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If Peter were to name the top ten creepiest things he could think of while spending the night at the hospital, one of them would surely be a melodic whistle echoing in the hallway. It's already closing in on his room when his spidey sense wakes him up. The warning comes too late for him to do anything about it.
Why is he here in the first place? He might've underestimated Doc Ock this time around and got himself whacked against the ground like a superhero toy in the sticky grasp of a giggling toddler. He'd usually just walk it off, but something compelled him to get rest under the watchful eye of a trusted nurse. She's the strict, but loving kind -a sturdy lady with a shock of curly hair tied in a low ponytail. Peter promised (lied to) her that he'd stay as long as needed, no early discharge and definitely no escaping through the window.
That'd be a good choice at the moment, if only he had the time. He planned to leave while it was still light outside, but, embarrassingly so, he failed to go through with it because he dozed off. Peter shuts his eyes before his visitor walks in.
He pretends to be asleep, to get some advantage and strike when his opponent least expects it. He can hear heels tapping against the linoleum in a relaxed, confident rhythm. Peter wouldn't be too worried about completing his job either, if he had a bruised, pathetic-looking college student lying motionlessly in the bed. Spider-Man has an impressive list of enemies, but it's not like he's otherwise commonly adored, being the paparazzi guy. Peter Parker knows how to get under people's skin too.
Is it one of the nurses? He can hear the clatter of needles and the sound of liquid being poured from one container to another. Whoever this is, they came here weirdly unprepared. Peter controls the steady rise and fall of his chest, his thoughts racing to find the optimal solution to this problem. Going all out and revealing himself as Spider-Man to save his own life? No, that's redundant. He might need to use super-strength, though. In the best-case scenario, he doesn't reveal a thing and still comes out of this alive.
The luck is on his side tonight, because he hears a familiar voice: "I might've never liked you. In fact, I despise you. But that shouldn't suggest that I don't respect you."
Deadpool.
Peter drops the sleeping act. The encounter is so unexpected that his eyes open on their own and shoot towards the man. DP is preoccupied with the syringe, mumbling something without a care. "How hard is it to remember two lines? There goes my Hollywood career." He's wearing a nurse costume and an eyepatch, which hints at the reference he's trying to make. His muscles are practically ripping the outfit at the seams. This look is specific enough for Peter to connect the dots.
Spider-Man can't get chummy with guys like Deadpool, but Peter Parker is allowed to bribe him in special circumstances. No combat necessary. All he has to say is that he knows Spidey personally and could grant a wish or two -whatever would make up for the money lost through sparing his life. While Peter's deep in thought, Deadpool glances at him and does a double-take, surprised to see his target awake and non-panicky.
"Oh, hey. I'm your new nurse. Wade Wilson, to your service."
"What did you do to the staff?"
Deadpool shushes him with a finger to his mouth. "Wait, I remember! It went 'Dying in our sleep is a luxury that our kind is rarely afforded,' right? You know the movie."
"Is everyone alive? Any injured?"
Wade groans at his stubbornness. "They're asleep. Happy? You will be too, except it'll be the, you know, forever sleep. This bad boy is strong enough to knock out a horse." He flicks the syringe.
This is a fever dream. He'd gotten nightmares about clowns before, but jacked, crossdressing nurses are more original. Said nurse being Wade takes away a good chunk of the scary factor. Peter watches as the guy sits down at the edge of the bed and feels up the inner side of his elbow. He could overpower Deadpool in an instant, yet he keeps playing the unassuming civilian. "She aborted the mission in that scene. Do you really have to kill me?"
"We're gonna go off script." The vein keeps slipping from under his thumb. He can't stabilize it for the life of him. Peter doesn't fight back, so he stays patient and unrushed.
"Hey, so.." Peter begins, about to offer the deal. How should he phrase it?
