Chapter Text
“In New York City, people may be seeing a premature end to summer temperatures as a cold front moves in from the north,” the weather lady was saying on the kitchen television. That was good news, as far as Ellie was concerned. It was only mid-August, and it had been hot as balls since the first week of March.
“For the remainder of the week, temperatures will be low sixties and high fifties. This weekend, expect rain as well as some local thunder showers-”
Pretending to be entranced by the local news, she casually tangled her bare foot around her girlfriend’s ankle. When Yukio smiled at her, one eyebrow lifting, Ellie hid her smirk behind her coffee cup. She was about 70% sure she could convince Yukio to play hooky today. The kids would thank her. Even though Yukio was favored amongst the student teachers, it was still technically summer. No one wanted to learn more about the advancement of mutant rights during the summer.
All it would take was a little attention, a little charm, and she’d have Yukio right in the palm of her-
“That is most wonderful news!”
Ellie jerked, spilling her coffee. “Jesus fuck, Colossus.” How did she miss his entrance into the kitchen? He was literally seven feet tall. “Use your inside voice.” She was rattled.
Colossus was too busy turning up the volume on the television to protest her language. Somewhere in the last two minutes, weather had shifted to a business report, covering a press conference from Oscorp. Blazoned across the bottom of the screen were the words: A CANCER CURE?
A younger guy—early thirties, max—stood at the podium. The guy had dark, serious eyes set in a narrow face. His odd, chaotic tumble of hair clashed with his suit, which was tightly tailored to his lean body and clearly expensive. He had an entourage of people standing behind him, hands clasped in front of them. Only one of them—a smaller man with better hair but a crappier suit—was watching the guy, a faint smile on his face.
“When my father built Oscorp from the ground up,” the guy—Osborn, apparently—continued on passionately, “he always wanted cancer to one day become like smallpox or polio—treatable, preventable, and no longer a condition that destroys the lives of our families.” He smiled then, flashing picture-perfect teeth. He lifted both hands from the podium. “On behalf of Oscorp, I’m pleased to announce that today is that day. The cure for cancer is our new product, Vitanova. We’re taking questions now-”
And it was a good thing they were, because there was a barrage of them—when would it be available? How much would it cost? Which cancers did it cure? Had it been tested?
For Ellie, the answers were mostly drowned out by Colossus and Yukio excitedly chattering over the report. When Yukio started talking about how she was going to share this with her students, Ellie sighed and hooked her chin on her fist. Her chances of getting Yukio to play hooky were now next to zero.
“Betty Brant from the Daily Bugle,” one reporter called out. She lifted her phone towards Osborn. “Mr. Osborn, what do you say about the recent allegations that you are the vigilante named Spider-Man?”
There was a disapproving murmur from the rest of the crowd about the change of topic from era defining innovations to social media rumors and blurry cell phone pictures. But Osborn himself lit up, ten years shaving off him immediately. “Ms. Brant,” he drawled. “Let me answer your question with another question.” He leaned on the podium, eager. “When was the last time you’ve seen me and Spidey in the same room together?”
When the press conference cut back to the news station, the reporters there were tittering professionally at the comment. Nothing more was made of the Bugle’s ridiculous question. This was not going to be an Iron Man press conference—mostly because no one in their right mind would knowingly admit to being such a controversial figure as Spider-Man, a vigilante whose rogue gallery looked like something out of a child’s nightmare.
No, Vitanova was the topic of the hour. Whatever Vitanova was.
The day went on. Ellie finished her coffee. She got roped into one of Yukio’s classes. She got in a fight with Wolverine. Then she got lectured by the Professor.
And, at the end of the day, as far as Ellie was concerned? The press conference was completely forgotten.
But for others, the trouble had just started.
-
Jessica lifted her head from the bar top, squinting at the fluttering newspaper in her face.
SPIDER-MAN—UNMASKED?
She drained a mouthful of her whiskey thoughtfully, before saying, “Why do you read that garbage?”
