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The city hummed low beneath them, all sirens fading into distance, red-and-blue lights splintering off glass as the last of the squad cars pulled away.
The rooftop was quiet now, only the faint scrape of wind along the tar and gravel, the smell of exhaust still clinging sharp in the air. Peter stretched his arms over his head, shoulders loosening with the first flicker of relief.
That peace lasted exactly three seconds.
“Look what I got~” Wade’s voice sing-songed as he sauntered up from behind, something silver and clinking dangling from his fingers. He swung it lazily, like a kid with a yo-yo, grin audible in his tone.
Peter’s eyes snapped wide, muscles locking all over again. “Wha—Wade!” He reached instinctively, already bristling as Wade danced the prize out of reach, grin stretching wider. The cuffs glinted under the rooftop floodlight, official and heavy, and Peter’s stomach sank as he watched the last NYPD taillights disappear down the street.
Aaaand, too late.
“Give those back!”
Wade only rocked on his heels, swinging the metal like a prize won at a carnival. “Nope! These are mine now! I serve and protect too. Plus—” he tilted his head, sing-song mockery dripping thick, “finders keepers, losers weepers.”
Peter’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. His eyes cut from Wade’s hand to the empty street below, back again, his whole body tight with disbelief. “You did not find them,” he snapped, voice sharp, “you stole them.”
“I found them on a Copper’s belt,” Wade said with an easy shrug, “same thing.”
Peter dragged a hand down his face, like he could hide the flush of frustration blooming hot under his skin. “Wade, you stole police property,” he ground out, every word clipped, deliberate, his patience stretched thinner with each swing of the cuffs. “I am not condoning this. Give me those.”
“No,” Wade shot back immediately, smirk curling wide, eyes glittering. He twirled the chain once around his finger, a flourish, a tease, leaning into Peter’s frustration like it was foreplay. “God, you are such a goody two-shoes.”
And Peter bristled, heat licking down his spine, because Wade wasn’t wrong—and that was exactly what made it worse.
His voice cracked sharp across the rooftop, syllables full of tension and threat. “Wade Winston Wilson, if you don’t—”
“Oh!” Wade barked a laugh, all mock shock, hand flying up in a parody of offense. His grin was feral under the mask, eyes glinting like a man delighted to have pushed exactly the right button. “My government name! Shiver me timbers, Webs.” He let the cuffs dangle, chain swinging in lazy arcs that gleamed under the floodlight, like bait on a hook.
Peter’s patience frayed thin. His stance shifted, weight low, every muscle wired with irritation as he reached. “Give them here. Seriously.”
“Nope,” Wade’s voice was smug, lips curling, shoulders loose as he rocked away from reach. “Mine.”
“Wade—give ‘em—” Peter lunged, frustration boiling, hand snapping forward.
“No means no!” Wade laughed, sing-song and gleeful, skipping back just enough to keep the cuffs out of reach. His tone was taunting, bright, deliberately obscene. “I have a taser in my pocket, do not test me!”
“Just—” Peter fired off web fluid with a sharp flick, temper cutting through his control. “Give it—”
“Nuh-uh!” Wade’s taunt echoed as the thwip cracked through the air.
The shot landed hard, webbing smacking the swinging cuff with pinpoint precision—except too precise. Instead of landing square in Peter’s hands, the cuffs swung, missing his palm. Then—the jaws snapped shut with a brutal metallic click, clamping around Peter’s wrist before he could blink. The metal bit snug against his skin, unforgiving, weight tugging when Wade yanked the chain experimentally.
Peter froze, shock etched tight in the line of his body, head snapping down to the cuff now tethered to his wrist like a leash. His shoulders stiffened, chest heaving once, and then—
Wade struck.
In a blur of motion, gleeful and merciless, he surged forward. His gloved hand clamped the loose end of the chain, jerking Peter’s arm backward. The other cuff swung wide, and with a deft flick of his wrist, like he’d been practicing all his life, Wade snapped it shut around Peter’s free hand. Another click rang out, final, smug.
Both wrists caught. Arms yanked behind his back.
Peter stumbled, thrown off balance by the sudden restraint. His shoulders flexed, body twisting sharp as instinct kicked in, but the cuffs held. Metal dug against his skin. His chest pitched forward, the movement snapping his spine into a sharp line of tension, head dropping low for half a beat before he straightened again with a frustrated growl.
Wade loomed close now, chain still wound through his fingers, tugging just enough to keep Peter’s arms pinned taut behind him. The rooftop floodlight caught on the grin stretching wide under his mask, his whole stance vibrating with victorious energy.
“That’s what you get, Mr. Grabby-grab hands.”
The words dripped smugness, syrupy with triumph. And Peter—jaw tight, teeth bared, wrists straining against the cuffs—felt heat lick at his gut in spite of himself. Because of course Wade would turn a botched web shot into victory, of course he’d twist irritation into something hot, of course he’d find a way to make Peter’s skin burn.
The cuffs clinked as Wade gave the chain one more playful tug, and Peter’s breath hitched, body caught between fight and something far, far more dangerous.
“Wade.”
Peter’s voice came flat, deadpan, every ounce of irritation packed tight into one syllable. He shifted against the pull of the cuffs, wrists straining, shoulders jerking back in a useless attempt to test the give. Strangely enough, the metal held firm, biting cool and stubborn into his skin, chain rattling faintly with every move.