"I know what you're thinking. Why me?" Deadpool calls out theatrically. "Haven't I suffered enough? What did I do to deserve such a cruel end?! Well," he clears his throat, now talking in his usual voice. "You ruined a guy's life and he wants revenge. I gotta tell you, with that face.." Wade drops a meaningful pause that translates to 'Do I even have to say anything?' "You can ruin mine too."
Peter's brain is torn between processing the first and second parts of what he just heard. He can't remember having a part in any recent, big article. "It has to be a misunderstanding."
"Everybody says that. Look elsewhere, will you? Your boy's getting nervous. See? I can't even stick it in the vein. I promise it doesn't say anything about my performance in bed."
Peter just stares at him, deadpan. Is he about that murder or not? Peter doesn't stop Wade out of pure fascination, and the guy attempts shutting his eyes manually, with his index and middle fingers. He brings Peter's eyelids down, just for them to undo his effort.
"You Bambi-looking motherfucker." He tries again and receives zero cooperation. "I don't know anymore, do you want to live or not? I'm getting mixed signals here. I've read your hospital record, and let me tell you, getting hit by a car is not a proper reason to lose the appetite for life."
Ah, yeah. That's the official reason for his stay.
"You got crazy student debt. Is that it?" Deadpool continues. He suddenly furrows his brows. "Speaking of misfortunes, they didn't kill Bambi.. It was his mom. Now, that nickname doesn't make very much sense. Should I kill your mommy?"
"Both of my parents are dead," Peter informs, for the hell of it.
"You're an orphan? Dude, do you have anything to live for?"
Plain, human sympathy can do wonders at times. Wade isn't just any mercenary. He's not an emotionless psychopath and a Part of Peter remains curious as to what's left out of his conscience.
"My aunt and I are close. If you need a reason not to kill me, then here it is: She needs me. The price of medicine keeps rising and I do everything I can to help her."
Deadpool peers at him in prolonged silence. "You made that up on the spot, didn't you?" Deeply unimpressed, he comes back to his task.
"Cause it's so uncommon to have a sick family member."
"I mean, your life sounds a bit too melodramatic to me, personally." Wade curses under his breath when he misses the vein for the countless time tonight.
This is what his spidey sense warned him about? Hilarious. He's poking the bear, he knows it, but he can't hold back from asking the obvious: "How are you so bad at this?"
Deadpool responds with the exasperation of an older sibling. "Try doing it yourself, Great Prince of the Forest." He eventually gets fed up with the vein having a mind of its own and escaping its destiny. "Ah, fuck it." He takes it out on the syringe, and throws it onto the floor, to swiftly switch to a gun. He aims it at Peter.
The atmosphere changes in an instant. Spidey sense wasn't bluffing. Wade could kill him. Peter raises his open palms, preparing to dodge the bullet, jump out of bed and disarm Wade or make it out of the window without any extra steps. But if there's going to be a confrontation, he might as well ask Deadpool who sent him.
Peter tenses, his expression having shifted from weary playfulness to forced composure. 'What is he waiting for?' he thinks, witnessing Deadpool's actionless determination. The finger pressed against the trigger doesn't move. It's like his body refuses to listen to his mind.
Deadpool slumps with a sigh, the gun finally put back in the holster. "Not my proudest moment. Did I give you the ick? I gave myself the ick. It's like a 'I can't get it up' moment."
"It's fine. Take your time."
The merc flashes a knife and does a quick trick to get comfortable with the weapon. "Long time no see, friend. You know, there's little that guns and katanas can't do, but knives? Criminally underrated. So fun to throw at people." The blade presses against Peter's skin. "Back to the basics. Let's slit that delicate throat."
The Spidey favor plan seems too convoluted in Peter's mind, and he suddenly comes up with something better, which has just as much, if not more, potential than the initial idea. Peter channels his inner BDSM enthusiast and cracks a smile.
"That's kinda hot if you ignore the fact that we're not roleplaying and you're actually trying to kill me."
