Title: Be My Yoko Ono (pt.4/4)
Fandom & Pairing: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Rating: R (language, erring on the side of caution)
Warnings/notes: Very generically canon for Amazing Spider-Man and Deadpool. I apologise in advance if I contradict canon accidentally etc.
The title is from the song by the Barenaked Ladies.
Massive special thanks to idontlikegravy for beta duty and being generally awesome. ♥
Disclaimer: Make Mine Marvel's.
Summary/excerpt: Peter really should have known better than to jinx himself so thoroughly.
In those brief blissful moments of hazy confusion before consciousness fully dawned, Peter was sure that he'd spent one of the best nights of his life with a borderline psychotic ex-mercenary who brought him pizza and who he was pretty sure wanted to kill him. Or was that kiss? He blinked, an unfamiliar weight pinning him to his seat, and heard someone muttering something about Rob Lowe, a coy llama, and the love that doth not speak its name.
Ooohhkay then. Not a dream.
His eyes darted to the clock on his wall, and in a rare moment of fortune, he realised he still had a few minutes left before he had to get up for work. Even better, his wrist felt fine. He took off the support bandage and flexed his fingers, pleased.
'All tippity top and Bristol fashion again? Why is Bristol fashionable anyway? I mean, man, what is it with those English mooks and their stupid made-up-'
Oh look who was awake.
Peter smacked Wade soundly across the back of his head with a perfectly healed hand. 'Well, whaddya know? Good as new.'
'You couldn't have just bent a steel girder or something?' Wade suggested, absently rubbing over the spot.
'Nope,' Peter cheerfully retorted, shoving Wade off the couch as he got up. 'I don't have any spares, and besides, I figured your skull is at least twice as thick.' He stretched and pretended not to notice Wade remembering how relatively uncovered he was, reaching for his baseball cap. Hmm. Definitely work needed in that department. But there was progress, finally, and strangely, it made Peter feel much more grounded about the whole crazy situation.
'You're not one of those weirdos who goes “jogging” in the morning and eats yoghurt for breakfast are you?' Wade asked, tugging the cap firmly on. 'Because I got my standards, you know.' He leaned over and grabbed a slice of congealed pizza that had fallen onto the floor [Score! Breakfast!] and took a bite. It only had a little schmutz on it after all.
Peter made exaggerated gagging noises. 'You are every lowlife frat house's dream guy.'
' Animal House, House, House...' came the badly sung reply, 'Dean Wormer tried to shut us doo-wn and something something jailbait girls...'
'Okay,' said Peter, dowsing himself in deodorant in lieu of an actual shower. He was not picking up Wade's habits. Oh no. This was just a one-off instance of severe bachelordom. 'and we are outta here!'
'What?!' Wade frowned. 'I thought we were bonding. Wasn't there some serious bondage happening there?' He waved a finger. 'I mean, not the kinky stuff, unless you like-
'I have to go to work, and I'm going to be late unless you move your ass now.' Peter tugged off his slept in shirt and quickly pulled on a relatively clean one and started grabbing seemingly random scraps of paper from the floor.
'Are you blowing me off for that cheap slut Mistress Minimum Wage?'
'Yes!' said Peter, thrusting a pair of boots at him. 'So go find a nice old lady to help across the street or something, or go watch that Rambo-fest they've got on at the cinema across the block, go do anything, but you are not staying here and destroying my apartment.'
'I wouldn't destroy your little Spider-Cave,' Wade tried his best to look offended. 'I could guard it and keep it very shiny and undamaged for a whole day, you know.'
'No you couldn't.'
[Nah I really couldn't]
'So maybe there's a point in there somewhere,' Wade grudgingly admitted as he hopped out of the room with one boot on. 'But I could totally- Wait. What were we talking about again?'
'Bye!' said Peter as he cheerfully slammed the door, headed for the stairs. 'Don't do something that'll end up with me swearing some kind of blood oath.'
And with that, Peter disappeared, leaving a decidedly baffled Wade in his wake.
'Did I just score there without actually scoring?' He tugged on his other boot and flicked the holographic projector back on, displaying a 30-something year old redheaded male with appropriately adorable freckles. 'Now now, what to do with our fearless hero...?' he pondered, finishing his still perfectly serviceable slice of pizza. 'Gonna have to keep up with this whole good citizen hoopla for as least as long as a few issues-um-pages before it all goes to merry Hades in a breadbasket when I get screwed over sooo... ' he paused, considering his options. 'Little old ladies, huh? I could do that. Especially if they had Bea's sturdy-'
A head poked out from a door across the hallway. 'Uh, mister, you're kinda talking real loud to yourself. Think you could keep it down?'
'It's called first person narrative, ignoramus!' Wade retorted as he jumped from the nearest window to the streets below.
All in all, it had been a pretty good day for Peter. He'd managed to get in to work with a whole minute to spare without anyone appearing to notice that he hadn't showered or had a shave. The day had passed relatively uneventfully, and he'd felt a stupid little smile pass his lips more often than he cared to admit when he thought about what he might be returning to. Things were looking up.
