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Found 4 results

  1. Thorn177

    Chapter 3

    Spider-Man doesn’t like us. He didn’t want tacos. Exactly. Who doesn’t want tacos? He hates us, just like everybody else does. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Wade groans, ‘will you quit it with the angsty emo bullshit already? It doesn’t matter! I don’t expect him to like me.’ The chair Wade is sitting in was salvaged from a junkyard, one of the few pieces of furniture in his apartment. It’s full of mystery stains, and all the febreeze in the world couldn’t make it not smell like ass, but it’s comfortable enough. Less so when his mind refuses to leave him alone, though. Face it Wilson. No matter how much we want to be a hero, no one will ever accept us as one. Wade sighs exasperatedly. ‘Seriously, do I have to blow my own brains out to get some peace and quiet around here?’ Probably. ‘Fine!’ Wade stands up from his chair abruptly and stalks over to his weapons locker, next to the mattress he (sometimes) sleeps on. He pulls out the shiny new handgun he lifted from that crate in the trafficking ring’s warehouse, releases the safety, and presses the barrel to the underside of his chin. Really? We’re actually doing this? ‘Half an hour of blissful silence while my brain grows back? Worth it.’ He pulls the trigger. ————— His first conscious thought is that it’s going to be a total bitch to clean the brain matter off the ceiling. The second is that the soreness in his jaw where the bone is resetting feels kind of good. The third is the realisation that it’s light outside, which means he’s been out for a couple of hours. The equivalent of a good night’s sleep for him. He feels strangely rejuvenated as he sits up from where he fell on the floor. Wade feels the back of his head. It’s a little squishy still, but otherwise healed. He gets to his feet with a groan and a stretch and walks to the bathroom. He glances at himself in the grimy mirror, just long enough to see that his jaw and neck are splattered with dried blood. A shower, then. He listens while he gets undressed, listens to his mind. It’s quiet. Wade opens the cabinet above the sink, more to not have to see his own reflection than anything else. He finds a rusted razor blade on a shelf inside. ‘Is it still self-harm if you don’t actually take any harm from it?’ he wonders out loud, picking up the razor blade. There’s no reply. ‘So, my brain’s giving me the silent treatment, is that it?’ He cuts a gash across his chest with the razor and watches it heal over flawlessly, leaving the same scarred and blotchy skin behind. It seems like an oxymoron that his healing factor can heal any new wound he gets without leaving a mark, but can’t put his skin back the way it used to be. Wade gets in the shower. The water shifts between boiling and freezing. Old shitty pipes in an old shitty building. Still, the changes in temperature are oddly stimulating. He cleans off the blood and grime, until the water pooling in the bottom of the tub is rust coloured and opaque. With no one to talk to and no interruptions, Wade’s mind wanders and eventually ends up in the only logical place: thinking about Spider-Man. Wade has seen the lower part of his face exposed, so he knows him to have fair skin and pink, soft-looking lips. He’s even felt that smooth skin under his fingertips, when he changed their costumes around last year. It’s more than enough to work with, and he takes himself in hand. It’s been a while, so it doesn’t take very long, not when he’s imagining Spidey’s pink lips on his body, and he comes with a gasp. Fuck yeah, Spidey, suck my hard cock, bitch! ‘Knew it was too good to be true,’ Wade mutters, cleaning the cum off his hand in the shower stream. ‘And don’t talk about Spider-Man that way, okay? He’s nobody’s bitch.’ Dat ass, though. Dat ass! ‘Dat ass,’ Wade agrees wistfully. He turns off the water and gets out of the shower. If he stays in his apartment all day he’ll just end up blowing his own brains out again, in all its futility, so he dresses in civvies—jeans and a Captain America hoodie to cover as much of his face as possible without his mask—and steps outside into the brisk, autumnal New York morning. Breakfast is definitely the way to go. Preferably pancakes. ————— So, we get off on violence, we get off on the adrenaline high of a good fight. That’s old news. But pain? Dude, pain sucks! ‘Hey, don’t ask me to explain it,’ Wade mutters to himself as he strolls through the streets of Manhattan. ‘I’m not a shrink.’ A few people look at him curiously. (Probably tourists—real New Yorkers are damn near pathological about minding their own business.) In this day and age of bluetooth, you’d think people would be used to other people seemingly talking to themselves. A need to feel, perhaps? A way to battle the boring numbness and repetitiveness of invulnerability. We’re not invulnerable, doofus, we just heal real fast. Wade stops in front of a news stand. The Bugle has a way too good picture of Spider-Man on the front page, under some headline about masked vigilantes and how they’re bad for New York. But giving ourselves pain isn’t really enough, is it? Logical next step: wanting someone else to give us pain. Hence goading Spider-Man into that punch last night. He picks up the paper and scans the front page without really reading. ’A gamble. Either I’d have gotten that kiss, which would have been awesome, or he would have punched me, which, also pretty awesome.’ Wade sighs and puts the paper back, resuming his aimless ramble. ‘Man, I’d like to spar with him . . . If you know what I mean.’ Ooh, we should do that next time we see him! It’s better if it’s natural, though. If we piss him off first so he doesn’t hold back. ‘He’ll always hold back. Hero, remember?’ He stops at a hotdog stand. It hasn’t been long since breakfast, but then again, hotdogs. No other reason needed, really. Setting off again he munches the hotdog happily. Nothing like meat in his mouth to cheer him up. So, if we’re into pain . . . Does that mean when we get turned on after a fight, it’s really the pain that turns us on? Fighting turns us on whether we get injured or not. True enough. Wade ignores his boxes and instead focuses on savouring the taste of cheap yellow mustard. The mustard’s his favourite part. If he adds enough it makes his nose tingle. He takes the subway. Not because he wants to go anywhere in particular, but because it feels like the thing to do. Days are boring. Days usually involve watching TV, but his new place doesn’t have one yet. ‘Maybe I should buy a TV.’ Buy a TV? You mean, spend money on one? Why? Because heroes don’t steal. Duh. Heroes pay for stuff. Seems like a waste of money . . . Wade’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears a scuffle towards the back of a subway car. Three tall, burly teenage boys are surrounding a third, smaller one. One of them shoves the kid backwards into a seat while another cracks his knuckles menacingly at him. By the looks of them, they should all be in high school. Cutting class, no doubt. Wade stands up and saunters over to the group, listening in on their conversation. ‘You either pay up or we take it out in blood, shrimp!’ the closest one growls. ‘B-but,’ the smaller kid stutters, ‘I haven’t got any money! Y-you took it all last week, and I won’t get any more until—’ ‘Shut up!’ the one who shoved him snaps, and lands a punch in the kid’s stomach. The victim lets out an ‘Oof!’ as the air is knocked out of him, and screws up his brown eyes, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He swats them away with a brown hand. ‘Aww, widdle baby!’ the third of his tormentors taunts. ‘Hey!’ says Wade cheerfully, clapping his hand down on the shoulder of the closest bully. ‘Just a suggestion, but I really think you guys should leave the kid alone.’ ‘Oh yeah?’ The largest of the bullies squares his shoulders. ‘And who’s gonna make us?’ ‘I am!’ says Wade, smiling. ‘You and whose army?’ one of the others asks. Wade drops his hood. Two of the bullies recoil in horror as his bald, scarred head is revealed, but the third, the largest, stands his ground. ‘Motherfucker!’ he exclaims. ‘Did you get hit by the ugly train, or what?’ ‘Oh,’ says Wade, unfazed, ‘you wanna know how I got like this? Let me show you!’ He reaches down the back of his jeans and pulls out his handgun. Without blinking, he releases the safety and presses the barrel to the bully’s forehead. The change is instantaneous. Every hint of bravado vanishes from his face. His blue eyes go wide and scared, and he starts trembling. ‘No! God, please, no, I don’t wanna die!’ ‘Apologise,’ says Wade calmly. ‘All right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!’ the boy sobs, real tears streaming down his face. Judging by the smell, he’s already shit himself. The subway train slows, pulling into a station. Wade lifts his gun and says, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ As the bullies run off the train like bats out of hell, Wade calmly puts the safety back on and returns the gun to its make-shift holster. The subway doors close and the train starts moving again, and Wade looks down at the kid on the floor. The boy looks up at him with wide chocolate eyes. He looks scared. ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t really gonna shoot him,’ says Wade, pulling his hood back up and returning his face to shadow. ‘I don’t kill kids, even if they deserve it. That’s just not me.’ He turns away and starts walking back towards his seat. By the looks of the handful of passengers who witnessed the scene, though, he should probably get off at the first opportunity, before someone thinks to call the cops. ‘Hey,’ says a quavery voice behind him. ‘H-hey, mister!’ Wade stops and turns his head to look at the kid, who’s now picked himself up off the floor and is dusting himself off. ‘Th-thanks,’ the kid stutters, and a blush creeps into his cheeks. Wade is so surprised by this it takes him a moment to find his voice. Once he does, he says, ‘No problem, kid. You, uh . . . You stay in school, okay?’ The train pulls into the next station, and Wade gets off quickly, disappearing into the crowd of commuters.