Wade tilted his head, the picture of mock innocence, the grin audible in his tone.
“What can I say, whoops?” He gave the chain a lazy little flick, watching Peter’s arms jolt just enough to make his chest tense. “Why can’t you just break out of them?”
Peter exhaled sharp through his nose.
“Because the NYPD just rolled out new handcuffs this Monday,” Peter’s voice carried that scientist’s edge, clipped and precise, the syllables flat as though he were citing from a report instead of standing with handcuffs around his wrists. Even annoyed, he sounded like he was giving a lecture, breath hitching between words as the metal dug deeper into his skin.
He could picture it still—the press release J. Jonah had been foaming about for weeks, headlines blaring Enhanced Policing Initiative, a city-wide rollout of gear designed specifically to restrain “super-powered offenders.” Cuffs reinforced with alloys no normal person could break, energy-dampening clamps that had been beta-tested against mutants, meta-humans, even a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or two.
State-of-the-art equipment designed to hold down people exactly like him.
Exactly like Wade. Exactly like every ally they’d ever trusted.
And now, here they were, locked tight around his wrists because a Merc had sticky fingers and no impulse control.
Wade’s eyes widened theatrically, his whole mask creasing with glee, the expression too loud, too delighted for the seriousness of Peter’s words. “Ooooooh, that was this Monday?” He dragged the syllables out like a kid tasting candy, every ounce of mockery packed into the sound.
“Wade,” Peter’s tone sharpened, the warning edge of a man fraying fast.
“What?” Wade leaned in, close enough Peter could feel the heat of his body.
“I’m handcuffed,” Peter shifted again, tugging hard this time, testing the restraints. The cuffs held tight and refused him. His voice dropped lower, flat with disbelief. “Fuck.”
“I know. It’s hot,” Wade’s voice curled warm and smug, each word pressed deliberately into the thin air between them.
“It’s not hot. I can’t move my wrists,” Peter gritted it out, jaw tight.
“Yeah, that’s what makes it hot,” Wade’s reply landed soft, almost reverent, like he was savoring the sight of Peter’s body locked down, arms pulled taut, helpless and twitching.
Then he herded him backward with slow, deliberate steps, broad frame crowding into Peter’s space until his shoulders bumped hard against the cool brick of the rooftop access wall. The impact sent a faint shudder through him, cuffs clinking behind his back. He exhaled through his teeth, still muttering under his breath, every word ground down into sharp edges.
“Wade.”
“Yes, that’s my name,” Wade’s voice came soft, sing-song, his body looming closer until there was nowhere left for Peter to shift, nowhere to anchor his frustration except in the tense line of his own spine against the wall. “Don’t wear it out, snookums.”
“Take them off.”
“Can’t,” Wade’s grin stretched wide under the mask, unbothered, his posture loose in deliberate contrast to Peter’s. “I don’t have the key,” his admission came light, almost cheerful, like it wasn’t the most damning sentence Peter had heard all week.
“You what?” Peter’s head snapped up, eyes blazing, mask tugged just enough to expose the furious twist of his mouth. His body stiffened, every muscle caught tight between panic and rage. “You didn’t steal the key?”
“I didn’t think they’d lock!” Wade protested, laughing under his breath, half-delighted, half-exasperated. “I thought they were, like, novelty cuffs! For vibes!”
“They’re law enforcement-grade!” Peter shot back, every syllable edged with venom, his wrists jerking hard against the metal. “You stole them off a cop. What did you think would happen??”
“Okay, well, now we know,” Wade leaned in, casual as ever, his shadow swallowing the narrow strip of space between them, grin still curling smug and sharp while Peter burned red.
Wade’s hand found him first in a lazy sweep across his chest, glove rasping against the snug pull of his suit, fingers drumming lightly over fabric before trailing lower, following the line of spandex.
His touch was designed to be casual, to pretend innocence, when really every brush was deliberate, every pause calculated to make Peter twitch. His skin burned hot beneath the fabric, every nerve too aware of the way Wade’s thumb pressed in, how he lingered longer than necessary at the ridge of muscle.
And Peter knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Oh my god. Wade, no,” Peter’s voice was flat, but his throat worked tight around the words, jaw clenched as the sound pushed out of him. He rolled his shoulders, tried to twist away, but the cuffs cut down that effort in an instant, steel biting against bone with every shift. The helplessness sat heavy in his chest, a low thrumming pulse that made his heart kick against his ribs.
Wade just grinned wider, humming under his breath as his hand lifted. His fingers brushed Peter’s cheek, slow and careful, before tugging lightly at the edge of his mask. He peeled the fabric back inch by inch, the stretch dragging slow over Peter’s flushed skin, slipping past his nose, tugging over his lips until the night air kissed his mouth bare.
The mask bunched high against his cheekbones, leaving Peter’s mouth exposed, jaw sharp and tense, lips parted in irritation. Wade looked at him like he’d unwrapped a present.
“You look so good like this, though,” The words were soft, almost reverent, but edged with something smug, his voice too warm for how deliberate his hands were.
He tugged his own mask up next, rolling the fabric with the same unhurried pace, exposing his mouth bit by bit. Scar tissue, sharp grin, the faint wet glint of his teeth catching light—he wore it all openly, proudly, as though the act of exposing his face was both confession and provocation.
