A/N: We're finally earning that Mature rating this chapter! All hands on deck, full smut ahead! :P

The door slams and Wade glances up from the TV as Peter storms out of his room with a look of utter contempt.

"So, how'd it go?" Wade asks, tracking Peter as he stomps to the stairs, and snaps his fingers, pointing, "And hey! No floors! Plant those piggies on the ceiling."

"Tony's therapist can shove his Ph.D. up his ass!" Peter says, transferring from floor to wall, to ceiling with little fuss—too busy throwing his hands up in a demonstration of how much Dr. Bellar's rear-end needs to meet his Doctor of Philosophy Degree—and marches into the living room to pace around the light fixtures.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?" He continues loudly. "What? Just because he went to a fancy schmancy nepotism school, he knows everything? Because he's got money and prestige? You know who else has money and prestige? Wilson Fisk. And am I going to him for life advice? I don't think so!"

"Wow," Wade drawls, snatching the remote off the table so he can turn on the subtitles. "Comparing your shrink to the Kingpin. That's new, but I don't necessarily disagree. Am I allowed to know the hot goss, or is this hush hush patient confidentiality?"

"He was going on and on about childhood trauma, and abandonment issues, and," here Peter adds finger quotes, "'not loving myself.' What kind of kid-in-the-closet righteous bullshit is that? I've been out of the closet since college. Don't love myself. Please."

Wade cranes his neck upward. "Hey, can you do something for me?"

Peter's pacing slows just a fraction. "What?"

"Say, 'I love myself.'"

Peter stares at him, hands on his hips. He throws his hands in the air. "That's not the point! He was going on and on like he knew me. It's only been one session! We're not there yet, man. Light some candles and take me to dinner before we get all intimate, Jesus Christ!" And he's back to pacing.

Wade rolls his eyes and leans back onto the couch, tuning back into Catalina Moreno Otiz confessing her love at the bedside of the recently deceased Mateo Ruiz Delgado. Peter's griping and grumbling floats above his head like an angry little cloud spouting off little bits of lightning, not pausing long enough for Wade to get a word in, so he assumes he's not supposed to be an active participant anyway. Eventually, Peter exhausts himself and descends on a webline that stops directly in front of the TV.

"What's this?"

Wade leans to the side in an effort to see around him. "The Precipice of our Hearts."

Peter's head tilts curiously. "I think my aunts' watched this."

"Then she's got raunchy tastes."

Peter cranes his neck more, attempting to view the screen from upside-right, only to snap around as Wade used the fire poker to try and ease him out of the way. Peter bats at it like an annoyed cat at a string.

"Does your rule extend to watching TV?" He asks.

Wade pokes him again, which Peter smacks away, and hums thoughtfully. "Depends. What's in it for me?"

Peter shrugs. "I don't know...a blowjob?"

Wade raises an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"Cuddles?"

Wade considers this, tapping his chin, and after a long minute, opens his arms for Peter to drop into. They take a minute to arrange themselves comfortably, with Peter propped against Wade's chest and Wade's arms curled around his sternum. They fall into silence.

But only a few minutes of silence. Which isn't bad considering they're...them.

Peter squirms like a worm until he's half-turned around and looking up at Wade from where his head is laying against his chest. "So, what now?"

Wade doesn't look away from the TV. "What now, what?"

"You're the itinerary guy, I'm following your lead here. Are we just watching TV? Or do we actually have something planned today?"

Wade shrugs and lays deeper into the couch, pulling Peter down with him, who's staring at him like he's going to pry his fingers into Wade's brain personally; but predictably melts into Wade's body as the couch eats them up. The fireplace is alive and crackling across the room, and the house's heating systems were dialed to a comfortable temperature, even so, Peter melts into his body like candle-wax to a flame, greedily slurping up whatever bit of warmth he got his mitts on.

"Just relax and enjoy," Wade says, dropping his hand into Peter's hair because he can and Peter won't stop him, because he leans into it like a cat butting his head into his palm. But it doesn't distract Peter for long, because the words "relax and enjoy" create a biological response that's the equivalent of sand in wet denim. He squirms some more until he's tit-to-tit with Wade, chin propped on Wade's chest, face pinched like he was just told to eat shit and die.

