*swings into Spideypool fandom* Hopefully this isn't as much garbage as I am.

Sundays were great - they were the nights when he was scheduled shared patrol time with Spidey (not that he bothered showing up to scheduled patrols with anyone else). But Mondays, Mondays were the best.

At some point, Spider-Man had lost his damn mind in the best way: he'd taken off his mask (fuck, he was even more gorgeous beneath his suit), given Wade his name (Wade still wondered if his middle initial was a 'P' just to complete the same alliteration he had in his own name), and invited him back to his home (a tiny but well-kept apartment in one of the worst neighborhoods of the city). All they did was eat and play video games before Peter kicked him out come sunrise, but Wade hadn't had a friend that wasn't the boxes since he'd become Deadpool. Probably. His memory was faulty at best, but he couldn't remember hanging with anyone else, which he'd definitely do if he had anyone else. Anyway, hanging with Petey was one of the coolest things ever.

Then, one day, Wade had gone to raid Peter's fridge and turned around to find the (much) younger man splayed face-down on his bed. He was groaning and wriggling and sighing and Wade was really tempted to just walk over, get between those legs, and compose a sonnet for dat ass.

"What's swingin', webhead? Ya got the Invisible Woman naked under you or somethin'?"

Peter rolled his head on his crossed arms to face Wade, his expression scrunched up adorably. (Yeah, that's right - Spider was both super hot and super adorable.) "Why would I have- No, I don't have the Invisible Woman naked under me. I got thrown into a wall like ten times. I might have speedier healing than most, but I'm still sore until it's done."

Sounds like Spidey just needs to relax.

Pills are great for that.

Hands are too. Massage hands.

You have great massage hands probably.

"You bet your sweet rectangles I do."

Peter startled like he'd started to fall asleep. "What?"

"Hush up, Petey. Daddy's got some medicine for ya," Wade grinned behind his mask as he strode forward, stepped up onto the bed, and dropped to straddle the younger man's thighs.

Spidey went tense immediately but didn't use any of his super-hot super-strength to throw Wade off him. Off to a great start. Wade placed his thumbs on the back of Peter's neck and curled his fingers loosely over surprisingly small shoulders to rest along collar bones he could break with the right pressure.

"Wade," Spidey said warningly, his entire body web-tense under Wade's fingers and thighs.

"Yeah, I figured your trust had to run out at some point," he said (but didn't move).

After a few moment's pause, Peter sighed and the tension left his body by muscle group. It was super cool to watch.

"That's it, baby boy. Let daddy administer the healing."

Peter tensed again but didn't speak, and Wade dug the pads of this gloved thumbs into the insanely tense muscles in the back of Spidey's neck. The body below him went taut, and then when he did it again (and again and again and again), suddenly Spidey exhaled an obscene moan and went lax. Grinning and careful to keep his dick from his friend's ass, Wade went to work.

Every time he hit a new muscle, Peter moaned again, each one more breathless than the last until he was silent, ribs expanding and constricting in the even motions of someone fast asleep. Wade finished what he was doing (only just avoiding the glorious butt right in front of him) then sat back on his heels, in awe that someone had fallen asleep with him right there, in prime position for a kill (and/or some serious groping). And yet there Peter Parker lay.

Wade kept watch over the vulnerable boy from the fire escape until his alarm went off a couple hours later. From the other side of the glass, he watched the way Peter stretched and then stopped with his arms extended above his head. Almost instantly, the younger man's face began to colour and he slapped a hand over his mouth, wrapping his other arm around himself. Wade wasn't sure what it meant, but he had a feeling it was good.

A minute later, Spidey stripped right then and there before walking out of sight, and Wade had a ten minute argument with the boxes about whether or not he should go back in (Don't cut off the one good foot you're on. You could just put him on his back instead. Spiders like that kind of thing, right? No.). Before Petey had come back, Wade's phone rang for a job and he ran off to finish it before next Sunday.

In the beginning, it was a month before Spidey hurt himself badly enough for Wade to try another massage, and he wasn't sure if the younger man was more or less trepidatious than the first time, but Peter let him do it anyway. But then it happened again, and again, and again, until Monday Morning Massages were as much a tradition as Sunday Night Patrols. The fact that he got to put his hands on his crush every week was like heaven, and if he finished missions faster than usual to make sure he got back to New York in time for patrols with Spidey every week, well, that was his business.