From behind the counter, Luke flicked the paper down low enough to grace her with a hard stare. “I support local businesses.” His eyes went back to his reading material. “Plus, they always have the best pictures of Spidey.”
Jessica saluted him sarcastically. “And the truth comes out.”
Her eyes didn’t leave the headline. Luke was right. No picture ever did justice to Spider-Man’s particular brand of acrobatics and aerial tomfoolery, but the Bugle’s came the closest. She was 99% certain they were recycling their old photos, though. Spidey looked almost skinny in all those allegedly current photos. Underfed. Like he hadn’t yet figured out how many calories he should be giving to satisfy his enhanced metabolism.
Whatever. Jessica glanced around the empty bar, swiveling in her stool. The other two were late. She sat up straighter, fiddling with her glass as her eyes made a habitual journey through the newspaper articles framed on the walls. It was a who’s-who gallery of superhero triumphs, ranging from stories from right after the Incident to recent articles on the takedown of major crime bosses.
Jessica had questioned Luke’s sense of décor exactly once, to which he countered by questioning her sense of community.
(“I’m not part of any community,” she’d replied.
“And that’s why your ass gets beat 70% of the time. Cause, meet effect.”)
Luke could decorate his bar however he wanted. He’d more than earned it back, after all the crap they’d been through. The only thing she would continue to question is the name—Luke’s. He might as well have painted a target on the front door. Like Jessica, Luke never held onto a secret identity, and he had a shit ton of enemies. She and Claire Temple had a running bet on how long it would take for the bar to be blown up or firebombed. Again.
The door jingled. Jessica tensed moments before two hands clapped companionably on her shoulders. “Oh, look, it’s the Immortal Iron Fist, Defender of K’un Lun,” she drawled, voice flat. “We’re saved.”
Danny flicked her arm for that but otherwise didn’t comment. He slid into the stool next to her, gazing at her with a frown. “Should you be trashed this early in the morning?”
“I’ll trash you,” she snapped.
Luke quickly rained on her parade with a stern, “How quickly do you two want to get kicked out of my bar?”
Jessica and Danny side-eyed each other before giving into a mutual stalemate.
“Fuck off,” she hissed under her breath before turning her attention back to Luke. She pointed her glass at him. “Anyway, there is no way in hell Harry Osborn is Spider-Man.”
Her mouth twisted as soon as she said it. God, what was her life now that is perfectly acceptable behavior to speculate on the identities of animal themed superheroes? Even worse, Danny’s eyes had lit up at the conversation topic.
She needed a drink. Another one. Possibly the whole bottle.
“Why not?” Luke was saying. “About half of the supers around here are hyper-privileged white guys.”
Danny smirked. “Hey, I resemble that remark.” He reached over her to grab her glass from her limp hand and drained the rest of her whiskey. Jessica cocked her head as she considered punching him in the ribs—not hard enough to break anything, but definitely hard enough for him to remember her the next 100 times he inhaled. 200, if he complained.
“Just saying,” Luke said dubiously, “if Spidey is Osborn, it fits the mold.”
“Spider-Man is not Harry Osborn. Trust me,” Danny said. “I watched Osborn trip up a set of stairs once during a charity fundraiser.”
“Could be a pratfall,” Jessica offered magnanimously. “Faking it for the cameras.” But Luke was making a face. “What? Do you have a better idea who he is?”
Luke quirked a smile at her, his expression sheepish. “Some rando. $250 says we don’t even recognize him.”
“No deal.” Danny sat back, crossed his arms, and shot him a patronizing look. “I sneeze that much money out in my sleep.”
Luke squinted at him. “Why do I work with you again?” He tipped his chin up at Danny. “What would make the bet worthwhile to you?”
Danny frowned in thought. “Hm. Probably your whole bar.”
Luke smiled with his teeth. “Oh, fuck you very much, white boy.” Danny mirrored his grin. Their relationship was weird.
