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Deadpool has a thing for Spiderman's ass.
It isn't a secret. The Avengers know it. The X-Men know it. The civilian guy the other day that Peter saved from a mugging who caught an eyeful of Deadpool giving his ass a very inappropriate slap knows it. It is quite possible that literally everybody and their mother knows it, Peter included.
Or well, he had thought he knew. It would seem, however, that he hadn’t in fact, known. Or if he had known, he certainly had not appreciated the exact depth and magnitude of Deadpool’s feelings for this particular asset of his.
As it turns out, Wade likes his ass perhaps a little too much. That is the only explanation for why he seems to be having so much fun with his face between Peter's cheeks, lapping away at his skin like a dog would at a bowl of wet food.
(Peter would be a filthy liar if he said it didn’t drive him absolutely wild.)
The analogy makes it sound sloppy, and it is, but not really in a bad way. In fact, it feels pretty good, downright fantastic even, so much so that Peter can’t help but rock back against the tongue that is setting all his nerve endings on fire. Not that he could get away even if he wanted too, not with the way Wade’s arms are hooked around his thighs and hips, holding his body in place so it has no choice but to take what Wade dishes out.
His moans would probably be shattering the windows if he didn’t have Wade’s dick stuffed in his mouth. Instead, his whines stay trapped in his cheeks as he slavers around his mouthful in a way that can only be described as wantonly.
“Didn’t I tell you to suck me?” Wade says, and Peter only then remembers that’s why he had Wade’s dick in his mouth in the first place. He resumes the bobbing of his head, his cheeks wet with the saliva trails spreading all the way down to Wade’s balls. He is not-so-distantly mortified at the mess he is making, and is marginally grateful that Wade can’t see the absolute wreck his face is.
Only marginally, because it does not matter if Wade sees his face or not—he knows exactly how much of a slut Peter is for his cock.
The thought has shame curling hotly, deliciously, in his gut. He’s so distracted by the sensation that he almost misses the moment Wade’s tongue slips inside of him.
“Mmm!” he moans, the muffled sound vibrating in his chest. His movements over Wade’s cock falter as his cheek nuzzles helplessly against a scarred thigh.
A mild slap surprises him so much that he nearly bites down before he remembers to not do that. It sets him back at the task at hand, though. He swallows deeper and deeper until Wade’s balls bump his nose, then back up again, as fast as he can. He’s gagging, practically choking on the cock in his throat.
He hates this, he truly does. He hates the way Wade manhandles him, the way he spreads his cheeks widely apart so there is nothing left to the imagination. He hates sucking cock like a well-payed whore, like he is the one being rewarded instead of the other way around.
(What Peter hates the most though, is that he doesn’t actually hate it at all.)
All Peter gets in warning is Wade tensing and grunting, before his mouth is suddenly full of come. There is lots of it, so much that it starts to seep from the corners of his lips. He slides his mouth down Wade’s cock hurriedly, catching the mess back in his mouth before it can get too far. His cheeks flame at his own actions—especially since Wade hadn’t even told him to do it—but the moan he can hear behind him makes it worth it.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it?”
Peter shakes his head 'no'.
Wade chuckles. “You still like it anyway, don’t you, baby boy?”
If Peter’s face can burn any further, it does so in that moment.
“Answer me when I talk to you.”
Peter nods, and it earns him a hard smack on his left cheek. “Answer me.”
“Yes!” Peter says, or at least he tries too. What he manages is a wet, muffled, “Yuff!” that nearly makes the come slip out his mouth again.
“Of course, you do. Sluts like you always do,” Wade’s arm slides down his body until his hand is on the slight bulge of his right cheek, stroking his thumb over it almost affectionately. “I bet you’d hold it in your mouth all day if I told you. I could fuck you into this mattress and you wouldn’t even let yourself moan ‘cause a good slut like you wouldn’t risk even a drop getting out. You’d let it sit on your tongue for hours until I finally gave you some more.”
Peter whimpers and his body shutters. His hips writhe over Wade’s chest as much as they dare.
“Hmm, maybe some other time. Swallow.”