"The whole point of this trip was to help me figure out my whole...deal. Preferably with as little property damage and maiming as possible. You said you have a plan."

"And I do," Wade says, bopping Peter's crooked nose, and then, unable to help himself, follows its curve up to the bridge and pokes him between the eyes for good measure. Peter goes cross-eyed and Wade barely suppresses the urge to plant a kiss on his forehead. Barely. "But this isn't exactly a science, Petey. I'm not an expert on your whole...deal. I've got a plan, but it's mostly made of duct tape and hunches."

Peter's pinched expression becomes a scowl, but before he can say anything, Wade clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Nuh-uh. None of that. I've got a big enough earful from Iron Butt, and he still gave me the green light. For some fuck-ass, inconceivable reason he's giving me the benefit of the doubt, and if the world's biggest play-boy can commit to my plan, then it shouldn't be too hard for you to sit here and watch TV like a good kid." Peter only glares harder and Wade sighs. "Throw a little trust my way. I have some things in mind, but for them to have full effect, I need you all relaxed and goopy. Capiche?"

Peter's heavy eyebrows do not unfurl, so Wade keeps his hand over his mouth until he slowly, begrudgingly, breaks his scowl and nods. Wade releases him, revealing Peter's pout, which he can't help but lean down and press his lips against, the urge too strong this time to suppress. Peter's lips had a way of making Wade forget all his inhibitions—of what little ones he has.

Besides, he can do that now. Boyfriend perks.

Huh. Are you boyfriends? Did we ever establish that?

Wade broke the kiss, surprised. "Hey, yeah, are we boyfriends?"

Peter, disappointed that their lips were no longer locked, glances to the side in thought. "Well, you did save me from a bunch of psycho kidnappers."

"And we totally almost boned a few times," Wade adds.

"And we did kind of have a date last night."

"And you've totally been spider-courting me for the last 43,859 words of this mess."

Peter's head pops to the other side. "So, yeah. I think we are boyfriends."

Wade leans his head back against the armrest, grinning. "Awesome."

It's about time that slow burn started paying off.

"So," Peter says, leaning his bodyweight into Wade's and crossing his arms over Wade's chest, "now that we established that. As boyfriends, what do you want to do first?"

Oh?

Wade's smile turns sharper and he lifts his head as he wraps his arms around Peter's back, pushing their bodies together. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, a few things," Peter says cheekily, hand sliding down Wade's chest, past his hips, and towards his inner thigh.

"Well, hello there," Wade says, opening his legs to better accommodate his sudden guest. "I'm liking what you're thinking. Some real Pulitzer Prize shit. What else you got?"

Peter rolls his hand against Wade's groin, palm hot and heavy as he fondles Wade's more delicate bits through his sweatpants. No underwear today because fuck you, sometimes lil Wade and his bongos need to breathe. "I was thinking...I'm not molting anymore."

"Yes." Wade agrees.

"I have more range of motion."

"I can see that."

"We can pick up where we left off."

"I think I'm picking up what you're putting down. Just in case, I think you should pick something else up, right now, this instant, if you'd be so inclined." Wade undulates his hips in emphasis.

Peter squeezes Wade gently before moving to the seam of his pants and dipping his fingers inside. His fingertips dance on the edge for a bit, and Wade definitely doesn't whine impatiently or anything, because he's classy; but he DOES whine happily when Peter's fingers finally slip the rest of the way in. His dick is already at half-mast, and it twitches as Peter's long, deft fingers curl around it, growing hotter and harder as he strokes him fully. Wade sighs, dropping his head back down on the armrest, closing his eyes in contentment.

"That's what I thought you were saying."

Peter "hmmmmm's," in agreement and uses his other hand to tug Wade's pants down. Wade lifts his hips to allow them to go so they're bunched around his shins. Peter settles more solidly in his lap, bracketing Wade's hips with his thighs.

