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Peter had only a vague idea of where they were. Harry had organized everything to get into this cool underground party. Somewhere in a factory in Bush Terminal. He didn't really care, as long as they had fun and he could celebrate his favorite season – Halloween. He loved the bright colors, elaborate costumes, and references to all kinds of horror movies. He was a big movie nerd in that regard. As they stood in line to get in, he chatted with Gwen: "The tradition of wearing costumes comes from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain. People wore disguises to avoid being recognized by ghosts."
"Come on, nerd, we can go in!" MJ called to him, pulling him by the arm. The four college students stumbled inside and encountered a sea of lights, booming music, and costumed revelers swaying to the rhythm. It was sensory overload at first, especially with the artificial fog streaming from all corners. Peter coughed and his eyes watered a little. His friends pulled him along toward the bar. Harry ordered shots and drinks for all of them, and before he knew it, a woolly warmth spread through Peter's stomach. A little liquid courage for tonight couldn't hurt.
He noticed the stares of the people around them. He didn't know if it was because of his crop top or Gwen and MJ's nightgowns. His cheeks slightly reddened, he looked at his friends proudly. Yes, he had managed to get them all to dress up as the protagonists from Nightmare on Elm Street... minus Freddy. None of them had the patience or skill to pull that off. And they assumed there were plenty of other people who could.
After emptying their drinks, they went onto the dance floor and let themselves be carried away by the music. It was far too loud to have a pleasant conversation anyway. Suddenly, one person stood out from the crowd. Peter caught a glimpse of the fedora towering above the crowd. A Freddy Krueger who couldn't have been more lifelike. The red and black striped sweater fit perfectly, the fedora sat crookedly and cheekily on his head, and the blade hand, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, flashed in the disco lights. But what fascinated people most was the face. The makeup was so realistic, every burn, every scar, every seemingly melted patch of skin, that the guests were torn between revulsion and admiration.
The strobe light played with the scars as if caressing them, and Peter's lips inevitably opened in amazement and pure adoration, his pupils following the spectacle. The man came straight toward them, Peter initially seeming to be the only one who noticed him. "Hey Dream Boy," he was greeted with a grin, a white toothpaste smile of perfect teeth. Fuck, was that a flirty undertone? Or had this person just maxed out their charm? The fact that it was Freddy Krueger didn't matter at all in that moment. At Peter's silence, the other just laughed and winked.
"Dude, your costume is awesome!" someone shouted from the right, and Freddy let out a creepy but good-natured chuckle. "Thanks! I skinned my last roommate. Just kidding! ...Or am I?" he began and then whispered, "Dramatic pause," before continuing in a normal voice, "No, I'm kidding. He moved to Portland."
His friends also noticed Freddy, and Harry asked irritably, "Did he whisper in between?" Only Peter, who was standing closest to him, could hear exactly what he said. And now he too was overcome with laughter. How ridiculous was that? But also somehow attractive. He couldn't really describe it, but the man had a very special charisma. Oh man, why did that sound so cheesy?
The other man's eyes were fixed on him, a playful look in them, but before he could even open his mouth, MJ and Gwen had already grabbed Freddy's arms and were jumping up and down excitedly. "Oh man, oh man, oh man!" said one. "That's perfect!" exclaimed the other. Harry just shook his head amusedly, and Freddy seemed a little overwhelmed at first, before he started grinning again. Harry pointed to a door, and the group headed there. It promised to be a little quieter behind it, so they could have a conversation.
On the way there, they passed a row of boilers, which prompted Freddy to say, "Ah, home sweet home! They even got the asbestos level right. Nostalgic." Peter really had to be careful not to swoon. Not only did this man have the costume down, but he also had an accurate grasp of the storyline and enough imagination to weave it effortlessly into his speech. Maybe the bar was set pretty low, but these were definitely massive plus points in Peter's playbook. Well, he didn't have a playbook, you'd have to be a player for that... but he had plenty of books. Time to get out of these thoughts.
They settled down on a couch and Harry got them a few more drinks. "Hey, stranger danger! This isn't a costume, it's a warning label," Freddy remarked, pointing two fingers of his ungloved hand at his eyes and then at Harry. Harry just rolled his eyes and took a sip from each drink before handing them out. "Happy?" he sneered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from MJ.