“So, those are our only choices, huh? Random guy or Harry Osborn.” Jessica rubbed at her face, distracted at the possibilities.
Meanwhile, Danny’s head was whipping back and forth in an obvious, suspicious manner as he checked out who was in the bar. Once he’d confirmed it was as empty as it had been an hour before he arrived, he scooted closer to the bar, eyes wide.
“As much as I hate to be that guy,” Danny whispered, “but have any of us seen Matt and Spidey in the same room?”
“Matt introduced us to Spidey,” Luke countered immediately.
“Did he really?” Jessica replied, challenging his memory. “Or did he just point Spidey to us when we all thought Matt was dead?” Luke made a face.
It hadn’t been the best first impression, nor one that inspired confidence. During the two slow years after Matt’s supposed demise, the three of them had camped out in Alias Investigations, trying to coordinate opposition to the rise of smaller ninja factions in New York City.
Then, talking a mile a minute about assassins and used car salesmen, Spider-Man had swung in through the open window, landing right on top of the map they had been using to strategize their approach. He’d had a broken nose, a mask pushed up to his cheekbones, and a sliced up suit, and he’d seemed genuinely peeved at their surprise and aggression.
Despite the partial face exposure—and the fact that she’d even had to step in and help him set his nose—she’d walked away from that experience knowing nothing particularly distinguishing about their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. That is, nothing other than the fact that he was white and probably under the age of thirty. Nothing that could eliminate Harry Osborn from the pool of potentials. She hated that she hadn’t had the foresight to take a picture, and that she’d been frazzled enough by everything that she didn’t rule out Matt from the get go.
Right now, though, Luke was scowling, not impressed with this new line of thought. Spider-Man wasn’t Matt Murdock.
Conversely, Danny looked like he was warming up, counting off reasons on his hand. “Matt’s got the moves. Matt knows all of the same players. He knows this city more than anyone, and we know he’s fearless and reckless. And if anyone we know could pull off two secret identities, it’s Matt.”
“That’s bull. I don’t believe it.” Luke set a new glass on the counter in front of Jessica with more force than necessary. It wasn’t a refill, though. It was water—on the rocks, even, but still just water.
Right. They were hitting the warehouse in Harlem. She needed to be sober to deal with that new gang of drug traffickers. Or, at least, less drunk. Jessica took two gulps of it before pressing the cool glass against her cheek, letting Danny and Luke’s continuing argument pass her by without comment.
The Defenders—out to protect the neighborhood. Heh. They could barely protect themselves. Her mood quickly soured. She stared at the discarded newspaper morosely.
Her current PI case was going poorly. There were four dead bodies on her conscience, and she was nowhere closer than she had been when she started. Worse, all signs pointed to Oscorp, and her last lead had just given her the middle finger. And now there was a slim chance that the Defenders’ last spider-themed Hail Mary was sitting at the top of Oscorp?
This case was wrapping up to be a cold one, and she could barely stomach the idea that maybe Spider-Man knew about it all along. Maybe it was finally time to pull in the Defenders after all. Unlike organized crime, murders weren’t usually their scene. But maybe it should be.
Her phone chirped under her hand. Phones chirped twice more—once to her left and once straight in front of her.
“Speak of the devil,” Luke commented. “Or the spider.”
Spidey had sent the Defenders a group text: New kid on the block. Who’s down to pound? #thatswhatshesaid #34thstreet #doitforthed(d)
Attached to the text was a blurry picture of a man perched on a flying hoverboard. Jessica squinted at it. The freak was wearing green armor, which would have been fine, but his mask was also done up like a horrific Halloween decoration. It had a mouthpiece too, jutting outward and fixed in a permanent scream. It was unsettling, and she worked with a guy who used his Catholic upbringing to terrorize the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen.
“Well, that’s an awfully convenient entrance,” Danny said, as if far away.
Distracted, Jessica lifted her head in time to watch a man in red emerge from the backroom of the bar. He prowled the length of the establishment.
