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Peter hates Wade sometimes. He’s crude and ruthless and just generally insufferable. Granted, he has a feeling that Wade hates him too in the moments that he holds this look in his eyes like he just wants to break him piece by piece. Because Wade is like that, he breaks and leaves a mess of debris behind him without a second thought.
So they fight. It’s usually about something trivial, but sometimes it’s an explosion. All the pressure that simmers under the surface of the younger hero’s skin, it has to release at some point in a sudden combustion like exposing gas to a flame. He lights up and burns until there’s nothing left.
Peter tells Wade that he’s a selfish asshole.
Wade tells Peter he’s seen enough rom-coms to know where this is going.
Except, apparently he hasn’t, because between the yelling and flipped furniture, Peter’s back is pressed up against the apartment wall some minutes later. He tears at the skin of the merc’s neck with his nails, kissing him angrily, like he’s going to make a point by biting at his bottom lip until it’s sore. Wade shoves a leg between his thighs, one hand braced next to his head so that he can concentrate on catching his tongue and drawing it into his mouth to suck on.
At some point, Peter can taste copper and he’s not sure if it’s Wade’s or his. But it doesn’t really matter, because he bites hard enough at his tongue that if it wasn’t Wade’s before, it is now. Peter presses his weight forward, nearly toppling their precarious balance but Wade just throws him back against the wall so that his head jerks back, colliding with the plaster in a dull, throbbing pain.
Hissing, he lets Wade push him down, his back sliding down the wall under his knees are flat on the floor. The only warning that he receives is the rustling of fabric against flesh before he’s level with a red, hard erection. Wade juts his hips towards him so that his cock his heavy on Peter’s cheek. It’s warm and leaking pre-come at the tip, smearing slightly on his skin.
“Fuck you,” Peter snarls. It only earns him calloused fingers twisting into his hair and pulling. It’s enough for him to part his lips in a gasp of sharp pain—something aching on his nerves somewhat pleasantly even with the pain—and the tip of Wade’s cock is between his lips, a palm on the back of his skull, forcing him forward.
Dark, chestnut eyes glare at up at him from his place on his knees. His pupils are blown, because fuck he wants this, the more that Wade tugs at his hair he wants to swallow him down. But he doesn’t want to give in to Wade because that’s something like losing as he wants to make him wait, to suffer for it.
The merc is having none of that though, all lust and raw desire to his tone as he pulls at his hair again. “Suck,” he orders, voice gruff. Peter thinks he might say more, like he might ramble on like he usually does during receiving head because he’s Wade and he never shuts up. But he’s terse with his order and he wonders if he’s doing it because he’s mad or because he’s talking to himself mentally.
There’s another nudge at his lips before Peter flicks his tongue out to taste the head. He inhales a scent full of musk and gunpowder before dipping his head back down to wrap his lips fully around the tip. His tongue runs over it wetly, tasting all of him greedily, lapping at it like he can’t get enough because he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love this.
(Not that he’d tell Wade.)
Wade seems to know anyways. He groans, forcing his head to take more of him down with a push of his palm. “That’s right, Petey. Use your tongue…you know you love the taste of my cock.”
Peter’s breath hitches, but he bobs his head down further, letting his cock fill his mouth. It’s thick and prodding at the back of his throat in an uncomfortable pressure, but he continues until he chokes over it and has to pull back. He takes a moment to frown at Wade before he’s shoved back down onto his cock.
If Peter had been giving him a blowjob before, eager licks and sucking him down, then he’s doing nothing at this point. Instead, it’s Wade gyrating his hips into his face, holding his head in place as he essentially fucks his mouth. It hurts, and Peter may have whimpered around his cock because his jaw is open wide and he can’t move.
“God, fuck, Peter,” Wade moans, dragging his cock out slowly and Peter takes the opportunity to breathe before meeting Wade midthrust to suck at the head. It’s a small gesture of power, but Wade’s no longer fucking his throat and choking him, and Peter has more control this way.
“So good. Good. You’re so good at taking my cock,” Wade murmurs, fingers still threaded through brunette locks and he twists again. Peter hums around his cock, vibrations at the back of his throat going straight to Wade’s cock.
And god, Peter himself is so hard that it actually hurts. He slips one hand down to his crotch, palming his erection through the fabric as he licks down the length of Wade’s cock. And he might just actually get off on this, it’s almost intoxicating the way that his cock tastes in his mouth, the incoherent words spilling from his mouth.
Until Wade pulls back slightly, hand still firm on Peter head as he tightens his grip and groans. He comes without any warning, over his lips and cheek, and Peter tries to pull back to stare at him because seriously?
“Oops,” Wade says, not sounding sorry as he grins down at Peter, who probably looks thoroughly debauched with his face flushed, Wade’s come coating his face, and hair tousled.
“Gross,” Peter whines, and he doesn’t care how hard he is, he’s mad at Wade again because he’s still an asshole. He pushes himself up, past the smug look, and to the bathroom to clean himself off and pointedly avoid looking in the mirror.