Peter does, and only once his mouth is completely clear does he lift off of Wade’s cock. His face slumps onto Wade’s damp thigh, his slick lips breathing in deep, ragged breaths. Wade does not reprimand him, though. Instead, he pulls away altogether, ignoring the cry of protest he gets in response.
“Get yourself open for me so I can fuck you, baby boy."
"B-But—" Peter stutters, mortified at the thought.
Wade suddenly struck down a hard smack on his right cheek. Peter doesn’t know what’s worse: the sharp sting, the horrendously loud sound it makes, or the way his “ow!” sounds like little more than a petulant whine.
"Brats like you always think they don't have to do what they're told," he reprimands, his voice so stern that Peter feels properly scolded. "I bet a good spanking would set you right."
"No," Peter moans, like the thought doesn't send fire through his body.
"I don't know, you sure sound like you need one."
"No, please, I-I'll be good." To drive the point home, he amends, “I’ll be good, sir.”
"Then do what I tell you. And while you’re at it, clean up the mess you made."
Peter is confused, until he realizes that despite his efforts, he had let some of Wade’s come slip from his mouth after all. It lies in a little white puddle over his balls, and Peter hurries to run his tongue over it. It has cooled by now, and it seems all the stickier for it, but he dutifully laps it up anyway.
He is still licking when he hears the snap of a lid being popped open. He reaches his hand back, and seconds later he has cool, slick lubricant drizzling over his fingers. He doesn’t bother to wait. Stalling won’t make it any less humiliating, so once his fingers are suitably coated, he immediately stuffs two of them inside his hole.
If anything was hidden from sight, Wade made sure it wasn't so, taking both hands and spreading him as far open as possible. Peter could feel the burn of Wade's eyes focused on the fingers slipping in and out of him, and really, they do this all the time he shouldn't be embarrassed by this, but he is.
He distracts himself by concentrating on the other task Wade set for him, even though in reality there isn’t wasn’t that much left to clean (and in hindsight, it is really not that much better, dignity wise). He circles his tongue around Wade’s shaft, catching all traces of white that his mouth hadn’t held the first time. Already Wade’s cock is swelling into hardness again, twitching against his cheek in an obvious plea for attention. He chases after every drop, even shifts forward so he can lick up the mess that seeped down past his sack. He only just barely stops himself from licking at the soiled sheets.
“I... I got it all, sir,” Peter says, peering back.
“Mm,” Wade hums, sounding expectedly distracted. “Good boy. Now—three fingers. And be quick about it.”
Peter hurries to pull his two fingers out, and moves just as fast to put all three in. He fucks himself as fast as his hand will allow, and tries not to think about how his hole must look, red and glistening, no doubt already swollen, though nowhere near as wrecked as it’s going to be by the end of the night.
“Fuck, your ass is perfect, baby boy. You could make good money off this thing. Lucky me, I don’t have to pay a dime.”
“I’m ready,” Peter says, when he can take no more. “I’m ready, please, I—”
“That eager to ride my cock, are you?”
“Yes,” Peter admits. “Yes, yes, please—”
“Well then go on and put that ass to work.”
Peter nearly scrambles to comply. He shifts all the way off Wade’s body, before coming back to slide his calves underneath Wade’s thighs, the best position for him to ride as deep as he can. He reaches back to grab Wade’s cock, and in one fell swoop, sinks down to the hilt.
They both groan in unison. Peter wastes no time: he braces his hands against the mattress in front of him and rides his ass back. The sinfully lewd sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room, but it’s not nearly as loud as his moaning.
“Yeah, just like that," Wade says. "Who taught you how to throw ass like this?”
“You! You did!” he cries.
Wade chuckles for a second time, which tells Peter the question had probably been rhetorical. “That’s right. I taught you to ride dick just the way I like it, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir!” Peter cries. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“Faster.”
Peter drops back so hard the bed creaks under his effort.
“I could watch you bounce this ass all day. I bet you’d love nothing more than that.”
“No,” Peter whines.
Wade huffs a skeptical laugh. “No?”
