Holding Back - 14. Chapter 14

At one o’clock the following day, Peter goes to his aunt’s house. They chat over leftover tuna casserole. Aunt May is in a good mood, pleased to see her nephew, and more than ever Peter feels as though he never left, like everything is exactly the way it’s always been. Except that he didn’t used to have dates with former mercenaries lined up for afterwards.

‘So,’ she says, ‘has anything interesting happened since last time?’

Peter shrugs. ‘I dunno if I’d say interesting . . .’ He hesitates.

Aunt May looks at him shrewdly. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Peter?’ She reaches out and squeezes his hand. ‘You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’

He smiles, because of course he knows that. He always could, and he can’t see why that should stop now. ‘Okay,’ he sighs. ‘Remember that friend I told you about? Wade?’ She nods. ‘Well, it’s possible that he’s . . . not quite just a friend.’

A silence follows, during which Aunt May looks at him with an expression of mild surprise on her face. Peter waits, a nervous fluttering in his stomach. Then she smiles. ‘I see. Well, you should bring him over for dinner some time, then.’

Peter can’t help but laugh. He had expected disbelief, questions, something other than this, but Aunt May’s unconditional acceptance of his choices doesn’t really surprise him so much as it confirms what a singularly kind and understanding human being she is.

‘I’m not sure we’re at the meet the family stage quite yet, but . . . Yeah, some time. I’m seeing him tonight, actually. He’s coming over. I’m cooking. Don’t know what yet.’ He feels himself blush a little, but that’s okay. Aunt May can see him blush any time.

‘You look happy,’ she says. ‘I’m glad. You deserve to be happy. I take it he’s happy, too?’

Peter laughs again at this. ‘Oh, yeah. He’s over the moon about it all. He’s . . . liked me for a long time, I guess. I never really understood that I liked him too, but I really do. It’s different for sure, but it’s nice. I’ve never . . . I mean, I’ve only really liked girls before . . .’ He trails off, because as much as he can talk to Aunt May about anything, this topic still feels a little awkward.

Aunt May waves her hand in a gesture of unconcern. ‘You know none of that matters to me, sweetie. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.’

‘Oh, I am,’ says Peter softly. ‘We haven’t really defined this yet, I guess we’re taking it slow, but . . . Yeah. I’m definitely happy.’

‘Good!’ says Aunt May brightly. ‘Have some more casserole.’

* * *

Peter buys ingredients for Bolognese on the way home. It’s probably the only dish he knows how to cook well, as he usually doesn’t have the time or the energy to cook for himself. He gets ground beef, bacon, tomatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, celery and a bottle of red wine. He considers the pots of fresh herbs, but decides against it as he doesn’t really know how to use them. Black pepper and dried oregano will have to do for seasoning.

Cooking takes most of the afternoon, but Peter’s in a good mood. He listens to music while he chops vegetables, and while the sauce is cooking he cleans up and sets the table.

He’s pretty sure ‘around seven’ means ‘closer to eight’ to Wade, so he holds off on cooking the spaghetti. He’s extremely surprised therefore when his doorbell rings at five to seven. Surprised, but not unhappy. He’s even more pleasantly surprised when Wade enters his apartment in jeans and a hoodie, and without his Deadpool mask.

‘Hey,’ says Wade and smiles a little sheepishly. He’s got his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, a black one with the Avengers ‘A’ on the front.

Peter’s dressed himself in fitted black jeans and a purple button-down. He smiles back, closing the door and pulling Wade into a hug. Then he kisses him gently on the lips.

‘Hey yourself,’ says Peter, letting him go. ‘Make yourself at home. Dinner’s almost done.’

Wade seems to take in the set table, complete with a lit candle, and whistles. ‘You’re gonna spoil me, Petey.’

Peter laughs, going back to the kitchenette to put on the spaghetti. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. You haven’t tried the food yet, and I have it on good authority that I can’t cook worth a damn.’

‘Well, it sure smells nice,’ says Wade. He takes a seat on the couch and watches Peter as he moves around the kitchen getting everything ready. ‘So, what’s cookin’, good lookin’?’

‘Spaghetti Bolognese,’ Peter replies, rolling his eyes. ‘I would have made tacos, but Mexican food isn’t exactly my forte, so then most of it would have come out of a bag. And I, you know, I wanted to cook something from scratch.’

Behind him he hears Wade hum happily. ‘You’re too good to me, baby boy. You give me home-cooked dinner and a show, what with that gorgeous ass of yours moving round the kitchen in those tight jeans . . .’

Peter snorts and turns around. ‘You’re so corny!’

‘You love it!’ Wade retorts.

Pulling his fingers through his dark hair, Peter looks away and smiles. ‘God help me, I do.’ Then, to stop things from becoming awkward, he picks the wine bottle up off the counter (he’s used just a splash in the sauce), and asks, ‘Wine?’

‘Sure.’ Wade smiles.

Peter fills their glasses and brings one over to Wade. Wade takes it from him, and then grabs his hand. Looking straight up into Peter’s eyes, he presses his palm to his lips. The gesture feels impossibly intimate, and Peter has to clear his throat all of a sudden.

