That winter death looked straight into our eyes and stared long, without faltering. It wanted to hypnotise us, like a boa constrictor hypnotises its intended victim, stripping him of his will and subjugating him. But those who sent us so much death miscalculated. They underestimated our voracious hunger for life.
Poet Olga Berggolts reflecting on winter of 1942 during the Siege of Leningrad.
Today’s theme for the Eight and Fitz week is “Time War” - the only problem with that is, I’m not even halfway through the EDAs, so I don’t really know what could be a cool Time War headcanon for these two. So, instead, I decided to draw something directly connected to the War: The Cold from Interference. Basically it’s the computer system//fuel of a gigantic doomsday weapon that the Time Lords built for the War and (apparently) never used - it’s basically sentient, can assume multiple forms at once and do a lot of alarming things like make people disappear and put them in stasis for centuries.
(At this point in the story, the guy we see here is Kode, who’s basically Fitz but also not quite Fitz. It’s complicated.)
(for anyone who’s been paying attention to my spideypool posts, this is not the one i’ve been talking about)
“That way!” Peter shouted, swinging after a hooded man in the streets below. Below him, Deadpool followed his shouted instructions and rushed after the thief. The merc rounded a corner and cursed, watching their mark run past two distracted bouncers into a nightclub. The pounding bass of the music inside was spilling out into the street,making his body vibrate. Unwilling to let the criminal escape, Deadpool pursued him into the club.
One rooftop over, Peter gawked. Had that idiot seriously just gone in there? There were only two exits! If he’d just stayed outside and kept an eye on the front door, he could have gone to the back and they’d have had him eventually! Now there was a bigger problem. Namely a big, muscled guy running though a nightclub wearing a mask and carrying guns. Peter groaned. There was nothing else for it, he’d have to go get him.
This was going to be all over the Daily Bugle tomorrow, and he wasn’t even going to be the one getting paid for the pictures.
Without further ado, and knowing he was going to regret it, Peter swung past the baffled bouncers into the club. He hoped the poor guys wouldn’t get in trouble for this. But, really, would you I.D Deadpool and Spiderman? Well, maybe Spiderman, but definitely not Deadpool. Which honestly was completely unfair since not everyone can be tall and muscular and have thighs that could probably crush skulls and, hell, maybe they had-
Woah, not the time.
Ignoring his, somewhat alarming, recent sexual attraction to Deadpools thighs, Peter pushed his way through the smoky interior of the club. The club was mostly one huge dance floor, booths and tables dotted at the edges of the club and a large bar completely lining one wall. Trying to spot the thief, Peter shoved his way through the throngs of dancing club-goers, steadily ignoring the many cat-calls and Spiderman jokes thrown at him on the way.
It wasn’t long before he gave up. The club was dimly lit and most of the strobe lights were either directed at the bar or the few cages around the club, highlighting the scantily clad dancers inside. It just wasn’t possible to find one man amongst this many people in the dark. God knew what had happened to Deadpool. Knowing his luck, the merc had already caught the thief and was waiting outside for him.
The young hero sighed, rubbing his face over the mask. He began to leave, thoroughly done with the looks he kept getting and the flashing cameras in his peripherals. Before he could make it off the dance floor, two strong hands gripped his hips and dragged him backwards, roughly grinding his arse against someone’s pelvis.
He turned, furious, and knocked the man’s hands off of him- absently wondering where the hell his spidey sense had gotten off to- and was about to give the man a long lecture about personal space, when he came face to face with Deadpool.
Literally. In between being grabbed and turning around, the throngs of people around them had pushed them together, leaving a scant few inches between their faces. Peters breath caught in his throat, hips twitching as their thighs (god, those thighs) rubbed against each other. Suddenly, the air inside the club was even hotter; Deadpools smirk no longer looking quite so smug and their crotches brushed slightly. Peter was startlingly reminded of how little fabric was between their skin. Subconsciously, Peter breathed in deeply, his chest expanding and brushing his erect nipples against Deadpool’s chiselled chest. Deadpool’s face darkened immediately and, for a moment, Peter thought he was angry with him. Then the merc’s hands were back on his hips, dragging them in close. The hero shuddered at the thought of those skilled hands on his body, so close to all the places he’d ever wanted the merc to touch him.