“I’ll see you there,” the Devil growled as he passed. Once at the front door, he paused and turned, leveling at them a smirk that was 100% Matt Murdock. “But will you know it was me, I wonder?”
Fucking eavesdropper. The door jingled on Matt’s way out.
“Dickhead,” Luke breathed. He rounded the bar, pulling a jacket over his yellow t-shirt. “Come on, let’s go. We owe Spidey for the Murphy incident.”
There was grumbles all around as Jessica and Danny vacated their stools. No one wanted to be reminded of the Murphy incident.
The warehouse in Harlem could wait.
-
New York’s newest whack job had interesting tech. That was the flimsy excuse Captain America had used to drag Tony into this mess. And it had worked—the first time. The glider was interesting. The bombs were fascinating. And really, how many villains combined chemistry and biotechnology with weapons engineering? Three completely different sources of expertise there; Tony smelled genius at work. That it was villainy too was unfortunate but still no less interesting.
So yeah. Tony came for free the first time to ogle the goods. He wasn’t afraid to admit it.
Tony came the second time for far different reasons. The bad guy gave every indication that he was Iron Man’s kind of villain—dangerous technology, world changing motives, and private backing with deep pockets. Instead, though, who did he go after? Who did he fixate his beady yellow eyes on?
That’s right—Tony’s favorite superhero. Not. Fucking. On.
New York’s newest whack job was dangerous, and he needed to be stopped. Full stop. Anything less was unacceptable.
Tony was not surprised the Defenders rolled up to this one—34th street bordered Hell’s Kitchen, and Daredevil was known for micromanaging his territory. That he brought his friends was a little more surprising. Then again, the Defenders were doing better these days at showing a unified front. Tony had a feeling it was only because it was a front not aligned with any other faction in New York. A spiteful alliance. He could get behind that.
Steve barely needed to shift their strategy to corral the freak into Hudson Park. The Defenders slipped in with ease, like modular parts into a well-oiled machine—necessary parts, even. After all, there were only a handful of Avengers representing today, none with the mobility to take the guy on his hoverboard—except for Tony himself, of course, but Steve was trying to minimize property damage. Tony was stuck on recon and civilian detail. There were a lot of idiots out, trying to catch content for their social media. When he fried their phones with a targeted EMP, Tony felt the very opposite of guilty.
Spidey showed up. Usually, this was a good thing, a sign that the fight was taking a more positive turn. This time, though, he stepped in without knowing the strategy and wrecked it. In seconds, he’d closed up the last bit of space left between them and the bad guy, sending the unfriendly green menace flying through an adjacent building.
They set up a quick perimeter, hauling ass to get there in time. But the villain was already gone. Hands on his hips, Steve stood just outside the bed of rubble and glass where the guy should have been. He stared down at the mess, jaw jumping slightly. His cowl was off, crumpled in his left hand.
Sensing the direction of Steve’s ire, Tony hastily backed out of the building, taking it upon himself to go back outside and deal with their erstwhile free agent. See? Tony could do teamwork. He was great at it. Phenomenal, even. Suck it, SHIELD therapists.
On the street, Spider-Man was crouching on top of a light pole, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. He was completely oblivious to the eyes on him, the discreet—and not so discreet—flashes of cameras in his direction. His lens were compressed to tight slits as he dealt with whatever was on his phone.
Tony sighed. He didn’t know where to start. He genuinely liked the kid. He saw a lot of himself in the guy. Spidey was a down and dirty inventor, like he was. The kid was whip sharp—smarter than most people thought—and not afraid to use his intelligence to his advantage. He was good, too. Kind. Friendly. Bit of a smart ass at times, cheerfully chirping and teasing his way through a fight, but Tony couldn’t complain about that without a bit of hypocrisy.