Peter’s jaw snapped tighter, teeth grinding audibly as his chest heaved. “Don’t you dare,” His eyes burned under the half-mask, gaze narrowed sharp as knives.
“Webs~”
Wade’s tone slid high and mocking, sweet like sugar dripping slow and heavy, every ounce of his weight pressed closer now. His thumb skimmed the sharp line of Peter’s jaw, brushing lightly against bare skin, a taunt disguised as a caress.
“Don’t,” Peter twisted hard, but Wade didn’t budge. His breath hitched, unsteady, chest caught between the harsh scrape of brick and Wade’s weight.
“One tiny kiss. C’mon. You’re helpless. It’s romantic,” Wade’s voice dipped lower, more intimate, lips close enough that Peter could feel each word ghost warm against his skin. His hand braced against the wall beside Peter’s head, arm boxing him in. The whole rooftop shrank to this—brick at his back, Wade at his front, steel binding him.
“It’s—It’s entrapment,” Peter’s breath came sharp, hot, spilling past bared lips in a rush. His pulse throbbed hard at the base of his throat, visible in the flicker of light, his chest rising unevenly with the effort of keeping his voice steady. The cuffs rattled once more, desperate and sharp, while Wade smiled slow, teeth flashing in the half-dark, a man savoring victory before he even claimed it.
He chuckled low in his chest, the sound rolling warm as he leaned in closer. His lips brushed the corner of Peter’s mouth, just barely missing, the scrape of scar tissue against smooth skin sending a sharp jolt through him.
“Ooooh, big word, baby. Say ‘entrapment’ but slower,” His tone dripped with mock-seduction, eyes glittering sharp behind the cut of his mask, every syllable curling smug into Peter’s ear.
“I’m not—” Peter started, voice tight, but the words broke when Wade kissed him.
The contact came sudden and greedy, Wade’s mouth sealing over his with messy insistence. The impact of it forced Peter’s head back against the wall, the brick scraping rough against his skull as Wade pressed closer, his body heavy and unyielding. Peter whimpered into the kiss despite himself, the sound muffled as Wade’s tongue licked into his mouth, wet and insistent, stealing his breath right from his lungs. His chest heaved, ribs expanding against the wall as Wade devoured every gasp, every twitch, kissing him stupid.
It was sloppy and overwhelming, Wade’s teeth catching his bottom lip, sucking at it until it was slick and swollen. His tongue tangled with Peter’s, domineering and insistent, tasting every broken sound Peter couldn’t swallow back. His grip on Peter’s jaw tightened, holding him steady as he kissed harder, deeper, until Peter’s knees threatened to buckle from the force of it. The cuffs rattled behind him, wrists jerking helplessly as he tried to anchor himself and failed, all of him trembling under Wade’s relentless mouth.
When they finally broke apart, it was only because air demanded it. Spit clung between their mouths, a thin string stretching and breaking as Peter gasped, dragging in sharp lungfuls like a man surfacing from drowning. His lips were wet, reddened and trembling, jaw slack from the intensity. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, breath stuttering out of him like he’d just run miles.
His eyes narrowed, still burning with irritation even through the haze, glaring up at the Merc from beneath the rumpled edge of his mask.
“Wade…” His voice cracked high, breaking on a whine he didn’t mean to make. He squirmed helplessly against the brick, his head snapping back in frustration, mouth parted and breath still ragged from the kiss.
“Okay, okay!” Wade lifted his free hand in mock surrender, though his grin stretched wider, unrepentant, his lips still glistening. His shoulders shook with laughter as he leaned back just enough to watch Peter flush. “I’ll fix it! We’ll call someone.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed, disbelief etched sharp across his bare mouth. “Who?” He spat the word out like venom. “The police??” He scoffed, breath hissing between his teeth. “You? Calling the police?”
“…Shit, yeah. Um,” Wade scratched the back of his neck with exaggerated thought, grin stretching wider the longer Peter glared. “Okay! Plan B.”
“There’s a Plan B?” Peter hissed.
“There wasn’t,” Wade admitted breezily, head tilting as he studied Peter’s straining form, “but I feel like I’m about to improvise one.”
“That’s even worse,” Peter’s head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud, lips pressed tight, breath spilling ragged through his nose as though sheer irritation might keep him upright.
“…You think you could like… twist a little?” Wade’s voice came soft now, coaxing, his head ducking low to Peter’s shoulder as if he could whisper the suggestion right into his skin. His hand slid along Peter’s side, guiding without permission, fingertips skating deliberate circles into the fabric of his suit.
“I swear to god—” Peter’s words broke on a growl, body jerking against Wade’s touch.
“C’mon, babe, flex those spider muscles,” Wade tugged lightly on the chain, testing the resistance with playful tugs, watching Peter’s arms jerk uselessly against the pull.
“I told you, they’re strength-resistant!” Peter’s frustration ripped out of him raw, teeth bared, every syllable sharp. The steel clinked again, unforgiving, his muscles burning with effort that got him nothing but Wade’s smug grin inches from his face.
