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Neither Peter nor Wade are strangers to a good joke. Clever quips are a thing both their hero personas are known for, even if they’re the only ones who find them funny. Doesn’t matter that criminals groan and roll their eyes whenever they start up their two-man comedy skit. They’re hilarious, and grossly underappreciated.
It extends into their personal life, as well. A constant game of yes and -ing that, honestly, makes them unbearable to be around sometimes. It’s made even worse by the fact that, given the shift in their relationship in the last two years, the jokes often devolve into shameless flirting.
Peter at least limits the flirting to their civilian life, so New York can receive Spider-Man’s undivided attention.
….For the most part, anyway.
The point is, he and Wade are the two funniest people on the planet, and also the only ones who can appreciate their specific brand of comedy-slash-foreplay.
Stupid novelty t-shirts are, naturally, a mainstay in their wardrobes. Half of their shared closet is filled with thrifted monstrosities or gag gifts from past birthdays. One year, Wade gave Peter a shirt that read Micropenis Club President, told him, “I mean it in a gender-affirming way, obvi,” and Peter laughed so hard he nearly threw up his cake.
All that to say, when Wade comes home wearing a gaudy green shirt with Ask Me About My T-Rex on the front, Peter already has a feeling he knows where it’s going. He’s proven right when, upon asking about the aforementioned T-rex, Wade pulls the shirt up over his head to reveal the dinosaur printed on the inside, exposing his bare chest in the process.
It’s not funny, and so stupid in a way that it loops right back to being extremely funny, and they both have a good laugh about it, Wade’s muffled by the material of the shirt.
He keeps wearing it, and when Peter asks, Wade barely wastes a second before pulling it up. He’ll drop whatever he’s carrying just to flash Peter, and it makes them laugh every single time, without fail. Because, again, they’re hilarious.
But every bit has to come to an end. The novelty wears off after a few months, and eventually, Peter stops asking. Wade doesn’t seem to mind, and keeps wearing the shirt either way.
He’s wearing it again today. Paired with no mask -he never wears it anymore when it’s just the two of them- and a pair of sweatpants several sizes too large, which is a feat, considering how big Wade is.
It’s an incredibly rare day, where both of them have absolutely zero responsibilities. Peter’s caught up on grading all his students’ assignments, and Wade’s job last week paid enough that he won’t have to take another for a few weeks.
Spider-Man is still on duty, technically. But crime rates have been low (due in part to the fact no one wants to get webbed up and stuck watching Deadpool smack Spider-Man’s ass and call him his pretty boy), and other heroes have been able to handle keeping citizens safe without his help.
So, Peter lets himself enjoy an evening off with Wade. They mostly do their own thing, Wade cleaning his guns at their tiny dining table while Peter lazes on the couch playing video games. Sometimes Wade meanders over, plops down next to him with his legs in Peter’s lap, and provides some less-than-helpful advice while Peter’s fighting for his life.
When he gets bored of Peter splitting his attention between his game and Wade, he gets up and wanders back to the dining table, disassembles another gun to clean, finds something vaguely edible in their fridge. Even with most of his focus on the screen in front of him, Peter can track Wade easily through his peripheral vision, aided by the neon green shirt.
As the hours pass, Wade spends more and more time in Peter’s line of sight, his cleaning project at the table abandoned. He hovers around the TV, sits even closer to Peter on the couch. Nothing terribly out of character, Wade gets restless a lot. If he wants attention, he’ll ask for it.
And he does. By sitting himself directly in Peter’s lap.
“Wade,” Peter complains, trying and failing to see around his broad shoulders. All he can see is the obnoxious green of Wade’s shirt. His arms encircle Wade’s waist, still holding the controller. “C’mon, this is a ranked match.”
“Seriously?” Wade doesn’t move an inch. “I’m shoving my tits in your face and you're more focused on your game?”
Seated the way he is, his chest is directly in front of Peter’s face, and when Peter tries to back up, he hits the back of the couch. Wade crowds into his space even more, hands on either side of Peter’s head, caging him in.
“Your chest is very nice,” Peter says, and Wade preens a little at the praise, which is cute, until he hears his character die. “And I can tell you everything I like about it after this match, I just need you to get out of the way.”
“Read my shirt first,” Wade says. “I moved closer since you clearly couldn’t see what it says.”