  2. Thorn177

    Chapter 2

    Wade stares out the window of his NYC apartment. It made sense to get a place, now that he’s working with Spidey so much, learning to be a hero. He considered living it up in swanky hotels, as it’s not like he couldn’t afford it with all the cash he’s got stashed away in offshore accounts, but in the end he’s never felt at home in places like that, not really. So he found himself a slummy apartment in the Bronx. Bare brick walls, damp and dry rot are more his style. Down on the street below, an old drunk has just pissed himself. Not in the fun, sexy way, but in the stinky, passed-out-and-drooling way. A scabby stray cat is sniffing around him in mild interest. It’s that nice and quiet part of the evening, after curfew for most kids, but before hard-core crime starts happening. ‘So, what are we doing today then, Brain?’ Wade asks the quiet. Same thing we do every day. Mayhem! No, we’re helping Spider-Man with— Mayhem!! Yeah, okay, mayhem. ‘Mayhem it is.’ Wade turns his back on the scene. Time to get suited up and head out there. Admittedly, after the other night, mayhem might not be the best way to win Spider-Man’s approval, but what’s life without a little risk? Plus, a good fight might be fun. ————— ‘You idiot!’ Peter’s fists are clenched at his side. He’s fighting the urge to punch Deadpool in the nose. It’s not going very well. ‘Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing the whole thing?’ ‘Hey! How about giving me some credit for once?’ Deadpool yells, talking over him. ‘I didn’t kill anyone! Well, except for that one guy, but he was about to shoot you in the back. Those cops shot at me, and I didn’t fire a single bullet at them!’ Peter shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re asking for credit for not shooting any cops? Are you insane?’ ‘Since you’re asking, yes, clearly!’ Deadpool shoots back. ‘Duh!’ There’s a pause, during which Deadpool begins pacing back and forth, and Peter is conflicted between anger and pity mixed with guilt. After all, he knows Deadpool isn’t all there, and in spite of that he still somehow trusts him to have his back. Deadpool’s muttering to himself under his breath now. ‘I fucking know! But how am I supposed to—Shut up!—Does it actually matter anyway? Not like this plot is going anywhere . . .’ Peter sighs heavily. ‘Look. Wade.’ The sound of his given name causes Deadpool to stop pacing, and he turns his head to look at Peter. ‘I just need you to understand that you messed up, okay?’ ‘Okay! Fine! I’m sorry I alerted the cops to my presence, blah blah blah. I’m not sorry I killed that trafficker, though, cause he was gonna kill you, and I won’t let anyone kill you.’ If Peter wasn’t so annoyed, he’d be slightly moved by this. As it is he feels mostly uncomfortable. It’s not the first time Deadpool exhibits protectiveness over him. ‘Whatever,’ he sighs. ‘Just . . . Try not to do it again?’ ‘I’m always trying.’ Deadpool takes a step forward. ‘So, does this mean we’re amazing friends again?’ Peter doesn’t know how to respond to this. He wouldn’t exactly call Deadpool his friend. But the merc’s voice has a hopeful note to it that puts Peter in mind of an over-sized puppy, and so he says, ‘. . . Sure. Yeah.’ He wasn’t expecting Deadpool to hug him, but that’s what happens, so against his better judgment he pats him awkwardly on the back. Deadpool hugs him tighter. ‘Kiss and make up?’ he murmurs in Peter’s ear, and to his own great surprise Peter feels something flutter in the pit of his stomach. ‘No,’ says Peter softly. ‘Aww, come on!’ Deadpool’s embrace tightens further. ‘I said, no!’ Peter’s anger flares up without warning, and before he has time to register what he’s doing, the movement his fist was preparing for earlier just kind of happens, and he punches Deadpool square in the jaw, sending him sprawling. ‘Ooh, good one!’ Deadpool pants, sitting up. ‘Do that again?’ Realising he just gave Deadpool exactly what he wanted, Peter feels his face heat up, and he’s grateful for his mask, not for the first time. He tries for aloofness. ‘Just get up. We’ve got work to do.’ ‘I love it when you take charge, baby boy,’ Deadpool purrs and gets to his feet. ‘So, what’s the plan? Any Spidey-senses tingling?’ Peter rolls his eyes. ‘That’s not really how it works. But, this is New York City. We head off in a random direction, and sooner or later someone will shout for help.’ Deadpool puts a hand on his shoulder, and Peter thinks better of shrugging it off. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, then? We’ve got crime to fight!’ says Deadpool cheerfully. ————— But, this isn’t mayhem! ‘What do you mean? This is an awesome fight!’ Wade cries happily, beating a mugger over the head with the flat of his blade. The man drops like a tonne of bricks. His partner is running in the opposite direction. He’s dropped his knife. Fucking amateur. The traffickers were more fun, his brain informs him matter-of-factly, while Spider-Man leaps after the other mugger. ‘Yeah, but get a load of Spidey’s ass!’ ‘I’ll thank you,’ says Spider-Man, shooting a web at the escaping mugger, tripping him up, ‘not to comment on my anatomy to . . . whomever it is you talk to.’ Note to selves: do not talk about Spidey’s ass out loud when he can hear. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Wade grins. ‘Hey, you okay webbing these guys up on your own, Spider-Man? Gotta take a leak.’ Spider-Man makes a non-committal noise as he shoots another web to cover the mugger’s babbling mouth; something about ‘please don’t kill me I’ve never done this before’. As if we’d waste a bullet on the likes of them. Gotta be honest, though. Kinda jealous that Spidey isn’t shooting great loads of white stuff at us. Wade chuckles as he wets up against a nearby dumpster. He’s been holding it in again, and it comes in a hard, yellow stream, but the holding wasn’t as much fun as last time. Mostly he was just starting to feel annoyed. Of course, if Spider-Man were less busy tying up criminals he’d probably be upset with him for, like, littering or something. Public urination? Indecent exposure. ‘Whatever. Not like anyone would notice. Like wetting in the sea.’ He tucks himself back inside his pants and turns around to find the criminals all webbed up and hanging from a lamp post. ‘Where next, Spidey baby?’ Spider-Man scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the barely visible night sky. ‘I think maybe we should call it a night. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’ ‘Doing what?’ Wade takes a couple of steps closer, head cocked to one side. ‘Nothing important.’ Spidey shakes his head. ‘Hate to say it, Wade, but you did pretty good tonight.’ Wade blinks. A warm feeling seems to spread from somewhere in the region of his solar plexus, via his chest and stomach and out into every limb. A warmth that has nothing to do with, say, grave injuries or cancer. He praised us! Did he praise us? He did, didn’t he? He praised us! We did good! ‘I . . . It was no big deal.’ Yeah, it was, it was a huge deal. Take a compliment like a man, Wilson! ’Shut up!’ Wade mutters. Then he clears his throat. ‘I mean, yeah, thanks. Hey, we should get tacos! Or, or something else, but, like food!’ Spider-Man shifts slightly, and once again Wade wishes he could see his face so he could guess at what he’s thinking. In the comics, the mask has facial expressions. This isn’t the comics, though. Man, I don’t know what this is. ‘I dunno, Deadpool. Maybe some other time. I’m kind of beat.’ Wade tries not to let his disappointment register in his voice. ‘Okay, yeah. Some other time.’ He checks his weapons absentmindedly, making sure they’re all secured and where they’re supposed to be. With slightly exaggerated cheer he says, ’Guess I’ll see you soon, my amazing friend!’ Then he sets off out of the alley at a trot. Spider-Man’s voice follows after a slight delay. ’See ya.’ ————— Heading home in the wee hours of the morning (once he’s sure Deadpool has done the same and isn’t following, because he still doesn’t trust him with his secret identity), Peter wonders vaguely if there will come a day when he and Wade Wilson won’t be at odds with one another. He’s agreed to help him, agreed to let him join him on his nightly patrols, and for the life of him he’s been unable to figure out why he agreed in the first place. He talks to himself, his incessant flirting makes Peter deeply uncomfortable, and he needs to be told not to kill people. That’s not exactly hero material. Deadpool is dangerous. Peter knows that. He’s unpredictable and a complete liability. There are several (really good and compelling) reasons why no one in the superhero community will work with him. For all that, though, he seems earnest, like he really wants to be a hero, even if it’s for the wrong reasons (and at this point Peter isn’t sure they actually are the wrong reasons—after all, does it really matter why you do good as long as you do it?), and Peter is unable to turn his back on that. Not to mention his efforts in helping Peter fight the Chameleon last year. How messed up is it that Deadpool was the only one Peter could really trust then? The only one who could help . . . He shakes the thought, swinging from one building to the next. This arrangement is working. That’s the only thing that matters. Wade didn’t even mortally wound anyone tonight. As much as he shouldn’t deserve credit for that, he kind of still does. He’s doing a good job. He’s learning. In the end, isn’t that all Peter can ask?