The music around them pulsed a slow, heady rhythm, the crowd around them swaying in time, hypnotised by its beat. Peter couldn’t tell if the breathy moans he could here were from the song, the crowd, or himself.
Then Deadpool started to grind. Slow, sensual thrusts of his hips against his own. His movements were fluid, like a professional, and Peter could barely tear his eyes away. But, as good as it looked, it felt even better. Peter tried to follow Deadpool’s lead, rocking his hips and grinding their groins together. The feel of their hard cocks rubbing against each other was too much; the young hero soon finding himself drowning in the intensity of it all.
Dazed, he realised he had closed his eyes, and opened them in time to see Deadpool reaching for his mask. The customary panic at someone reaching for his mask didn’t come, however, and that, in itself, was the biggest shock so far. Entranced, he watched Deadpool’s face as he lifted the mask up to his nose, delighting in the lust visible even through his mask.
Deadpool skimmed his thumb over the hero’s bottom lip, groaning at the plush softness. Opening his mouth, Peter sucked the merc’s thumb into his mouth, laving his tongue over it, hoping- knowing- that Deadpool was imaging his cock there instead.
Slipping his thumb from Peters mouth, Deadpool slid his hand down Peters body to his arse and gripped it tight, making the younger man tip his head back with a moan. Barely stopping in his, ridiculously hot, grinding, Deadpool shifted one of his thighs between Peters. Using the hand on his arse, he pushed Peters onto his leg; Peters cock against his thigh and Deadpool’s a hard heat against his hip.
Faced with everything he’d been craving, Peter caved. He clutched tightly to Deadpool’s broad shoulders, grinding himself roughly down onto the thick, corded muscle of the man’s thigh. He moaned loudly, the crowd around him nonexistent. It was just the two of them, the beat of the music pulsing in their veins, and the pleasure thrumming through them with every movement.
Deadpool leaned forward, his masked lips barely brushing against his ear. With his eyes closed as they were, the feel of Deadpool’s hot breath against him was all the hotter, coming a little faster with every desperate grind. Unable to help himself, Peter moaned Deadpool’s name, his own thighs clenching around the merc;s as he ground down faster; his heart racing.
Deadpool groaned, panting into his ear. “Yes, yes.. Just like that. C'mon, lemme feel you. Lemme feel you fuck yourself on my leg. So fuckin’ good.”
Deadpool’s gravely voice sent a shock through his whole body. Unable to hold back, Peter came, rubbing himself desperately against the older man with short, hot moans. For a moment, he floated; the only thing grounding him was the sound of Deadpool coming undone as well. His hip and groin were warm and sticky and he had no doubt he’d made a mess of Deadpool’s thigh. It was dirty and public and a little sluttish.
He’d never felt so good.
For a moment they stayed on the dance floor. In their own little world they swayed lightly, slowly coming down from their shared high. Eventually, Peter leaned back to look at the merc, still breathless, and the look of anxiety on his face- the way he moved until he was touching him by only his fingertips, as if trying to hold on to something he knew he couldn’t have- threatened to ruin him. He pushed in closer until they were chest to chest again, Deadpool’s arms loose around his waist, and pressed their foreheads together- standing on his toes to do so. He caressed the back of his masked head with one hand.
They stayed like that for a few moments, only splitting apart once Peter decided the merc appropriately reassured.
They’d talk about it later. For now, though, there was other things they could be doing with their mouths. –
The next day, a picture of them was released in the Daily Bugle. It featured Peter grinding against Wades thigh, head tipped back, mouth open and looking blissed. Wade had one hand on his arse and the other on the back of his head, looking at him with an obvious rapture that send shivers down peters spine.
He was a little ashamed of how hot the picture got him, but Wade reassured him he was perfectly okay with it. With his fingers, mostly.
They kept the picture.
So, in that other Spideypool oneshot i’ve been writing, Peter has aparently decided to beat the beaver, so its gotten longer and will take me a bit longer to finish. luckily i have tomorrow free to do that.
In the meantime i decided to whip this up. mostly because i saw a close up picture of Wades thighs and now they wont stop haunting me, partly because Wades body needs more appreciation, and also just because i like writing Peter going a little gaga for Wades fabulous body makes me happy.