Holding Back - 25. Chapter 25

Peter and Wade get dropped off on the roof of Peter’s apartment building. The ride was awkward, quiet, though they held hands the whole way. Not like the others haven’t realised what’s going on between them, anyway.

When the jet has left, they stand there on the roof for a while. Peter can’t seem to look at Wade. There are so many conflicting emotions going on inside him he can’t even think straight. He’s angry, and relieved, pissed off, and joyful. He wants to punch Wade in the face, and he wants to kiss him, and he wants to fuck him. Most of all, he wants to hold him and never let go, but then there’s that anger again.

‘Hey . . .’ Wade touches his shoulder, hesitantly. ‘Petey-Pie . . .’

Peter’s instinct is to shake off his hand, but Wade’s touch is warm, his hand a heavy, reassuring presence on his shoulder. Peter exhales slowly.

‘I keep disappointing you.’ Wade’s voice is soft and a little quavery. ‘I’m sorry. I . . . I don’t know how to be different.’

His words twist Peter’s heart in knots, and he wants to cry. Instead he turns to Wade, takes in the familiar red suit, the mask, the swords on his back. He wants to see Wade’s face, but he put his mask back on when they got to the jet. Peter sighs.

‘You shouldn’t have to be different,’ he says. ‘I don’t want you to be. I’m sorry. I keep hurting you.’

‘You don’t.’

‘I do. I know I do. I treat you like . . .’ He takes Wade’s hand. ‘Let’s get inside. We can talk about it there.’

‘Yeah,’ says Wade. ‘Gotta look at that arm of yours, too.’

They take the fire escape. Peter goes in his open bedroom window and lets Wade in through the living room one, as usual. They don’t say much, as Peter peels off the top part of the suit and lets

Wade take a look at his arm and his shoulder. The shoulder’s bleeding a little again. Wade cleans it, bandages it, applies disinfectant and a gauze compress to the scratch on his arm. The cut’s not deep, but it stings, and Peter hisses when Wade touches it.

'Sorry,’ says Wade, and when he’s fastened the gauze with medical tape, he hesitantly leans forward and places a light kiss on top. ‘There. Kissed it better.’

There are words, so many words, that Peter wants to say. His brain is awash with contradictions, and he wonders if this is what it’s like being Wade, having so much spinning around your brain you can barely form a coherent sentence. He pushes the thought away. He knows, of course he knows, that being in Wade’s head is a million times harder.

Still, no words come out, so instead, Peter takes Wade’s mask off him and smothers his lips in a kiss. It’s hard and bittersweet, and familiar. Wade’s mouth tastes like it always does, if his lips are drier than normal and his breath less pleasant. Peter doesn’t much care.

‘I’m so glad you’re okay,’ he breathes when he come up for air. ‘I’m sorry I was so harsh. I just . . . I love you.’ He feels a tear roll down his cheek, and then he’s crying properly, and Wade pulls him into his arms, kisses the top of his head.

‘It’s okay, baby boy. I’m okay. I’m here. I love you too.’

Peter takes a moment to calm down before pulling away. ‘I feel like I almost lost you.’

‘C’mon, Petey. You know you won’t get rid of me that easily.’ Wade flashes him a grin, and gives him a gentle kiss. ’So . . . Make-up sex?’

Peter laughs. ‘You were chained up in there for over eighteen hours, Wade. I think you need food, and water.’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘And maybe a shower.’

‘Yeah, I pissed myself again,’ says Wade, looking completely unembarrassed. ‘Actually, I pissed on Daken. It was epic! You should have seen his face.’

‘I . . . have no idea how to react to that,’ says Peter. ‘Okay, you get a shower, I’ll fix us something to eat, okay?’

While Wade’s in the shower, Peter changes out of his suit and into clean pyjamas. Going out into the kitchen, he throws together a quick and simple mac & cheese. Wade emerges as he’s putting it in the oven, wearing a towel around his waist.