“Ugh. Oppression,” Wade rolled his eyes, leaning heavier into Peter’s space like his whole body was one long sigh. His fingers toyed idly with the chain, giving it a careless little tug that forced Peter’s wrists tighter together, the cuffs biting sharp against skin. “Okay. Are you against breaking bones? Remember that one time when we were—”
“Yes, I am against breaking my bones, you f—” Peter snapped, voice pitching high with disbelief. His breath came hot through gritted teeth, mask bunched high over his flushed cheeks. “Okay. Fine. You don’t have the key. Where is it then?”
“…Well,” Wade hummed, drawing the words out like he was confessing something minor, “the Copper I took ‘em from probably still has it. But!” The Merc held up a finger, eyes crinkling with bright mock cheer. “Good news: I know what precinct he’s with!”
“Great,” Peter muttered, this time darker, the word edged like a blade.
“And better news—we can go there together!” Wade’s grin widened, leaning in close enough Peter could feel the brush of breath against his cheek. He gave the chain another little flick, delighting in the sound of metal clinking tight.
“What—?” Peter jerked back, head thudding against brick, his whole body thrumming with fury. “Wade, I’m Spider-Man! You’re Deadpool! I’m not walking into a police precinct in handcuffs!” His wrists pulled again, futile, muscles straining beneath the snug pinch of steel.
“Ohhh, right, right,” Wade tapped his chin in mock thought, eyes sparkling. “You think they’ll assume I did it to you?”
“Because you did!” Peter’s voice cracked sharp, exasperation ringing across the rooftop.
“Exactly!” Wade crowed, delighted, leaning back with a triumphant sweep of his arm. “See? No lies!”
The cuffs clinked again as Peter pulled, helpless, rage simmering under the flush in his throat, while Wade just stood there glowing smug, basking in his own chaos like it was the sun.
“That’s not even the issue—” Peter’s voice cracked sharp, vibrating with fury. His shoulders flexed, wrists straining hard until the chain bit unforgiving into his skin. “Ugh—I’m going to murder you.”
“With what hands?” Wade’s reply was immediate, smug dripping in every syllable, his grin practically audible.
“…Fuck. You.” Peter’s back heaved against the wall, words spat out like shrapnel.
“Yeah, good idea,” Wade’s voice dropped lower, rich with satisfaction, and before Peter could snap back he was already being manhandled, Wade’s hands spinning him neatly in place. Peter stumbled, balance thrown, chest colliding with the cool brick as his arms jerked awkwardly behind him.
“Hey—what are you—” His protest cut short, voice pitching tight.
Wade pressed in close, bracketing him easily, body crowding Peter’s frame until he was caged against the wall. His palms slapped the brick to either side of Peter’s head, pinning him in place with nothing but heat and weight. One hand slid lower, bold and unashamed, cupping the curve of Peter’s ass through the suit with a greedy squeeze.
“C’mon, just lean forward a bit—yeah, right there,” Wade guided him with a push of his hips, smug delight curling in every movement. “God, you really are helpless like this. Y’know, maybe we don’t need the key.”
“Wade, I don't really think—” Peter’s voice broke sharp, frustration fraying into something else as the pressure mounted, his forehead thumping against the wall with a groan.
“Shh. Don’t struggle. Let it happen,” Wade’s voice went soft now, coaxing, his breath warm against Peter’s ear, the chain rattling faintly between them as Peter twisted in vain.
“…You are actively the worst,” Peter hissed, every muscle tense, back arching against the press of Wade’s chest.
“You’re not exactly pulling away,” Wade’s tone curled smug.
“Yeah, genius. I can’t. I’m fucking handcuffed,” Peter’s growl carried sharp frustration, but the sound of it came thinner now, less conviction, his wrists jerking one last time only to be answered by the same metallic clink of steel that refused to give.
“Which is just such a happy little accident, huh?” His voice curled smug around the words, low and close, almost humming against Peter’s ear. He pressed in, broad frame boxing him against the wall, chest firm at his back, heat bleeding into him until the cool brick behind felt useless.
“…Shut up,” Peter bit it out, jaw tight, but the edge of his voice cracked under the strain.
The Merc ground up against him, deliberate and steady, rolling his hips until the friction dragged a startled sound out of Peter’s throat—half-groan, half-moan—before he could catch it. His forehead thunked against the wall, hot breath fogging against brick.
“Oooh, that sounded like a moan,” Wade’s tone was thick with satisfaction, words dripping lazy and slow, his hips keeping the rhythm even as Peter twisted under him.
“It was a sigh,” Peter shot back quickly, but the denial was weak, punctured by the shiver that ran through him as Wade pressed closer, the scarred line of his jaw brushing his temple. “A very disappointed one at that.”
“Mm, yeah, your sighs sound suspiciously like yeses in my dialect,” Wade leaned more of his weight in, pinning Peter tighter, hands wandering bold and steady—palms sliding down the curve of his sides, across his hips, thumbs dragging into muscle like he was testing every inch.
“Wade,” Peter’s warning landed thin, fraying around the edges. His body betrayed him in tiny shifts—hips rocking back without meaning to, spine flexing against Wade’s chest.
“Peter,” Wade’s voice came back low, sing-song, playful but steady, like a man savoring every second of control.
“…God, you’re so annoying,” Peter muttered hoarsely, forehead still pressed to the wall, heat rising up his neck until it flushed hot beneath the edge of his mask. His words sounded desperate more than furious now, strangled by tension.