On the little sliver of the TV he can still see, the text chat goes crazy, no doubt his team wondering what the hell he’s doing. Peter sighs. “If I do what it says, then you’ll move?”
“Mhmm.” Wade nods his head. “Though I’ll warn you. You’re not gonna give a fuck about your game when you do.”
Ominous. But most things about Wade are. So Peter takes the plunge, and asks, “Can I see your T-Rex?”
Wade smirks, so self-satisfied, leaning back and bracing himself with one hand behind him on Peter’s knee, back arching with the new position. With his other hand, he hooks a finger under the edge of his ridiculous shirt and draws it up at an agonizingly slow pace, to the point Peter nearly jumps in to do it for him.
But oh, the wait is worth it. Peter’s mouth gapes open when Wade finally pulls it up over his chest.
Underneath, Wade’s wearing a sheer bralette in a wine-red color that contrasts beautifully with his scarred skin. Several delicate straps criss-cross along his chest, accentuating the curve of his pecs. The thin material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, hard nipples visible under the lace.
“Holy shit,” Peter breathes, awestruck.
“So? Still care about your game?” Wade asks, smirk still plastered on his face.
Peter answers by finally tearing his eyes away to pull Wade in for an open-mouthed kiss, controller clattering to the ground and game instantly forgotten. He feels Wade laugh against his lips, which Peter silences by sliding their tongues together. Filthy from the get-go.
Wade’s arms are back around his neck, the weight of them settling comfortably on Peter’s shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair. Peter’s hands find Wade’s waist, pulling him in as close as possible, until he can feel the lace of Wade’s bralette and the warmth of his body through the fabric of his own shirt.
“Been wearing this all day, waiting for you to ask,” Wade pants when they part, kissing along Peter’s jaw to his ear, hot breath making Peter shudder. “Itchy as hell. The panties were not made for all-day wear.”
Panties? Peter looks down at the nonexistent space between their bodies, and sees the tiny sliver of red peeking out from the top of Wade’s sweatpants. Peter’s mouth waters, but when he tries to pull the waistband down to get a better look, his hands are smacked away.
“I said you made me wait all day. You think I’m just going to give it up that easily?” Wade pulls his sweats up higher, hiding the little bit of lace from Peter’s view. “You have to earn it, baby boy.”
“Take your pants off and I’ll make it up to you,” Peter says, thumbs rubbing the exposed skin just above Wade’s hip bones. “I’ll earn it as many times as you want.”
Wade hums, tapping a finger against his lips like he’s earnestly considering it. “Tempting offer.”
Peter sweetens the deal by using his grip on Wade’s hip to guide him down until he’s straddling Peter’s thigh, rocking him slowly back and forth. It works to soften Wade’s resolve a little, expression melting with the firm pressure right where he’s aching just as bad as Peter is.
They both know Wade’s going to crack first. He’s always been easy, even when he tries to pretend he’s not. Peter just has to be patient, and let Wade play out his little game before he gets desperate for more.
In the meantime, the image of Wade in lingerie and riding his thigh makes for one hell of a consolation prize. Wade lets himself be guided by Peter’s hands, a slow roll that leaves him breathless. He’s gorgeous like this, thick thighs flexing with every roll of his hips, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Peter’s gaze trails down his neck to his chest again, following the lines made by the straps until he lands on one of Wade’s nipples. Unable to resist, he leans in to give it a chaste kiss, making Wade snort out a laugh, then gasp when Peter gently bites it through the sheer fabric.
He laves his tongue over Wade’s nipple before biting it again, following it with another bite up higher on exposed skin. Wade’s grip goes tight in his hair, and Peter moans low against his chest, kissing the spot he just bit before moving to give the other side the same treatment.
Peter could spend all day doing this, and he has. The constantly shifting scars across Wade’s body mean the spots where he’s most sensitive change, too, and Peter loves taking his time rediscovering each one.
Wade falls apart under the attention being lavished upon his chest, pressing down even harder against Peter’s thigh, chasing more friction. It’s good, but Peter knows it’s not enough, and when he hears Wade’s frustrated huff, he knows he’s won.
“Jesus, just–” Wade cuts himself off to moan when Peter trails his lips up to bite along his neck. “You win, or whatever, just take me to bed already.”