But damn was Spidey a hard nut to crack. The mood swings on this kid were intense. One day, he’d kid and joke with the rest of them. The next, he was silent and asocial, maintaining distance between him and all others he might have called friends or allies. Tony didn’t know what kind of trauma Spidey was holding close to the chest to have such wild good and bad days, and if any of that tied into his decision to don spandex and swing around the city like a man seeking his own death.
Today was a good day, though; Spider-Man even waved. At Tony’s approach, he hopped off the light pole entirely, landing lightly on the ground. “Gotta do something for my loyal Instagram followers. Selfie with Stark?”
Spidey pivoted, putting his back to Tony and sticking his phone out. Tony automatically leaned in and smiled for the camera. His helmet was down. It wasn’t going to be his best pic. The new villain had lobbed an incendiary grenade at his face when he was looking elsewhere. His plate had protected him, but the new material he’d upgraded to for its flexibility had given up some durability in the process. He had a shiner and a busted lip.
When Spidey looked back at his phone, he laughed delightedly. “Yeah! That’s a good one.” He tapped quickly over the screen of his phone. “Did you get him?”
“No. And you know Cap’s gonna want a debrief because of it,” Tony commented casually—maybe too casually, because this made Spidey look up. Tony grinned awkwardly. “More importantly, I would really like you to be there. Please.”
He looks up to you, Steve always said. Use it to your advantage. Tony wasn’t a stranger to the effect he had on people, but damn could Steve make him guilty about it without even trying.
The lens of Spider-Man’s mask widened a bit; there was a slight hitch to the motion. Tony itched to get his hands on it, improve it. He had a prototype in his lab already, and he was working on making it react to the constriction of Spidey’s pupils rather than—he guessed—the widening of the kid’s eyes. It would work so much better for him, especially if he really did have the enhanced senses Tony suspected he did.
“Mr. Stark-” Spider-Man started to say. Then the phone in his hand made a series of beeps. The kid swore softly at whatever came up on the screen. “I’m sorry. I can’t,” he said, walking backwards. “Have Cap send me a form or something!”
“Webs, you really should-” Spider-Man was up and over a building before Tony could finish his sentence. Tony let him go without following.
Maybe the problem wasn’t that Spidey was like him, but rather that Spidey was too much like him. Has issues with being a team player was likely a SHIELD file footnote they shared.
Great. Steve was going to be pissed. Again. Tony sighed and went back into the building. Agents were all over the place, securing the area. The Avengers had already dispersed—Defenders too. Only Steve was left, and he was standing ramrod straight where Tony had left him.
He turned his head at the sound of Tony’s footsteps. His voice was grim. “I can’t believe Spider-Man was so flippant about this after what happened last time.”
“Defensive mechanisms come in a lot of forms,” Tony commented sagely. “Drinking, fighting, fucking, humor-”
Steve cocked his head. “Who is your therapist again?”
“-and flippancy.” Looking at the agents briefly, Tony leaned in closer to Steve, pitching his voice low. “To be honest, I’m not sure Spidey even knows what happened last time. Completely, anyway.”
“That’s what happens when you skip yet another debrief,” Steve said mercilessly, but the frown between his eyebrows eased as he chewed on that. Steve was always good at mulling things over and being fair.
It had been a Quiet Spidey Day that first round with their new flying pal. The hero hadn’t used his webs once, and he’d taken out the hired goons Cap pointed him at with worrying violence. He’d only spoken once, commenting on the stench of blood, his voice low and raspy like he was getting a cold. Then he’d backed off, disappearing in the shadows.
Overall, it had been a quick assignment. New York’s newest weirdo had taken them through a market on a high speed (and worryingly low) chase. By the time they’d reached the end of the stalls, the green Gremlin reject had disappeared. All there was left had been a wooden box in the final stall, engraved with a cartoon depiction of the very man they’d tried to capture.
Even though FRIDAY had detected no bombs, they’d erred on the side of safety, and they’d had the whole market evacuate instead. Tony had never had so many people throw fish at him before, and he’d spooked a whole group of Japanese fishermen on accident in his early days as Iron Man.