“Then why are you pushing your hips back like that?” Wade’s voice dropped into a growl, smug and sweet all at once, his breath fanning hot along the line of Peter’s neck. His hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, pressing Peter flush to the wall, grinding against him until Peter’s legs twitched from the pressure.
“It’s the handcuffs,” The words rushed out like a snapped string, jagged, defensive, desperate. “And because someone is talking right in my ear and breathing like a damn—nghh—like a pervert,” Peter’s throat worked hard around the sound, his teeth clenched, but his head tipped back slightly, neck baring itself to Wade’s breath without meaning to.
Wade’s grin widened against his skin. He ground harder, the weight of him undeniable, pelvis locking Peter in place. “Say that again,” His voice curled hushed and demanding, reverent in a way that made the word itself an order.
“Pervert,” Peter let it out breathy, the syllable dragging loose from his lips, weaker than he meant it. His chest heaved, ribs pressed hard against the wall as his body trembled.
Wade moaned, long and dramatic, the sound vibrating right into Peter’s ear before it broke into a laugh. His chest shook against Peter’s back, smug satisfaction radiating off him in waves. “God, I love it when you name-call. Do it more.”
“Jackass,” Peter rasped, pushing the word out sharp, but his voice wavered, softened by the tremor in his throat. His hips shifted back despite himself, drawn into the steady grind Wade pressed into him.
Wade hummed low, pleased, his chin coming down to rest heavy on Peter’s shoulder. Scarred lips brushed against the shell of his ear, warm breath curling thick and hot over sensitive skin. His voice turned heavier, low and decadent. “Come on, one more.”
“F–Freak,” The word tore out, harsh and ragged, Peter’s body curving tight against the wall, forehead dragging over rough brick as his breath came fast, shuddering with effort.
Wade laughed again, lower this time, darker, the sound rolling from his chest into Peter’s spine, vibrating through him until he shivered. The chuckle broke into something softer, weightier, as his hips pressed snug, grinding once more in a steady drag that made Peter’s knees flex weakly. His voice came reverent now, almost gentle, thick with something he couldn’t swallow back. “Fuck, I’m gonna marry you.”
The words hit heavy, warm and earnest under the veneer of a joke, lodging themselves beneath Peter’s ribs like a brand, leaving him trembling, hands useless behind his back, bound and burning while Wade’s voice lingered at his ear like a vow.
“You handcuffed me after stealing from the police, you absolute trash fire,” Peter’s voice hit sharp, pitched high with outrage, but his body betrayed him. Wade’s hand slid down bold, cupping him without hesitation. His palm pressed firm, thumb dragging slow, claiming the shape of him through the suit with obscene ease. “Marriage is—ah—absolutely off the table.”
“Yeah, well, you’re hard,” His voice was smug, warm with laughter, his grip flexing just enough to make Peter hiss, thighs twitching under the pressure. “I have a feeling you’ll change your mind.”
“Said the man groping a helpless handcuffed spider,” Peter bit the words out, sharp, ragged, his hips shifting instinctively. His head thudded once against brick, a muffled sound of fury that was almost drowned out by the rattle of his cuffs.
“My helpless handcuffed spider. You’re trembling,” Wade’s tone dipped softer now, almost curious, his palm kneading once more, fingers curling tight as though he could wring truth out of the shiver in Peter’s legs.
“Shut up,” The order cracked in Peter’s throat, his voice breaking under strain, lips dragging against rough brick as he tried to hold steady.
“Make me,” Wade’s laugh rolled low, rich with smug satisfaction. His chin rested on Peter’s shoulder again, breath hot in his ear, his hand still working slow and steady between his hips. “Oh, wait! You can’t.” Wade’s voice curled warm and triumphant, dripping with delight. “Which means I win. Now push back a little more—yeah, that’s it. Good boy.” His grip tightened, guiding Peter’s hips into the grind, his body a steady weight behind him.
“Wade—” Peter’s voice cracked sharp, desperate, his back arching into the push despite every protest. His thighs trembled, breath quick and shallow as the wall scraped rough against his chest.
“Shh,” Wade’s breath brushed over his cheek, warm and reverent now. His eyes roved over Peter’s frame, caught and locked down, arms bound taut behind his back. “Let me appreciate the view. Arms behind you, all tense, mouth twitching. You’re so pretty like this.”
“You’re getting off on police-issued restraints, you know that?” Peter’s voice snapped sharp, his words quick and venomous even as his body shuddered with the weight of being held down.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Wade’s reply came smooth, smug curling through every syllable. His hands traced lazy circles over Peter’s hips, grip firm, every touch a reminder that Peter couldn’t move an inch without dragging metal across bone.
“Just—Ugh—God, don’t stop,” The admission ripped out of Peter on a sharp breath, low and urgent, his forehead pressing harder into the brick as though the rough scrape could anchor him. His voice trembled on the edge of restraint, half-growl, half-plea.
“Oh?” Wade’s tone hummed with delight, his hips grinding forward once more, slow and deliberate, until Peter’s knees flexed beneath the pressure. “What was that?”
“I said don’t—ngh—fucking stop,” Peter’s words broke ragged, hips rocking involuntarily into Wade’s grip, his body betraying him even as he cursed.
“Well well well. Look who’s begging,” Wade leaned in close, voice thick with laughter, scarred mouth brushing the shell of Peter’s ear as his chest pressed firm to his back. The sound of it sent a hot shiver down Peter’s spine, his arms jerking helplessly against the cuffs.