  3. Thorn177

    Chapter 1

    Wade squats at the edge of the roof, surveying the street below. He needs to piss. For a moment he considers standing up and peeing off the roof, seeing if he can hit any of the poor fucks below. He plays with the thought, turning it over in his head. Spidey wouldn’t like it. And it’s not a very hero thing to do, neither. ‘I fucking know that, shut up,’ he says out loud. The boxes are right, of course. If he’s really gonna try to do the hero thing, peeing on innocent passers by isn’t exactly a great move, hilarious though it would no doubt be. There’s a little less room for mayhem when you’re a hero than when you’re just a merc. He really shouldn’t have had all that Mountain Dew. He stands up, anyway, because squatting with a full bladder is like begging to piss yourself. If he can’t piss over the edge of the roof, maybe he can parkour his way to somewhere he can. Only, he realises, he kind of likes this feeling. Really? This is something we’re into now? ‘Maaaaaybe?’ Wade scratches his neck. ‘Never thought about it before.’ We’ve been into way weirder things, his brain points out. Kind of stuff we do for sh*ts and giggles . . . Hell, this isn’t even a kink by comparison. Ooh, we could experiment! See how long we can hold it! Wade considers this for a moment. ‘I guess what with the healing factor there’s no chance of doing any real damage to my bladder . . . Not that that would stop me. I draw the line at wetting myself, though. This suit’s a bitch to clean.’ Which is really dumb when you think about it, considering how much blood you get on it on a daily basis. Wade is still arguing with himself when someone lands on the roof behind him. He notices at once, but it takes him a while to pay the figure any mind. It’s only when Spider-Man clears his throat that he turns around. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt what’s no doubt a fascinating monologue—’ ‘Dialogue,’ Wade corrects him. ‘Trialogue? Di is for two, but there’s at least three. Sometimes six. Multilogue!’ ‘Whatever.’ Wade is pretty sure that Spider-Man is rolling his eyes behind the mask. ‘I was under the impression that we were hitting that trafficking ring tonight. Only I’ve been waiting for you for about an hour.’ Oh yeah, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing tonight! ‘Oh shit, yeah! My bad, Spidey. Got distracted.’ Thinking about piss. ‘Thinking about—no, shut up. Thinking about you, gorgeous!’ Wade bows with a flourish. Spider-Man’s arms are crossed in the body language of someone who’s entirely unimpressed. ‘Uh-huh. So, you coming?’ ‘For you, baby? Always!’ Spidey doesn’t dignify the double entendre with any kind of response. Instead he turns away and stalks across the roof. Wade follows. A thought strikes him just as they reach the other end of the building. ‘Hey, Spidey,’ he says suddenly. ‘You into watersports?’ Spider-Man halts and turns his head slightly. Wade decides that masks on other people suck. He’d like to be able to read Spider-Man’s expression right now. ‘You mean,’ says Spider-Man slowly, ‘like, surfing?’ Oh-em-gee, isn’t he just precious? Aww, who’s an adorably naïve Spider-Boy! Too cute. Too. Fucking. Cute. I may barf. You know, mentally. Wade swats the boxes away, also mentally. Not that they aren’t right. They are so right. ‘Yeah, something like that. Totally what I meant. So, we hitting that trafficking ring or what?’ And with that he jumps off the roof, forgetting that he’s six storeys up and that landing on concrete really fucking hurts, healing factor or no. ————— Fighting on a full bladder, it turns out, is hard. It’s also kind of a turn-on. Especially when Spider-Man’s leaping around with his hot moves, showing off that pert ass of his. The traffickers put up a decent fight, but nothing the two of them can’t handle, once they’ve released their victims into the night. And Wade tries not to kill anyone, he really does, but it just so happens that blades are meant for stabbing, and his hand-to-hand isn’t as great as Spider-Man’s. Besides, one of them is aiming his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head while the arachnid’s busy with three others, and Wade doesn’t really have time to think, so he runs the fucker through. He doesn’t feel especially bad about it. By the time the fight is over, Wade really, really needs to piss. All that moving around has shaken his bladder and it’s making it harder to hold it in. Spider-Man makes a disapproving sound once he’s finished webbing the knocked out traffickers together, looking down at the dead guy. ‘What?’ says Wade defensively. ‘He was gonna shoot you! I just saved your life, baby boy.’ He pauses. ‘Do I get a kiss as a reward?’ ‘You really, really don’t,’ says Spider-Man dismissively. ‘Couldn’t you have, like, non-mortally wounded him or something?’ Wade throws up his hands in exasperation. ’Everyone's a critic! I don’t know what kind of bullets you’re used to, sweetcheeks, but the ones I tend to deal with move really, really fast. So, no. I just reacted. You’re welcome.’ He doesn’t look happy, does he? You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to us for saving his life. Spider-Man sighs, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. Thanks, Deadpool.’ Wade blinks, not sure if he actually heard what he thought he heard. ‘Am I hallucinating?’ Did he just apologise? Did he just thank us? ‘You’d better get out of here,’ Spider-Man continues. ‘The cops will be here to arrest this lot soon.’ Wade cocks his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ ‘Someone’s gotta explain this to them.’ Spider-Man nudges the dead guy gingerly with his toe. ‘I could get rid of the body,’ says Wade without missing a beat. ‘Yeah. No.’ A moment passes. ‘So, you going or what?’ Wade crosses his legs. His bladder feels full to bursting point now. Their conversation was a decent distraction, but now it’s getting almost impossible to ignore. ‘Yeah,’ he says slowly and swallows hard. ‘It’s just . . . kinda hard to move.’ Think of a babbling brook! Or a waterfall! Crashing waves, maybe. Or, you know, just think about piss. ‘Dudes! Not helping!’ Wade growls under his breath. Spider-Man crosses his arms again. ‘Why?’ His tone is skeptical. ‘You injured?’ Wade laughs in spite of himself. ‘No, no. I’m good. Just . . . Kinda really need a piss.’ Spider-Man sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. ‘What are you, five?’ ‘Fine, fine.’ Wade starts shuffling towards the door of the warehouse. The going is slow, though, and after a few steps he whimpers pitifully and grabs his crotch. That’s right, show Spider-Man how you can’t even hold your bladder. ‘Shut up!’ Wade manages to croak. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Spider-Man. He sighs again and steps around Wade to look at him. The faint sound of police sirens reaches Wade’s ears, which means Spider-Man has been hearing it for a good while already. ‘All right. Go hide behind those crates.’ Spider-Man points to the back of the warehouse. Wade turns around and shuffles the other way. He reaches the crates just as the police cars come to a screeching halt outside, and squats down behind them as quickly as he can manage. Bad move, bro. ‘Motherf-aaaahh . . .’ Wade hisses as his bladder begins to void without warning. Peeing has never felt so good. Urine trickles out into his suit, warm and wet. He sits back against the wall, trying not to moan. There’s no point trying to stop it now, he reasons. Thought we weren’t gonna wet the suit. We weren’t, but we did anyway. It’s gonna be hell to clean. ‘I don’t care,’ Wade whispers, closing his eyes in bliss. So, we are into wetting ourselves, then. Good to know. Another kink to add to the list. Beyond the crates, he hears voices. Spider-Man is talking to the cops, but Wade can’t focus on what he’s saying. A minute later he’s still wetting. The piss is leaking out of his suit, forming a puddle around him. When it finally stops, he looks around and it occurs to him to wonder what’s in the crates. The cops are talking loudly enough that he risks pulling one of his katanas and uses it to pry the nearest crate open. It’s like Christmas has come early. The crate is full of weapons. Lovely, shiny handguns, and big, heavy assault rifles. He picks up one of the handguns, trying its weight in his gloved hand. It’s got good heft to it. A new kink, fighting baddies with Spider-Man, and now a brand new handgun? Today couldn’t get better if it tried. Wade pries open another crate, predictably enough containing ammo clips, loads the gun and sticks it down the back of his sopping wet pants. Then, forgetting all about hiding, he stands up and calls, ‘Hey, Spidey! And cops! These guys weren’t just smuggling people, they were smuggling weapons too! You might wanna step carefully back here, though. I just took a piss on the floor.’ Everyone stares at him for a moment. Then five guns are drawn on him, and he puts up his hands. ‘Aw, come on! Help me out here, Spidey?’ Spider-Man just slaps his palm to his forehead and shakes his head exasperatedly. Right about now’s probably a good time to get out of here. There’s a window on the wall above the crates. ‘Okay. I’ll just be leaving now.’ All the guns go off as Wade leaps onto one of the crates, swings up onto another, grabs onto the window sill and hoists himself outside. One of the bullets nicked his shoulder, but it’ll heal. Deadpool vanishes into the night, leaving only the occasional drop of urine behind.