Deadpool tilts his head, taken by surprise and clearly flattered. "You mean it?" He caught the bait.
"Yeah. Getting it on with a perfectly sculptured mountain of a man in female clothes is like my biggest dream." That rolled off his tongue a bit too easily for a straight man, but whatever. Peter doesn't bother thinking about it.
"You're making it hard for me, Petey.." The pressure of the blade against his target's throat lessens.
"My apologies. Those biceps, though?" Peter continues mercilessly. Flirting without meaning any of it is definitely his main guilty pleasure. "Put me in a chokehold, daddy."
Deadpool pulls the knife away and crosses his arms. He's conflicted. "I do have nice biceps. Still hard to believe that you're that into me."
"I am," Peter shrugs.
"Don't you hate it when pretty boys play with your feelings? I'm gonna kill you so hard if you're lying." He tosses the bedding in one go, uncovering Peter without hesitation and encapsulating his thoughts in a wolf whistle. "Great legs, babe." His hand snakes up the bruised thigh and under the hospital gown. It splays across the soft muscle, the thumb brushing slow, meaningful circles.
Peter freezes. Yeah, right, what are the odds that the guy he's been seducing would end up wanting to fuck him? Shocker. He meets Deadpool's gaze and instantly knows what it means. It's the part where he gives himself away and loses his life. He thinks fast and, as Wade closes the distance, leaning down to connect their lips, Peter feigns utmost disappointment. "That's all?"
"What seems to be the problem, your highness?"
"The circumstances? Duh. Are you really planning to do me on a hospital bed, just like that?"
"Did I strike you as a gentleman?"
"You struck me as someone familiar with the concept of foreplay," Peter retorts.
"I have a whole lot of pockets, but no candles or rose petals to be found. I did bring lube, though," Wade finds it right away and presents it proudly. "Strawberry or vanilla? You seem like a vanilla guy. Pun intended."
"Cause I don't want to go from zero to a hundred?"
Deadpool has to reconsider his actions. He decides that Peter is right. "Fair enough. I'll romance you."
He deserves a pat on the shoulder for that one. Peter props himself on his elbows and reaches for his phone. "Let's exchange numbers and meet some other time. We'll go on a few dates and, uh, see if we get along? Can't wait."
Wade flashes a fake smile. "Who said anything about waiting?" He grasps Peter's wrist and clicks something on the... teleportation belt? Wait-
A strong gust of wind nearly knocks Peter off his feet and makes him temporarily nauseous, accompanied by the flash of light. They materialize in a spacious apartment in under a second, but Wade's hands stay grasping Peter's wrist for far longer.
"All good?"
Peter nods. He looks around and thinks 'Here I thought I'd rather die than go on a date with Deadpool.' On the other hand.. This is what blood money can get you, huh? It's always the flat-to-ceiling windows and subtle luxury hidden in details. "Cozy place," he says, noticing the look of anticipation Wade is giving him. Satisfied with the response, DP pulls him towards the walk-in closet.
"We need to find you something more date-appropriate."
The urge to drag his hand down his face is immeasurable. Deadpool's closet looks like a theater kid's wet dream. There are some normal clothes, but the majority is straight bullshit, like a bigfoot costume, wigs, pirate hats, and medieval attire. Wade chooses carefully; picks something up, stares into the distance, imagining Peter in the outfit, and does a so-so gesture or puts it away instantly.
It's not too well organized, so he finds a stray wig hiding between other random items. He puts it on Peter, giggling to himself, until he realizes that the color matches Peter's natural hair to the T. Wade takes it off and does a side-to-side comparison.
"I have an ideaaa.." he croons, all happy.
"No crossdressing," Peter says, just as Wade picks out a dress his size.
"Why are hot people so freaking boring? I swear I won't rub it in your face if you're serving less than I do."