‘Smells good, gorgeous,’ he says, smiling. Then he just stands there, a few feet away, looking a little awkward. Peter’s about to say something, when Wade opens his mouth again.

‘I’m a mess,’ he begins. ‘No denying it. I’m a schizoid fucking sociopath. Every time I try to be better, I screw up. But . . . I’m better with you, Peter. You quiet the voices some. When I want to do the right thing, you show me how. Every time I fuck up, you forgive me, and I can’t believe I’m that lucky because, as previously mentioned, I’m a fucking mess.’

‘Wade . . .’

‘Just, let me finish. I know one day, you’re gonna leave me. You’re gonna figure out I’m not worth it, that I’m batshit crazy and don’t deserve your love, because I don’t. I’m a hideous fucking monster, and someone better will come along, someone who isn’t. But it doesn’t matter. Every second I get with you is worth that inevitable heartache. I just . . . I love you.’

Peter shakes his head. ‘You’re wrong, Wade Wilson.’ He takes a step closer, takes Wade’s hand. He keeps his eyes fixed on Wade’s as he brings the hand to his lips and kisses it softly. He presses the palm of Wade’s hand to his chest, his heart, hoping he can feel it beating. ‘You’re wrong about all of it. You’re not a sociopath. You’re one of the good guys. It’s just that no one bothered to teach you how to be, before.’ He licks his lips. ‘And you are worth it. Every second. Sure, you do stupid things sometimes, but who the heck doesn’t? You’re beautiful, Wade. And while I can’t see the future or anything, I’m not about to let you go. You may be batshit, but you’re my kinda batshit. And I love you.’

Wade puts his arms around him, buries his face in his shoulder. They hold each other for a long time. No more words. Just this, bodies pressed against each other, small featherlight kisses every once in a while. Peter sits Wade down on the couch while he gets out plates and cutlery, takes the mac & cheese out of the oven, fills the biggest glasses he owns with water. When he returns to Wade, he’s snoozing. Peter considers just letting him sleep, but then he knows he needs to eat, and he must be parched.

‘Hey. Wake up, babe.’

Wade opens his eyes and smiles up at Peter. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs, and Peter feels himself blush a little.

‘Food’s done.’

They eat mostly in silence. Wade drains three massive glasses of water, and then they fall into bed together, saving the dishes for the next day. They spend a long time making out, but don’t go any further than that. They’re both exhausted. It can wait. They have time. And when that time comes, Peter wants to give Wade everything he wants, and everything he needs.

Before they fall asleep, Peter feels a jolt of anxiety in his chest, and says, ‘Promise you won’t disappear?’

Wade holds him tighter. ‘Never again.’

*

Wade wakes up. It’s still dark outside. He blinks a few times in the darkness, wondering what woke him.

Peter’s kissing our neck, that’s what.

So he is. He’s lying behind him, flush against Wade’s back, an arm draped over Wade’s middle. Through the fabric of Peter’s boxers, Wade can feel his half hard cock against his hip. He moans softly. Peter returns it with a soft sound of his own, and pulls Wade tighter to his chest.

‘Mm, that feels good,’ Wade whispers.

‘Want you,’ Peter murmurs in his ear, before nipping at his earlobe. A shiver goes down Wade’s spine and he swallows hard.

‘Fuck, I want you too.’ He shifts, turns around, finds Peter’s lips in the dark. ‘I . . . kinda really need to pee, though.’

‘You can hold it.’ Peter strokes Wade’s waist with his fingertips. It tickles, but feels wonderful, too. ‘Actually, I’ve kind of been wondering . . .’ Peter trails off, and through the semi-darkness of the room, Wade can see him lick his lips.

‘What?’ asks Wade, encouragingly. ‘Tell me what you’ve been wondering.’

Peter shrugs one shoulder. ‘Just, the other day you mentioned . . . It doesn’t matter.’