'It's about time we were properly introduced," Peter says to Wade's dick, giving it a long, indulgent stroke. "It's a shame we were interrupted last time." And if Wade wasn't already hard before, well, turns out he likes it when Peter talks to his junk like it's a person. Weird. Will definitely not be looking any deeper into that.

"Your dicks' the one that was having performance issues," Wade says, head still drooped over the armrest.

"Hush, we're getting reacquainted," Peter shushes him, and Wade lifts his head in interest as Peter spits into his hand and picks up a faster, firmer rhythm, and that's a very nice turn of events. Wade is supposed to be helping Peter relax, not the other way around, but any thoughts about switching it up disintegrate when Peter says, quiet yet cheeky, "And I bet you taste so good too."

Wade groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Didn't someone say something about a blowjob? I think I remember something about a blowjob."

Instead, Peter leans back, letting go of Wade's cock entirely, and Wade lifts his arm and head to see what's up.

"There's time for that later," Peter says, completely discarding his own pants and freeing his cock, which has been tenting his pants for some time now. Poor thing. "I never said when you'd get the blowjob."

"Should've read the fine print," Wade murmurs half-heartedly, because his focus is entirely on Peter's dick, which is hard, hot, and such a lovely shade of pink Wade wants to wrap his mouth around it and suck it like marrow from a bone. That's why they call it a boner, right? He's pretty sure he's right. Call him a dog and give him a treat, woof woof.

Peter grabs both their cocks and rubs them together, and they groan in unison.

"Grab that lotion for me, would ya?" Peter says on a breath just short of a pant, and Wade doesn't lunge for it, per se, but it does wind up in Peter's hands remarkably fast. As Peter squirts a decent amount in his palm, Wade leans back, content to let Peter take the lead. With both of their dicks slicked up, Peter gets comfortable and resumes jerking Wade off with the added bonus of himself too.

As he sets up a steady rhythm, a flush paints Peter's skin the kind of shade Wade wants to run his tongue along to see which it tastes like, cherries or strawberries. Peter's eyes close in pleasure, his head tilting back just slightly, teasing the chord of muscle there. His chest hitches and his abs flex as his hands twist just so, and Wade wants to drink up that look on his face. He lifts his hands, hovering them over Peter's exposed thighs. Immediately, Peter's rhythm hitches, his chest heaves, and his eyes fly open and settle on Wade, not completely dark yet, but dark enough.

How interesting.

Wade moves his hand upward, still hovering above Peter's skin, but Peter sucks in a breath and his stomach quivers and flexes as if he feels every bit of it. He speeds up. The wet noise from their cocks as his hand slides over them fill the air, loud and lewd, and Wade can't help but buck up into it, one hand latching onto Peter's hip for support and Peter gasps, back arching, grip becoming painful.

"You sensitive, baby boy?" Wade pants, breathless, and sits up, slowly gathering Peter in his arms to keep him in his lap. Peter's chest heaves, and he nods wordlessly, staring up at the ceiling like his neck might snap if he looks down now. His nipples are pebbled and dark, and Wade leans down to suck one into his mouth and Peter hisses, arching up into him again and grabbing his head. His fingers flex against Wade's skin like he isn't sure he wants to pull him away or keep him there.

Wade chuckles, and Peter's hand tightens, digging into the scars on his head. So, he wasn't all gone just yet. Gently, Wade curls his hand over the one still on their cocks and slowly begins pumping them again, aiding Peter in the motion, who's too preoccupied to keep it up himself as Wade rolls his tongue around his nipple and gives it a small bite. Peter jerks in his lap with a sharp noise but leans into it, leaning into Wade, breath coming out faster.

"Wade," he moans, and Wade squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to bottle that up too and store it somewhere deep and safe. Somewhere just for him, only for him, where he could grab it and take a sip whenever he wanted. His own personal elixir.

Wade switches to Peter's other nipple, giving it the same treatment, and Peter bucks into their conjoined hands, rolling and twitching in Wade's lap so deliciously. Why haven't they done this sooner? No, seriously, why the fuck haven't they done this sooner?