“I am not begging. Now shut up and touch me,” The demand hit raw, torn out of Peter like he’d bitten it free, his breath coming sharp and uneven.
“Hmm, maybe I won’t now,” Wade’s tone dropped into playful cruelty, teasing, every word drawn out slow. “Someone’s a little too demanding.” He rocked his hips back just enough to leave Peter squirming, the sudden lack of friction making his thighs tremble with frustration.
“I swear—” Peter hissed, his voice climbing into a desperate rasp, wrists wrenching hard enough the cuffs dug deep, chain rattling loud.
“Kidding, kidding—here,” Wade’s laugh rumbled low as his hands slid down, gripping the hem of Peter’s suit. In one sharp tug he yanked the fabric over the curve of his ass, peeling it down far enough to bare flushed skin to the night.
The cool air hit hard, gooseflesh rising instantly, a shudder wracking through Peter’s frame as he gasped. The sudden exposure made him arch, spine bending taut as Wade’s hands smoothed over bare flesh, claiming it with greedy palms.
“Let me show you just how much fun no hands can be,” Wade’s voice dropped low, reverent now, heavy with promise. His fingers kneaded once, spreading him wide, while Peter trembled against the wall, wrists locked fast behind him, chest pressed to brick, utterly caught and already burning.
He dropped to his knees behind him, palms sliding firm down Peter’s thighs before spreading him wide with greedy hands. Cool night air swept over newly bared skin, sharp and biting, just before Wade’s tongue followed—hot, wet, deliberate.
He licked into him slow, dragging a broad stripe over his hole before circling tighter, teasing until Peter’s hips bucked forward with a broken gasp.
“Wade—fuck—” Peter’s voice tore out of him ragged, his forehead thumping against brick as his knees threatened to give. His chest rose fast, heaving with every breath, his whole body shuddering.
“Shh, lean into it. I’ve got you. Just like that,” Wade’s voice came low and coaxing, his breath hot against slick skin before his tongue pressed in deeper, greedy, reverent, relentless. His grip tightened, thumbs digging into the curve of Peter’s ass to hold him steady as he worked him open.
“Oh my god—your mouth—” The words cracked thin, ripped apart by a moan that bled into the night air. Peter’s hips jerked, caught between trying to grind back and twisting away, his body betraying him at every turn.
“Mhmmf,” The sound vibrated low from Wade’s throat, muffled against Peter’s skin as his tongue pushed harder, wetter, obscene. He lapped at him with single-minded focus, the sloppy drag of saliva and the wet sounds of sucking filling the space between their ragged breaths.
“Fuck, Wade, that’s—Jesus—” Peter whined, moaned, the noises raw and uncontrollable as they spilled out of him, each one higher than the last. His thighs trembled under the strain, his wrists yanking uselessly behind him, the cuffs digging deeper every time he lost control.
“You get so worked up when you can’t touch me, huh?” Wade’s voice purred against him between licks, the words buzzing straight into sensitive flesh. He sealed his mouth over Peter’s hole, sucking hard, then pulled back with a wet, obscene slurp. “So needy. All tied up and nowhere to run.”
“I’m gonna kill you—” Peter gasped, the threat shredded into pieces by another desperate moan, his whole body twitching against the wall.
“Uh-uh,” Wade’s tone was smug, certain, his tongue returning to trace tight circles before pressing in again, wet and insistent. His grip squeezed Peter’s ass, spreading him wider, forcing him to take every sloppy drag of his mouth. “I think you’re gonna cum, sweetheart.”
The chain rattled once more above them as Peter writhed, helpless and trembling, pinned between the wall and Wade’s merciless mouth.
“Don’t call me—a-ah—that—” Peter’s voice cracked, the word stuttering out broken as his body lurched against the wall. His forehead pressed hard into the brick, suit rasping against rough stone, every muscle pulled tight as the cuffs rattled above. His chest heaved, throat working around moans he tried and failed to choke back.
“Why not? You like it when I get sweet. You like it when I kneel between your legs and lap at you like a goddamn starving man,” Wade’s voice vibrated against him, low and hungry, punctuated by the wet slide of his tongue dragging over sensitive skin. He pressed in deeper, licking like he meant to consume, saliva slicking everything until Peter’s thighs trembled with the mess of it.
“Ohhh—fuck—stop talking—” Peter’s protest splintered into a moan, high and breathless. His knees bent slightly, body fighting between bracing and giving out, the steel biting sharper into his wrists with every shift.
“Can’t. Gotta tell you how fucking good you taste,” Wade growled it against him, tongue dragging long and slow before dipping in again, wetter, filthier. One hand slid forward, bold, wrapping around the length of Peter’s cock. His palm pressed firm, fingers curling tight as he stroked once, deliberately slow. “And you’re leaking pre-cum already.”
“Don’t you dare stop—” Peter’s voice cracked, sharp and desperate, his hips jerking into Wade’s grip. His breath came ragged, moans spilling out fast, raw, uncontainable.
“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” Wade’s tone was reverent now, dripping smugness beneath it. His tongue pushed harder, sloppier, his hand pumping Peter in slow, steady strokes. “Look at you—writhing. Can’t even grind properly, can you? All restrained and needy.”