Wade frowns. ‘Whatever it is, you can ask. You can talk to me about anything.’

‘Okay.’ Peter takes a breath and exhales, warm against Wade’s cheek. ‘You mentioned . . . peeing yourself. And being into it.’

Fuck your big mouth, Wilson!

Don’t you dare tell him a thing. He’ll be grossed out and leave us!

But it’s too late for that, Wade realises. He told Peter he could talk to him about anything. Either he goes back on his word, or he tells him. There is no in between. And Wade doesn’t want to lie, not to Peter. He’s lied enough, held enough back.

He sighs. ‘I’ve got a kink list a mile long, you know that. I’m into a lot of weird shit . . .’

‘It’s not weird shit to me, not if you’re into it.’

Wade feels warmth bloom in his chest at those words, even if he doesn’t entirely believe them, and laughs softly. ‘You’ll regret saying that.’

‘So, about the peeing?’

Wade hesitates. ‘Do you really want to know?’

‘I asked, didn’t I?’

‘All right.’ Wade sighs. ‘Well, a while back, I kind of realised that holding it when I really needed to go . . . was kind of a turn-on. And then that turned into holding it until it was too late and I . . . well.’ Talking about it, he feels his stomach tighten, his balls tingle, his cock twitching slightly in his underwear.

‘And you liked it.’

‘Yeah.’ Wade shuts his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this embarrassed before in his life, and that turns him on too. ‘It’s a rush, kind of. Getting all desperate, needing to go but not being able to, and then when it’s too late . . . like, it’s embarrassing and I feel all ashamed, and I guess I kind of get off on that too.’

Peter nods. ‘So, how badly do you need to go right now?’

‘Well, I had three big glasses of water before bedtime, so . . . But I’m lying down, so it’s not too bad yet.’

Is this going where I think this is going?

Man, I fucking hope so. Thought he was gonna reject us outright, but this is promising.

I’ll get the popcorn.

I’ll get the vaseline.

Peter moves his hand to Wade’s stomach, running his fingers along the waistband of his boxers. Then he presses down a little on Wade’s lower abdomen.

‘Fuck!’ Wade throws his head back, squirms, and crosses his legs as Peter puts pressure on his bladder. ‘Please . . . stop, or I’m gonna—’

‘Piss yourself?’ says Peter, silkily.

Wade swallows. His face feels warm, but even if there were any lights, Peter wouldn’t be able to see his blush, under the scars. He nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘Well, we can’t have you wetting the bed.’ Peter pulls his hand away and sits up. He takes Wade’s hand. ‘Come on.’

Peter leads him to the bathroom. In the light, Wade can see Peter’s smile. He looks around in confusion. ‘What—’

Peter shuts him up by kissing him, deeply and thoroughly, his tongue invading Wade’s mouth and making him moan. He palms Wade’s cock through his boxers, and Wade moans out loud, feeling himself go completely hard.

‘I’m gonna fuck you,’ Peter purrs. ‘And you’re not allowed to piss or cum until I say so.’

Wade whimpers, both from Peter ordering him around, and from him once again swearing.

It’s like all our fantasies coming true at the same time!

Except for the one with the tentacle monster.

Peter grabs Wade by the neck and pushes him gently into the shower, until his body is pressed up against the tiles, face first.

‘In case things get messy,’ says Peter.

Wade can feel Peter’s hands running over his body. His touch feels so good. Occasionally, Peter reaches around him and presses his hand into his lower abdomen, where his bladder is, and Wade whimpers, forcing himself to hold it. It’s easier when he’s hard, but the pressure is still overwhelming. Peter never comes near his cock, but he’s desperately hard.

Peter pulls Wade’s boxers down to expose his ass, but doesn’t take them properly off him. Then slick, slender fingers push up against his hole, and Wade utters a deep, guttural groan, pushing back on Peter’s fingers. Peter pulls them away.

‘Uh-uh. Be a good boy and stand still for me.’