Everyone laughed a little, and after they had taken a few sips, Freddy said, "So let me get this straight" – "no one straight here," Peter blurted out, and everyone gave him amused looks. He blushed, bit his lower lip, and pulled his head back between his shoulders.
"Okay, cataloguing THAT for later..." Freddy started again: "We've got the Final Girl," he pointed to MJ as Nancy Thompson, "the first victim," to Gwen as Tina Gray, "the wrongly accused guy," Harry as Rod Lane, "the doomed dreamer," and he said that somewhat more meaningfully, his eyes lingering a little longer on Peter and his bare skin as Glen Lantz, "and little old me as the villain. This party is just a third-act bloodbath waiting to happen."
"Dude, your method acting is... intense," Harry remarked, and Freddy thanked him with a laugh.
Once the movie roles were clear, they also exchanged their real names. The man in the Freddy costume – who introduced himself as Wade – was brash, funny, and unexpectedly charming. Peter, usually a bit clumsy with words, found an ease that was foreign to him.
They talked animatedly about all sorts of things, Peter at one point playing with Wade's glove and tugging at it: "The iconic Freddy glove was made from real leather and actual kitchen knives for the first film. The sound it makes? That's a mix of a bicycle chain spinning and... sizzling bacon."
"Oh wow, talk nerdy to me."
MJ noticed how Wade's eyes crinkled when he laughed at Peter's jokes, and how his posture softened. She noted to Gwen, "He seems really into Peter. It's sweet." The two decided to leave Peter and Wade some time alone and dragged Harry along with them to go back to the dance floor. Peter didn't notice at first because he was so engrossed in conversation with the other guy. Only when he looked around searchingly did Wade say that his friends have gone back to dancing and that he didn't want to stop him from having fun with his friends. "You know, in the original script, Glen gets the girl. Just saying," he added, his shoulders slumped slightly and not quite as enthusiastic.
"MJ and me?" Peter squeaked, somewhat embarrassed, and shook his head vehemently. "We tried, several times," he began to explain, and Wade gave him his undivided attention. "I love her... very much. But in a different way... like platonic soulmates? If that makes sense? She knows everything about me, I know everything about her..." Wade nodded understandingly.
"Reminds me of my ex-wife Vanessa."
"Ex-wife????"
The taller one laughed a little and started to tell his story: "It's a story straight out of a book, high school sweethearts, head over heels, basically we ran away together from abusive parents and a toxic environment. We got married in Las Vegas, and yes, I know how cliché that is. No, Elvis wasn't involved. One thing led to another, we just had different ideas about life..." Wade shrugged, but there seemed to be something else in his voice that Peter couldn't quite put his finger on.
He had no doubt that he was being told the truth. But it seemed as if a crucial part of the story was missing. "Hence ex-wife. But we're good. She's still the most important person in my life. Knows me inside and out."
A silence ensued between them. It wasn't oppressive, more as if both were briefly lost in their thoughts. Imagining what life with the two women might be like or how it might have turned out. Peter played with his fingers in his pajama pants; he just couldn't shake some nervous habits. But before it got too quiet, he blurted out, "Are you a haunted house? Because every time I look at you, my heart stops and then I feel an overwhelming sense of dread and excitement." His head turned bright red, his eyes wide open. Way to go, Parker. You should definitely take Flirting 101.
Wade briefly furrowed his eyebrows. "Too much? It was too much," Peter wheezed, wanting to sink into the couch cushions.
The other guy chuckled again: "Nah, Baby Boy. I was just surprised at how forward that was." And the toothpaste smile returned. Something did somersaults in Peter's stomach, and he fervently hoped it wasn't a facehugger. The tension between them was thus resolved, and they continued their conversation.
"Oh! Oh, that reminds me! Did you know Robert Englund, the guy who played Freddy, was a classically trained actor? He was in a production of The Three Musketeers with Mark Hamill! And it gets even crazier," Peter continued, barely pausing for breath. "When George Lucas was casting the original Star Wars, Englund was actually considered for Han Solo! His friend Mark Hamill was basically sleeping on his couch at the time, and Englund convinced him to come along to the audition. Can you believe it? Englund didn't get Han, but because of that nudge, Hamill got cast as Luke Skywalker! So Freddy Krueger is basically indirectly responsible for Luke Skywalker! How cool is that?!"