“Want you to fuck me,” Peter says. “Please! Please, I want you to do it—”
He’s pushed so far forward he nearly falls off the bed, until two hands around his wrists save him. It does not entirely seem to be for his benefit though, because in the next moment his wrists are being pinned to the small of his back, and his hips are being hiked up until he’s steady on his knees. His nipples brush against the rough fabric of the comforter, but as far as stimulation, that’s all he gets. He’s got nothing else to focus on than Wade’s cock, already pushing inside him again.
Wade is as passionate as always, fucking Peter’s ass like he’s mad at it. By now, the bedroom is an all-out warzone—the headboard sounds like a hundred bombs detonating back to back, and the bed springs are the bullets to match. It is a wonder there have been no angry fists banging on the walls or broomsticks slammed against the ceilings of disgruntled neighbors. Or maybe there is. He wouldn’t really know, would he? He doesn’t know a lot of things right now, aside from the cock pounding into him.
Still, he knows enough to get out, through his shameless, whorish moaning: “Please... please fuck me harder!"
“Really?” Wade asks, sounding amused, and his thrusts do not so much as falter even as he speaks. “You look like you’re already about to come apart.”
“Please! I can... I can take it, sir—please!”
“Anything for you, baby boy,” he answers, and Wade gives it to him.
His thick, scarred hands are clenched around Peter's hips so tightly he will surely feel the grip for days to come, even with his healing. He uses them like an anchor to slam Peter back against him, wrenching his body back and forth like he’s nothing more than a warm-blooded doll. If he cares at all that Peter’s head comes closer and closer to flopping off the bed with each thrust, he doesn’t show it. Not that Peter cares either. Wade fucks him so hard he can’t even try to think anymore.
Despite how Peter begged for it, Wade was not wrong in his assessment. He can only handle the intensity of it for a moment before sudden sparks zap through his veins and he’s done. He doesn’t even have time to warn Wade before he’s coming without even so much as a single stroke of his cock. His body jerks wildly in Wade’s hands, and he screams so loudly he wouldn’t dare be surprised if he found an eviction notice taped to their front door in the morning.
Wade thankfully slows his assault, but he does not stop until he himself is coming for the second time, and he paints Peter’s insides just as thoroughly as he had his mouth.
Wade’s grip on him is the only thing that keeps Peter from crumbling when he finally pulls out. He is little more than a ragdoll as Wade maneuvers him back up to the top of the bed. Once he has settled Peter gently against the pillows, he leaves, only to return a moment later with a warm, damp cloth. Peter barely registers Wade wiping the both of them clean. He does, however, notice and appreciate the sweet, gentle kisses he receives around his neck and shoulder afterwards.
“I was good?” Peter mumbles after a while, for what is probably the hundredth time.
“The best,” Wade assures him, like he does every time but still sounding just as sincere. “Go to sleep now, okay?”
Wade gives him a few more kisses, before rising to his feet. To Peter’s questioning look, he says, “Betty White is doing an interview in ten minutes and I’ll never forgive myself if I miss it.”
Peter chuckles at that, but when Wade turns to leave, he calls out, “Wait,” because it is at that moment that a bit of real-world clarity filters into his mind. He’d rather not bother with it—much rather close his eyes and sleep the best sleep for the next year or so—but he has class and then work all day tomorrow, so he needed to remind Wade now. His ‘thoroughly-fucked out’ mode does not suddenly eliminate the list of chores that must be completed. “Don’t forget it’s your turn to do the laundry tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“And when you go for groceries don’t forget to grab a pack of salmon burgers like last time.”
“I won’t, Petey.”
“Oh, and MJ is stopping by for dinner to work on a project, so could you straighten up the living room for me? I would really appreciate it.”
“Alright—"
“Also,” he finishes before sleep can claim him, “don’t stay up too late. Don’t forget you promised to drop May off at the airport, so you’ll need to be up early. Her flight got rescheduled for nine, so try to have her there by seven-thirty, okay?”
Wade sighs. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re the best,” Peter tells him, and is lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds of Wade’s disgruntled grumbling.
The End