Being the most armored of all the heroes who’d shown up that day, Tony had taken point and opened up the package. He’d stood there for a very long time by himself, trying to understand what he was looking at.
On the lid, a simple message: breaking my heart, little SPYDER.
In the box, a withered, bloody organ—sliced open, peeled back, and pinned for all to see.
Three weeks later, SHIELD still hadn’t figured out where the heart came from, but it was definitely, certainly human.
In the present, Steve finally sighed, shoulders sagging. His hands loosened on the shield just a tad. “That felt uncomfortably close to a recon mission. That man wasn’t seriously engaging us.”
“Yeah, I got that impression too,” Tony said. He itched his swelling face. “What are they calling him?”
Next to him, Steve shifted slightly. His mouth flattened. He looked up from the rubble with an unhappy expression.
“The Green Goblin.”
“Huh. Cute.”
-
In one of two small supply rooms on the 47th floor of Oscorp Tower, a hard won, choked out gasp broke the ringing silence. Wade’s mouth pulled into an unseen grin behind his mask. Oh yeah. He so loved it when a plan pulled itself together.
Oh, hey. Hey you. Reader. How’s it hanging? To the left? Hah! Dick jokes.
For Wade, well… life was good. Life was great, even. Life was looking up for good old Deadpool!
…hm? What was that? You want evidence? Fuck you for being so genre and source material savvy!
This was one of the better universes, okay? First of all, Wade was flush with cash. He had oodles of money. His poor impulse control was not forcing him into a life of homelessness and destitution every other month, thank you very much. And maaaybe that was mostly because he forgot many of his accounts and passwords? Whatever. They were there, and that was what counted. He could figure out the deets whenever he wanted, so there. Stop judging.
Also? He had a bombass apartment in Chinatown! No dead bodies or rats or black mold in that one. It was newish, lightly furnished, a “gift” from a previous tenant. The only fly in his custard was a landlord with a horrific gambling problem who was willing to rent out prime real estate to red-clad citizens who showed their face around the building—like, a lot. Seriously. The guy was goddamn pushy about Wade being seen coming in and out of the building all the time.
Oh, and another thing! Did you know Wade was also a card-carrying member of the Avengers nowadays? Yeah. Bars had certainly lowered. Even so, he was a truly “valued member of the superhero community” in New York. Juuuust ignore the ‘reserve’ part on that card—he certainly did.
He was keeping busy too. As far as assignments went, he was still getting new ones on the regular—interesting ones that still meshed with the new reputation. He had even been offered a super lucrative (but boringly exclusive) corporate assignment with a lot of dineros attached, and every time he demurred, they just upped the price. It was super!
Hell, if he ever did decide to be monogamous with a multi-billion-dollar company, he probably would go with Oscorp. Well, he would if he wasn’t 99.9% sure Oscorp was secretly evil. After all, companies didn’t become an international success without destroying a few lives in the process. Nope, the stank of dead bodies and skeletons in closets hung around the place from top to bottom… metaphorically speaking, of course.
But the bestest part of it was this, right here and right now. In this very supply room!
“Like a river flows,” Wade sung happily, “surely to the sea-”
Gosh, guys. This here, it was the bee’s knees, the icing on the cake, the cherry on top. Something he thought he’d never have again—brief snapshots of gentleness and kindness and two people in utter like with one another, and-
“Screw you, Wade,” Peter Parker hissed between clenched teeth.
-ah, yes. A sweet, grumpy hunny, shaking under his body as Wade mercilessly jerked him off. Sweet baby Jesus, what was his life.
“Darling, so it goes,” Wade continued singing, ignoring Peter’s interruption, “Some things are meant to be.” Wade hummed a couple more bars of the song, deeply pleased with himself.
In front of him, the edges of the table were sharp. They left pink indents on Peter’s pale thighs, and Wade, unable to help himself, was crowding Peter into it, bending him forward harder than he meant to. His chin was hooked over Peter’s shoulder, all the better to watch Peter’s cock slide slickly over Wade’s well-lubed bare palm.