Peter’s happy to oblige, pulling himself to his feet and easily carrying Wade with him. Wade’s only half-joking when he swoons at being lifted so effortlessly, legs wrapping around Peter’s waist as they make for the bedroom.
Wade pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the floor, doing the same with Peter’s, before leaning in for another kiss. Not as sloppy as their first one, but just as passionate. Distracting enough that Peter bumps into the doorway, making Wade laugh before shutting him up by nipping at his bottom lip.
He breaks the kiss, about to lay Wade down in the center of the bed, only to catch sight of something just past Wade’s shoulder. Right there, on the top of their dresser, sits their strap-on, toy already attached, with a bottle of lube sitting right next to it.
Wade cranes his neck to see what Peter’s staring at, then gasps dramatically. “Who left that out?” He demands. “So irresponsible. Anyone could have found that.” He looks back to Peter. “But I mean, if it’s right there, we might as well use it, right?”
“If you wanted to get fucked, you could have just asked,” Peter says, laying Wade down so his head rests on the mountain of pillows.
“I could, but where’s the fun in that?” Wade asks, eyes following Peter as he picks up the strap. “Whimsy and humor are part of my charm. Wouldn’t want you to get bored of me.”
“I’ll never get bored of you, Wade.” The earnesty in Peter’s voice is a direct blow to Wade’s heart, made obvious by the way his sly expression cracks to reveal something a little more raw, more vulnerable. And it’s true. It doesn’t matter how much time they spend together, or what they’re doing- Peter will never, ever get tired of being around him.
“You’re such a sap,” Wade says, and then that vulnerability is gone just as fast as it appeared. “I guess that earns you a little reward.”
His hands trail across his chest, down the expanse of his stomach, fingers catching on the waistband of his sweats. Ever so slowly, he pulls them down, and Peter nearly drops the strap when his panties are finally in full view.
It’s the same style as the bralette, with straps that cross higher on his waist and complement the sharp line of his hip bone. Wade kicks his sweats the rest of the way off and shamelessly spreads his legs, exposing the soaked lace between his thighs. It barely covers him, just a thin strip of fabric keeping his cunt from Peter’s view.
He only gets a few seconds to appreciate the view before Wade seems to change his mind, and rolls over onto his stomach, hiking his hips up and forcing his back into an arch. He tucks a pillow under his chest, head turned to the side so he can watch Peter’s reaction.
Peter reaches a hand out to feel up Wade’s thigh, over the curve of his ass, finger hooking under the elastic of his panties and pulling back to let it snap against Wade’s skin. Wade jumps at the sting, and Peter pets the reddened spot apologetically for the few seconds it takes for it to fade.
He trails down Wade’s ass again, finding the wet spot between his thighs and pressing a finger in as far as the fabric will allow. Wade sighs at the contact, hips pressing back into Peter’s touch.
Then Wade lets go of the pillow to reach behind himself, taking Peter by the wrist and moving his hand up so he’s pressing against his rim instead. He gives Peter a pointed look, squeezes his wrist, and lets go.
“Again, you can just ask for what you want,” Peter says, tracing delicate skin slowly until Wade shivers underneath him.
“This is me asking.” Wade spreads his legs a little wider, hips swaying slowly. “Are you gonna give it to me or not?”
Of course he is; there’s nothing Peter wouldn’t give to make Wade happy. Which might be a little too sentimental, considering Wade’s asking him to finger his ass, but whatever. It’s how Peter feels.
Peter’s still holding the strap in his other hand, and he pulls back from Wade to shimmy out of his pants and pull the harness on. There’s a bullet vibrator already tucked on the inside, which sits right against Peter’s cock when he gets the straps adjusted properly.
The remote to control the vibe sits on the nightstand. Peter picks it up and, after a moment of consideration, gives it to Wade, who twirls it around but doesn’t turn it on.
No, Wade’s too busy staring unabashedly at the strap, admiring the toy he picked out. It’s a decent size, far from the largest in their collection, but with a nice curve that gets them both weak in the knees.
Wade licks his lips, eyes flicking up to Peter’s face, pleading silently. Peter knows exactly what he’s asking for and climbs up to sit at the head of the bed beside him. Wade’s on him before he’s fully settled, abandoning his pillow and wrapping a hand around Peter’s cock to hold it steady as he licks messily at the tip.
