yelena said I can use the bathhouse whenever it’s free. I’ll probably be back.” He tugged awkwardly at the waistband of his soaked boxer briefs. “Maybe I’ll remember a pair of dry underwear next time.”
“No soggy bottom tacos. But the tacos are a hundo on me, sweetums. Chips and guac, churros, horchata, agua fresca, as many napkins as you need.” Wade gave him heart hands. “See you around, Webs.”
Peter lifted a hand in a small wave. “Heh. Yeah. See you around, Wade.”