Sometimes, though, he doesn't manage to get in until patrols are nearly over, and when that happens, he just breaks into Peter's apartment and amuses himself with the whatever video game Spidey was playing last. It's one such night, long enough past the first time that Wade can't remember how long they've been doing this for but recently enough that the novelty has yet to wear off, that Peter crawls in his window, steps onto the couch as he peels his mask off, kneels next to Wade, kisses the fabric still covering his cheek, and collapses over his legs.

"Finger me," Peter mutters, his voice muffled by the couch cushion his face is pressed into, and he wriggles his shoulders. Two seconds later, he started snoring.

If he didn't have an itsy bitsy spider in his lap, Wade wouldn't have been able to contain himself., he was so overcome with glee As it was, he'd been given a task, one he intended to see through 113%, and that meant he had to contain himself until he was back at his own apartment

You know he didn't mean it that way.

Bullshit. How would you know!

"Yeah!"

He kissed your cheek for the first time just now. I doubt he means to advance straight to getting fisted after that.

"Woah! I wasn't going to fist him!"

You would if you could.

"Okay yeah, yeah I would."

The boxes didn't see fit to respond.

It was hard not to rush the massage, to make sure that he attended to all the muscles in clear and glorious display in front of him. Not for the first time, he let his hands wander down to the ass that haunted his dreams, but it was the first time that Spidey wasn't squirming away after only a few minutes, blushing so hard that sometimes he kicked Wade out early.

This time though, Spidey was oh so asleep, and didn't even shift when Wade slid his gloved hands down the back of the unconscious man's suit, grabbing two handfuls of nirvana. Peter really did have a perfect ass.

Reverently, Wade pushed Webhead's pants down over his ass, exposing the two glorious globes to his eyes. It was even more perfect uncovered by blue spandex, and his tongue brushed the inside of his mask when he licked his lips. He didn't want to let go, but he didn't want to hurt Spidey either, not like that anyway. He had an entire pouch full of lube, just for this eventuality, and he dug out a few, ripping them open and squeezing them out onto his glove and Peter's Grand Canyon.

As much as he wanted to, he didn't push in right away, just sat there for long minutes, massaging the tight muscle, loosening it until the body laid across his lap was undulating slightly. When the black leather finally disappeared into the loosened hole, Peter gave one deep breath before relaxing again, shifting restlessly in place and pushing forward with his hips, the hard line of his cup pushing into Wade's thigh and making him the merc pout at the interrupted contact. Oh well.

He was in up to the first knuckle, but he couldn't really feel any of it. Not really. He had the sense that his finger was in a grasp, but he couldn't feel the slick or the silk that he wished were wrapped around his skin instead. But he wouldn't touch Petey with his skin, not if he could help it, no matter how much he wanted to feel it.

The leather was shiny when he pulled his finger back out, and as much as the sight fascinated him, knowing that all that black had just been inside his baby boy, putting it back in was more exciting, especially when the sleepy Spidey's breath hitched. He kept his pace slow, not wanting to disturb his spider's rest, not when he worked himself so hard and couldn't heal the same way Wade could.

He spent what could be considered an indecently long time loosening a hole so tight it was like it had never been touched. (Wouldn't that be lovely.) He kept Peter steady with a palm pressed to his lower back, the skin under his glove getting progressively sweatier the higher he raised the younger man's core temperature. Beneath his own suit, he was as hard as he'd ever been (at least recently)

When Wade was satisfied with the looseness of muscle around his leather, he pulled his finger out, stomach fluttering at the muffled groan into the couch cushion. He ripped open another packet, lubed two fingers this time, and carefully worked the second back in alongside the first. Petey went rigid under his hand and across his lap as two fingers worth of black leather sink back into the smaller man's unspeakably perfect ass.

Spidey must have been exhausted because he was still breathing the deep inhales and exhales of sleep, snoring lightly, face smushed nearly into the couch arm. Adorable. It made Wade's chest warm and his smile softer than it really had any right to be.

He knows that if he can find the prostate, he can try to milk his Spidey to completion and said Spidey'll get an even deeper rest because of it. He just has to move his fingers... this way?

Nope. Let's try the other way.

Still nope. Like finding the fucking blinker on a cockpit dash.

Planes don't have blinkers.

"That one plane did."

You blew up an engine.

"I'd say an explosion is one hell of a signal."

"Hnnngh!"

"All riiight. That's one hell of a signal too," Wade crooned at Peter and the way his hips undulated into the merc's leg. Of course, the cup prevented friction, but that where it was Wade's job to pick up the slack.

