Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/485931.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Spider-Man_-_All_Media_Types, Deadpool_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Parker/Wade_Wilson
  Character:
      Peter_Parker, Wade_Wilson
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Fluff, Underage_Sex, Jailbait!Peter, Loss_of_Virginity
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-14 Words: 2818
****** Summer & Other Heated Things ******
by Atsvie
Summary
     It happens on a regular summer day that's too hot and sticky, but
     Peter is pretty happy with it. Peter loses his virginity to Wade.
Notes
     For Arra because her super perfect fic, Am I Jailbait Now?, made me
     want more jailbait Peter so I’m giving her fluffy first times because
     that’s how we roll.
It’s a summer afternoon, not particularly different from all the other
afternoons, when it happens. The air is warm and dry, but it’s a lazy heat that
drags through the window and into Peter’s room. It’s quiet, save for hum of the
fan as low backdrop to the diluted, scattered noises of life outside. Peter
misses air conditioning and wonders why it had to go out in the middle of
summer—but that’s just his luck, apparently.
But it’s not entirely awful, even though his skin is sticky with a light layer
of sweat and his clothes cling to his skin when he tries to roll over on his
bed. Wade’s weight on his stomach doesn’t make it any better, though, because
he’s practically radiating heat and smothering Peter with it. He’d tell him to
get off, but it’s comfortable to just lay out and do nothing for a change.
The city has been quiet, and even more astoundingly, Wade isn’t running off to
tear down that tentative semblance of calm. Instead, he’s in the teenager’s
bedroom rambling about evil zombie twins and being called a terrorist by his
childhood hero—and maybe that’s why he’s static for longer than a few minutes;
he’s immersed himself in enough chaos that even the merc with a mouth is ready
to just chill.
“It’s really hot,” Peter mentions offhandedly in between the breaks of Wade’s
recanting of his last job. He can practically see the eye roll behind Wade’s
mask and can’t help but wonder how he’s managed to stay in his suit in this
heat so long. (Aside from The No Mask Removal Policy that has only begun to
tentatively break down with the promise of impromptu make outs. It’s a bit
awesome, though, so Peter considers it a win.)
“You should go inform the weather station of that one, I didn’t think anyone
knew about that until your genius has graced us with the really fucking
obvious,” Wade snorts at him.
“Maybe I will,” Peter huffs back, but can’t help the small curve of a grin, “I
would make an awesome weather man that no one would hate on, ever.”
“Breaking news, Spider-Man retires to deliver you your weekly shitty weather
while you get mauled by thugs.” He says it in a low voice, impersonating a
stereotypical news anchor and Peter laughs because Wade’s humor is stupid but
so is his.
Peter props himself up on his elbows, Wade still flung over his stomach, but he
shifts to accommodate the change in position. His face his buried in the fabric
of Peter’s black t-shirt, voice slightly muffled. “Should just take off your
clothes.”
“Alright.”
He pushes the larger man off of him enough to tug his shirt over his head in
one fluid motion. It’s something that Peter does just because he rarely gets
moments to throw Wade off guard, even if it means donning a deep red blush
moments after. After a certain amount of time swinging around the city fighting
crime, he’s inevitably developed visible muscle. He’s still lean, not so lanky
and awkward anymore, but he’s nothing like Wade’s broad shoulders and heavier
frame.
Still, his lack of shirt is nothing to scoff at. Peter isn’t embarrassed about
his body but more shy towards the concept as a whole. That the older is now
staring at him intently, nodding appreciatively and climbing on top of him in a
straddle.
“You’re a weird kid,” Wade tells him affectionately and Peter tries not to pout
because that would really defeat the whole purpose of his argument.
“I’m not a kid.”
The older laughs. “You totally are. But it’s a good thing I misplaced my morals
or else I might have to fight my urges to deflower a minor.” He lifts up his
mask enough to be able to lean in and initiate said debauchery with a firm
kiss.
Peter’s breath hitches under the pressure of his lips. He’s not new to this, he
should be used to the way that kissing Wade clouds any coherent thought he had
before, how it draws a shiver up his spine and leaves his insides churning with
want. But as much as he wants to keep up and not miss a beat, he still whimpers
when Wade sucks on his lower lip.
There must be a game going on somewhere in Wade’s mind. It’s the game where he
makes Peter gasp and moan unexpectedly, until he’s unravelling for him, until
there’s nothing left of him still together. There’s hands on hips, a thumb
running over his pelvic bone and crawling up his torso.
And it must be obvious—of course it is, because Wade teases him and the word
‘virgin’ still hangs heavy over his head. It must be like a neon sign to him,
bright and blaring, painfully unattractive. And it makes Peter squirm under him
because he’s a smart kid—guy—but one can only catch on so quickly.
Peter wants this though. He wants the way that Wade’s hand is warm against the
skin of his stomach and how his tongue licks at the roof of his mouth.