Right up until the moment when he swung open the forced door to his apartment and saw Wade, back in full costume, covered with blood, staring at the blade in his hand. Sitting on the couch like a broken puppet slung on a shelf.
Peter really should have known better than to jinx himself so thoroughly.
He gently closed the door and tried not to assume the worst. No, not just the worst, the cool objective part of his brain reminded him, but the most logical most obvious thing he knew about Deadpool. He was a killer. Stone cold fact. Facts had become much less reassuring these days.
Peter took a slow step forward in the direction of the couch's worryingly silent occupant. 'What happened?' His voice was calm. Not point in antagonising him.
Wade stared at the floor. 'Little old ladies, you said.' His voice was rougher than usual as he let the sword fall from his fingers.
Peter's blood ran cold. No. He wouldn't. He simply couldn't-. Just no.
Wade continued, oblivious. 'Two ran away, but I managed to get one across the street all safe, y'know? She was cute, in a Blanche kind of way I guess, but when I looked back I saw she was headed for a real nasty bit of town, and then they were following her, Pete. She barely had a fuckin' dime on her.' He looked up at Peter and suddenly everything became devastatingly clear.
Peter's heart felt the clutches of an invisible fist. He moved closer, joining him on the couch. 'And then?'
'Three of 'em against one little octogenarian with a bad dye job? You work it out, genius!' Wade's hand clenched and unclenched a couple of times before he seemed to calm, shaking his head. 'I ran – I really did run Pete, I promise you I ran as fast as I could, but she was just a mess on the floor when I got there. So I lost my temper just a lil' bit.' He laughed, bitter and hollow. 'I can't even remember what I did to 'em, Spidey. Could be morgue material, or maybe just stuck sipping meals through a straw.' He pulled off a glove and threw it to the floor. 'I think I might have a few anger issues maybe...may be a little crazy dangerous too?'
Peter oh-so carefully tugged off the blood-spattered mask and tossed it to the side, resting a hand on Wade's shoulder. Without realising, he started rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles.
'Guess I really screwed it up this time, huh? Good ole 'Pool, always there to dish out a handy bit of homicide when no-one else'll do it.' Wade continued, his eyes unbearably wide, so clear, so lucid. He looked...heartbroken. 'Outta the club now. I know. I'll try to forget the secret handshake and-'
He was cut short as soft lips pressed against his own in a brief but surprisingly tender kiss.
'You need to go take a shower,' said Peter, breaking the kiss, gently ushering him into the bathroom like a sleepy child before bedtime. 'Bathe, and I'll clean this up, don't worry about it.'
And for once in his existence, Wade did exactly as he was told.
Peter did his best to clean up the smears of blood and god-knows-what before Wade had finished in the bathroom. It was far easier to focus on that than what had just happened. What with the misery and the talking and the lips touching lips. What a damn mess this all was.
He picked up a glove and remnants of costume between two fingers, sniffed, frowned, and threw them in the trash. Wade could afford replacements. Which of course lead him neatly to the question – just what was Wade going to wear? Peter was 5'10'' with an athlete's build, and Wade had to be at least 6'2'' and all muscle. Not exactly Bestest Fashion Friends 4Eva.
The question was answered for him as Wade stepped out in a clean Deadpool costume, sans mask or gloves. 'Always keep one spare,' he offered in explanation, his voice flat. 'I get blown up a lot.'
'Oh,' said Peter, effortlessly displaying his verbal genius.
He meant to move, to simply stride over to Wade and maybe repeat that little lip on lip action maybe once or twice or six times. It was weirdly nice, okay, better than nice, and he just wanted to check if it would feel the same again. You know. For scientific purposes. Or comfort? That was a valid excuse, right? Only his brain and his feet weren't talking to each other for some reason, and so he stood there, and said 'Oh' again.
Wade looked at him. Hard. Shook his head. 'Yeah,' he drawled, 'so I'm just gonna go now, break out the rubbing alcohol and Milli Vanilli's greatest hits, have myself a merry little shindig in Casa Dead. Don't soil yourself, I'll probably have forgotten most of this in five minutes anyway.' [Especially the kissing part. Banished right to the back of that special little room in the brain along with Priscilla and Terry. It's okay though, they've got tv and wi-fi in there. Hey, no cable/Cable gag? Eh, too easy. Besides, that whole being treated like a real boy thing was getting older than that 'Arrow to the knee' meme.]
He started to pull on his mask when a hand grabbed his shoulder firmly.
'Don't,' said Peter. 'I mean. Go.' He shook his head as if throwing off some invisible force. 'I mean, don't go.'
Wade arched a non-existent eyebrow. 'Why not?'
'Because I really don't think you should be alone right now.' Wade's features hardened, but Peter continued. 'And because I'm asking you to stay.'