As carefully as he could, which in all honestly probably wasn't a lot considering he was never careful with anything - not even bombs (especially not bombs) - he tried to graze Pete's prostate with the very tip of his gloves. The gland was sensitive at the best of times, and leather probably wasn't the best thing to apply to it, but scars were even worse. So, gloves it was; he hardly went without them anyway. If he was going to get to do this again, he'd have to start working on his finesse.

He finger-fucked his baby boy nice and slow, full strokes that he made sure to end with a press against Peter's prostate. With each ease-in, the ring of muscle around his fingers loosened further and further, and the prone form laid across him became more and more restless. Every time Spidey writhed, the bones of his ribs rubbed right up against Wade's erection, and it was a different kind of control than he usually employed to stop himself from thrusting up into the undulations. This was for Petey, not him.

Wade didn't know how long he'd been fingering webhead by the time he deemed him loose enough to try a third finger, but the weakest rays of sunlight were filtering through the dirty glass by then. Little pants were being huffed against the rough cushions and pale skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, the tight ring around his first and middle finger now loose enough for him to play at pulling at the rim with his thumb every few passes.

When he pulled his fingers free for a second time, he grinned at a wheeze of a whine against the rough fabric of the couch. This time, he ripped open two packets of lube at once to drench three of his fingers in even more lube. Even if he wasn't a fan of overkill (especially when it was dramatically done and especially when killing), three fingers plus leather were sure to stretch Peter almost uncomfortably until his body adjusted, no matter how loose he felt now, and Peter was one person Wade never wanted to hurt on purpose.

He placed the three slicked fingertips to the loosened entrance, massaging it, making sure to keep it open and supple. They slipped in without pressure, sinking into Peter up to the fingernail and Wade groaned, insistently pressing them in the rest of the way, right up to his knuckles.

Spidey woke suddenly, gasping for air like he'd been drowning.

"Woops. Daddy went and woke his baby boy up," Wade chirped.

"Don't stop!" Peter gasped, his red gloves denting the couch cushion as he shoved himself backwards and raised his hips as to impale himself on Wade's fingers.

Automatically, Wade moved to pull out, the situation somehow radically different now that the younger man was now awake. It was one thing to obey Peter's demand and pleasure him when he was sleeping so he wouldn't have the memory of who was doing it to him, and another to obey when he would.

"I know that it's more fun to do exactly what you were told not to do," Spidey practically growled, the rough sound of annoyance making Wade all tingly, "but sometimes, it really is in the best interest of the entire class to do as you're told."

He only paused only for a second, surprised that Peter would want him to keep going while he was awake, but it was apparently a second too long for such an impatient webhead. The younger man immediately began shoving his hips back, taking the lubed black leather into himself with sinuous waves of his spine that made Wade feel like Spidey had just set him on fire again. And then that too-smart-for-his-own-good spider opened his mouth again.

"Are you going to fuck me or what, Daddy?" Peter snapped.

Wade snapped too, but it was a bit more on the restraint side than vocal. No, he couldn't really speak after that little verbal lash.

He curled over and around his baby's back, pressing his masked face to the boy's lower back and looping his free arm around his waist, keeping the trembling form immobile. Now that Petey was awake, and still willing to have Wade finger him, he didn't have to worry about going slow or gentle, and he thrust his fingers in hard. The wounded-animal sound it produced delighted him, but it wasn't a direct hit to the prostate. He'd lost the angle when Peter'd gone to his hands and knees, and it took him a few tries to find it again. But once he did… oh, once he did Peter couldn't shut up. Couldn't keep himself on his hands either, collapsed to his elbows with his face rolling against the cushions from the overwhelming pleasure.

Despite the ample distractions, Wade stayed true, his accelerated healing correcting cramps before they could take hold. He was brutal, cruel, in his intent, quickly and ruthlessly jamming his fingers inside Peter and pressing on his prostate. The body in his arms shuddered every time he made contact and it just made him move faster, go deeper, press harder until wet sobs accompanied every thrust.

A hand flapped at his wrist where it was pressed hard against the smaller man's lower abdomen, incidentally right where his pants, and his cup, were trapped and covering his dick. He smiled and shook his head, even though Spidey couldn't see.

"Nah, baby boy. I want to see you come on just my fingers. You think you can do that for me?"

Peter sobbed in reply and began to shake harder, like someone had turned him on vibrate mode. He was sure stimulating Wade's erogenous zones as it was.

Wade did his best to hurry things along - he'd try to convince Spidey to let him do this again later, to let him really take his time, and after a handful of thrusts, the body in his arm went silent and rigid. Wade groaned at the thought of Webhead's mouth open in a silent scream, and at the thought of Spidey's cup filling with his come, and he nipped the firm curve of an asscheek through his mask.