Swallowing dryly, he leans forward and tugs Wade closer, hands on either side
of his jaw because maybe he’s a little eager but Wade isn’t complaining—for as
much as one can with their tongue in someone’s mouth—as they practically mesh
together.
The room is still a haze of heat, but now their movements are a mix of
lethargic kisses and skin against skin. His hands fumble and tear at the red
fabric until that and his mask are unceremoniously tossed off the bed. Peter
strips Deadpool of his suit, leaving a fully expose Wade Wilson. His mind feels
heavy and sluggish, like he’s intoxicated with the way that the merc’s mouth
diverges to his neck quickly after.
There’s a tongue on the hollow of his throat before there is teeth, and Peter
tries not to screw his eyes shut with the moan that slips out because he wants
to watch this. Right now he can let his eyes roam freely over the expanse of
Wade’s back as he works on sucking dark hues into the flesh of his throat and
collar.
He’s a healthy teenager, so it’s not surprising that he’s hard under the older
man. But it’s almost thrilling to feel Wade’s arousal when he bucks his hips up
impatiently, his jeans catching against the fabric of his boxers. And it’s just
suddenly too much, too many layers between them, as Wade rolls back down
against him.
The friction is just so good though. Rutting against each other through what’s
left of their clothes hadn’t been what Peter had been thinking of but that
doesn’t make it any less hot. Both of them are all kinetic: hands clawing at
any exposed flesh and hips grinding together, Wade’s mouth on his nipple—oh
god, Peter gasps as a pink nub is nipped at—and Peter’s head falling back.
Yet none of it is really what he’d expect from the merc. He hasn’t been shoved
against anything, no blood drawn, and Wade has actually been painfully slow
about it all. It’s like crescendo of touching, melting into each other, and it
just keeps building and building until Peter finally opens his mouth because he
just needs something.
“Can we just. You know. Fuck.” The words are broken fragments that fall out of
his mouth as Wade looks up at him and grins.
“About time you asked. Told you we were getting some,” Wade says smugly, the
last part offhanded. And it occurs to Peter that the bastard had just been
waiting.
“I hate you,” the brunette mumbles, face coloring a bright red. Except as much
as he wants to hate Wade, he just can’t. And even though it’s such a Wade thing
to do by teasing him until he goes crazy, it dawns on Peter that this is
actually happening. The weight of the other is suddenly so much heavier, like
the heat in the room has become palpable because there’s no question anymore,
he’s going to have sex.
“Love you too, Spidey,” Wade laughs, hooking his fingers under the waistband of
Peter’s jeans. He keeps a steady eye contact with him, even as the jeans slide
down his thighs and he has to remind himself to lift up so that they can
continue sliding down his legs, boxers and all. He swallows thickly, looking
away as his erection lays exposed against his stomach.
Wade kisses him again, like he knew to crush down all the jittery nerves that
are bubbling to the surface. “This will be fun, don’t be so nervous,” he says,
a crooked grin on his face, “Lemme show you how awesome sex is. It’s sort of
better than chimichangas but just marginally. You’ll be wanting to fuck all the
time, I’m that awesome. I would quote a rapper right now but I think that’s
frowned upon.”
“Wade,” Peter pokes at him, “Alright, we’re having sex. Awesome. Just.” He
doesn’t know how to phrase what he wants to say, like a version of ‘hey this is
my first time, please make it not suck’ but phrased much more eloquently.
“Be gentle with you?” Wade laughs.
“Oh my god, please stop talking. No I will not call you senpai. The lube is in
the drawer,” Peter groans, seriously starting to reconsider this.
Nodding, the merc rolls off of him to dig through the drawer with a murmur of,
“The conveniently placed lube trope, of course. Not gonna complain.” And Peter
doesn’t want to correct him because then he’d have to admit that maybe he has
been wanting this to happen and actually went out and bought it.
He isn’t sure what he had been expecting. An immediate pop of the bottle and
fingers shoved up his ass, maybe. But instead, Wade just drops the bottle next
to them on the mattress and pleasantly positions himself back over the smaller
boy. “Relax.”
“Yeah,” Peter nods, craning his neck to meet Wade half way for a rougher kiss.
He lets himself ease into that, focuses on the familiar taste of his mouth and
not the way their bare skin feels together. The scars are rough, but it’s not
necessarily a bad thing—in all honesty, it’s more of the concept of naked skin
that’s more disconcerting.
And then Wade pulls away, retracing his path of red stained skin down his neck
and collar, his hands following the contour of his side. He pays a visit to
each nipple, lapping around the nubs and biting until Peter gasps and wonders
why that’s even that sensitive. Peter is left lying fallow under his
ministrations, only able to raise his arms so he can grip as his shoulders as
he shudders.
