Holding Back - 10. Chapter 10

Peter thinks he may be having some kind of psychotic break. It’s not because he decided to tell Deadpool his real first name and show him his face, though this is cause for concern in and of itself. It’s not even because he spent a good portion of last night making out with the man, a tongue-wrestling session instigated by him, Peter. No, the reason why Peter suspects he may have once and for all completely lost his mind is because he has every intention in the world of doing it all over again tonight.

He realises as his mind wanders in class, that he’s never really liked another guy before. For the most part, he’s tended to fall in love with people and then have eyes for no one else. So far, those people have been of the female persuasion. The idea of falling for a guy has never really occurred to him before, and before last night he hadn’t even realised that that’s what was happening.

Is that what’s happening? Is he falling for Wade Wilson? The thought is a strange and slightly disconcerting one.

He’s seen Wade without his Deadpool mask several times, though Wade prefers to keep it on. He knows what Wade’s skin looks like, knows how marred it is by scars and sores. Rationally, Peter knows that should turn him off. (It’s comforting that he can still think about all of this rationally.) But when they kissed last night, it didn’t even occur to him. Peter pressed his lips to Wade’s skin, and those scars might as well not have been there. It felt good. It felt intimate. Because it was Wade.

Peter shakes his head, and realises with a jolt that he’s more than a little bit turned on. He feels his face flush, and looks around as though someone might be watching him, as though some classmate can tell, but of course no one’s paying attention to him, too busy focusing on the lecture on molecular biology. The lecture that Peter should be paying attention to as well. But Peter’s head is elsewhere, full of thoughts and ideas he can’t explain to himself, let alone expel in favour of actually learning something.

There is so much wrong with this. There are so many reasons why all of this is a really, really bad idea, not least of which is the fact that Peter knows literally nothing about Wade, other than that, oh yeah, he’s a freaking mercenary who’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands of people for money. He also knows that Wade loves tacos, really identifies with The Little Mermaid, and drinks beer because it tastes good. And he knows that Wade is totally crazy about him and is a really, really good kisser . . . This is more, he realises, than Wade actually knows about him. They don’t even know each other’s ages, though Peter is pretty sure Wade is quite a bit older than he is. Yeah, everything about this . . . whatever it is . . . is a huge mistake, and a toddler could see it.

In spite of all these not inconsiderable misgivings, however, all Peter can think about is seeing Wade later. They’ll patrol together, and then . . . What then? His mind can come up with several enticing scenarios that put butterflies in his stomach and make him squirm in his seat. He really hasn’t wanted anyone like this since . . . Well. This isn’t the time to consider past loves or the regrets that come with them.

The lecture ends, and Peter hurries out of the auditorium, narrowly avoiding being cornered by the professor who’s been trying to get him to do a presentation for the class ever since he handed in his first assignment of the semester.

* * *

It’s a quiet night. Peter worried that things would be awkward, but when they meet up Wade is his usual self and acts as professional as he gets. They patrol for a couple of hours, intervening and stopping a couple of fights, but there’s not really much going on.

When it starts to seem like crime’s taken a vacation in NYC tonight, Wade says casually, ‘So . . . Wanna spar again?’

Peter laughs softly. ‘I think we both know where that will lead.’ It’s a lot more straight forward and flirty than he usually is. Peter’s always been awkward in these situations, but Wade makes him feel bold.

Wade shrugs one shoulder. ‘Well, I guess if you want we could just skip the sparring . . .’

‘Buy me dinner first,’ Peter quips, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

‘Actually, that’s not a terrible idea,’ says Wade after a few moments. ‘I’m pretty hungry. There’s this all night Mexican place I know about. Really awesome chimichangas! Wanna get something to eat?’

Peter only needs a moment to consider this. ‘Sure, why not?’

Trust Deadpool to be able to keep chattering through mouthfuls of deep fried burrito. Peter mostly eats and listens. They sit on a rooftop, because rooftops are apparently their thing. Wade talks about guns, food, mercenary jobs he’s had (mostly the less violent ones), with the occasional comment aimed at nobody in particular. In other words, Wade’s being Wade, and there’s something deeply comforting about that.

When the food is gone, Wade falls silent for a little while, looking at Peter through the white lenses of his mask, a thoughtful expression around his exposed mouth. ‘So,’ he says finally, his voice a deep, soft rumble, ‘what do you wanna do now, Peter?’

It’s the first time he’s said Peter’s name since last night, and Peter feels warmth radiate from somewhere in his chest. He shifts slightly as a million thoughts go through his head. Wade waits for him to speak, fidgeting a bit where he sits. Jittery. A little nervous, perhaps?