Peter watches, mesmerized as Wade kisses down the length until he reaches his own hand, then back up to take it into his mouth properly. Wade bobs his head slowly, taking his time, enjoying the weight of Peter on his tongue.
And Peter swears he can feel it, too, never mind the fact it’s just a piece of silicone. His mind runs wild with the phantom sensation of Wade’s hot mouth on him, cheeks hollowing as he sucks him down.
He reaches blindly for the lube, nearly knocking the bottle over in the process, but he refuses to look away from the sight in front of him. He flicks the cap open and pours some onto his fingers, some of it dripping down and landing only a few inches from Wade’s head.
When Peter leans forward, it forces more of his cock down Wade’s throat, who takes it greedily, moaning around the length as his eyes flutter and threaten to close. With his dry hand, he squeezes the back of Wade’s neck, then trails down the length of his spine.
He pulls the panties aside so he can trace a lubed finger around his hole, pressing inside slowly. Wade, apparently, isn’t interested in going slow, and rocks back into Peter’s finger, whining petulantly until he adds a second.
Peter’s more focused on getting him stretched than trying to get Wade off with his fingers. Wade enjoys the feeling nonetheless, rocking back and forth between the cock in his mouth and the fingers in his ass.
Peter shifts forward a little more to try and get his fingers deeper, unoccupied hand resting on Wade’s lower back. He puts more of his weight on that arm than he means to, forcing Wade’s back to bow even further, but before he can apologize Wade moans and tries to talk with his mouth still full. It sounds positive, whatever it is, so Peter presses down a little harder, just to hear it again.
A third finger has Wade pulling off his cock to rest his head on Peter’s thigh as best he can at the awkward angle, licking at the mess of spit he left behind. Peter twists his wrist, pressing his fingers deep and spreading them, and Wade moans something filthy before sinking his teeth into Peter’s thigh.
Peter hisses at the sudden pain, taking his hand off his back to smack his ass, hard enough to make Wade jump. “Don’t bite me, brat.”
“Fuck me,” Wade murmurs, kissing the spot he bit apologetically. “Are you happy? I used my words. Now fuck me.”
What’s Peter supposed to do? Tell him no, after he asked (kind of) nicely? That’s not going to happen.
He pulls his fingers out carefully and sits up on his knees to shuffle around so he’s behind Wade, settling between his spread legs. A less than sexy display, Wade watching with an amused little grin as he clutches the pillow to his chest again.
It’s a shame most of Wade’s lingerie is hidden in this position, but the view of his hips in the air, ass on full display, makes up for it. The wet lace struggling to cover his cunt calls to Peter again, tempting him to lean down and get a taste, and he has to physically shake the thought from his head.
No, Wade made it clear what he wanted, and Peter’s going to give it to him.
“Hurry up,” Wade complains, hips swaying again, Peter tracking the motion like a predator stalking prey. “I’m so empty without you, Daddy.”
And the spell’s broken, just like that. “Call me that again and you get nothing,” Peter warns, even as he’s slicking his cock with the excess lube on his hand.
Wade laughs, but it morphs into a drawn-out moan when Peter lines himself up and presses inside in one go. Wade barely gives himself a few seconds to adjust before he pulls up as far as his position will allow and sinks back down again, slow, savoring the fullness and sighing when Peter’s fully seated inside him again.
Peter watches Wade fuck himself for a while, until he can tell it’s not enough. He grips Wade’s waist tight, and before Wade can complain he picks up a steady rhythm of his own. Long, slow strokes that let Wade savor the whole length of Peter.
Wade struggles against the hands keeping him in place, but it’s all for show. Peter’s arousal soars at how easy it is for him to pin such a large man like Wade. How willing Wade is to let Peter pin him down, own him.
“More,” Wade slurs into the pillow, head turned to leer at Peter. “Give it to me, baby. You know I can take it.”
Well, he asked for it. And, as previously established, Peter’s incapable of telling him no.
He uses his grip on Wade to pull him back on his cock, trading a slow roll for relentless, deep thrusts without warning. It knocks the breath right from Wade’s lungs, airy moans knocked from his lips every time Peter fucks into him.