Wade does as he’s told, though he’s shaking with anticipation. When Peter’s fingers enter him, he cries out. His cock, still obstructed by his underwear, twitches. He moves to touch it, but Peter grabs his arm and holds it behind his back.

‘No touching,’ he admonishes softly, and gently bites down on Wade’s shoulder. ‘I’ll make you feel so good, if you just do as I say. And if you don’t, I’ll stop.’

Well, that’s no fun.

Better do as he says, Wilson.

Wade whimpers again. Peter pushes his fingers deeper inside him, and he groans. ‘Fuck . . . feel so good, baby boy.’

‘You want me to fuck you, Wade?’

There he goes, cussing again.

‘Mm . . . Please!’ Wade is barely coherent. The feel of Peter’s fingers in his ass, when he needs to piss so desperately, is almost too much. Everything just feels more intense, more urgent, more real, and he needs Peter to fuck him, but he can’t express it adequately.

That doesn’t stop Peter, though, and soon his fingers are gone, and then his cock is pressing against Wade’s hole, and Wade can’t shut up, a string of curses tumbling forth from his lips.

‘Fuck, Peter, fuck, need . . .’

'Shh, it’s okay.’ Peter pushes inside, and Wade yelps, cock twitching again. ‘You’re doing good, baby. You’re doing so good.’

Wade can’t relax. If he does, he’s gonna piss himself. He pushes back against Peter, and this time Peter lets him.

Peter fucks him like he never has before. Or maybe it’s just the heightened sensations caused by Wade’s desperation. Either way, it’s never felt this good or this intense before, and Wade moans almost continuously as Peter slides in and out of him. His skin tingles.

‘God,’ Peter breathes next to his ear. ‘Your ass feels so good, Wade. So tight and good for me. So beautiful.’

Peter runs his hands up and down Wade’s back, occasionally gripping his hips and delivering an extra powerful thrust. He’s long since stopped holding back on his strength, and now he’s fucking Wade with abandon.

The pressure is building in both Wade’s bladder and his balls. He doesn’t know which will happen first, if he’ll piss himself or cum, but they’re both imminent, and he tries to stop it, tries to breathe. Peter picks up the pace, and now Wade is sobbing.

‘Please . . . Fuck, Peter, I can’t!’ His voice breaks.

‘Shh. You can. I know you can. Just a little longer now, baby, I promise.’ Peter’s voice is soothing and kind, though he too is breathless. He groans, deep in his throat. ‘Ah . . . I love you, Wade. You’re doing great.’

Wade wants to tell him he loves him too, but all he can do is call out his name. ‘Peter! Fuck . . . I can’t . . .’ A spurt of urine dribbles from his cock, staining his boxers, and he clenches his muscles to cut it off. Peter moans loudly in return.

‘So . . . so tight . . .’

‘Please! Let me pee!’ Wade begs, sobbing, whimpering.

‘Just . . . just a little longer. Just a second. Oh God, Wade! Just . . .’

‘Ah!’ A little more trickles out. ‘I can’t hold it! I can’t!’

‘Mmh . . .’ Peter bites down on Wade’s shoulder again. ‘Okay, baby. You can let go.’

Wade does, a hard stream of piss wetting the front of his boxers, spilling onto the tiled floor, and he can’t seem to stop moaning. It goes on for a long time, the relief overwhelming. Peter continues fucking him through it, and then, when his bladder is empty, Wade cums, without even having touched his dick, the friction from his wet underwear enough, and he cries out Peter’s name, followed by a string of obscenities. Peter continues on, rides it out with him, even though he must now be impossibly tight.

Only when the spasms in Wade’s body have subsided, only when he’s leaning against the wall, barely able to stay on his feet, does Peter groan, ‘Shit . . . I’m gonna cum!’ A couple of erratic thrusts follow, and then he stills, crying out as he spills himself inside Wade’s ass.