“Fuck, Wade—harder, fuck, I need—” Peter’s head dropped, teeth sinking into his lip, his voice shredded with desperation as his hips bucked without rhythm.
“What? Use your words, baby,” Wade’s voice came thick, coaxing, his tongue and hand working together, every movement designed to unravel him.
“Your cock. I need your fucking cock—” Peter’s voice broke, rough and begging, ripped raw from his throat like confession, his body arching helplessly.
“God, I love when you beg,” Wade’s laugh rumbled low, the sound vibrating into Peter’s skin. His grin curled wide as he made his way back up, his whole body thrumming with anticipation. “How can I say no to my Petey-pie?”
From one of the countless hidden pockets in his suit, he pulled out a small bottle, flipping the cap open with a snap.
Pocket lube, always—because of course Wade Wilson would be prepared for exactly this kind of thing. He slicked his fingers fast, generous, the wet sound of it loud against the hush of the rooftop, then dragged his hand down to himself. He groaned low, breath catching as he stroked, coating himself until he gleamed under the weak floodlight.
“You ready, sweet cheeks?” His voice curled teasing, his hand firm as he lined himself up, the blunt press of his cock nudging against Peter’s hole.
“Wade, if I wasn’t ready, I wouldn’t be begging for your—” Peter’s words cracked sharp, cut off immediately by a gasp. “Ah—ah, fuck—” The sudden stretch tore through him, raw and overwhelming, his forehead knocking hard against the wall as his knees buckled under the push.
“You were saying?” Wade’s grin deepened, his hips rolling forward slow at first, savoring the resistance before driving in harder.
Peter whimpered, body writhing helplessly against the wall, trying to press back, to take more. His chest rubbed rough against brick, suit rasping as he arched into it. He wiggled desperately, the curve of his back betraying him, his voice breaking thin.
“M–Move, please—” The plea ripped free, raw and needy, muffled against the wall.
“Can do,” Wade’s tone dropped reverent now, and then he slammed forward, hips snapping hard. The pace he set was brutal, relentless, each thrust forcing Peter flat into the wall, driving his breath out in sharp, shuddering moans.
One hand slipped up, tugging at the edge of Peter’s mask. Wade peeled it off with a single impatient pull, tossing it aside so he could fist his fingers in Peter’s hair instead. He yanked his head back, exposing the vulnerable stretch of his throat, then bent low to kiss at the sweaty curve where neck met shoulder. His mouth was hot, wet, biting and soothing in turns, leaving marks against flushed skin.
Peter moaned openly, no restraint left, the sound spilling raw into the quiet night air. The rooftop swallowed it, the city far below oblivious as he trembled against the wall, too far gone to care about anything but Wade’s hands, Wade’s mouth, Wade’s brutal rhythm driving him apart piece by piece. The cuffs rattled relentlessly, metal biting deeper into his wrists as he twisted, desperate for something to hold onto.
He strained anyway, trying to reach back, to claw at Wade’s chest, his shoulders, anything. His fingers flexed uselessly in the air behind him, the cuffs locking him short of contact, leaving him scrabbling against nothing. Wade’s laugh rumbled low behind him, warm and smug, the sound vibrating through Peter’s back where their bodies collided.
“Oooh, nice try, Petey,” Wade leaned close, voice teasing, mocking in its sweetness. He gave the chain a tug, pulling Peter’s arms taut, making him arch harder. “You were sooo close.”
Peter whimpered at the taunt, his voice breaking, the sound fragile and desperate. His body jerked helplessly, trembling under the force of Wade’s pace, his knees threatening to buckle.
“Wa-Wade—” The name tore free, thin and cracked, barely a whisper over the wet slap of their bodies.
“Hm?” Wade coaxed, tone thick with amusement, drawing it out just to hear Peter unravel. His hips snapped forward harder, deeper, grinding him into the wall until his breath came ragged.
“Nghhh—shit—I can’t—I’m gonna—” Peter gasped, voice strangled, his whole body tightening as his climax clawed up fast, urgent, unstoppable.
Wade’s hand slid forward, bold and sure, wrapping around his cock with a firm grip. His palm slicked over him in steady strokes, but the rhythm was controlled, measured, deliberate. “Not yet, Petey.”
“Wade—!” Peter cried out, his voice pitching high, the sound breaking as his hips bucked wildly into Wade’s grip. His wrists rattled hard against the cuffs, chain clinking like a cruel metronome to his desperation.
“Not. Yet.” Wade’s voice dropped sharp, commanding, his hips still slamming forward with brutal consistency, his hand holding Peter just shy of release.
“You—fucking dick—” The word shattered on Peter’s tongue, breaking into a moan as his body pitched forward. His thighs shook, every brutal thrust knocking another sound loose from his chest, pleas tumbling out breathless and incoherent.
Wade chuckled, low and delighted, the laugh vibrating warm into Peter’s spine where their bodies met. His voice came smug and sweet all at once. “You sound wrecked. You wanna come?”
“Obviously!” Peter gasped, the word ripped from him raw, strained thin under the weight of need. His chest heaved, sweat streaking down his temple, his whole body trembling.
“Then say please,” Wade’s tone dropped into command, thick with glee, his hips slamming forward to underline it. His hand squeezed Peter’s cock harder, stroking him just enough to tease the edge before slowing again.