He finds it hard to go with the flow. Maybe it's the bullying he faced in high school due to his height and body mass, but he feels slightly uncomfortable about it. It took him years to finally feel like a man. Peter scratches his neck, gazing at the dress with unconcealed reluctance. Flash and the others would've had a blast if they saw him sporting this flowery garment.
But he hasn't been working on himself for so long to be held back by the same insecurities his teenage self had suffered from. Deadpool doesn't push it, but Peter throws the gown off anyway and takes Wade's item of choice. He needs some help with the zipper annnd.. Ta-dah! He looks a little less ridiculous than the merc, who could be described as a Ken doll dressed in Barbie's clothes. Peter pulls it off. The dress lies semi-naturally on his slender body and he's not entirely sure how to feel about it.
Oh, not to mention the wig. The good quality makes it convincing. It looks just like if he were to grow his hair out.
Wade puts his hands on Peter's shoulders, looking at them both in the closet mirror. "We're such a hot couple."
He should probably inform Aunt May about his whereabouts before she freaks out about the kidnapping. Good thing that he grabbed his phone before Wade teleported them. It looks like their date is far from over, because the next thing that Wade does is sit Peter on the living room couch and bring out the makeup supplies.
"Alexa, play Andrew in Drag," Deadpool says, only to add shortly after: "Just kidding. I don't use Alexa. We're watching Desperate Housewives." He puts the TV on, solely for background noise. The hot gossip plays the main role in this overstimulation hell and he begins his monologue with: "So get this.."
Deadpool explains one of his clients' cheating drama while prepping Peter's face. He uses a vaguely-asian-style dollarstore fan to dry every product before applying another, and when Peter begins to feel like he has the whole drugstore on his face, the guy announces: "Okay, time for foundation," because, apparently, that was just a bunch of serums, mists and creams.
It's a tedious process. At least to Peter. Wade is humming to himself, sticking his tongue in the corner of his mouth like an absorbed, inspired artist. Interestingly, Peter doesn't feel the thick, greasy layers he was fully expecting, but something more like subtle moisture melting into his skin. Wade doesn't touch his eyebrows. Peter waits for him to thin them out, using some make-up trick, but that doesn't happen, and that's how he knows that it won't look any good.
He doesn't use mascara either. Frankly, all the work he does around Peter's eyes consists of two steps: eyeliner or eye pencil in the outer corners and the god-forsaken lash curler. Who came up with the idea to use a hot piece of metal this close to the eyeball? Peter caves in after Wade uses every persuasion method known to man.
Next up is concealer and bronzer. Deadpool instructs him to look up while he applies the beige substance and finishes off with powder. He uses his captive/date like his personal doll and all Peter can think about is the respect he has for women who find the time and energy to do this every day. Deadpool isn't even done yet. He finds the right shade of lip liner and uses deliberate strokes to create the right shape, periodically smudging lines that he deems too harsh. Finally, he pushes a mini mirror to Peter's face and tells him to rate his work.
The person in the mirror is not him. He can't hold back the gasp of pure awe. Perhaps his expectations were too low/vastly different than what came out of their cooperation, but this is insane.
Somehow, he'd never noticed how long and thick his lashes were? Now that they're curled, he can understand why Deadpool didn't feel the need to clump them up with mascara. The eyeliner made the shape more prominent and the lack of eyebags surely makes a difference. He looks radiant. His lips aren't overlined either. They're a bit more pink and appear fuller. Cool optical illusion.
Peter turns his head, analyzing his looks from every angle, and finds that he still looks like himself. The makeup is fresh and girly. It fits him better than an exaggerated contour. Even his natural brows fit this feminine image.
"Oh shit. I'd date myself."
Wade's demeanor shifts subtly. His arm is thrown against the backrest, his legs crossed, the heels tossed aside for chaffing his shins. He doesn't take his eyes off Peter as he enges closer, smoothly and confidently bridging the gap between them. He shows off his cleavage and it's almost impressive how well his pecks fill the costume.