Wade offered a lacklustre shrug. 'Nah, I don't think so. It was fun 'n all, Spidey but let's face it, this whole “pals” thing was never going to last anyway. I just proved it. So I figure, hey, might as well nip it in the balls right now, just in case we start sharing underoos and arguing over who gets to keep grammy's best willow china in the pre-nup.'
'No.' There was that voice again. The one that made Decisions.
'Sphincter says what?'
Peter tightened his grip. 'No. I'm not letting you run away from this so easily.'
'You really got a thing for thinkin' I've got it easy, don't you?' Wade snarled, jerking away from the touch. [The nice tingly touch that's not just in Wade's Happy Fun Zone, The one that makes me want to pretend real hard that I might just be worth it.]
'I do know that running away is easy!' Peter shot back. 'And I know this would be so much easier on me too if I didn't give a crap or kinda just want tomaybekissyouagain?'
Wade glanced at Peter's reddening face and folded his arms over his chest. 'Did I make you all gay for me, Spidey?'
'Shut up,' muttered Peter as he mimicked his stance. 'I'm not exactly used to this kind of thing and I know you like me, but you've still got to be a jerk about it, haven't you?' He could feel himself rambling. 'And I'm a guy, and you're a guy, and this is just so-'
'Weird and fucked up?'
'Welcome to my life.' Wade made a grand sweeping motion. 'Kinda like a Bob Hope concert. You think it's all gonna be japes and laughs, but then it turns out he died a decade ago and the corpse is still stinking up the joint. But hey, you do get a free lobotomy with every Happy Meal.'
'I'm not exactly a stranger to weird, you know. I mean-' Peter gestured to himself. 'Radioactive spider? Seriously? You could not make this stuff up.'
'I reeeeeaaally think you'll find that you could.'
Peter was starting to get one of those headaches again. 'That's not the point.'
'So what is the point?' Wade frowned. 'No, seriously. I wasn't really paying attention for a minute back there.'
'The point is that you're not doomed. This isn't just Fate or Karma or whatever. You get to be your own man, and god yes this sounds clichéd as hell I know, but it's true.' Peter simply couldn't believe in a world without choice, because without that, he would never have the chance to make the right decision. Then what would be the point?
[Ain't they just the cutest when they still believe in stuff?] 'I keep getting told this and I keep getting beat down, Pete,' Wade sighed 'What's so different about this time?'
Wade appeared to consider this very carefully. He cocked his head, scrutinised Peter's face, paused as he pretended to squish the other man's head between a finger and thumb, then shrugged again helplessly.
',,,so is this the part where we finally finally for real pinky swear get to kiss 'n stuff? Because I watched 'Moonlighting' and I know this could ruin our whole unresolved sexual tension thing, so there's some pretty darn skippy serious pressure going on here.'
'I guess so?' What had he just agreed to? Sometimes Wade distracted him so much with talking he almost forgot about the important things. Like kissing. Oh yes, that was it.
Peter realised he should have reacted sooner, because things were abruptly digressing into the adult version of Reading Rainbow.
'-and then you get to tell me that you've always had a thing for a certain type of guy with a pert cancerous butt and his own set of katanas, and then suddenly there's a strategically placed curtain or something as we get down to some serious-'
'You've not been thinking about this at all before, now have you?'
'...and then finally (shut up, this is the best part!) we shoot an Iron Chef special with the Fantastic Four and the Olsen twins but Sue Richards cheats and makes your clothes keep turning invisible with magical barbecue sauce, and you're like, “Oh no, my poor exposed nubile body! Wade, you simply must lick-” what?'
'I'm trying to work out just who's crazier-' This relentless smiling was really starting to make Peter's cheeks ache.
'I prefer “reality adjacent” Sounds so much cooler, plus-.'
[-you can oh oh oh kissing now. Whimper. Kissing is good. Kissing and touching right there and go find someone else's yellow boxes to read, you buncha pervs.]
Peter looked up from his new position on the floor as he reluctantly broke off a wildly enthusiastic kiss, panting. 'Oxygen. An issue.' He tugged Wade back for another round. 'Okay, we're good now.'
At some point they may have ended up on the ceiling.
'So,' Wade smirked as he landed far too gracefully on the floor for a man of his brawny stature, in Peter's opinion. 'You wanna, you know...?'
'Want to what?'
Wade nodded to the open window and a sky full of twinkling lights. 'I always wanted to kick a little Spidey ass on a national monument or somewhere dramatically appropriate.'
'Then I guess you're going to have to wait a very long time,' grinned Peter tugging his mask on and soaring into the cool night air. 'Last one to the top of the Empire State Building is lamer than your right hook!'
'Hey!' Wade yelled after him, yanking on his own mask and swan diving through the window. 'I woulda been called Iron Fist if it wasn't already taken!' He neatly somersaulted over a nearby street lamp. 'Well at least it's not some lame-ass bug name, because that would just be humiliating.'
Peter glanced behind him and whooped as he saw Wade starting to catch up. 'Yeah, right! In your dreams, fanboy.'
'Every night, Spidey. Every single night.'