Before Wade could respond, and that was a damn cool fact, MJ and Gwen rejoined them, looking a little excited. Wade tensed up a bit, as if he were about to sprint away and go into defense mode. The muscles in his shoulders flexed, which Peter noticed clearly and made him swallow.
He couldn't say why he was so attentive to the small nuances, it just happened. But the tension was unfounded, because it was only about the costume contest that was currently being introduced on the main stage. The women took them to the next room, where Harry was already waiting for everyone. "Costume contest?" Peter asked, stumbling slightly behind, holding on to Wade's biceps for a moment.
"And with start number 5, we have Nightmare on Elm Street!" announced the DJ, and before anyone could answer Peter's question, they were all running onto the stage together, cheered on by the crowd. Apparently, his friends had taken the opportunity to sign up for it.
The crowd was chanting, "FREDDY! FREDDY! FREDDY!" The spotlight hit him. Wade, as Freddy, stepped up to the mic. He held up his gloved hand, and the crowd fell silent, expecting a classic line or a menacing roar.
Instead, he leaned into the microphone and said, in a perfect, gravelly Freddy impression: "What's wrong, kids? Afraid I'd... nail this? Don't worry, I'm used to people staring. Usually, they're just trying to figure out if my face is a special effect or a failed science experiment."
He then broke character for a second, winked at the crowd, and added in his normal voice: "The answer is 'yes'."
That got him a confused-but-delighted laugh from the crowd and Peter started to wonder again, why that's scratching on his nerves. Wade's vague statements didn't sit right with him. They all waved to the crowd before leaving the stage. The next group represented Blade Trinity, and Wade muttered something about "Oh no, the goatee was one of my worst looks." They joined the previous candidates, who were all standing in a corner waiting for the award ceremony.
Peter noticed a detail in one group that brang out his inner nerd again. "The realism in this blood pack is great! Most people just use red syrup, but the slight purple tint here shows an understanding of hemoglobin. Deoxygenated blood isn't bright red; it's a darker, burgundy color. This is really accurate!"
His friends seemed to be used to this, laughing and hugging him for it. Wade looked at him somewhat dreamily, but couldn’t keep his mouth shut: "Oh, I can give you a real demo later. My blood is probably a cool shade of 'regret' and 'expired penicillin' by now."
The self-deprecating way of the other may be funny to some, but once again it stabbed Peter like Freddy stabbed Nancy Thompson in the third part of the franchise. He wanted to talk to Wade about it in a quiet moment, but that moment wasn't now, because the award ceremony was starting. In third place was a group representing Psycho, i.e., Norman Bates, Norman Bates as his mother, Marion Crane in the shower, and the shower itself. Peter clapped enthusiastically and praised them for choosing an absolute classic, which was not a given these days.
Second place went to a group in Hotel Transylvania outfits, and Johnny kissed Mavis devotedly in front of the audience, who erupted into thunderous cheers. MJ and Gwen cheered them on encouragingly. Count Dracula tried to pull the two apart, while his buddies held him back. It was almost like a little comedy interlude on stage. Once they've had their fill of cheering, first place was announced.
The tension rose and Peter nervously grabbed Wade's hand. He didn't care about winning, although he suspected his friends – especially Harry – did. The sounds around him became muffled, so he didn't even notice that their starting number was actually being called and the crowd began to roar. Only when he was standing on stage hand in hand with Wade did he really realize what was happening, and then he was dipped down and Wade indicated that he was going to kiss him. Peter turned bright red and gasped for breath, and the crowd laughed. Gwen and Harry did the same, but they actually started kissing, and MJ stood nearby with her arms crossed, pretending to sulk.
Wade pulled Peter back into an upright position and instead took off his fedora and put it on Peter's head to "protect" him a little. He then pretended to slash Gwen with his knife hand, stole a scarf from the audience to put it around Harry's neck, and finally stabbed MJ in a fake attack. He then grabbed Peter under the knees and shoulders and carried him bridal style. "It's all just a dream, you know?" he shouted to the crowd before leaving the stage.