"Clumsy girl," Deadpool says, planting his lips on his date's collarbone. It takes Peter a moment to remember that that's the location of one of his many bruises. "Nurse Wilson is gonna take the pain away."
Oh.
Peter can't find his words. He responds in a surprised gasp when Wade kisses another place, this time on his arm, to then move onto the legs -more specifically, Peter's inner thighs. He moves further and further, turning his gaze to the brunette occasionally to check for any discomfort.
"You know a way to a woman's heart." Sarcasm is unfortunately his go-to when he wants to appear more confident than he really is. The truth is that the kisses feel good and he doesn't know how to say 'I wouldn't be too opposed to fooling around and experimenting with my sexuality for once but my moral obligation prevents me from sleeping with a certain type of people.'
"I'd like to know the way to yours."
Peter clenches his thighs around Wade's head, effectively immobilizing him before he lays his tongue where it doesn't belong. "It's not that."
Deadpool groans, but the position sweetens the bitter taste of failure. He closes his eyes in the vice-like grip of Peter's thighs, happy with the heat and softness of the muscles. Peter lets him go as soon as he realizes. "Anyway," he's quick to change the topic. "What are we having for dinner? Or are you skipping 'cause you're watching your figure? I'd love a pasta dish."
Wade's eyes shine in excitement. "Pasta? It's your lucky day cuz that's one of the few things I have never burned."
"Wait, you're cooking?"
Wade gladly confirms. "Yes, I do the cooking, yes I do the cleaning," he snaps his fingers in the rhythm, and hops off the couch to direct his steps towards the kitchen. "You stay there and wait politely. Spaghetti and wine are literally perfect for a date."
"I don't drink," Peter calls after him.
Is guilt even appropriate in this situation? Deadpool is so happy about this arrangement that Peter can't help feeling bad about the fact that he'd rather be home right now. It's just that.. he doesn't know how long DP is going to keep him here and his busy schedule doesn't allow many 'girl nights.' He'd prefer to face Jameson's reprimands without a sleep deprivation headache, if possible.
Peter lifts his eyes at the large TV and then the kitchen doorway, where Deadpool sometimes appears as he bustles about, gathering the ingredients. His phone is lying on the coffee table and he could easily seek help through a text message. 30% battery? It could've been worse. He texts Johnny quickly, painting the picture through one message after another. Kidnapped by a mercenary, not in great danger, though it might change, help would be appreciated. Predictably, the idiot responds with 'Ok. Have fun.'
He asks Johnny to call him and fake an emergency, but it's evidently impossible to take him seriously at this point. Does he really need a knight in a shining armor to deal with a kidnapper who allowed him to keep his phone and would let him out if he had a good reason to cut their date short? Johnny is probably pulling an all-nighter before finals, so every minute matters. Then again, if he values his time so much, why waste it on banter instead of doing a small favor?
How should he put it.. The pros here are that he's stuck with Deadpool. The cons are that he's stuck with Deadpool. If it were any other mercenary, Peter would be forced to fight, but at least he wouldn't be dressed as a woman, in an annoying guy's apartment, waiting for a plate of spaghetti in the dead of night.
Peter decides to try a different approach, using an image instead of words. He opens the camera, planning to send Johnny a selfie. Maybe if he saw him like that, he'd be more inclined to help. Peter certainly would've done something about it if Johnny were the one playing an antihero's girlfriend, forced to find new excuses as to why they can't do anything physical.
Deadpool notices him before he can send it. He peeks at Peter from the doorway. "Aww, you like it this much?"
Peter flinches. He feels like he got caught with one foot out the door. "Yeah. My friend Johnny wanted to see it too." He didn't have to say that. Why did he admit to texting someone? Peter regrets it right after uttering the last word, but it's too late now.
"You're talking to another guy? During our date?"
Hopefully, it's not an act and he genuinely doesn't suspect anything. It'd be bad if Wade read their messages and found out that Peter was indeed untruthful about his feelings. "Uh, it's just a friend."
