red :: spideypool au

3

As the sun fell, Peter grew tired. It's not that he forgot about Wade, no. The remote sat on Peter's kitchen table as he completed his lengthy list of chores. Which now included cleaning the bucket.

With every glance, the boy grew more intrigued. And when the night finally hit, he was full of questions; Peter was simply overflowing with curiosity. Deadpool was a high-quality source of entertainment.

Peter pulled the sheets over his small mattress, struggling to keep each corner tight. After that huge accomplishment, he groaned and fell to the bed. Of course, the sides of the sheets pulled up, and he was forced to complete the task again. He soon sunk into the mattress until it grew hard to breathe.

The soft drip of blood ceased. It was followed by a louder sound. Peter's ears had absolutely no problem detecting the noises. It was so easy for his senses the catch on to such clues.

Wade Wilson finally stomped his feet from the floor above, putting effort into his strikes. He kicked the floorboards mercilessly, yelling, "Peter Parker!"

Peter jumped, feet finding the floor as he found himself standing. Every hair on Peter's body stood tall, for his senses were on alert. Even after he'd identified the noises, his body did not calm. It deemed Wade a threat, and his eyes focused on the bloodied ceiling of his room. His heart hammered within his chest, ringing in his sensitive ears. Blood throbbed through his veins, only providing yet another stimulus.

"Peter fucking Parker, I know you're down there." Wade screamed, jumping on the thin barrier as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. "I know you have it."

Peter stayed quiet as he listened for the rest of his neighbors. Internally, he counted; it would not be long before he received the first noise complaint. He needed to put a quiet end to the situation.

"Bring me the remote, baby boy." It was an order. Wade's voice went utterly serious and adopted a new, murderous tone. The thudding stopped, but it made the demand far more threatening, "Bring it to me now."

"I can't understand you with that tone of yours. Would you like to try again?" Peter called up, voice hardly as loud.

"Now," Wade repeated. It seemed deadly, but the teenager still intended to push all boundaries. "Pretty please?" The grown man whined, and that drained every formality. In Peter's opinion, it drained the sexual atmosphere.

Peter hummed a quiet tune, walking over to his closet. He found himself changing, ignoring Deadpool's further, snarky comments. He switched out his red sweatshirt for a black, sleeveless tank. Though his muscles were lean, they were well crafted and held an aesthetic pull. Peter knew of this. Finally, the stressed boy ran a sweaty hand through his hair. Becoming overly conscious of the unnecessary actions, the boy stepped away from his lengthy, vertical mirror and headed for the other room. He kept the remote in his pocket, allowing the familiar designer band of his underwear to show under the hem of his black shirt. In all honesty, damn him to hell.

Peter's feet each slid effortlessly into his red slides, and he calmly left his apartment. It was obvious he was in no hurry, so Peter took his sweet time.

Deadpool, on the other hand, was in a rush to obtain his precious television remote. He was groaning continuously and dramatically.

"Oh," Peter whispered, stopping before his front door. He was overwhelmed with a random, pointless idea. "Oh." Moreover, the lad only wanted to prove a point. He turned on a dime, rushing to his room the grab the full container. Blood stirred thickly within the confined space. Peter only snickered, slowing to avoid a spill.

When Peter entered Wade's apartment, he was quickly bombarded with a technology-seeking, suited man.

"Ew, what the shit?" Deadpool stopped as the remote momentarily escaped his train of thought.

Peter set the bucket to the right of the doorframe. "You get rid of it."

"What did you just say to me?"

"I'm not carrying a sacrificial-looking amount of blood to the dumpsters, and your blood doesn't seem safe to send into the water system. That's all on you, dude." And Peter wanted to bother him; he wanted to prove his point.

"Fuck you, baby boy. You always gotta make things difficult for me. Damn you to Canada, my fake friend." Regardless of the threats, Wade was already taking the bucket to his kitchen sink. It was similar to Peter's, but Wade's was soon layered with mutant blood.

"Oh my gosh," the teenager ran a lazy hand down the length of his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily.

"I'm a rebel," Deadpool giggled, the eyes of his suit wide and humorous.

Wade pushed the empty bucket into Peter's hands. His fingers then slid lower, and they forced the air out of Peter's lungs. The grown man allowed his fingertips to dance across Peter's thin shirt. Deadpool moaned low, admiring the boy's reaction. It tickled, and Peter could never admit to his body's other replies.

Thankfully, Wade did not play any longer. Instead, he promptly snatched the remote from Peter's pocket and turned to the television. Accomplishment had presented itself through the red mask.

"All that bullshit in the sink reminds me of marinara. You wanna buy me a pizza? Tacos? It's making me crave the tomato sauce."

"Oh, now I'm buying you a pizza?"

"I'm gonna fix your ceiling and you stole my very valuable remote. Of course you're gonna pay for it, baby boy. I'm hardly a sugar daddy." Wade slunk into the torn couch, legs dangling over the armrest. "Yet," muttered Wade quietly.

"Can I make pizza instead? I have a frozen one downstairs and I got plenty of cheese and meat to add to it."

Wade moaned again, the mouth of the mask moving, but it refused to show skin. "You're gonna make me come in my suit, Peter. I don't think the red is gonna take to that very well."

"Do you have an oven?" Patience wearing thin, Peter tried to ignore the special commentary.

"No, but I got an ass. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Nevermined," Peter shook his head. "Forget it. There is only so much of you that I can handle in a single day."

"Fine. Leave," Deadpool pouted. "I'll just touch myself with this new and improved hand, baby boy. What color are your eyes? I can't leave everything to the imagination."

Peter slammed the door on his way out.