Peter was still a little confused, but was gently set down again at the bottom. As winners, all subsequent drinks were on the house and they were given sashes to wear. Wade even received a crown, and since Peter was wearing his fedora anyway, he strutted around proudly with it. His chest puffed out. Some people came up to them and patted them on the back or congratulated them. Wade pointed to the bar so they could redeem their free drinks.
At the bar, Wade flexed playfully to make the Freddy sweater stretch over his bicep.
"You know," Peter said, his head tilted in that adorably analytical way of his. "With your build, you're giving off 'New Nightmare' vibes. Also, you'd make a terrifying Jason Voorhees. I mean, the hockey mask and shoulder pads would be no problem for you to fill out. You have the perfect physique for a silent, hulking slasher."
Wade went completely still for a second, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening into something more complex, a mix of amusement, pain, and irony. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low, theatrical whisper that was meant for Peter alone.
"Ah, but Baby Boy, Jason's whole deal is that he's a mama's boy who hides his face because he's disfigured," he murmured, tapping a clawed finger gently against his own scarred cheek. "This? This is my Friday. Wearing a mask to hide this would be... redundant. And frankly, bad branding. Freddy owns the real estate."
He then leaned back, the moment of intensity passing as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual grin. "But I appreciate the compliment on the chassis. I work hard to maintain this temple of terror. Mostly by lifting pints and my own self-esteem."
Peter was a little confused, again this nagging feeling at the back of his head. What did Wade mean with real estate? He couldn't wrap his head around it. They got their drinks and sipped them, leaning against the bar and watching the dancing crowd.
When a familiar song started playing and Wade cited the whole intro with it until "What's your favorite scary movie?", he took Peter's hand and led him onto the dance floor. Singing along, he danced with him, sometimes teasingly, sometimes with real body rolls. Damn, Wade knew how to move his body. Had it just gotten several degrees hotter here?
Peter tried awkwardly to keep up. It wasn't that he had no sense of rhythm or timing, but rather that he simply wasn't confident enough to just put on a performance. Sometimes he felt as if his body was foreign to him, something he couldn't control properly. He was much more at home in his mind than in his body.
As if Wade had sensed this downward spiral in his head, he reached for his hands again and wrapped them around him. Placing his fingers on Peter's waist, he gave him some structure, moving him slightly to the music so that he could follow. So that he got a feel for it and they started dancing properly together. Close, very, very close to each other.
On the one hand, this was due to the crowd around them, but on the other hand, it was because they were attracted to each other like two opposite poles. Their bodies followed a flow, their movements becoming so fluid together. Peter's arms wrapped around Wade's neck and he caressed it, fascinated by the feel of the scars beneath his fingertips. The other guy had put so much effort into the SFX makeup. And now it would be easy to lean up and just kiss him.
Wade maneuvered them across the dance floor as if he had a specific destination in mind. They disappeared through a door into a stairwell that was dark and deserted and probably led up to the roof. It was a little colder, Peter felt it tingling on his skin. He leaned against a wall, the music still ringing in his ears. Their breath heavy between them as Wade leaned with one arm over his shoulder, in close proximity. As they were completely alone and the tension between them was palpable, Wade leaned in even closer, his voice a low, intimate rumble.
"You know how you said the Freddy glove sound is made with sizzling bacon?" he whispered, his eyes flickering down to Peter's lips and then back up. "Well, I have to warn you... being this close to you is making my bacon sizzle."
He then pulled back just an inch, a ridiculously proud grin spreading across his features. "Too much? Did I just ruin the moment by comparing my libido to a breakfast food?"
It was cheesy, it was absurd, and it was perfectly Wade. It made Peter burst into a fit of genuine, flustered laughter, completely breaking any remaining tension and pulling them even closer together.
As they moved to kiss, Wade hesitated drastically. "You should probably see this before we go any further..." he said, his voice suddenly rough and stripped of all playfulness.
Peter's eyes searched those of the other, but their gazes didn't meet because Wade avoided him. A confused little sound left his lips, his fingers grabbed the other's sweatshirt and hold him tight.