Deadpool pouts. "How tall is he?"
"About my height..?"
"Handsome?"
"Yeah," Peter says, according to truth.
"I object." Deadpool crosses his arms. "That's right, I'm gatekeeping Petra."
"Okay, I'm not sending anything," Peter agrees. He sets the cell on the table and joins Deadpool in the kitchen to help him assemble the meal.
The spaghetti is almost ready and the sauce is simmering on low heat. Two wine glasses stand beside the plates, one filled with a darker liquid than the other. Wade sees him looking at it and answers the question Peter hadn't yet asked.
"I found a bottle of grape juice. Let me know if you change your mind about the delicious, cheap wine."
"The food looks good," Peter says, while rinsing the pasta. He means it. "Have you ever thought about using your hidden talents to make a living, instead of causing terror and killing people?"
"Excellent question, Petey. So kind of you to think 'This guy needs a warm-up interview before he inevitably reaches the level of fame that most of us, regular people, can only dream of.' I've worked many jobs and I gotta tell you, the suburban life is not for me. Even if you were a part of it." Wade pauses, but the pensive atmosphere doesn't last. "I tried to be a hero, but they didn't really want me there. I-D-K why."
They talked about it before. Not as a civilian and a mercenary, but they did. Deadpool began following him during one of his patrols and, after a bit of bickering, they had a similar conversation. The answer Wade got from his favorite hero was basically that his self-pity was useless. He remembers being pretty harsh, while feeling like it was only right. Wade didn't understand the simple truth that doing good deeds for his personal gain wasn't the same as being a hero.
"Are you religious? Should we pray before the meal?" Wade asks, as he and Peter take their seats.
"I grew up Christian, but no. No need."
"Awesome, 'cause I'm really hungry." Wade takes a bite and nods in approval. "Good boys like you always come from those middle-class Christian households, you know -two loving parents and a Golden Retriever."
"My aunt and uncle raised me well, but I don't think that has anything to do with religion."
"Oh, so the auntie tale of woe wasn't a bluff?"
Peter twirls the noodles around the fork. "No." He purses his lips and adds: "Uncle died when I was in high school, so we're on our own now."
"Happens."
"He got shot," Peter continues, unable to understand why he feels the desire to open up to Deadpool, out of all people. Maybe it's his unwavering conviction about the idleness of Peter's life and the petty need to prove him wrong. Or, alternatively, a piece of vulnerability in exchange for Wade's. "And it was my fault."
"Damn, dude. Any other fun facts you wanna share to make me feel better about my life?"
Peter hums. "I could think of a couple. How about 'You have a fancy place and I live in a cramped apartment with a roommate'?"
"Mm.. yeah," He sips his wine. "That's a good one. Wait-"
Peter lifts his gaze with a question mark on his face.
"You have a roommate? A roomie? Is it the Johnny guy? You should've told me you were taken. I'm not a homewrecker."
Peter furrows his brows in consternation. "Did I just say boyfriend instead of a roommate? Cause I don't recall."
"Boyfriend, roommate, close friend.. same thing, different words." Deadpool sighs. He's playing with his food. "Not that you and I have a future anyway. I don't go for civilians. The last time I did, I lost the mother of my child."
"Why are we suddenly on a trauma-dumping streak?"
Wade points his finger at Peter. "You started it. Besides, I thought I'd change the topic to something more casual, like the tragic, undeserved death of a loved one. The roommate thing was really triggering me," he shudders.
"I can't believe you're a father. It doesn't fit the cold-blooded killer image."
"I'm a man of many facets."
"A daughter or a son?"
"Daughter," Wade says, fondness sneaking into his tone. "Ellie-belly, the apple of my eye. I learned makeup for her, but she's growing up into a tomboy. You can never predict that stuff."
"Huh, that's charming."