Wade migrates his hand from Peter's hip to wrapping his arm around his back, pinning him close. He gives that nipple a final nibble and then licks a strip up Peter's chest, shining with sweat and body oil that has a strange, musty taste that is so distinctly Peter, Wade feels a little drunk on it. Peter moans, a pitched, desperate noise like music. If he clings any tighter to Wade's skin, it's going to come off in strips, and the thought sends such a burst of arousal to Wade's dick that he moans back in agreement.

His lips brush over the skin of Peter's collarbone, but it's his teeth settling just over the juncture of his neck that pushes Peter over the edge. He cums with a sharp cry, arching in Wade's lap, and tightening himself around Wade so thoroughly it feels like he's being trapped in eight different arms, not just two. Wade pumps them both fast and hard, letting Peter ride it out, and following quickly after. Their hands and chest are a mess, and Wade distantly thinks about grabbing the box of tissues nearby, but Peter's lips are suddenly crashing into his, and, well, he always did have a short attention span.

The kiss starts heated, but it quickly melts into something soft and languid as they ride the high of post-orgasmic bliss. When Peter breaks it, it's to lean his head against Wade's shoulder, and Wade pulls them both down so they're laying back on the couch, in the position they'd started.

"You with me?" Wade asks, nudging the side of Peter's head with his own.

"Mhm," Peter says, nodding, but doesn't look up.

"You good?"

"Mhm."

"Need anything."

Peter shakes his head. "Just you," he mumbles, nuzzling into Wade's skin, and Wade tightens his hold on Peter to keep himself together, because otherwise he might break.

"Okay. You have me."

It's silent for a while before Wade pipes up. "Isn't it crazy that we can do that all the time now?"

Peter huffs a laugh, definitely more himself now, and pries himself out of Wade's skin. His blown pupils are slowly going back to normal, and Wade wishes he could've seen how dark they'd gotten.

"We probably could've been doing it a lot sooner," Peter says. "If we actually got our shit together."

"Hey, my shit was together. My shit was ready to rock and roll."

"Good to know. Hand me those tissues."

Wade hands them over and then helps clean up because many hands make lighter work. They lay on the couch, mission successful in becoming relaxed and goopy. The TV is still going, moving onto an episode Wade hasn't seen yet—someone had died, and someone else had come back from the dead, and there were more love confessions. He'll have to go back to see what he'd missed.

But, eventually, duty calls and Wade extricates himself from Peter's sticky, clingy limbs, which earns him a lazy eye from the octopus-human-incarnate himself.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"Just got some things to do," Wade says, ruffling his hair. "You relax. Take a snooze. I'll be downstairs."

Peter doesn't attempt to get up, his only effort to move being his eyes as they follow Wade out of the living room. "You've been going down there an awful lot," he says, an accusation that he loses interest in halfway through.

"Hakuna matata, mi amor. No worries. Go back to relaxing or I'm going to make you."

Peter snorts and closes his eyes. "Alright, I'm relaxing. This is me relaxing. I'm relaxed."

"Good," Wade says, curling his hand around the stairway banister. "Keep it that way. I want you all open and loose by the time I get back."

Peter snorts again and opens one eye. "You brought lube, right?"

Wade scoffs, offended. "Who the fuck do you think I am? Did you really think I'd drag your ass to the middle of the woods, to a billionaire's glorified fuck-shed, and not bring lube? Geezus. It's like you don't even know me."

Peter's chuckle follows him down the stairs.

 <><><>LINE BREAK<><><>

The next few days are laden with more activities for relaxation. 1000+ Piece puzzles, bubble baths, sewing, books, just about anything Wade can look up on his phone that was doable within the restrictions he'd limited Peter to. Though, Peter did have a knack for squeezing his way around the rules, like convincing Wade to let him touch the floor again by giving him that blowjob he'd promised. That had earned him a few hours of walking normally, but Wade still has a plan! He can't be bought all the time.

Like, or example, no matter how many times Peter asks, and what he offers to "give" Wade in exchange for information, Wade won't tell him what was going on in the basement. Wade tried limiting himself to the basement at night when Peter was asleep, so it wouldn't crop up so much, but Peter was a smart guy and the cabin wasn't big enough to promote such privacy.