Wade sighed deeply and took the crown off his head to run his hand over his bald head. He dropped the cheap plastic on the floor before rubbing his face firmly with his other hand. Peter almost wanted to stop him so he didn't ruin all his hard work.
But the taller man's words stopped him: "The best part of this outfit? I don't have to do my skincare routine. This is my skin."
He expected everything: shock, flinching, revulsion. He's seen it so many times before. He would have liked to have spent the night doing something else. Why did he like Halloween so much since his accident? Because he didn't have to hide. Because for once he didn't feel too thin-skinned (pun not intended), stretched out like the skin over a lampshade by Ed Gein himself. That night, he was celebrated, stared at – but not out of disgust, but because they think he has such a great skill. A conflicted feeling. Pride, mixed with bitter irony, he's being celebrated for his own deformity, which is being mistaken for art. It's a liberating lie.
But he couldn't do that to Peter. Peter, who looked at him with such admiration in his brown, deep eyes. Whose voice sometimes jumped a little, his words tumbled out, his body language enthusiastic while so excited to talk about his knowledge, his facts. To joke around. To shyly duck his head and blush so beautifully. Who wore his heart on his sleeve and radiated honesty and kindness with every fiber of his being.
This was the moment he shed his protective Halloween mask and showed his true, injured skin. He braced for the other to run.
Peter's confusion turned into initial shock. At first, he was lost for words and had to process what is happening. Wade's hand slowly slid down from his face, revealing his true self underneath. He realized the immense significance of the night; that Wade's bravery wasn't in wearing a costume, but in leaving the house at all.
His feelings shifted from confusion to deep empathy and awe. Peter didn't flinch. Instead, he reached out, gently and without agenda, and touched one of the scars. Not as a curiosity, but as a part of Wade. He didn't want to ask why. Tears glistened in Wade's eyes and threatened to overflow, he swallowed hard, his breath almost non-existent.
"I thought you had the best costume here. But you weren't wearing one at all," whispered the smaller one, between them, in their little bubble they had created away from the hustle and bustle.
A tear slowly dripped from Wade's eye and left a trail across his scarred face. Peter's eyes followed it before he carefully wiped it away with his thumb. His posture remained strong to signal to the other that this was not a problem for him.
It took a few moments before the motor mouth started up again, his lips trembling as he spoke: "If that's a problem, I understand–"
However, the sentence is not finished, as Peter had already tiptoed over, placed his fingers lightly on both cheeks, and pressed his lips to the other's. At first, it was a tender, shy, soft exchange of their warm lips on each other. Wade, initially frozen and struggling to process this, saw the closed eyelids in front of him and did the same.
He carefully placed his hand on Pete's neck, his thumb on his jawline. Gentle kisses between them, some shorter, some longer. Peter became bolder and used his tongue. Licking the edge of the other's lips, begging to be let in. Wade, who groaned and opened his mouth. Tongues engaging in a dance with each other. Not fast or desperate, but exploring and teasing, and already familiar with each other in their own way. As if they had been doing this forever and hadn't just met tonight.
Slowly, they pulled away from each other, taking deep breaths that were denied them before. Their foreheads gently touching, their noses briefly meeting in an Eskimo kiss before they put a little more distance between them. Both swallowing, their vision still slightly blurred. Peter slowly licking his own lower lip. Wade's eyes slowly following this action. No words between them, only glances and hesitant movements. The fedora landed next to the crown on the concrete floor. The blade glove was slipped off and joined it somewhere.
Now both hands free, they slid to Pete's waist, then further up, briefly under his shirt, then further down and rested on his hips. Peter's breath hitched, the scarred fingers now clearly felt on his skin. His heart beat faster and he felt the blood flowing in a certain direction in his body. But he didn't care. The man in front of him had revealed his vulnerability, which made it clear to him that the man beneath the scars was the one he started falling for that night. He wanted to show him that accordingly.
He pressed his groin against him, rubbing his slowly filling erection against his thigh. A moan escaped his lips, shy yet lustful. His fingers glided gently over Wade's face, feeling the scars there. His eyes, so open, now looked at the other man with a certain despair. Not hunger, but something similar.