There was a delightfully tight vice on Wade’s wrist, twisting and squeezing helplessly. Peter’s other hand was flat on the table, anchoring and supporting his own weight. Peter was shaking his head restlessly, breath heavy—such a pretty picture he made!
Wrapped around his eyes a few times was his thin red office tie. The jaunty bow? All Wade, thank you very much. Wade’d also opened up that precious office shirt before he started, so he had a lovely view of how far his hunny’s blush had scratched down his flushed chest.
“You d-dick,” Peter swore as Wade kept up the sluggish pace.
“I can do this all day. Really. My schedule is wide open.” Wade pressed a delicate smooch under Peter’s ear. Peter’s cock jerked in his hand. Ooh! New spot, free to exploit. Wade was grinning so widely, his face hurt.
Peter groaned loudly, like he was suppressing the urge to elbow Wade in the throat. Then, surprisingly, he arched his back. He bent just enough so he could turn his head and whisper straight into Wade’s ear.
“You really wanna hear me beg?”
Wade bit down on his lip, suppressing a whimper. His pants were way, way too tight for Peter to pull out the husky voice. That voice was un-fucking-fair. “Don’t tease, sweetie,” he admonished.
Peter thought he was suffering? Ha! At least he had a hand on his dick. Now Wade, on the other hand, was a tightly wound ball of need trapped in a leather, Kevlar, and spandex condom from hell. All Wade could hope for was some quality memories to archive in his spank bank. (He was grateful for every one.)
Peter sucked in a laughing breath. “Hypocrite.” He nosed along Wade’s cheek blindly.
Wade hesitated, scared that his scars would finally ruin this once and for all. Then he humored Peter with a wet, open mouth kiss. He closed his hand around Peter’s bare throat, holding him in place, and Peter cried out.
Peter was so close to the edge, and shaking for it. Wade would give it to him. Wade would give him anything he wanted, really-
Wade’s alarm went off, whistling annoyingly from his phone. He deflated, sighing. He would give Peter anything he wanted… except for more time.
He pulled away abruptly. Peter fell forward on the table, catching himself on his elbows. “And that’s a wrap!” Wade slapped Peter’s ass companionably. “Good effort out there.”
Stunned, Peter let out a long, hissing noise that had no words but was somehow still rude and insulting.
“Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.” Wade shot him a pair of finger guns, winking obnoxiously, but the gesture was lost on Peter. Remembering himself (and his nightmare face and his nightmare skin and his nightmare everything), Wade quickly yanked his mask back down over his chin, taking an automatic step back from his lovely boy.
Peter was interesting to watch. He could see exactly when Peter’s corporate drone brain flickered on, immediately taking over and drowning out Peter’s orgasm-deprived lizard brain. Oscorp only gave its employees 30 minute lunch breaks, and Peter was a stickler for following the rules. Petey’s job was his number one priority—even Wade knew that.
Even so, Wade couldn’t help but feel a little mean for enforcing the rule. His boy was trembling still, standing and trying to put himself back together so he could go back to work. It was kind of cute. It took Wade all of two seconds to yank his mask back down and put back on his glove, but here Peter was, trying and failing to get his teeny tiny buttons into his teenier holes.
Deciding to help, Wade tugged the trailing end of the bow and pulled it free. He smoothed out the abused tie between his hands as he idly admired the high flush it had hidden from his view. Peter muttered something absurdly polite, like a thank you. Eyes now free, his boy was able to get his shirt situated and his pants back over his hips. He tucked the flaps of his shirt in and reached out wordlessly for the remaining piece of his ensemble.
Wade wasn’t kind. He couldn’t be. Not when Peter shifted so completely from being so present and engaging to being this… aloof person Wade couldn’t touch.