It doesn't take Peter long to put two-and-two together that Wade is doing something extra suspicious down there, and has no qualms with selling his body for answers. Promiscuous little fuck. Sexy promiscuous little fuck using their newly established sexual relations against Wade; what an asshole.

An asshole he won't let Wade touch until he spills the beans!

Thankfully, Wade's pet project only takes a few more days to complete, and it's not like he was planning on keeping it a secret forever. Peter is downright tickled pink when Wade finally says yes about going down there, but that turns into confusion when Wade has him put on his Spider-Man suit, and then he's considerably less excited the farther into the basement Wade leads him.

"What did you do?" Peter says, stopping halfway down the wall to gawk at the room.

Wade waves his hand around in a flippant gesture, "Just a few....renovations."

Peter's head moves, surveying the room slowly, his lenses blown wide. "Does Tony know about these renovations?"

"Yeah, he helped me come up with them. Come on, slowpoke, I'll show you around."

There isn't really much to show. Peter creeps onto the ceiling and stands there, taking in the sheer emptiness of the room. Wade stops in the middle of the room, one hand on his hip and the other fidgeting with one of his pouches, honing in on every shuffle of Peter's feet and shift of his head. The entire basement had been gutted. The soda machines, foosball table, and arcade games had been dismantled and stored away; the giant home theater is gone with not a chair to be seen. Red rubber mats cover the floor and walls now, and aside from a towel Wade left folded next to the stairs, the room is utterly empty.

He gives Peter another minute to take it in before lifting a finger and raising his voice, "Alright, first things first," he points at Peter, and then points at the floor, "I need you down here with me."

Peter glances at the ceiling and then back at Wade. "What happened to your rules?"

"I'm the rule master. I decide when rules are no longer in effect," Wade sniffs, crossing his arms. "Come on, get your ass down here."

Sighing, Peter crouches, placing a palm flat on the ceiling, and flips around, maneuvering his body so that he's dangling by that one hand, and then drops, landing silently on the ground. He rolls on the balls of his feet and shakes his arms, as if getting reacquainted with gravity, and spreads his hands in question. "Alright, what next?"

"Next, we establish a few rules."

"Oh, great, more rules." Peter drones, crossing his arms.

Wade lets that go because the next hour is going to be unpleasant for Peter, anyway. He holds up a finger. "Rule number one, no leaving the basement until I say."

"Alright, big guy, I see you. If you wanted to do kinky basement roleplay, all you had to do was ask."

Wade files that away for later, but otherwise ignores it. "Rule number two, we keep going unless I say otherwise, or until one of us can't keep going. Got it?"

Peter's head rears back, lenses widening a fraction. "Wait, are we really doing kinky roleplay? I was joking."

"Rule number three, do as I say, not as I do."

"Gee, want me to get on my knees and call you 'my lord' while we're at it."

Another thing Wade mentally files away for later. "And rule number four," Wade carries on, holding up a fourth finger, "no holding back. Do you understand the rules? Yes, or no?"

"No holding back?" Peter echoes, hands coming up as if prepared to bat the idea away. "Like, strength-wise?"

"Do you understand the rules? Yes, or no?" Wade repeats firmly.

"Okay, damn. Yes. I understand." Peter rubs his fingers against his palms, eyeing Wade skeptically. "Do we need to establish a safe word? What are we doing down here, Wade?"

"We," Wade says, falling into a boxed stance with his fists up, "are here to fight."

Peter freezes. "Fight? Like, what kind of fight?"

"A fistfight, if you think you can handle it," Wade challenges with a smirk, even as his stomach clenches. Duct tape and hunches—that's what this plan was. He's gone over it with Tony, confident in his words, but not so much in the actual plan itself; because if Tony didn't think Wade was 100% about it, he was going to snitch to SHIELD and get Peter locked up for something he had no control over. They'd done the fine-tuning together and hammered out a plan crazy enough that it might actually work, but that didn't stop Wade from staring at the ceiling at night, driven crazy by all the ways he might screw Peter up more than he already was.