Wade bit his lower lip and pushed his thigh closer to the other. Felt the bulge in his pajama pants pressing against him. Let Peter hump against him. The younger man did so for a few moments, almost as if in a trance, before his voice could be heard softly: "Does it hurt... do they hurt?"
He was used to all kinds of questions, mostly curious and gruesome. Only concerned with their own fascination and sensationalism. But Peter was so different, so sensitive, so compassionate. Not pitying. Maybe fascinated, but for all the right reasons. If you can say that. "Some days, yes... but most of the time, it’s relatively numb."
Peter's fingers wandered further, down Wade's torso, to the hem of his sweatshirt. "Can I?" the soft voice again. The taller man just nodded, his tongue suddenly thick and swollen in his mouth, a lump in his throat. Curious fingers slid under the fabric, feeling the scarred skin there. All the bumps and cracks, but also the muscles underneath.
It has been a while since he's been touched like this, and he couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping his throat. The fingers stopped immediately and his head snapped down to meet the other's questioning gaze. He took a deep breath, nervously played with his tongue on a canine tooth, and nodded several times to signal that it was okay. After clearing his throat loudly, he whispered, "I'm not used to it anymore..."
The previously tentative fingers pressed harder into his skin, wanting to make their presence felt. Their warmth, their determination. His eyes almost rolled back into his head and he too slowly felt Wade Jr. awakening. "Fuck..." His throat felt so dry, and he still couldn't quite believe what was happening. That one of the prettiest and obviously smartest people he's ever met, was giving him such attention.
A hand rested firmly over the bulge in his pants and his body rolled against it. Just for a few moments, because they urgently needed to change position. And he needed to taste that mouth on his again. He already knew that he could never get enough of it.
A few steps backward, bumping against the stairs, they settled down on them. Peter knelt over him first, before pulling him energetically onto his lap. He understood the hesitation, the other's fear of hurting him. But today was not a day for pain, and even if it was, he wanted to feel the other on top of him. Even through their two pairs of pants.
His fingers wandered into the thick brown hair and he pulled his face back to him. Lips now meeting more passionately. He had almost forgotten how intoxicating kissing could be. It was one of his favorite things to do with Vanessa, so why should it be any different here? And not just on the mouth, he loved to worship his partner's body. Giving them all his attention and expressing his affection through actions rather than words. Even though he was always good with words, of course.
His mouth left the other's, his tongue drawing a wet trail across his skin. Teasing teeth on his neck as they dry hump side by side. "Not enough..." Peter's whisper came and he knew what he had to do. The waistband of his pajama pants was slightly pulled down and his boxer shorts followed, wedged under Peter's testicles. Wade couldn't see it at the moment, but he grabbed the erect member firmly, stroking it up and down.
He felt the other body tense up, Peter's fingers digging into his shoulders. Nevertheless, he continued to lick his neck lazily while massaging his erection. Peter's hips inevitably began to circle and followed the touch.
"Good boy," he whispered smugly in his ear, noticing the hiccups above him, which only made him grin. All of the other's reactions were such a boost to his ego. That he was doing it right. That someone else still found him attractive enough.
But suddenly his wrist was held and he stopped. He looked up at the other man, who was looking down at him with glassy eyes, reddened cheeks, and open lips. A few moments passed without motion, just blinking and breathing. Then the other leaned down and tried to kiss him, but first bumped into his nose, which made them both giggle a little. Wade gave him a peck on the lips and then felt fingers on the zipper of his pants. His own hand still motionless.
Ah, now he understood. He nodded to signal this. The other man knelt briefly to give him enough room to pull off his pants and boxer shorts. He pushed the stiff denim fabric, including his boxer shorts, down to his ankles, as otherwise he would not be particularly mobile. He also wanted to be able to spread his legs wide enough again. Once that was done, Peter settled back down on top of him, his eyes fixed on his slightly left-leaning, erect penis. It too was covered in scars, but that didn't affect its function.