“I will bite you,” Peter’s growl was ragged, shredded at the edges by the way his body arched helplessly into Wade’s grip. His teeth snapped at the air, useless without hands, the threat breaking into a groan.
“Oh, is that please in Spidernese?” Wade teased, grin audible in his voice, every word dripping smugness. “Sorry—don't speak the dialect.”
“Fucking please, Wade, if you don’t—” Peter’s voice was a wreck, splintering into a sob of need, his whole body trembling with strain. His wrists yanked so hard against the cuffs the chain sang sharp, steel biting unforgivingly into skin, but it only left him more helpless, more bound. His hips rocked forward wildly, searching for friction, for anything, sweat dripping down his temple as his chest heaved ragged against the wall.
Wade answered not with mercy but with a brutal thrust, hips snapping forward so hard Peter jolted with a strangled cry. The wall scraped rough against his chest, the breath knocked right out of him, his body bowing under the force. It was punishment in motion, command carved into flesh: don’t brat, try again.
“Fuck—please, please Wade, I need to cum—fucking please, please, please let me cum—” Peter’s voice spilled broken, words frantic, tumbling over each other in their rush. His tone was shredded, high and breathless, whimpers and moans woven between pleas until it was all one raw sound. His knees shook, thighs trembling, every muscle screaming for release.
“Good boy,” Wade’s voice dropped reverent, warm and low, thick with satisfaction. He wrapped his hand around Peter’s cock one last time, squeezing firm before pulling away, denying him even that anchor. His hips snapped forward again, hard, deep, commanding. “Cum for me, Petey.”
Peter sobbed. His cry ripped free, loud and guttural, echoing off brick as his cock pulsed hard in release. Hot spurts smeared across the wall in messy streaks, his body convulsing, jerking so violently the cuffs rattled like chains in a storm. His arms ached, wrists burning as he thrashed through it, every tremor drawn out by Wade’s relentless pace. His chest rubbed raw against rough stone, sweat slicking his skin, his whole frame collapsing into the wall as his orgasm tore through him, wave after wave leaving him boneless.
Wade grunted low, his thrusts growing erratic, sloppy with the force of holding himself back. He slammed forward one final time, burying himself deep as his climax hit. The groan that left him was rough, broken, dragged out of his chest as hot spurts filled Peter, thick and relentless. He pressed flush, grinding hard through the last pulses, emptying himself until it leaked back out in wet dribbles, smearing over the mess already slick between Peter’s thighs.
They stayed locked together like that, chests heaving in sync, sweat dripping down the curve of Peter’s spine, Wade’s mouth hot and damp against his neck. The night air cooled the streaks of come running down Peter’s cock, cooled the saliva-slick spread of his hole, but Wade’s weight kept him warm, pinned, anchored in the aftermath.
Peter slumped fully against the wall, wrists trembling, shoulders sagging under the strain. His body was wrecked, twitching with leftover shocks, every muscle lax now that release had stolen his strength.
Wade laughed, low and breathless, a warm rumble pressed into the damp skin of Peter’s shoulder. His hands lingered, one still gripping Peter’s hip possessively, the other smoothing lazy over his stomach, smearing sweat and slick with casual reverence. He nuzzled into the curve of Peter’s neck, scarred lips brushing against the racing pulse there, kissing it softly as if sealing the moment in place.
The rooftop had gone quiet again, save for the ragged drag of their breaths. Peter slumped against the wall, chest heaving, sweat dripping down the curve of his back to mingle with the mess cooling on his thighs. His arms hung useless behind him, wrists throbbing raw where the cuffs had bitten deep, every muscle loose and trembling with aftershocks. He blinked slow, head tipping back against the brick, trying to pull air into lungs that still stuttered from the force of it.
“I—fuck—I think I blacked out for a sec—” His voice came hoarse, shredded thin, the words shaky as his knees flexed weak beneath him.
“Yeah? You moaned like a whore,” Wade’s grin was audible, low and teasing, his tone warm with laughter as he stayed pressed against Peter’s back, chest to chest with the wall between. His hand still cupped Peter’s hip, thumb rubbing lazy circles into sweat-slick skin, smugness dripping off every syllable.
“Oh my God, shut up—” Peter rasped, twisting weakly against the cuffs. The movement rattled the chain once more, pathetic in its lack of power.
“What?? It was hot! And you loved it,” Wade leaned closer, pressing a sloppy kiss into the damp line of Peter’s neck, scarred lips dragging over sensitive skin. His chuckle vibrated warm against Peter’s throat.
“…I hate you,” Peter muttered it, but the words had no bite left, his voice softened by exhaustion, breath spilling ragged through parted lips.
“Yet my cum’s dripping out of you,” Wade’s tone dropped smug again, triumphant and tender all at once, his hand squeezing Peter’s hip possessively.
“I still hate you,” Peter groaned, shifting his forehead against the brick like he could hide there, his cheeks burning hot even in the cool air.
“You’re smiling,” Wade’s laugh rumbled against him, smug and fond, his mouth brushing the curve of Peter’s jaw like he couldn’t help but kiss the smile he swore he saw.
“Shut up before I make you wear the cuffs,” Peter’s threat was muffled, slurred with fatigue, but his hips twitched back anyway, betraying him.
“…Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Wade purred it low, kissing him again, his laughter spilling hot against Peter’s skin while the cuffs clinked one last time. "Now let's figure out how to get these off."