Wade's hands aren't made for healing. Or caring. But they are made for a fight, for getting scraped up and dirty, tools for bloody knuckles and broken bones. He isn't used to being gentle. But he is used to being rough, getting down in the mud, and fighting for the sake of an adrenaline rush. He may not be able to help Peter in the head, not where it really mattered as Tony's shrink could, but he can do this at least.

Help in a different way, even if that way isn't as pleasant.

Peter takes a step away from Wade and looks him up and down, as if trying to gauge how serious he is being. "You still haven't told me why we're fighting."

Wade rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "All part of the plan, Spidey. Now throw a left hook at me. And no going easy. I meant it when I said no holding back."

Peter cocks his hip in a snarky response. "You want my full strength? I reiterate, do we need a safe word?"

"Heh," Wade chuckles softly, "Maybe."

But let's see how this goes first, he thinks to himself. A safe word might not be so bad.

"Come on," Wade eggs on, dancing around on his heels and throwing a few playful punches in the air, "you're not chicken, are you?"

Peter scoffs, obviously rolling his eyes, but his shoulders immediately straighten and his chest puffs out. He regards Wade briefly, a final time, before falling into his signature crouch. "Fine, but don't come crying to me when your lungs collapse."

Wade grins, sharp as a shark. "Bet on it, babe."

He doesn't say "On your mark." He doesn't have a green light to indicate when to start. That defeats the purpose. He gives Peter a second to gather himself and then springs forward without warning, aiming a kick at his head.

Despite lazying about for the better part of a week, Peter is spry on his feet, morphing into Spider-Man in the blink of an eye. He evades Wade's attacks easily, gliding around them as smoothly as wind, and hops onto the wall, using it and two well-placed webs as a springboard to tackle Wade. Wade barely steps to the side, and Peter rolls across the ground and springs back to his feet, already a safe distance away.

That's the thing about Spider-Man. He's fast, strong, and agile. A lethal combination. He keeps his distance with his webs and hops around so fast it's hard to keep track of where he is, and darts in like a snake when he sees an opening. His senses, particularly his spider-sense, keep him a step ahead of the game. And that's just scratching the surface. Wade's learned a lot about him in the past months they've been together; stuff that a person like him, with worse intentions, should never know.

The nasty downsides to trust.

But however fast and springy Spider-Man is, their space is limited and there are only so many places he can go to stay out of Wade's reach. Wade gets him hard in the side when he tries to pull the same trick on him as before, and then kicks him hard enough in the knee to make him grunt; neither slow him down, but Wade wasn't expecting it to. Not when Spider-Man bodies trucks and trains on the regular. But it does put nicks in his walls, and sometimes that's all Wade needs.

"Heh, I thought we were supposed to be sparring," Peter snarks, jumping out of Wade's range again.

"We would be if you actually got over here, you little shit," Wade snarks back.

Their spar does come to an eventual end when Spider-Man finally pins him down in a thick layer of webbing. Wade tugs on it for show but is otherwise unconcerned by the turn of events. Peter drops onto his chest on his tiptoes and pokes Wade between the eyes.

"So, what do I win?" he preens.

"A cookie. It's right here, in my pocket."

Peter snickers. "You really do come prepared." But slips the knife out of Wade's boot and cuts him free, helping him back up and then bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Alright, fight over. What now?"

"We go again," Wade says, kicking the mound of webbing aside. "Only this time," he holds out his hand. Peter stares in confusion until Wade emphatically gestures to his arm, and he cautiously offers it up. Wade unclips the webshooter snuggled around Peter's wrist and drops it into one of his pouches.

"What?" Peter whines, holding his other wrist protectively to his chest. "That's not fair."

"Hey, what're the rules?" Wade says.

Peter drops down to one knee. "My lord?"

"Do as I say," Wade says pointedly. "Stop trying to distract with sexy talk. Now come on, cough em' up."

Peter huffs and kicks his feet like an angry toddler being told to hand over a favorite toy, but concedes his wrist to Wade, who relinquishes that webshooter as well. Before Peter takes his arm back, Wade tightens his grip.