"Don't fall for me yet," Wade warns. "You have to know there's someone very special in my heart and although you, my dear, are fair and gracious, my affections lie elsewhere. I am currently in a committed homoerotic delushionship with the one and only, known and loved, red & blue spandex-wearing hero."
"Spider-Man? That's rough, buddy."
Deadpool shrugs it off. "I can always just buy more of his merch to fill the void. And you? Are you hopelessly in love with anyone?"
The memories of MJ cross his mind. "I liked a girl, but she left me."
"A story of my life."
They finish the food in casual silence, finally paying attention to the TV show. Peter can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal. He and Johnny mostly sustain themselves on whatever is easy to grab and eat on the go. The make-up is starting to bother him, though. He can't rub his eyes or wipe his face if he doesn't want to ruin Deadpool's efforts.
Wade is surprisingly attentive and Peter's unease doesn't go unnoticed. The merc takes him to the bathroom takes the wig off with a laugh. "As they say, beauty is pain."
His waves are secured with hairpins, so Wade can get right to removing the makeup. Peter takes the micellar water out of his hand. "I can do this myself."
DP insists. "Let a guy have some joy in his sad life." He soaks the cotton pad and rinses the excess moisture. His fingers cup Peter's chin and tilt his head up.
It's the dentist's office sorta situation. Does he look directly at Wade, burn his retinas by staring into the lightbulb or close his eyes as if waiting for a kiss? The cotton pad is silky smooth and the micellar water has a delicate, rose scent.
Wade isn't as talkative when he focuses on a task. This serious side of him is rarely on display when he's around Spider-Man. Peter doesn't overthink it and lets his eyelids fall as the repetitive swiping of the pad lulls him into an medidative mood. He can feel some liquid around his eyes, so it'd be a good idea to close them anyway, unless he fancies some stinging pain.
There's not much to remove, but Wade uses two cotton pads and is as unhurried and diligent as with the make-up. Peter can feel how distracted he is, especially when his movement slows even more, practically halting. He doesn't ask what's on his mind, but he can easily guess. His senses are hightened and even without his eyesight, he can tell how close Wade is and how much closer he's still getting. The merc leans towards him carefully and stops right before their noses touch.
He doesn't move for what feels like an eternity, so Peter asks: "Done?"
Wade draws back. "Yep." He opens Peter's palm and inserts a cleansing foam. "Use this. I'll get you a change of clothes."
And by the time Peter can open his eyes comfortably, Wade is no longer in the same room. He uses the cleanser, as advised, and asks himself: 'Was he about to kiss me?'
More importantly, was Peter about to let him?
Guess he's not that hard to win over. All because he hit it off with a guy with a similar sense of humor and a talent for spaghetti and meatballs. If he were to swoon over any person who's decent-looking and easy to talk to, he and Johnny would have long become a couple. This is the definition of Stockholm syndrome.
Peter has no idea what to brace himself for next. Is that the part of the date where they're all over each other? His hand hovers over the doorknob. He knows for a fact that Deadpool wouldn't do anything he wouldn't like, but that'd be the third rejection tonight. Should he drop a hint by yawning, or something? 'Oh, I'm so tired. I should probably go,' before the guy has the time to bend him over?
Deadpool is sorting through his video games and the Xbox is already on. That's a good sign. He's also wearing regular clothes, a similar ensemble laying on the couch for Peter.
"Plumping, hydrating, or smoothing?" He asks, picking up the hydrogel sheet masks, while Peter slips his Pinkie Pie t-shirt on.
"Hydrating, I guess."
"Gotchu. I'll take the smoothing one. It better make me a beautiful hard-boiled egg."
Peter snorts. Wade's clothes are too big on him and smell like the merc. He likes it more than he should.
Wade passes him the second controller and presents a tub of Vanilla Bourbon ice cream. Peter is stuffed, but that doesn't stop him from digging in. He wouldn't want his friend to get a brain freeze, having to finish the whole thing on his own.
