Chapter Text
There are numerous reasons why Wade Wilson can’t sleep. Or, more to the point, why he can’t stay asleep. He can catnap with the best of them, plop down just about anywhere relatively safe and doze for a bit. Sustaining sleep-mode for more than a few hours is rarely in his repertoire, however.
The reason he most likes to focus on is that he simply doesn’t need a lot of sleep anymore. His body is constantly repairing and recouping enough that he’s always just ready to fucking go already, okay? Hours upon hours of sleep no longer seems necessary.
But that’s not the only reason.
There’s a fucking variety of nightmares that mess with his sleep, too.
After all, even before Weapon X he sometimes grew averse to the quiet and dark that sleep brought. He’d go through phases of downright avoiding sleep. He’d leave all the lights on, go out at odd hours, talk - okay, bully - Weasel into keeping the bar open later than usual. Anything to keep moving, keep going so he couldn’t give-in and sit down to drift to sleep. Even before Francis and all that shit show, there were a lot of creepy crawly things in Wade’s past that liked to make themselves known whenever they pleased.
Weapon X had just exacerbated this particular problem.
So he’s glaring at Peter, who is curled up on his bed all dead to the world. And, fine, it’s adorable, but Wade is fucking jealous. And bored.
Mostly bored.
Peter has earned the sleep and all. Dude fights crime, so the least he deserves is a night off and some damn shut eye. But it’s not fair to be awake and in need of distraction when his favorite distraction is sleeping.
Not that he never wakes Peter up for the company. Sometimes to fuck around. Sometimes just to talk. Sometimes to convince him that a slice of pizza from that shitty place that stays open until 4AM is totally worth it.
It’s always a toss-up whether or not Peter appreciates these sleep interventions, as Wade likes to call them. He laughs and goes along sometimes. Other times he grouches and pulls a pillow over his head like an asshole. The best times are when he wakes up long enough to get hot and have the world’s laziest orgasm and then sprawl across Wade and demand a couple more hours of sleep.
Wade wiggles his toes in the carpet and wonders if he could luck into that tonight...
He doesn’t feel particularly lucky just now, so he opts out of banking on sexy times. No, he needs something more fool proof to ensure Peter will haul ass out of bed and join him.
‘Cuz he knows damn well he can have this ass anytime; it doesn’t have to be at midnight.'
Wade chuckles to himself and shuffles back to his living room, where he fishes one of his laptops form under a couple of empty beer bottles. He could use these uninterrupted hours to clean, but he’s not fucking going to.
Shit nah.
Instead, he’s going to squirrel around the internet and find something he and Pete can investigate. It’s New York fucking City; some weirdo is definitely out there doing weird shit. Virtual guarantee. So long as he can find something immediately actionable, he can have some long days and, most importantly, nights with Peter while they investigate and kick some ass.
He pauses, wondering if it’s wrong that he’s hoping for some crime syndicate to be up to something. It would totes be easier to just wake Peter up and admit he’s feeling funky and needs some company...
But that makes something in his chest squirm. Peter doesn’t need to know about raids gone wrong in Yemen or why he hates West Africa or the reasons that night vision still freaks him the fuck out ...you know, just a little bit. Or a fucking lot. Whichever you prefer.
Wade’s stomach does a jumpy little thing and he does glance back towards his room, but only for a moment. He stays the course.
Find a crime so he can hide his needs neatly inside an act of altruism. That’s the mission.
‘That’s an order, sergeant - you know the mission!’
Wade shakes that out of his head and quickly turns on the TV so there’s more than one device vying for his attention. Hopefully he won’t need more than that. His current position is easy to explain; if he adds a radio to the din it’ll raise a little red flag if Peter wanders out.
So ‘Cheers’ plays in the background and he admires Ted Danson’s thick head of hair while carefully scrutinizing the local news.
He’s less than two hours in before he gets up to tug on his leathers, straps on some of his arsenal, and climbs out of the window. He’d set a few Google alerts because he’s 41% sure there might be an arsonist lurking in the Bronx, but he’s on to something else now.
Something probably less dire but definitely more entertaining.
There had been a few articles dotted here and there mentioning Daredevil, and Wade has decided he’s going to meet him. Peter has met him and fought with him. The Punisher has clashed hard with him but also definitely teamed-up with him at least once. Domino claims to know him. Even Hawkeye, who fucking comes and goes from the city to slink around the shadows, apparently knows him.