Wade sneaks a hand between his thighs, and Peter pauses just long enough to watch him pull his panties to the side and stuff three fingers inside his dripping pussy. When Peter picks up the pace, Wade matches it, driving his fingers in every time Peter thrusts.
Peter doesn’t know which he likes more- the sight of Wade’s rim stretched tight around him, or getting to watch Wade fuck himself stupid. The slick sounds produced by both actions are obscene, bouncing off the walls of their bedroom.
“Fucking, fuck–” Wade gasps, Peter snorting at his eloquent speech. “Don’t stop, what the fuck, ‘m already close–”
Peter doubles his efforts, fucking into the pliant body below him like it’s his singular purpose in life. Wade’s a vision like this, skin flushed and glistening with sweat, muscles tensing and relaxing like they don’t know what to do with the overwhelming pleasure assaulting his every sense.
Despite the warning, his orgasm catches them both by surprise, crashing into him. Peter fucks him through it, savoring the stuttered curses and pitiful moans as Wade gushes around his fingers, clamping down on the cock still working his ass.
Peter only slows down when he starts to shake, pulling out to flip Wade onto his back. Wade’s fingers slip free in the process, and he moves to wipe them on the sheets, but Peter catches him by the wrist before he can.
Peter bends down to suck Wade’s dirty fingers into his mouth, moaning low at the taste of him on his tongue. God, he wishes Wade let him eat him out earlier; maybe he still will, after Peter’s fucked him senseless.
“Freak,” Wade says, even as he pushes his fingers deeper into Peter’s mouth. Peter lets him, licking at the webbing between his fingers.
Once his hand is spotless, Peter pulls it away, and directs it back between Wade’s legs. “Stop talking and finger yourself again.”
Wade does as he’s told, making a show of working spit-slick fingers inside himself as Peter arranges him where he wants him. Legs spread wide, ankles resting on Peter’s shoulders. Peter lifts him by the hips with one hand, the other guiding his cock back into Wade’s ass.
From this position, he gets to watch the crease of Wade’s brow as he’s filled to the brim, lips parted around a breathy moan. Peter can fully appreciate the lingerie again, too, bralette taut over Wade’s chest, straps digging into soft flesh.
He picks up the brutal pace form before, hellbent on working at least one more orgasm from Wade before they’re done. Wade’s stills sensitive form before, voice caught in his throat before it leaks out in a low, rumbly moan that has heat pooling low in Peter’s abdomen.
It’s not enough. He needs to be deeper, needs to be closer to Wade. Peter hooks his hands behind Wade’s knees and shoves them back so they’re almost touching his shoulders. Wade wheezes, thigh flexing under the strain. He’s not nearly as flexible as Peter, but he doesn’t complain, taking everything he’s given and still finding room to ask for more.
“Shit, Petey, that’s good,” Wade pants, palm rubbing short circles over his cock. “Gonna knock me up at this rate.”
“Don't think that’s going to happen.” For a few reasons.
Wade rolls his eyes. “Look at you, mister biology degree–”
“Biochemistry.”
“–can’t even stop being a smartass long enough to indulge in a little breeding kink.”
Peter shuts him up with another kiss, folding Wade in half in the process. Wade moans shamelessly into his mouth; the new angle must be hitting something good, because he’s trying to rock back to meet Peter every time he fucks into him.
Wade throws his head back at a particularly good thrust, shouting a jumbled mess of curses and Peter’s name up at the ceiling. Peter does it again, and again, and again, until he feels the telltale shake in Wade’s legs.
Then he hears a little click, and he’s reminded of the vibrator pressed firmly to his cock.
Peter doubles over as pleasure rockets through him, nails digging in where he’s still got a tight grip on Wade’s legs. He buries his face in the crook of Wade’s neck, muffling a whine in his damp skin.
He didn’t realize how turned on he was until now, so focused on Wade that he forgot about himself. But he sure as hell feels it now, overtly aware of the wetness coating the inside of his thighs.
Wade clicks the remote again, and the vibrations ratchet up another level. Peter chases the sensation blindly, rolling his hips into it, trying to muffle some of the noises escaping him by pressing open-mouth kisses to the column of Wade’s throat.
“C’mon, sweetheart, give it to me,” Wade murmurs into the top of Peter’s head. He hasn’t stopped fingering himself, gasping when he curls them just right. “Fill me up, make sure I feel it for days.”