Slender fingers wrapped around him, not squeezing, but touching his skin there more gently than anyone had ever done before. He allowed it, his heart swelling in his chest. Peter did so many things differently from everyone else before him, and he didn't know if he was dreaming after all. His skin could become relatively irritated with a lot of friction, which was why he fished some lube out of his pants pocket. Was he optimistic to carry that around with him? Maybe. But now it was proving to be quite useful.
He pulled the smaller man a little closer to him so that their erections rubbed against each other, provoking a soft moan from both of them. Then he opened the lube pack and wrapped his hands around them both to let the liquid drip onto them. Although it had been warmed in his pants pocket, it was now a little cooler than expected, causing them both to shiver briefly. Wade laughed softly and began to move his hand. At first, they were both in a trance, silently watching their flesh press against each other.
Wade's penis was larger and the glans took on a reddish-purple color, while Peter's entire member took on a pinkish sheen, almost like a blush. It was so cute, and Wade wanted to remember it well. Slowly, their hips also moved to support the tactile contact. Peter's fingers slid to his jawline and their eyes met. They now looked at each other intensely while Wade gave them a joint handjob.
He tried to perceive and absorb every movement, every little hiccup from Peter. Peter pushed his chest out slightly, his hardened nipples clearly visible through his crop top. His Bambi eyes were fixed on Wade, as if he wanted to scream, I see you. I see you. And I like what I see.
Now it was Wade who let out a hiccup from his throat, his lips already slightly parted. For a hookup at a party, things had gotten pretty intense between them. And he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He would love to spend more time with the other guy. But he didn't know if he could even hope for that. The thoughts caused a knot in his stomach and his hand slowed on their skin.
They both tensed up a little, still aroused, but it was almost as if they had suddenly sobered up. Looking at each other for the first time. Wade wanted to look away, but Peter held him tight. Swallowed. "It's okay," were his quiet words. Not demanding, not disappointed. Understanding.
He lingered for a few more seconds, the warmth of his fingers penetrating Wade's skin. Before he climbed off his lap and got dressed again. Cringing a little, because of the lube and the erection. A cold shiver ran down Wade's spine. Would it be over? Shit, had he screwed it up?
As if Peter had sensed it, he leaned down to him and kissed him encouragingly. He slowly coaxed him to stand up and pulled his pants back on. Not without massaging him up and down once or twice, as if to show him that it wasn't over yet. The zipper pressed uncomfortably against his crotch, and Peter wiped the lube off on his own pajama pants.
Almost as if nothing had happened, he casually said, "I was afraid someone would come in here anyway."
Wade stood there looking a little lost, not knowing what to do. They had gone from soft to desperate to soft awkward and now to... what exactly? The knot in his stomach was getting bigger and bigger and he was almost frozen.
Fingers intertwined with his, not without a brief "Ierkh," due to the leftover lube, which was now smeared on the crop top. "Hey Wade, are you coming?" he heard Peter's voice in the distance.
He glanced down at the other man. A loving smile played around his features. "To me," slowly left his lips so that the other could register it. He pulled him by the hands to better convey the signal. "To my bed," to make it CLEAR.
The knot loosened, Wade could almost hear the popping sound, and life returned to him. A grin crept onto his lips, especially when he looked at Peter's condition. Disheveled hair, red cheeks, lube stains on his crop top and pajama pants. Which, by the way, didn't really hide the state he was in. But this beautiful man didn't seem to care. No, he wore it with pride. And would take him home. If he hadn't been a goner from the start, it would have happened now at the latest.
They started moving, picking up the crown, fedora, and glove. As they left the stairwell and dug their way through the party crowd to leave the establishment, their bickering started again.
"Careful, Johnny Depp's first major role was getting sucked into a bed and turned into a geyser of blood, or what I like to call it: a bloody smoothie. I hope you don't have a waterbed."
"Actually, that effect was done with a rotating room and over 50 gallons of fake blood, which was mostly diluted wallpaper paste. It took three days to clean up."
"You are the weirdest and most perfect person I have ever met. Tell me more about viscous fluids."
"Well, the Evil Dead trilogy used a combination of..."
Wade turned briefly to the audience: "And this is the moment I fell in love," before turning his attention back to Peter: "Don't stop."
With that, the two disappeared hand in hand into the night. And maybe... it was all just a dream. Or wasn’t it?