They sit down to eat a few minutes later, and with the first bite Wade makes a sound not entirely unlike the sound he makes right before he comes. ‘Oh. My. God. What the fuck do you mean, you can’t cook? This is amazeballs!’

Peter can’t help but laugh. ‘It’s just spaghetti, Wade.’

‘This is not “just spaghetti”.’ Wade takes a sip of his wine. ‘This is like a taste orgasm! Gordon Ramsay can make “just spaghetti”. The finest Italian chef in New York City couldn’t make anything better than this! It’s like it was made by a housewife in Bologna! What are you laughing at, Parker?’

Peter is clutching his side and gasping for breath. ‘You’re adorable!’ he manages to get out, once he’s got his breath back. Then he looks at Wade and smiles. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you like it.’

‘I love it!’ says Wade pointedly. He takes another bite, and Peter watches him close his eyes and moan. Through his wild gesticulation, his hood has slipped off, revealing the full extent of his bald, scarred head. It’s a testament to how comfortable he must be feeling that he doesn’t seem to care. ‘Seriously, so fucking good. No one’s cooked me dinner in—hang on, did you call me adorable?’

Peter chuckles softly as he swallows down a bite of his own. It actually did turn out pretty well, if he says so himself. ‘Yeah, well you are adorable.’

‘Of course I am,’ Wade says without missing a beat. ‘But I’m not used to people noticing.’

‘Well,’ says Peter, shrugging one shoulder, ‘you’ll just have to get used to me noticing.’

They finish eating to light conversation, and when all the food and wine is gone they move to the couch. Peter’s about to suggest they put on a movie or something when Wade pulls him into a tight embrace and kisses him. All other thoughts quickly vanish from Peter’s mind, and they spend a good half hour on the couch, making out like teenagers.

Finally Peter stands up and, taking Wade’s scarred hand in his, leads him towards the bedroom. He pushes Wade down on the bed and, with slow deliberation, palms him through his pants. Wade groans and shuts his eyes.

‘I wanna make you feel good, Wade,’ Peter whispers. ‘I wanna make you feel so good.’

‘Dunno how . . . you can make me feel any better than you already do . . . Petey-pie . . .’ Wade gasps out the words.

Peter only smiles, and pops the button on Wade’s jeans. He pulls them down to reveal pink silk boxers, which is simultaneously utterly adorkable and kind of hot. He touches Wade through the silky fabric and watches him squirm. Then he pulls down the boxers, too, and takes him into his mouth.

He’s wanted to do this for a while, at least since that first night Wade came over, but he’s been too nervous to go for it. Not tonight, though. Tonight he feels uncharacteristically bold and confident, and the way Wade’s body responds to his ministrations only enhances that feeling. One of Wade’s hands is in his hair, grasping but not pulling, his fist clenching and unclenching. He makes the most beautiful sounds when Peter swipes his tongue just so. Peter feels impossibly turned on.

Between moans and gasps, Wade’s mouth is running more or less constantly. ‘Oh, fuck, Peter . . . Feels so good, can’t believe it feels so good, shit . . . Oh please, Peter, please! Oh, I’m so close . . . Pete, you should really . . . Fuck, I’m gonna cum soon!’

Peter does not remove his mouth. Wade’s rambling only spurs him on, makes him want to see this through, and he does. When Wade comes with a moan deep in his throat, Peter swallows it down, lets the taste of him fill his mouth.

He wipes his lips and looks up at Wade’s face. His eyes are wide and he’s panting, fisting the sheets beneath him. ‘You’re so hot!’ Peter murmurs.

Wade laughs weakly. ‘You better get your eyes checked, baby boy.’

‘Don’t contradict me,’ says Peter calmly. He sits up properly and scoots up so he can plant his lips on Wade’s, who moans into the kiss. ‘If I say you’re hot, you’re hot.’

Wade strokes his cheek with a rough palm, and the look in his brown eyes is soft and tender. ‘Only you can almost make me believe that, you know.’

‘Just almost? I’d better try harder.’ Peter brushes his lips softly against Wade’s.

‘Best. Date. Ever,’ Wade murmurs into the kiss.

‘It’s not over yet,’ Peter responds. ‘Tell me, Wade Wilson. What do you want?’

‘You’ve already given me so much,’ says Wade softly. ‘What more could I possibly want?’

‘Not what I asked,’ says Peter. ‘Now tell me. What do you want?’

Wade seems to be debating with himself. His lips move but no sound comes out, and he looks pleadingly up at Peter.

Peter runs his fingers over Wade’s scarred cheek. ‘Tell me,’ he prompts.

Wade shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens them again. Finally he clears his throat and whispers, ‘I want you to fuck me.’

A flutter goes through Peter’s chest and stomach at the words, and for a moment he’s frozen. Then he crashes his lips into Wade’s again, kissing him hard. He bites Wade’s bottom lip, producing a low-pitched whine from the other. Finally, he comes up for air and, looking straight into Wade’s eyes, whispers, ‘I can do that.’