"Hold on," He pulls out a small roll of tape. "You're not going to like this," he warns, "but you've got to keep it on anyway."

Peter's lenses squint in suspicion and then widen in alarm as Wade covers his spinnerets with a cloth and begins taping it down.

"Whoa, whoa, what's the big idea?" Peter demands, yanking his arm away, and pulling Wade with him as he holds on.

"Just trust me on this, Petey. Alright?" Wade implores, softening his voice and holding his hands out to convey no harm.

Peter scowls at him, arm hard and flexed under Wade's grip, but he doesn't yank it away which is about as much as Wade could hope for. He takes a deep, collected breath and spits through gritted teeth, "Fine," and allows Wade to continue wrapping it up. When both spinnerets are snugly bound, Peter jerks his arms back to the safety of his chest and turns bodily away from Wade to examine his handiwork. He flexes and unflexes his hands uneasily.

"I don't like this," he decides.

Wade smiles morosely. "I didn't think you would." He gives Peter a few seconds to roll his wrists and feel out his new restriction and then steps back, holding up his fists. "Now come on, let's go again."

Agitated, Peter falls into his crouch, and like last time, Wade only gives him a second before attacking. He assumed Peter's webshooters were his biggest clutch, and he was right. Peter is plenty good at evasion and striking hard and fast, but without his webshooters, it's like cutting off an arm. More than once, he flings out his hand to shoot a web, and each time he stumbles, caught off guard when nothing happens. Wade likens it to taking away his sight, or his sense of balance. A part of him so ingrained into who he is, that no longer having access to it is like waking up with a blindfold over his eyes and weights on his feet.

It nicks at Peter's defenses and he lashes out with less control. Wade gets several more hits in, one in particular on the side of the head that has Peter backing up and shaking his head like a dog, grunting in annoyance. Growling, he lunges for Wade's midsection, but Wade sidesteps and grabs his arm, twisting it behind his back to force him to his knees. But Peter rolls with the motion and uses his flexibility to twist and yank his arm free. It takes longer to pin Wade, but when he does, it knocks the breath out of Wade's lunges so fast it leaves him gasping. Peter presses his weight into him, using his strength to keep him down.

"Good," Wade wheezes, ignoring the pleasant flush invading his body, because now is not the time. "Again."

Peter glares but obeys.

And so they do it again. And again. And again. Peter's frustration with his restriction only grows and his inhibitions about using his strength become less of a concern. He lands a punch to Wade's arm that snaps the bone and lights an unpleasant fire under his skin. Hissing, Wade backs up, shaking his arm as the bone mends and the ache slowly disperses. Peter runs at him, but this time, Wade unsheathes his knife and twists, slashing a long, neat line across Peter's back. Peter stumbles in shock, looking over his shoulder at Wade with lenses blown wide. He reaches his arm around in an attempt to dab at the wound.

"Did you seriously just cut me!?" He demands.

Wade flips the knife in his grip, effortlessly spinning it through his fingers with the finesse of a weapons connoisseur. "Yeah. What are you going to do about it?"

Peter stares at him in disbelief, his arm still curled around his side, and Wade doesn't give him an opportunity to really do anything about it. They dance like that, a back-and-forth of Wade slashing and Peter dodging. Wade's careful with his strokes. He doesn't want to hurt Peter, but he can't afford to be nice about it either. He needs to get Peter shaken up, his hackles raised. At least a little, for now.

By the time they're done, Peter's costume is a mess of tatters and his skin is littered with small, shallow cuts. He'd gone quiet sometime in their fight, and even when Wade backs up to give him room to breathe, he stays locked in his crouch, back to the wall.

"We're done," Wade says, holding his hands up. He grabs the towel he'd left by the stairs and cleans his knife, sliding it back into its sheath. Peter is still staring at him, not moving. It doesn't even look like he's breathing. Wade stares back, careful to keep his body open and relaxed.

Slowly, Peter stands to his full height.

"How are you feeling?" Wade asks.