Making up his mind, Peter speaks. ‘We could go to my place.’

For a moment, Wade just stares. Then he looks around, almost like he’s expecting an ambush. He mutters, ‘Yeah, I think he actually said that . . . Did you actually say that?’ The last bit appears to be aimed at Peter, who nods. Wade returns the nod, swallows and says, ‘Okay.’

They travel by web, Peter choosing his familiar routes, out of the way so they’re unlikely to attract attention. They land in an alley next to Peter’s building and scale the fire escape in silence. Once on the correct floor, Peter leaves Wade for a moment, climbing the brick wall to the window he leaves ajar when he goes out as Spider-Man. Part of him can’t believe he’s about to let Deadpool into his apartment. He climbs inside and goes to open the window by the fire escape.

As the window slides open, Wade looks around before leaning in and pressing his lips to Peter’s through their masks. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, bordering on domestic. Then he climbs inside, and Peter shuts the window.

They stand there for a moment, Wade looking around. Peter’s apartment is small—smaller than Wade’s, but a lot better kept. The main space, which they’re standing in, is a combined kitchen and living room, while doors at one end lead off into the bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom door is ajar. Peter lights the lamp behind the couch, casting the room into soft, warm light.

‘Nice place,’ says Wade. ‘Your couch looks comfier than mine.’ He nods towards the furniture in question.

‘Feel free to try it out to compare,’ Peter replies. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

‘Uh, sure.’

Wade sits down on the couch while Peter walks over to the fridge, taking his mask off as he goes and leaving it on the kitchen counter. He opens the fridge and looks inside. He didn’t really plan for this, and consequently doesn’t have any beer, but there’s a big bottle of some generic brand orange flavoured soda, so he gets that out and picks two glasses out of the cupboard on the way back to the couch. Once there, he finds Wade staring at him.

‘Um,’ says Peter, setting down the glasses and the bottle, ‘you mind if I just go get changed?’

‘Huh? No. That’s fine.’

‘Okay. Help yourself to soda.’ Peter smiles.

He goes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. The jeans and t-shirt he wore earlier are still on the bed, and he changes quickly. His brain is working in overdrive. Wade Wilson is sitting out there, in his living room. He has invited Deadpool into his home. If anyone else in the superhero community could see him now, they’d think he’d gone completely insane. He can’t quite rule out the possibility that they’d be right.

Peter walks barefoot back out into the living room, where he finds Wade still sitting on the couch. He hasn’t poured himself soda, but he’s discarded his weapons on the floor next to him. Hesitating only for a second, Peter sits down next to him and pours soda into both their glasses. They each take a drink, Wade pulling his mask up to his nose again, and then replace the glasses on the coffee table.

Peter looks over at Deadpool and, without giving himself much pause for thought, leans in and kisses him.

Wade makes a sharp intake of breath as their lips touch, but this time he wastes no time in kissing Peter back, greedily lapping at his lips with his tongue, and Peter parts them for him, taking that tongue into his mouth. He strokes Wade’s cheek with his hand, feeling the rough, scarred skin under his fingers. He finds that it doesn’t bother him in the least, and he swings one leg over Wade’s lap for better access, licking into his open mouth. Wade grips his hips, squeezing. Peter moans softly at the touch.

After some moments, he pulls away a little, tracing the seam of the red and black mask with his forefinger. ‘May I?’

Wade utters a grim laugh, looking away. ‘Can’t see why you’d want to. It’ll just kill the mood . . .’

‘It won’t,’ Peter promises, and presses a gentle kiss to Wade’s cheek. ‘Please?’ he whispers against his skin. ‘I want to see your eyes.’

Wade hesitates for a moment longer. Then he nods, and Peter pulls the mask off, slowly. The scars and sores it reveals should give him pause, but they don’t. Instead, Peter is one hundred percent focused on the warm brown eyes that appear from under the fabric. Those eyes stare into his, and Peter smiles.

‘Hey. There you are.’ He brings both hands to Wade’s face, running his fingers over his cheeks and his jaw, stroking his bottom lip with one thumb. Wade shuts his brown eyes with a sigh.

‘Warm,’ he says softly, his breathing heavy. ‘You’re so warm. Haven’t . . .’ Wade hesitates, works his jaw for a moment. ‘Not in a long time.’

Peter kisses him again, fiercely, trying to convey through that kiss how little he cares about how he looks. How little any of that matters. That what truly matters is Wade’s heart. He doesn’t even bother to feel like an idiot for thinking anything so cheesy. He just kisses Wade like there’s nothing else in the world.

