Holding Back - 1. Chapter 1

Wade squats at the edge of the roof, surveying the street below. He needs to piss. For a moment he considers standing up and pissing off the roof, seeing if he can hit any of the poor fucks below. He plays with the thought, turning it over in his head.

Spidey wouldn’t like it.

And it’s not a very hero thing to do, neither.

‘I fucking know that, shut up,’ he says out loud. The boxes are right, of course. If he’s really gonna try to do the hero thing, pissing on innocent passers by isn’t exactly a great move, hilarious though it would no doubt be. There’s a little less room for mayhem when you’re a hero than when you’re just a merc. He really shouldn’t have had all that Mountain Dew.

He stands up, anyway, because squatting with a full bladder is like begging to piss yourself. If he can’t piss over the edge of the roof, maybe he can parkour his way to somewhere he can. Only, he realises, he kind of likes this feeling.

Really? This is something we’re into now?

‘Maaaaaybe?’ Wade scratches his neck. ‘Never thought about it before.’

We’ve been into way weirder things, his brain points out. Kind of stuff we do for shits and giggles . . . Hell, this isn’t even a kink by comparison.

Ooh, we could experiment! See how long we can hold it!

Wade considers this for a moment. ‘I guess what with the healing factor there’s no chance of doing any real damage to my bladder . . . Not that that would stop me. I draw the line at pissing myself, though. This suit’s a bitch to clean.’

Which is really dumb when you think about it, considering how much blood you get on it on a daily basis.

Wade is still arguing with himself when someone lands on the roof behind him. He notices at once, but it takes him a while to pay the figure any mind. It’s only when Spider-Man clears his throat that he turns around.

‘I don’t mean to interrupt what’s no doubt a fascinating monologue—’

‘Dialogue,’ Wade corrects him. ‘Trialogue? Di is for two, but there’s at least three. Sometimes six. Multilogue!’

‘Whatever.’ Wade is pretty sure that Spider-Man is rolling his eyes behind the mask. ‘I was under the impression that we were hitting that trafficking ring tonight. Only I’ve been waiting for you for about an hour.’

Oh yeah, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing tonight!

‘Oh shit, yeah! My bad, Spidey. Got distracted.’

Thinking about pissing.

‘Thinking about—no, shut up. Thinking about you, gorgeous!’ Wade bows with a flourish.

Spider-Man’s arms are crossed in the body language of someone who’s entirely unimpressed. ‘Uh-huh. So, you coming?’

‘For you, baby? Always!’

Spidey doesn’t dignify the double entendre with any kind of response. Instead he turns away and stalks across the roof. Wade follows. A thought strikes him just as they reach the other end of the building.

‘Hey, Spidey,’ he says suddenly. ‘You into watersports?’

Spider-Man halts and turns his head slightly. Wade decides that masks on other people suck. He’d like to be able to read Spider-Man’s expression right now.

‘You mean,’ says Spider-Man slowly, ‘like, surfing?’

Oh-em-gee, isn’t he just precious? Aww, who’s an adorably naïve Spider-Boy!

Too cute. Too. Fucking. Cute. I may barf. You know, mentally.

Wade swats the boxes away, also mentally. Not that they aren’t right. They are so right.

‘Yeah, something like that. Totally what I meant. So, we hitting that trafficking ring or what?’ And with that he jumps off the roof, forgetting that he’s six storeys up and that landing on concrete really fucking hurts, healing factor or no.

* * *

Fighting on a full bladder, it turns out, is hard. It’s also kind of a turn-on. Especially when Spider-Man’s leaping around with his hot moves, showing off that pert ass of his. The traffickers put up a decent fight, but nothing the two of them can’t handle, once they’ve released their victims into the night.

And Wade tries not to kill anyone, he really does, but it just so happens that blades are meant for stabbing, and his hand-to-hand isn’t as great as Spider-Man’s. Besides, one of them is aiming his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head while the arachnid’s busy with three others, and Wade doesn’t really have time to think, so he runs the fucker through. He doesn’t feel especially bad about it.

By the time the fight is over, Wade really, really needs to piss. All that moving around has shaken his bladder and it’s making it harder to hold it in.

Spider-Man makes a disapproving sound once he’s finished webbing the knocked out traffickers together, looking down at the dead guy.

‘What?’ says Wade defensively. ‘He was gonna shoot you! I just saved your life, baby boy.’ He pauses. ‘Do I get a kiss as a reward?’