"Pissed," Peter says hotly, glaring, hands clenched into fists. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Later," Wade says and opens his arms. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Peter hesitates, grabbing Wade's heart in the process and wrenching it into a Celtic knot that twists the fragile tissues to the point of breaking; but he soothes the ache by gingerly walking into Wade's arms and dropping his head on Wade's shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

"Alright, I deserve that," Wade mumbles, gently rubbing the sides of Peter's shoulders, and immediately Peter relaxes under the touch and tucks his head more carefully under Wade's chin. "You did great," Wade praises. "You're safe and you're alright. That's all we're doing today."

"I'm fine, Wade," Peter grumbles into his chest. "It wasn't that bad. I'm just pissed you didn't mention knife play beforehand. Give a guy a warning next time. Sheesh."

Wade snorted, grinning wryly. "Come on, let's go upstairs." He leads Peter backward. "I'll draw a bubble bath and we'll get those cuts looked after."

Pampering Peter is his favorite part. He sits him on the couch and has him strip, and then goes through each cut one by one, cleaning them, applying a bandaid, and giving it a loving smooch. Peter's healing factor takes care of them quickly enough, but Wade enjoys the process and it pulls a smile out of Peter, who was adamant about being angry about the whole ordeal. By the time Wade cooks an extra cheezy pizza and lets Peter choose a movie, Peter is in a much better mood and melts into Wade's arms like he doesn't intend on ever prying himself off.

The nervous coil in Wade's stomach loosens. Peter's not really upset with him, then. That was his biggest concern when constructing this plan; that Peter was going to pull away.

Wade inhales deeply and tips his head back. The fire sends a warm yellow glow throughout the room that's the visual equivalent of taking a blanket out of the dryer and wrapping it around his eyeballs. The woods outside are turning a dark blue as the sun sets and flurries of snow blanket the hedges and railings. Peter's already fast asleep, as relaxed and stress-free as he was waking up this morning. Wade runs his fingers through Peter's hair indulgently.

On the coffee table, his phone lights up with a text that Wade cranes his neck to peer at.

Iron Stank: How was the first day?

Wade thumbs at a bandaid on Peter's shoulder. The cut had to be gone by now, but seeing it there makes him want to cut open his own chest cavity and stuff Peter inside for safekeeping.

Wade opens the phone and replies with an unhealthy amount of thumbs-up and winky faces.

As an afterthought, he asks: Wat aboot mi presrnt

Tony's answer pops up a second later: Finished it today. It'll be there in a few hours.

Wade nods, tossing the phone back on the table. The snow is falling faster and the fire crackles protectively in the hearth. Peter snuffles in his sleep and nuzzles deeper into Wade's side, just shy of clinging to his clothes.

Wade presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Buckle up, buttercup, he whispers, closing his eyes.

Peter hums happily in his sleep. 

A/N

SPIDER FACTS:

1) All spiders are hairy, and they use that hair for a variety of different things, including interacting with the world. They use it to "see", touch, taste, cling to surfaces, climb walls, and so many other things. If you noticed during the smut scene, Peter is extra sensitive to Wade's touch, even when he isn't really touching him, because Peter has thousands of tiny hairs over his body that act similar to a regular spider's hair. He can feel Wade "touching" him because he can sense the air vibrations and currents that Wade's hands create. When Wade touches him, his skin sensitivity to dialed up to 100, and when Wade is actually TOUCHING those fine hairs, it's like O.O (╯°□°)╯ ◉_◉ (ʘᗩʘ') ಠoಠ.

It doesn't take over Peter's regular human "touch" senses, it just adds to them. By a LOT. Peter is used to feeling more than normal because of these hairs, but when he's extra stimulated–like feeling intense arousal or pleasure–that sensitivity dials up exponentially.

2) Peter hates therapists. That's not a spider-fact. He's just emotionally stunted. So is Wade, but HE'S not the one seeing a shrink so ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

Wade "I dare you to say you love yourself" Wilson is lucky Peter was too distracted to dare HIM to say he loves himself. These two are too busy throwing love at each other to address their own issues and then they try to get the other to address said issues so they can continue throwing love at each other. It's disgusting. Do you see the shit I have to put up with?