Holding Back - 22. Chapter 22

‘Ah! Shit . . .’ Peter’s eyes are half closed. The feeling of Wade’s mouth, his hot tongue, overwhelms his senses and clouds his mind. He looks down at his lover in a haze of lust, and is it weird that Wade has never looked hotter than on his knees in a sexy maid outfit, servicing Peter with the sort of enthusiasm he usually reserves for heartfelt renditions of 80s pop songs and Disney musical numbers?

Peter feels the familiar tightening in the pit of his stomach that signifies an imminent orgasm and squeezes the back of Wade’s neck. ‘W—wait, please! Slow down . . . I don’t wanna . . .’

Wade releases him and looks up at him with mischievous brown eyes. ‘This again?’

Peter shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. ‘I just . . . I want to do more. So . . .’

Wade smiles. ‘As you wish, Master Parker. Mayhaps we should retreat to the bedroom?’ He stands and offers his hand to Peter, who takes it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, pulling his pyjama pants up with his free hand. His cock feels heavy between his legs.

Wade leads him through the door into his bedroom and sits him down on the bed. He strokes Peter’s cheek with a gloved hand. ‘So, what would you like me to do?’

Peter licks his lips. ‘God . . . Anything. I just, I want . . . Man, I dunno what I want . . .’ He takes Wade’s hand and kisses his palm. ‘I just want you. You’re just, you’re so fucking hot!’

Wade makes a noise in the back of his throat. ‘You know what it does to me when you use that kind of language, baby boy?’ he purrs.

Peter looks up at him and smirks. ‘Yeah, I know.’

For a moment Wade looks thoughtful. Then he says, ‘All right, darling. Lie back on the bed. Get comfy.’

Peter does as he’s told, and then Wade is on top of him, frilly skirt and all, kissing him deeply, and his mouth still tastes like Peter’s own dick, which is hot as hell. Wade removes Peter’s t-shirt, licking and biting at his nipples, and Peter groans. Then Wade licks a trail down Peter’s stomach and pulls his pyjama pants off. He stops to give his cock a few teasing licks, but doesn’t linger. Instead he lifts Peter’s legs and hooks them over his shoulders, giving the inside of his left thigh a nibble. Peter’s breath hitches in his throat as Wade lowers his head.

He sucks Peter’s balls into his mouth one at a time and Peter moans out loud, twitching as Wade’s tongue moves further down to lap at his hole.

‘Ah, fuck!’ Peter cries out, and Wade’s chuckle seems to vibrate through his entire body. ‘Wade . . . Oh, God, your tongue!’

Peter can feel himself opening up to this warm, soft, slippery feeling, and when Wade dips his tongue inside, he thinks his eyes are going to roll back in his skull. Words fail him as the feeling takes him, and for a few moments all he can do is whimper. He pushes back against Wade’s tongue, wanting more, wanting him to go deeper, at the same time as he wants to be touched, wants to cum but doesn’t want to.

Wade knows him so well. He teases his dick with a few strokes of his hand, the silky fabric of his glove sliding across the flesh like a cool breeze, while he presses deeper inside, fucking him with his tongue. Peter is a whimpering, shivering wreck within seconds, this feeling too much and not enough.

He finds his voice at last, though. ‘Wade . . . Wade, please! Fuck me!’

Wade lifts his head and grins. ‘I can do that, Master Parker.’ His wig is crooked, so Peter reaches down and pulls it off, running his fingers across his scalp. Wade seems to melt a little, eyes closing for a few moments, enjoying the touch.

Soon he reaches for the lube on the nightstand, removes one of his gloves and slicks up his fingers. After the treatment he’s given Peter, it doesn’t take long before his fingers are inside him to the knuckles. Wade takes his time, though, opening Peter up even more, digging until he finds his prostate and Peter sees stars.

‘More!’ Peter whines, and he would probably feel embarrassed about the neediness in his voice, only he’s currently incapable of feeling anything but complete and utter rapture.

‘Greedy, aren’t you?’ Wade murmurs, hooking his fingers and pressing against Peter’s prostate once more. A generous portion of pre-cum dribbles out of Peter’s swollen dick as he whimpers with the sheer intensity of it.

‘I . . . I need . . .’ Peter gasps as Wade’s fingers touch that spot again. ‘I need more!’

Wade obliges with a third finger, and Peter’s back arches as he pushes back against the intrusion, a loud moan filling his small bedroom. He can’t think, can only feel, and what he feels is like the ebb and flow of the tide, washing over his naked body, hot and cold, hard and soft, as Wade prods and teases.

‘Wade! Need . . . You . . . St–stop messing around and fuck me already!’

Wade laughs softly, but he pulls his fingers out. It feels strange and empty. Wade straightens up and moves to take off his dress.

‘Wait!’ says Peter breathlessly. ‘Could . . . Could you keep it on?’ He blushes.

‘Oh.’ Wade smiles a crooked smile. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t wanna look at my body, either.’