‘You really, really don’t,’ says Spider-Man dismissively. ‘Couldn’t you have, like, non-mortally wounded him or something?’

Wade throws up his hands in exasperation. ’Everyone’s a critic! I don’t know what kind of bullets you’re used to, sweetcheeks, but the ones I tend to deal with move really, really fast. So, no. I just reacted. You’re welcome.’

He doesn’t look happy, does he?

You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to us for saving his life.

Spider-Man sighs, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. Thanks, Deadpool.’

Wade blinks, not sure if he actually heard what he thought he heard. ‘Am I hallucinating?’

Did he just apologise?

Did he just thank us?

‘You’d better get out of here,’ Spider-Man continues. ‘The cops will be here to arrest this lot soon.’

Wade cocks his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘Someone’s gotta explain this to them.’ Spider-Man nudges the dead guy gingerly with his toe.

‘I could get rid of the body,’ says Wade without missing a beat.

‘Yeah. No.’ A moment passes. ‘So, you going or what?’

Wade crosses his legs. His bladder feels full to bursting point now. Their conversation was a decent distraction, but now it’s getting almost impossible to ignore. ‘Yeah,’ he says slowly and swallows hard. ‘It’s just . . . kinda hard to move.’

Think of a babbling brook! Or a waterfall! Crashing waves, maybe.

Or, you know, just think about pissing.

‘Dudes! Not helping!’ Wade growls under his breath.

Spider-Man crosses his arms again. ‘Why?’ His tone is skeptical. ‘You injured?’

Wade laughs in spite of himself. ‘No, no. I’m good. Just . . . Kinda really need a piss.’

Spider-Man sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. ‘What are you, five?’

‘Fine, fine.’ Wade starts shuffling towards the door of the warehouse. The going is slow, though, and after a few steps he whimpers pitifully and grabs his crotch.

That’s right, show Spider-Man how you can’t even hold your bladder.

‘Shut up!’ Wade manages to croak.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Spider-Man. He sighs again and steps around Wade to look at him. The faint sound of police sirens reaches Wade’s ears, which means Spider-Man has been hearing it for a good while already. ‘All right. Go hide behind those crates.’ Spider-Man points to the back of the warehouse.

Wade turns around and shuffles the other way. He reaches the crates just as the police cars come to a screeching halt outside, and squats down behind them as quickly as he can manage.

Bad move, bro.

‘Motherf-aaaahh . . .’ Wade hisses as his bladder begins to void without warning. Pissing has never felt so good. Urine trickles out into his suit, warm and wet. He sits back against the wall, trying not to moan. There’s no point trying to stop it now, he reasons.

Thought we weren’t gonna wet the suit.

We weren’t, but we did anyway. It’s gonna be hell to clean.

‘I don’t care,’ Wade whispers, closing his eyes in bliss.

So, we are into pissing ourselves, then. Good to know. Another kink to add to the list.

Beyond the crates, he hears voices. Spider-Man is talking to the cops, but Wade can’t focus on what he’s saying. A minute later he’s still pissing. The piss is leaking out of his suit, forming a puddle around him.

When it finally stops, he looks around and it occurs to him to wonder what’s in the crates. The cops are talking loudly enough that he risks pulling one of his katanas and uses it to pry the nearest crate open.

It’s like Christmas has come early. The crate is full of weapons. Lovely, shiny handguns, and big, heavy assault rifles. He picks up one of the handguns, trying its weight in his gloved hand. It’s got good heft to it. A new kink, fighting baddies with Spider-Man, and now a brand new sidearm? Today couldn’t get better if it tried.

Wade pries open another crate, predictably enough containing ammo clips, loads the gun and sticks it down the back of his sopping wet pants. Then, forgetting all about hiding, he stands up and calls, ‘Hey, Spidey! And cops! These guys weren’t just smuggling people, they were smuggling weapons too! You might wanna step carefully back here, though. I just took a piss on the floor.’

Everyone stares at him for a moment. Then five guns are drawn on him, and he puts up his hands. ‘Aw, come on! Help me out here, Spidey?’

Spider-Man just slaps his palm to his forehead and shakes his head exasperatedly.

Right about now’s probably a good time to get out of here.

There’s a window on the wall above the crates. ‘Okay. I’ll just be leaving now.’ All the guns go off as Wade leaps onto one of the crates, swings up onto another, grabs onto the window sill and hoists himself outside. One of the bullets nicked his shoulder, but it’ll heal. Deadpool vanishes into the night, leaving only the occasional drop of urine behind.