Nearly a full minute passed before the tension fled from Peter's body and Wade finally released his waist to lower him back across his lap. He didn't remove his fingers though - he was too interested in the way the muscles were clenching with a slowing rhythm around his gloves, and the way his cock echoed the beat. It wasn't until after the pulses had subsided and panting sobs had solidified into even breaths that Peter spoke again.

"Why did I wake up with your fingers up my ass?" He didn't sound angry or annoyed or… anything, really. His voice was flat, but not in that dangerous kind of way Wade like to provoke because it made him hot.

"You said 'finger me'," he replied cheerfully, wiggling his fingers inside the younger man's ass.

A shudder ran through the webhead at his motions, a full-body event that seemed to ripple out from the epicenter that was his ass. A twitchy elbow grazed Wade's dick and he had to lock down every muscle and joint to keep from shuddering too.

"...You need to learn context, Wade," Peter sighed after he'd settled. "I definitely meant a regular massage, not an asshole massage."

Told you. / Told you.

"I liked 'Daddy' better," Wade pouted, slowly drawing his fingers free.

"Yeah well, Daddy needs to learn context," Peter snarked back, the bite of his words lost in how breathlessly they emerged, and his annoyance lost to the way that he tried rolling his hips back to keep Wade's fingers inside.

Wade would have more than happy to oblige Spidey's unspoken demand, though he needed to apply more lube before the black leather dried out and started to chafe, but just then, Peter sat up on his knees. He turned his face, his gorgeous, flushed, dazed face, towards Wade, and grinned.

Before he knew it, he had a spider straddling his lap and still impaled on his fingers, hands on his shoulders and the smooth curve of a protective cup pressing along the length of his dick. His impatience rearing its attractive head again, Peter didn't bother waiting for Wade to ask before he was grinding down along Wade's erection. He didn't start out slow either - webhead settled into a bouncing-rolling rhythm immediately, every movement of his hips sending sparks of friction up Wade's spine. He had to wrap his arm around Spidey's waist, palm his lower spine just to balance himself.

He liked to think himself a pretty hedonistic fellow, unashamed in his pleasures and definitely not one to stop himself from taking what he wanted. Especially now, with his crush iconsciously/i writhing in his lab, fucking down on his fingers, and trying to get him off. He didn't have a chance.

Orgasm delay and denial were not the kinds of games he liked to play with himself, and yet, he'd done nothing but that the entire time he'd had his fingers up his baby's ass. Wade came with a low moan before he even had time to appreciate what Petey was doing for him. His arm around Spidey's waist tightened, holding the smaller body tightly to his own as his hips rolled, prolonging his climax as long as he could.

When Wade's brain came back online, he found Spidey practically splayed over his chest, arms around his shoulders and cheek resting on his collarbone, sitting peacefully still impaled on three leather-gloved fingers. The arm around Spidey's waist was practically a death grip, keeping the smaller man pinned to his chest, but there was no complaints, only the slow sound of Peter's breath and the steady beat of his heart against Wade's chest.

The following minutes were oddly relaxing in a way after-massages and playing video games weren't. If Peter wasn't going to move, then Wade wasn't going to move either. He felt warm and melty in the early rays of the morning sun, and not in the usual oh-no-I've-been-dumped-in-a-vat-of-acid-again way. Enough so that it made him drowsy, sleepy. He was almost out of it when the comforting weight pressing him into the couch lifted with a groan. The mercenary was awake within seconds, and it was only training that kept him from reacting to the body moving away from him.

Near silent footsteps padded away from him, and with his eyes still closed, he tracked the sound through the apartment into the bedroom. He didn't bother opening his eyes or moving, mind awhirl with the pros and cons of following Spidey to his room vs staying on the couch vs just leaving, heading out before Peter could rope him into a very possibly uncomfortable conversation that could very well make him want to blow his brains out.

"I made a tiny little washing machine so I wouldn't have to take my costume to the laundromat or back to Aunt May's," Peter called out from the bathroom, over the sound of running water. "You should throw yours in with mine, clean it for once."

No, he couldn't subject his baby boy to his skin, and if he stayed, there was no way the tenacious little bastard wouldn't try to work him over till he flipped.

You'd totally let him work you over.

He already got worked over. Let's do it again.

"Nope, mos' def' outtie."

He stood quickly, checking his armaments were all present, snagging his katana from the floor by his feet and strapping them to his back. His hand was on the doorknob when he registered the sound of barefeet over hardwood floors approaching him from behind.

"You're not staying?"