In his addled state, it takes Peter a moment to take in what Wade just said. Horrified, he grabs Wade’s ungloved hand. ‘That’s not it! That’s not it at all! Wade, I love your body.’ To demonstrate he kisses the inside of Wade’s wrist. ‘I just . . . I like the dress. So . . . I thought it might be hot if you, you know, fucked me in it . . .’ He blushes deeper still, and Wade’s smile softens, becomes more genuine.

‘I think that would be hot as hell.’

There are a lot of things that Peter Parker thought he’d never be into before Wade Wilson walked into his life. For one, he didn’t think he was into guys. He didn’t think that he’d enjoy sucking dick, or that he’d be on the receiving end of anal sex. But above pretty much anything on the list of things Peter never thought he’d be into are things that never even entered his mind, things he couldn’t have thought of before. Such as being fucked in the ass by Deadpool in a gothic lolita french maid outfit.

Wade lifts the skirt to take out his cock and reveals white silk panties—they’re trimmed with black lace and somehow manage to not only not look ridiculous, but look both cute and hot at the same time—and suspenders holding up his white silk stockings with black buttons and bows. It only takes him a few strokes to get himself good and ready, and then he slicks himself up and, once again hooking Peter’s legs over his shoulders, positions himself at his entrance.

‘This what you want, Master Parker?’ he asks silkily.

Peter nods vigorously.

‘Then tell me.’

Peter swallows. Then he swallows again for good measure, before saying, ‘I want you to fuck me.’

‘How do you want me to fuck you, Master Parker?’

‘I . . .’ Peter takes a deep breath. ‘I want you to pound my ass until I scream.’

Wade grins down at him. ‘Yes, sir,’ he says, and then he does exactly that.

It’s hard and slow, and then it’s fast and rough, and Peter doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything more acutely. He grasps at the sheets, and he can’t shut up, every exhale a moan or a groan or a whimper. He gazes up into Wade’s brown eyes, sees the lust and the adoration there, and he has to close his eyes again because otherwise he thinks he might cry.

Meanwhile, Wade is talking to him, and a bit to himself. ‘Fuck, baby boy, you’re so hot like this! You feel so fucking good. You’re velvet, silk, you’re like a beautiful dream! I wish I could just stay in you always, feel like this all the time . . . I know, right? It’s like someone plucked him right out of my fantasy . . . So hot, so fucking gorgeous . . . How could I ever want anyone else? I love you, Peter! I love you so fucking much!’

Peter’s eyes spring open when he says it, and he locks his gaze to Wade’s again. He wants to respond, wants to tell Wade how much he loves him back, but the words catch in his throat as Wade thrusts into him again, drawing a moan from his lips. The moan becomes a choked sob, and Peter’s cheeks are wet.

Wade slows, but doesn’t pull out. ‘You okay, Petey?’ His voice sounds anxious. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I? Should I stop?’

Peter smiles through the tears. ‘Don’t you dare! I’m fine. I’m just happy. Fuck . . . Wade, I love you.’

Wade leans forward to capture his lips, effectively folding Peter in half, but Peter is flexible. He wonders momentarily if he should feel grossed out about sucking on the tongue that was buried in his ass twenty minutes ago, and finds he doesn’t care. He puts his arms around his lover, feeling taught muscles through the fabric of the dress. ‘So hot,’ he murmurs against Wade’s lips. And then, not caring that it’s the cheesiest line ever, he says, ‘Now, no more holding back. Fuck me like it’s our last night on Earth!’

Wade laughs. ‘I won’t last long if I do that,’ he says softly. ‘I’m . . . I’m getting pretty close.’

‘Me too,’ Peter says with a breathless chuckle. ‘Touch me?’

Wade reaches between them and takes Peter’s dick in his hand, and the next minute or so is a blur of panting, moaning, skin-slapping, toe-curling ecstasy before they both reach earth-shattering climax.

Carefully, Wade pulls out, letting Peter unfold again, his now aching legs stretching out on the bed. ‘How you doing?’ he asks softly, and Peter laughs.

‘I’m . . . I’m doing great! Holy shit . . .’

Wade gets off the bed and changes out of his outfit into soft cotton boxers. The french maid thing was hot as hell, but it’s nice to have him back to normal, too. Somehow he still has the energy to clean them both up and change Peter’s dressings.

‘You’ve healed well,’ he comments. ‘Our . . . activity didn’t tear the stitches or anything either. At this rate we can take the stitches out in the morning.’

Peter smiles. ‘I may not have a healing factor as sick as yours, but I do heal a little faster than most people.’

Wade returns the smile, taping the compress in place. ‘Don’t think we need to cover this any extra.’

Peter nods, and his eyelids are feeling heavy now. Wade lies down next to him, pulling the covers over them both and holding Peter close.

The last thing Peter hears before he falls asleep is Wade’s soothing voice whispering, ‘You just get some sleep now, baby boy. I’ll be right here.’

* * *

Peter wakes up some time during the night from a buzzing phone. Not his own. He notes Wade getting out of bed, turns over and falls asleep again almost at once. The next time he wakes the room is flooded in sunlight. It must be getting close to midday, and Peter is alone.

I don't think I've ever written a scene containing rimming before, as it's never really been my cup of tea, but I had a request over on AO3 for it, so I hope it's not too terrible.