Wade follows the lines of muscles down his torso, kissing at his stomach and
his tongue hot on the skin of his hipbone. He seems pleased with the moan he
receives, taking his time to nip at the plane of his waist and hips
before finally, only when Peter is whimpering, moving further down. 
“Patience, young one,” Wade says sagely, but he can’t even yell at him
properly—though he does yell—because he licks a stripe up the length of his
cock, his mouth briefly at the head. Unfortunately, the wonderful world of oral
sex seems to be for another day, because Wade’s mouth is now at the inside of
his thigh, which makes Peter dizzy from the playful bites and kisses there.
He doesn’t resist when Wade is nudging his thighs apart. He does hear the pop
of the bottle a moment later though, and looks down to see Wade’s fingers being
coated. For a moment, he wants to panic, but he knows that tightening up will
only make this bad so he tries to lay back and let Wade do his thing. Which
seems to include cool, slick fingers between the cleft of his ass.
Peter has to remind himself to breathe when a digit prods at the pucker of his
entrance. But Wade hums in approval, and his voice for once is something that
Peter is thankful for as the finger presses in deeper.
“God, you’re tight,” Wade murmurs, nuzzling his inner thigh as he slowly pushes
the finger in the rest of the way. It’s strange, not bad so much as it is
foreign. Wade gives him a moment to get used to it, though.
If anything, Wade seems to be savoring every nuance in his reaction. He’s not
rushing this, like Peter would have expected. The digit inside of him is just
as sluggish as Wade’s lips on his thigh, dragging out slow before forcing its
way back in, before wriggling like he’s got all the time to simply search out
the spots that make Peter moan.
The first isn’t so bad, but he clenches down when he feels the added thickness
from a second digit. It burns a bit, but Peter’s a big boy and he can do this.
He can feel Wade stretching him open, commenting on how much he loves him like
this—it makes Peter half tempted to see what ‘like this’is. Except he starts to
not really care at all, because the discomfort is starting to bleed away as the
fingers curl and start a rhythm with the right amount of friction that leaves
him panting, face flushed and fingers clawing at the covers of the bed.
Peter feels like Wade is unravelling him from the inside out, sobbing around
another added finger because the pleasure is something strange, but its
overwhelming. Peter just craves more, more of Wade, anything he can get. And he
tells him so, in broken words and moans, too disoriented to care that he’s
begging.
“Just chill for me, okay? This will hurt so don’t freak out because if I just
ram into you like they do in porn, I’m pretty sure you won’t be too happy with
me,” Wade rambles, hands under his knees so that he can lift them up and
situate himself between his legs. It’s only then that Peter gets a decent view
of Wade’s cock, much thicker and longer than the fingers before, and he inhales
sharply because fuck, thiswillhurt.
“We’re good,” Peter nods at him, offering him a dazed smile and avoids a geeky
pop culture reference that could possibly stem into something else.
Wade hadn’t been kidding about the pain thing. Even though he had been
thoroughly prepped, Peter still hissed in discomfort, winding his arms right
around Wade’s neck for support. He could hear Wade groan, sinking into him
deeper until he’s so, sofull. He lifts his legs to wrap around Wade’s waist
when he starts moving, effectively coiling them into a mess of limbs and it’s
like the epitome of intimate—he can’t imagine getting closer to anyone like
this.
Peter can’t help but bite into his shoulder to muffle his moans, the pain
starting to subside the more he relaxes and the pleasure soon taking its place
with Wade’s slow thrusts.
“Peter.Peter.Love the way you feel. Just for me,” Wade moans against his ear
with another roll of his hips. His cock pulls out enough to make Peter want to
beg to be filled again, but the jerk back into him stifles that with a gasp
instead. And it just keeps getting better, like with every moment Wade just
adapts more to his body, more to the way that has him breathless and melting
under him.
And for a moment, between Wade’s voice gruff in his ear and the quickening pace
of his cock inside of him, Peter realizes that Wade is his first and has
officially set this precedence for all of his other experiences. And he’s okay
with that, because as Wade’s moans escalate in volume and he tenses up inside
of him, filling him completely, he feels like this is a good thing despite all
the bad. 
Wade reaches between them, still thrusting lazily into him as he pumps at
Peter’s neglected cock. It’s over too quickly, but time itself is skewed so it
may have been something closer to an eternity. But Peter arches off the bed,
eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure engulfs him and he collapses.
“Awesome?” Wade asks, carefully pulling out of the teenager, not even trying to
hide the wide grin on his face.
“Awesome,” Peter agrees, stretching out before he’s collected into Wade’s arms.
He should have guessed that Wade is an extreme post coital cuddler, but it’s
pretty nice so he just lets himself be nuzzled. “Though I’m going to be sore as
hell. You better wait on me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, princess.”
Peter huffs in mock offense. Whatever. As far as first times go, he’s pretty
content with it all.
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