Wade braced himself and turned around, scratching the back of his head, and promptly froze in place.

Well spank me and call me Shirley.

Daaayuuum.

He was too dumbstruck to respond to the boxes because Peter fucking Parker was naked as the day he was born, standing a few feet from Wade and head tilted to the side like he was confused. The little shit was even trying not to smirk.

"So… You staying?"

"I will if you stay naked," Wade blurted out. It wasn't even the boxes' fault that time.

Spidey didn't even look surprised. He just smiled in a way that made Wade feel like he was tripping. It was unsettling.

"I'll stay naked if you get naked too and let me wash that suit of yours," the genius countered. "Your whole suit," Peter specified before Wade could even open his mouth.

"Oh come on, Spidey, you don't wanna see all that grossness," he waved off, shifting on his feet.

A hard look came over the webhead's face. "The only gross thing about you, Wade, is the way you eat," he said somberly, stopping Wade's heard. "That and the way your costume smells like nachos at all times. I don't know how you do it. It's gross. Do you just sleep in Mexican take-out or what?"

He found a laugh being startled out of his mouth, and he'd probably be blushing like the innocent schoolgirl he was if his skin was capable of it. As it was, he felt light-headed and woozy. Did Spidey fucking dose him or something?

"Oh, you know, bed of tacos, pillow of chimichangas, blanket of enchilados, the usu'."

Peter laughed and stalked forward. Wade couldn't keep his eyes above Spidey's neck anymore, attracted to the play of muscles under pale, lightly-scarred skin. Well, and the soft dick between his legs. His eyes landed there and pretty much stuck there.

Talk about Big Ben.

Puns featuring our baby boo's dead uncle are probably bad.

Yeah, bad to the boner.

Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh. B-b-b-b-bad to the bone. Guitar solo!

The smaller man stopped right in front of him, tilting his chin up and looking up at Wade coyly through his eyelashes. Calloused fingertips played with the hem of his top, brushing his skin and making the muscles in his stomach contract.

"So. Are. You. Staying?"

Wade stared down at Petey for a minute before he took a deep breath, screwed his courage wherever courage got screwed (You'd screw Petey's courage. Who wouldn't?) and pulled his mask off. He could say it was like peeling off his face, but he and Rorschach were separated by about five years and one publisher worth of crazy and he'd like to keep it that way.

As he expected, the younger man did end up breaking his gaze from Wade's eyes, ending a truly spectacular eye-fucking, but he didn't flinch when he surveyed the topographical map of Utah that was Wade Wilson's face. He didn't throw up either, which was a huge bonus, and the fact that he hadn't moved backwards was pretty much a win/win in all of Wade's books and fanfiction.

"Move over, Crater-face. Wade Wilson's about to race Danny Zuko down Thunder Road fer pink slips and that sexy thang in red-n-blue spandex," he muttered. "You ever considered putting on heels, baby boy? Not that that ass needs any more help."

Peter blinked and then snorted like he was surprised by his own laughter. A second later, wide-eyed, he did it again. Then his lips quirked at the corners and he let out a giggle - a motherfucking giggle. In seconds, Spidey dissolved into right-out laughter, the skin around his eyes wrinkled and a bit wet from laughing hard enough to cry.

"Is that - snort - something that - hiccup - Daddy is interested in seeing his baby boy - giggle - in?" Peter managed to ask between gasps for breath, bent in half at the waist with a hand pressed to Wade's stomach for balance, his face turning red.

Wade couldn't help but chuckle along, but the "Yes" that slipped out was breathless enough to wipe the smile from Peter's face.

"Well… why don't you finally make your 'famous pancakes', I'll wash our suits, and we'll take it from there?" Peter proposed, stepping back in close.

Emboldened by the superhero's proximity, Wade wound an arm around the slim waist and pulled the shorter man right up against his chest.

"Mos' def' not outtie," he whispered, heart thudding as he pulled a grinning Peter up for another kiss.

FINIS

This is garbage. I'm garbage. I have no idea what I'm doing. I couldn't find a stopping point. Why. This was literally supposed to be 1k of fingering smut. I've never even read either of their comics: my Spidey experience is limited to the Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends cartoon, the 1994 Spider-Man Animated series, Toby's movies (of which we don't speak), and the much superior Andrew's movies; my DP experience, all innuendos aside, is falling into a Wiki rabbit hole on the guy and watching the movie trailer approximately 10+ times a day every day for a week.

Fanart gets rb-ed like mad but not fanfiction. Break the cycle, reader. Rise above, focus on reccing with a reblog (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/133969125833).