They're playing Call of Duty, sitting one seat apart from each other. Wade's ankles are crossed on the coffee table and Peter's posture is one way for early scoliosis. Out of the two of them, Peter is the loud type. While he's talking to himself and the other players, ambitious and motivated to win, Wade hums Carly Rae Jepsen's songs. The best part is that, despite (or because of) his effortlessness, he's ahead of Peter, taking out one player after another.
They're a good team. He would've been better at video games if he had the time to practice, but whenever he returns to the hobby, enough time has passed for him to mix up the buttons. He gets the gist of it after the first round.
His spoon begins scrubbing the bottom of the tub in the blink of an eye. He and Wade continue the match, but once the 'Victory!' announcement pops up on the screen, Peter sets the controller down and stretches his arms over his head.
"Ugh, I'm beat."
"Pretty rude of me to borrow you for that long," Deadpool agrees. That's not what Peter meant, but sure. "I'll call a cab."
Come to think of it, Wade provided everything for their date and Peter hates it when someone's paying for him. Their 'friendship' had a rocky start, but DP is sending him home well-fed and strangely relaxed, so..
"I'll take a walk. It's not that far."
"Do you know where you are?" Wade asks skeptically and Peter points his thumb at the view of the city behind him.
"I looked through the window. I can see my building."
"Have it your way. I'm coming with you." Wade wastes no time putting on his worn-down sneakers.
It's 5 A.M. and the city is slowly waking up. His phone is dead and Wade lends him the only pair of footwear that doesn't look too cartoonish on his smaller feet, (Since when is DP that huge? That's just offensive) which happens to be slippers. He feels hungover.
"Lead the way, sweetheart."
They're taking the shortest route. On their way, Peter thinks things through and acknowledges how stupid it is to show Deadpool where he lives, not to mention all the other information that he'd given up voluntarily. But if he was Wade's target, didn't he know Peter's address anyway? He would've easily found out everything else too.
Wade is talking his ear off, but his eyes scan the street and he stays close, with a protective arm over Peter's shoulders. It's usually Spider-Man who escorts people home. Peter nearly forgets that, to Deadpool, he looks like a completely defenseless, lanky guy. Whether it's necessary or not, he enjoys the bodyguard bit.
Yeah, it's 200% Stockhold syndrome. Why does it feel so bittersweet? He wishes their way back would last a little longer.
And he finds a reason to make it happen.
The beach looks breathtaking at sunrise. It doesn't take much to convince Wade to do a detour. Johnny insisted on their current flat because of how close it was to this place. He wanted it so badly that he offered to cover most of the expensive rent. That flat is genuinely not worth the money they demanded and he doesn't know about Johnny, but he hasn't been to the beach once since they moved in. There was always something more important than watching the waves.
Peter takes the slippers off and strolls along the shoreline. The wet sand had no time to warm up under the sun, but the temperature doesn't bother Peter. Wade takes his example and lets the cool waves crash against his ankles.
"Thanks for the hangout. Most of the time, when I meet other people, it's either to kill them or hook up. Gets old real quick."
Peter kicks sand onto the merc's feet. "The pleasure is mine." Wade pays him off with twice the amount of sand.
He has a hunch that Deadpool knew from the start that he wouldn't be getting any. It's naive to think this way, but maybe he's not that bad. Not in the morality sense, of course. He's still a mercenary, for god's sake. As Spider-Man, Peter had received many offers from Deadpool, some romantic, many sexual, and frequent platonic ones. Wade would often ask him to grab a bite and he remembers thinking he can't stand the guy. Spidey hasn't ever given Deadpool a chance, but Peter Parker had to, and.. Turns out they get along quite well?
Deadpool pulls out a mini pen from his pocket and grabs Peter's wrist. He writes his number with a little heart by the last digit and gives a satisfied smile. "Call me if you ever find yourself in trouble. I might be able to help."