  4. A short Deadpool fanfic. Features the voices in Wade's head, swearing, violence and mild pre-Spideypool flirting. ————— Wade squats at the edge of the roof, surveying the street below. He needs to piss. For a moment he considers standing up and peeing off the roof, seeing if he can hit any of the poor fucks below. He plays with the thought, turning it over in his head. Spidey wouldn’t like it. And it’s not a very hero thing to do, neither. ‘I fucking know that, shut up,’ he says out loud. The boxes are right, of course. If he’s really gonna try to do the hero thing, peeing on innocent passers by isn’t exactly a great move, hilarious though it would no doubt be. There’s a little less room for mayhem when you’re a hero than when you’re just a merc. He really shouldn’t have had all that Mountain Dew. He stands up, anyway, because squatting with a full bladder is like begging to piss yourself. If he can’t piss over the edge of the roof, maybe he can parkour his way to somewhere he can. Only, he realises, he kind of likes this feeling. Really? This is something we’re into now? ‘Maaaaaybe?’ Wade scratches his neck. ‘Never thought about it before.’ We’ve been into way weirder things, his brain points out. Kind of stuff we do for sh*ts and giggles . . . Hell, this isn’t even a kink by comparison. Ooh, we could experiment! See how long we can hold it! Wade considers this for a moment. ‘I guess what with the healing factor there’s no chance of doing any real damage to my bladder . . . Not that that would stop me. I draw the line at wetting myself, though. This suit’s a bitch to clean.’ Which is really dumb when you think about it, considering how much blood you get on it on a daily basis. Wade is still arguing with himself when someone lands on the roof behind him. He notices at once, but it takes him a while to pay the figure any mind. It’s only when Spider-Man clears his throat that he turns around. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt what’s no doubt a fascinating monologue—’ ‘Dialogue,’ Wade corrects him. ‘Trialogue? Di is for two, but there’s at least three. Sometimes six. Multilogue!’ ‘Whatever.’ Wade is pretty sure that Spider-Man is rolling his eyes behind the mask. ‘I was under the impression that we were hitting that trafficking ring tonight. Only I’ve been waiting for you for about an hour.’ Oh yeah, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing tonight! ‘Oh shit, yeah! My bad, Spidey. Got distracted.’ Thinking about piss. ‘Thinking about—no, shut up. Thinking about you, gorgeous!’ Wade bows with a flourish. Spider-Man’s arms are crossed in the body language of someone who’s entirely unimpressed. ‘Uh-huh. So, you coming?’ ‘For you, baby? Always!’ Spidey doesn’t dignify the double entendre with any kind of response. Instead he turns away and stalks across the roof. Wade follows. A thought strikes him just as they reach the other end of the building. ‘Hey, Spidey,’ he says suddenly. ‘You into watersports?’ Spider-Man halts and turns his head slightly. Wade decides that masks on other people suck. He’d like to be able to read Spider-Man’s expression right now. ‘You mean,’ says Spider-Man slowly, ‘like, surfing?’ Oh-em-gee, isn’t he just precious? Aww, who’s an adorably naïve Spider-Boy! Too cute. Too. Fucking. Cute. I may barf. You know, mentally. Wade swats the boxes away, also mentally. Not that they aren’t right. They are so right. ‘Yeah, something like that. Totally what I meant. So, we hitting that trafficking ring or what?’ And with that he jumps off the roof, forgetting that he’s six storeys up and that landing on concrete really fucking hurts, healing factor or no. ————— Fighting on a full bladder, it turns out, is hard. It’s also kind of a turn-on. Especially when Spider-Man’s leaping around with his hot moves, showing off that pert ass of his. The traffickers put up a decent fight, but nothing the two of them can’t handle, once they’ve released their victims into the night. And Wade tries not to kill anyone, he really does, but it just so happens that blades are meant for stabbing, and his hand-to-hand isn’t as great as Spider-Man’s. Besides, one of them is aiming his gun at the back of Spider-Man’s head while the arachnid’s busy with three others, and Wade doesn’t really have time to think, so he runs the fucker through. He doesn’t feel especially bad about it. By the time the fight is over, Wade really, really needs to piss. All that moving around has shaken his bladder and it’s making it harder to hold it in. Spider-Man makes a disapproving sound once he’s finished webbing the knocked out traffickers together, looking down at the dead guy. ‘What?’ says Wade defensively. ‘He was gonna shoot you! I just saved your life, baby boy.’ He pauses. ‘Do I get a kiss as a reward?’ ‘You really, really don’t,’ says Spider-Man dismissively. ‘Couldn’t you have, like, non-mortally wounded him or something?’ Wade throws up his hands in exasperation. ’Everyone's a critic! I don’t know what kind of bullets you’re used to, sweetcheeks, but the ones I tend to deal with move really, really fast. So, no. I just reacted. You’re welcome.’ He doesn’t look happy, does he? You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to us for saving his life. Spider-Man sighs, his crossed arms dropping to his sides. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. Thanks, Deadpool.’ Wade blinks, not sure if he actually heard what he thought he heard. ‘Am I hallucinating?’ Did he just apologise? Did he just thank us? ‘You’d better get out of here,’ Spider-Man continues. ‘The cops will be here to arrest this lot soon.’ Wade cocks his head to one side. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ ‘Someone’s gotta explain this to them.’ Spider-Man nudges the dead guy gingerly with his toe. ‘I could get rid of the body,’ says Wade without missing a beat. ‘Yeah. No.’ A moment passes. ‘So, you going or what?’ Wade crosses his legs. His bladder feels full to bursting point now. Their conversation was a decent distraction, but now it’s getting almost impossible to ignore. ‘Yeah,’ he says slowly and swallows hard. ‘It’s just . . . kinda hard to move.’ Think of a babbling brook! Or a waterfall! Crashing waves, maybe. Or, you know, just think about piss. ‘Dudes! Not helping!’ Wade growls under his breath. Spider-Man crosses his arms again. ‘Why?’ His tone is skeptical. ‘You injured?’ Wade laughs in spite of himself. ‘No, no. I’m good. Just . . . Kinda really need a piss.’ Spider-Man sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. ‘What are you, five?’ ‘Fine, fine.’ Wade starts shuffling towards the door of the warehouse. The going is slow, though, and after a few steps he whimpers pitifully and grabs his crotch. That’s right, show Spider-Man how you can’t even hold your bladder. ‘Shut up!’ Wade manages to croak. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Spider-Man. He sighs again and steps around Wade to look at him. The faint sound of police sirens reaches Wade’s ears, which means Spider-Man has been hearing it for a good while already. ‘All right. Go hide behind those crates.’ Spider-Man points to the back of the warehouse. Wade turns around and shuffles the other way. He reaches the crates just as the police cars come to a screeching halt outside, and squats down behind them as quickly as he can manage. Bad move, bro. ‘Motherf-aaaahh . . .’ Wade hisses as his bladder begins to void without warning. Peeing has never felt so good. Urine trickles out into his suit, warm and wet. He sits back against the wall, trying not to moan. There’s no point trying to stop it now, he reasons. Thought we weren’t gonna wet the suit. We weren’t, but we did anyway. It’s gonna be hell to clean. ‘I don’t care,’ Wade whispers, closing his eyes in bliss. So, we are into wetting ourselves, then. Good to know. Another kink to add to the list. Beyond the crates, he hears voices. Spider-Man is talking to the cops, but Wade can’t focus on what he’s saying. A minute later he’s still wetting. The piss is leaking out of his suit, forming a puddle around him. When it finally stops, he looks around and it occurs to him to wonder what’s in the crates. The cops are talking loudly enough that he risks pulling one of his katanas and uses it to pry the nearest crate open. It’s like Christmas has come early. The crate is full of weapons. Lovely, shiny handguns, and big, heavy assault rifles. He picks up one of the handguns, trying its weight in his gloved hand. It’s got good heft to it. A new kink, fighting baddies with Spider-Man, and now a brand new handgun? Today couldn’t get better if it tried. Wade pries open another crate, predictably enough containing ammo clips, loads the gun and sticks it down the back of his sopping wet pants. Then, forgetting all about hiding, he stands up and calls, ‘Hey, Spidey! And cops! These guys weren’t just smuggling people, they were smuggling weapons too! You might wanna step carefully back here, though. I just took a piss on the floor.’ Everyone stares at him for a moment. Then five guns are drawn on him, and he puts up his hands. ‘Aw, come on! Help me out here, Spidey?’ Spider-Man just slaps his palm to his forehead and shakes his head exasperatedly. Right about now’s probably a good time to get out of here. There’s a window on the wall above the crates. ‘Okay. I’ll just be leaving now.’ All the guns go off as Wade leaps onto one of the crates, swings up onto another, grabs onto the window sill and hoists himself outside. One of the bullets nicked his shoulder, but it’ll heal. Deadpool vanishes into the night, leaving only the occasional drop of urine behind.
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