So he didn’t surrender the tie. Instead, he glided up close to his boy, smirking under the weight of those big, suspicious brown eyes. Wade wrapped the tie around his neck, looping it carefully in place. He got in real close to do it, pushing Peter into the table again as he checked the strength of the knot, sliding his thigh between Peter’s.
The immediate result of this was endlessly satisfying. Peter’s eyes were heavy lidded and unfocused. His hands were pressing bruises into Wade’s hips. His mouth was open. Wade wanted to bite and kiss his lips until they were pinker and redder-
But his hunny could see him now, so the mask had to stay down. Had to. That was the only way this porny, beautiful fairytale could continue. No one got a happily ever after ending with a monster, not even Belle—and she was so down to be a monster fucker too. Respect.
A sharp noise broke the moment. Peter blinked back into awareness, frowning and confused. “A second alarm?”
“Yup,” Wade said, popping the p. He pulled away from Peter entirely, fishing out his phone again to dismiss it. “Now’s the time to jump on the elevator if you want to make that meeting.” Feeling pleased with himself, he swung back to Peter. He froze under Peter’s frown. “What? You said not to interfere with your job. I kept my promises. Five minutes for clean up. Five minutes to run to your next engagement. You said.”
Wade was a man of his word. Well, some of his words.
Peter’s mouth pursed lightly. He looked down. Wade took it as permission to close the space between them again. He ran his hands through Peter’s hair carefully until he looked somewhat like the twinky corporate ant he’d yanked into the room rather than a frustrated man who’d been accidentally edged twice during his lunch break and left high and dry. Wade pressed a masked kiss between two frowning eyebrows for good measure.
“I did say that,” Peter muttered finally. “Once.”
“I remember everything you say,” Wade said simply, because it was true.
Peter’s eyes shot up then. Then his face softened. He popped up on the balls of his feet and pressed a glancing kiss on Wade’s cheek.
“Gasp, Petey!” Wade swooned. “Not before marriage! Papa will be so furious.” Wade wiggled away in dismay.
Peter tugged him back, circling his neck with both arms. “Shut up.” After a beat, Wade reciprocated, arms low on Peter’s hips. Peter was smiling, reluctantly, looking up into Wade’s eyes—or eye holes, rather.
Oh boy. Oh boy. It was moments like this that had the power to kill him. Really. Just annihilate him. Decimate him from the inside out. Overwhelmed, Wade tucked his mask into Peter’s collar, and Peter let him.
Peter’s chest expanded against his suddenly as he said, “I’m going to be late.”
“Yes, you are.” And because Wade was serious about this in ways he was serious about little else, he detached himself from his grumpy lovely. “Go on, get! Sell some paper!”
Peter shot him a brief, toothy grin before moving towards the door. “This is not The Office. Do you even know what Oscorp does?” he asked teasingly.
“Nope!” Wade admitted cheerfully. He flashed Peter a double thumbs up.
Peter laughed silently. Then, with a last lingering look, he left, closing the door behind him.
Hugging himself, Wade rocked back on his heels cheerfully. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Peter was sweet on him nowadays. Ha, what a nerd! With feelings. Wade squirmed, delighted at the very thought.
So. Anyway, Reader. Life was great—see? He had a guy, money, an apartment, job opportunities—ooh, and a really, really cool assignment from SHIELD. He forgot to mention that too, didn’t he?
Yup! As soon as he confirmed Spider-Man’s secret identity to SHIELD, life was going to be even better. No more “reserve” Avenger status for him! If he could do something that Tony Stark had been trying—and failing—to do for over ten years, didn’t that basically mean Wade was the next Iron Man? Right? Right.
He had so many ideas of what he was going to do with that suit. Just picture it—Iron Dildo with an iron dildo. Fully erect, 24/7. He was going to jump dildo first into the porn industry, and rake in all the royalties for all the Avengers-themed pornos SHIELD pretended did not exist.
Look at that! Long term planning. Maybe Wade would even set up a retirement fund.
Life. Was. Fucking. Great.