It takes everything in Peter to stop simply rutting into Wade, sitting up to force his legs back further, putting his limited flexibility to the test. It forces Wade’s back off the bed, weight balanced on his shoulders. Wade looks up at him in a daze, lips parting to say something, but Peter doesn’t give him the chance.
He drives into Wade with as much strength as he can muster, letting gravity assist, grinding down in deep, mean circles until tears prick the corners of Wade’s eyes. It forces the vibrator against him even more, it feels so fucking good after being neglected for so long, but Peter refuses to cum before Wade does.
Wade drops the remote to fist his hand in Peter’s hair, pulling him down so he can attack Peter’s throat. He seals his lips around a tender spot and sucks hard, enough to leave a deep bruise, then moves down a little to do it again.
The marks will be gone by tomorrow, but that doesn’t stop Wade from trying like hell to leave one that’ll last. Peter wishes it would, just once, so he could walk around with the indent of Wade’s teeth on his neck, visible proof of the fact they belong to each other.
The biting gets to be too much work, though, and Wade resorts to babbling nonsense against Peter’s collarbone. It’s a mess of please and don’t stop and right there, he’s right on the edge and he needs Peter to send him over.
Sweat drips off Peter’s forehead and onto the body below him. Wade doesn’t give a fuck, he wouldn’t even if he were coherent. He just grips Peter’s hair for dear life, clinging to him as best he can.
Pete– Peter,” Wade rasps into his ear. “Cum for me, wanna feel it, god you feel so fucking good.”
Peter’s a goner.
They hit their peak at the same time, Wade wailing Peter’s name as his whole body trembles with the force of his orgasm. Peter grits his teeth and fucks him through it, even as his own pleasure threatens to tear him apart. He grinds into him in small, aborted thrusts, like he really is filling him up like Wade wanted.
The vibrator quickly becomes overwhelming, in a bad way, and Peter scrambles for the remote, finding it buried under a pillow and rushing to hit the off button. He lets out a relieved sigh once it’s off, barely thinking to pull out before he collapses on top of Wade.
Wade shimmies underneath him, getting his legs in a more comfortable position and consequently tangling them with Peter’s. He pulls his fingers out, freeing his hand where it’s wedged between their bodies, and this time succeeds in wiping them clean on the sheets.
“Be honest,” Wade starts. “Was it the shirt or the lingerie that got you going?”
Peter laughs as best he can with what little higher brain function he’s currently got. “The shirt, obviously.”
“Mm, so I dealt with this itchy lace for nothing?” Wade sighs. “Better just get rid of it then.”
Peter immediately lifts his head. “Hang on. No need to be hasty.”
Wade grins at him, looking so perfect with that flush on his cheeks, that Peter has no choice but to lean in and kiss him, slow and tender, until they’re both out of breath again.
“Kissing me all sweet after you damn near broke my pelvis,” Wade teases. “Gonna get the wrong impression and think you like me or something.”
“I like you a lot, Wade,” Peter says, and he swears that blush gets a little darker. “Some might say I love you, even.”
“Sap,” Wade teases, before leaning in to peck Peter on the lips. “But I love you too. Now,” he rolls them over so he’s on top, sitting back in his heels and tugging at one of the straps of his bralette. “Help me get this shit off. Seriously cannot overstate how badly it chafes.”
Peter is a gentleman and only squeezes Wade’s pecs once in the process of helping him remove the lingerie. Both pieces get tossed to the floor, along with the strap, all to be dealt with later.
Peter attempts to get up and get them a washcloth to get cleaned up with, but his plans are thwarted when Wade drops all his weight on top of him. He can’t find it in him to complain, just kisses the top of Wade’s head and strains his arm to grab the bottle of lotion on their nightstand instead.
Even though they’re already healing, Peter carefully rubs lotion into the raw spots on Wade’s skin from the lingerie. Wade insists it’s pointless, but Peter likes taking care of him like this regardless.
Wade’s out within a minute, snoring softly where he’s using Peter’s chest as a pillow. Pete watches him sleep, fingers idly tracing the scars along his shoulders and down his arm.
Hours later, when they’ve both had a nap and a shower, Peter checks his game, and finds a temporary ban for abandoning his team.
Oh, well. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.