Moving his hips a little, Peter is unsurprised to find Wade’s body responding. Truth be told, he’s getting pretty turned on himself, though he’s not entirely sure what to do about it. This is all pretty new to him, after all. He wants to touch Wade, touch him all over. The thought makes his pulse speed up, and he presses his body tight against Wade.

His movements seem to have spurred Wade into action, and the older man has begun to slide his gloved palms up and down Peter’s sides and back. He breaks the kiss and moves his mouth down to Peter’s neck, licking and biting just a little bit. Peter releases a soft moan, and Wade groans in the back of his throat in response. He slides his fingers through Peter’s dark hair.

Peter takes one of Wade’s hands, and Wade pauses to look at him. Slowly, his eyes locked to Wade’s, Peter removes the glove to reveal a strong, scarred, long fingered hand. Wade makes to pull his hand away, but with silent determination, Peter brings it up to touch his face, pausing to kiss the rough palm on the way. Wade’s breath hitches in his throat as his palm touches Peter’s skin, but their eyes remain locked while Peter removes the second glove before leaning in to kiss him again.

Wade makes an oddly pleading noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and Peter decides he’d really like to hear that again, so he grinds his hips against Wade’s, producing yet another sound against his lips, as Wade’s breathing grows heavier still. Peter smiles into the kiss. There is want and need in Wade’s movements and the sounds he makes. He likes that.

‘Fuck, baby boy!’ Wade gasps when they next come up for air. ‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me . . .’

‘I think I can make an educated guess,’ Peter murmurs against his cheek, and once again feeling inexplicably bold, reaches down and palms Wade through his pants. Wade swears loudly. ‘Mm, yeah. As I thought.’ Peter gives a gentle squeeze.

‘Fuck, fuck, shit!’ Wade closes his eyes. ‘I’m dreaming. I’ve been dreaming since last night. This just can’t be happening, it doesn’t make sense, I can’t the this lucky!’

‘Wade?’ says Peter kindly, and Wade opens his brown eyes again, the look in them slightly dazed. ‘Shut up?’

Wade shuts his mouth and nods, and then, possibly just for something to do, he pulls Peter tight against him, running his hands up his back under his t-shirt and kissing his neck. Peter puts his arms around Wade in turn, the touch of chapped lips and rough fingers enticing another moan from him.

Suddenly he’s on his back on the couch, and Wade is kissing him again, pushing his t-shirt up and sliding his fingers across his skin.

‘So soft,’ he murmurs, moving to kiss Peter’s chest. ‘Your skin . . . It’s so soft and warm and you’re so gorgeous, fuck . . .’ He flicks his tongue out over Peter’s nipple, and Peter gasps. ‘So fucking hot,’ Wade mumbles into his skin. He kisses lower and lower until he reaches the lining of Peter’s jeans. Then he looks up at him with earnest brown eyes. ‘Can I . . . ?’ He seems to hesitate, and then stutters out the rest of his request. ‘Can I, just, I want to touch you . . .’

Peter’s never been the type to go to third base on the first date, but nothing about this is typical. He draws in a deep breath and licks his lips before nodding. ‘Okay.’

Unbuttoning Peter’s jeans, Wade pulls them down past his hips before sliding his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. His hands are shaking with apparent nervousness as he pulls down Peter’s boxers as well, to reveal his dick.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs, and takes Peter in his hand, stroking slowly. Peter’s head falls back and he groans. Wade’s rough, strong hand feels so good. His touch makes everything else melt away, and Peter shuts his eyes for a few moments, revelling in the feel of it.

Then Wade’s hand is replaced with something warm and wet, and Peter’s eyes shoot open.

Peter doesn’t swear, not in any way that matters. He limits his exclamations to the kindest and least offensive words he can come up with. He doesn’t like swearing, was brought up not to do it. It is a testament, therefore, to how amazing Wade’s mouth is that Peter, without thinking, cries, ‘Holy shit!’ He looks down at Wade, at his soft brown eyes, in awe and amazement. Then Wade does something with his tongue, and Peter whimpers, one hand clutching at the seat cushion underneath him and the other cradling Wade’s bald head. ‘Oh, God . . . Wade . . .’

Wade responds to the sound of his name with a groan that seems to reverberate through Peter’s dick and into his whole body. Peter hasn’t been touched by anyone but himself in months, and though this is far from his first blow-job, he’s pretty sure he’s never had one quite like this. Wade appears to have no gag reflex, swallowing Peter whole. Peter’s warning of, ‘Wade, stop, I’m gonna—’ is too late, and his body stiffens and stills as he comes in Wade’s mouth with a loud groan.