Tacos, Spider-suits and Sex

Chapter 12

Somewhere between their second and third round, Deadpool had actually managed to drag Peter to the bed. Casa le Deadpool had been completely abandoned for the crumbled failure of a fortress that it was, and the two spent the entire next day just lazing about in bed, taking turns getting food. It was leisurely, apart from that one time when Deadpool carried him into the kitchen, taking him across the room, hands hooked under his legs, fucking him into the air and then against the counter when they got there. He had hand fed Peter some lunch, made him drink, all the while still buried in his ass, and fucked him all the way back to the bed.

Truly, most of it had been lazy rutting and blowjobs, but occasionally one or both of them managed to find a kick of energy and it became something else. Rough, hard and fast. Soft, sweet and slow. Occasionally a mix of both. Sometimes it was needy, sometimes it was as casual as talking about the weather.

One occasion had Peter bashfully blowing one of Deadpool's guns, (checking twice that the safety had been on before doing so) and discovering the mercenary might actually have a bit of a gun-play kink. Of course, that would be the kind of thing that Deadpool was into.

Peter's backside thrummed with an ache worse than he ever remembered having. Turns out, a steady diet of sex wasn't exactly the best on your joints, physically capable superhuman or not. Not that he didn't feel it when they had done it before, he was accustomed to a little uncomfortable aftermath, the sex was worth it. But used to it or not, he didn't think it had ever been this constant of a feeling... buzzed? in his insides. He was so damn satisfied with himself though that he couldn't really bring himself to care.

He was living in a full day's worth of afterglow, and Peter took a moment of self indulgence and ran his hands back and forth in the sheets. Thoroughly fucked out, drowsy, feeling high, practically glazed, and lighter than he ever remembered, splayed out naked on Deadpool's bed. Well, almost naked.

Wade was right there beside him, grinning like an idiot while he fingered the hem of Peter's mask.

Why was he hiding his face from this man again? He was fairly certain Deadpool could make an accurate school model of his body, and map out every single spot that made him twitch... but he was hiding his eyes? He'd been wearing it around just over his nose for close to the entire day, and Peter couldn't find a good reason to keep it on any longer.

"You wanna take off my mask?" Peter breathed, soft and unsure.

Wade smirked, traced his fingers down Peter's cheek and left his hand casually resting against the boy's neck. He shook his head, "Nah. I'm actually kinda chill about it. More than I thought I would be. I had an apostrophe."

Peter laughed, "I think you mean an epiphany."

"Gesundheit." Deadpool quipped, waving a hand dismissively, "You'd be too pretty. I think you've secretly got one of those faces that just meltschika's loins into butter, you know?" he patted Peter's cheek and pouted his lips, speaking in mock tone, "Like a baby Bieber, and honestly babe, I can't fuck a baby Biebs."

"You asshole." Peter was wrapping his arms around him in a heartbeat, the two of them rolling around in the bed and grinning like madmen.

Wade flipped them first, pushing Peter's back into the mattress and kissing, then opting to nuzzle the hickeys along his collar bone instead. But Spiderman was no weakling, wrapping his legs around Deadpool's torso and pushing hard. Wade now on his back, Peter smirked over him and ran his hands down Deadpool's chest. He traced his fingers along every crevice, burn mark, and scar, sliding down so that his elbows rested on either side of Wade's head before lazily pecking a kiss to his nose.

He just felt so happy, he didn't know how to put any other name to the feeling. He felt six years old again. He wanted to invest his everything into this. Whether that was stupid or just naïve of him was up for debate. It could have been that his brain had just short circuited. Too much sex. Maybe Wade had brainwashed him. All that was certain, was that he wanted this more than anything, lying there in a post-sex glow. So, cautiously, hesitant, and yet certain, he reached for Wade's hands. The confusion on his face when Peter lifted them to his face might haven been novel if didn't have such a strong need to convey this.