It’s Deadpool’s turn.
The dude is something of a ghost, but Wade’s tracked cartel members, okay? If he can’t smoke out some dingus with little horns then maybe he needs to hang up his katanas. He’ll start by clanging around Hell’s Kitchen. If that doesn’t draw out the target, he’ll conduct a more methodical search. Time consuming for one person, but definitely doable.
It’s fucking not doable, and Wade isn’t sure how to feel about it.
He’s not pouting, per say, but he’s pissed. Also determined.
He’s going to have a lot of research to do...
By the time he’s trudging back to his room again, Peter is already awake but he’s still sprawled in bed and scrolling through his phone. The blankets are shoved low so his torso is exposed, which Wade stops in the doorway to appreciate in a not-so-subtle way.
“Where were you?” Peter raises a surprised eyebrow to see him in his full Deadpool regalia. “A job?”
“...in a manner of speaking.”
Peter tilts his head curiously at this evasive answer, but Wade just shrugs. He’s not lying ...not really. He is pretty sure that this quest for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is going to become a mild obsession, and he isn’t sorry for it. He could use a new hobby. A distraction.
A nighttime distraction, specifically.
He’ll call it a self-appointed job. There. It’s a job.
“I didn’t know you’d taken one...”
Peter’s scratching at his thin happy trail, and that is a pleasing diversion. Worth putting the Devil on the back burner for...
“Uh-huh,” Wade starts ditching belts and straps.
“Need any help with it?” Peter likes to offer because he’s a kind little bug that way.
And Wade knows he could always just ask Peter for more details about how he’s successfully found Daredevil in the past, but fuck that noise. It’s the principle of the thing, now. He’s diving deep.
“Nah, not this time around, baby boy,” Wade tugs, wriggles, and wrangles his suit off.
It’s not a specifically sexy routine, but Peter’s at least seen it enough that he can be lightly amused rather than worried Wade’s going to totter over. He just tips his face back down to continue reading on his phone.
“On a completely different note,” Wade grabs for Peter’s attention again once he’s successfully stripped and is crawling up Peter’s legs. “Is your Spidey suit fire proof?”
For that, Peter drops the phone onto his chest.
“Why?”
“Always the fuckin’ tone of suspicion,” Wade frowns and sits up to plant his annoyed weight on Peter’s waist.
“Well,” Pete grunts and shifts slightly to accommodate. “It’s not a very innocent question....
“I think we've got a little pyro running around out there...”
“Really?” Peter’s shoulders perk up a bit.
Damn it. Wade totally could have gotten Peter out of bed with that one; he should have saved it for later.
“Yeah, some freaky little fire-bug ...I’ve got feelers out, so I’m on it,” he promises while he traces the thin line of hair near Peter’s navel himself.
“...so it is part of your job?” Peter’s getting conflicting information by being informed of something nefarious but also being told his help isn’t warranted.
Wade’s mostly just annoyed that his soft touches aren’t as distracting as he wants them to be.
“No. I can multi-task ....it’s part of my charm...”
Wade shifts his weight and finally gets a hitch in Peter’s breath. Funny, he’d been starting to think maybe the man under him didn’t like morning sex anymore.
“Oh yeah?” Peter drops his hands lightly to Wade’s knees and dances up his thighs to his hips, where he can slowly trace the band of Wade’s fitted briefs.
“Mmhmm...”
“Such as?” Peter can play at innocent and naive all he wants, but the fingers that have snuck straight past the hem of Wade’s underwear prove he knows just what he is doing.
“...well, I can think about my job, and a pyro tweeker, and ride a cock all at once. I’m amazing,” Wade tightens his knees to either side of Peter.
“So you’re saying I can’t keep your attention?” Peter’s dipping a confident finger into the cleft of Wade’s ass anyway. “Like maybe I should stop?”
“Hell no,” Wade swiftly presses backwards.
He’s rewarded with a soft, slow smile from under him. Peter still looks a little bit sleepy, but Wade would happily do all the work if necessary. He doesn’t give a fuck. It’s Petey and it’s him, and in a way he’s been waiting all night for this.
He pushes Peter’s phone away, off of his chest, and the other man doesn’t stop him or catch it.
Eureka.