Chapter Text
The first day that Peter Parker moved into Wade Wilson's apartment--why does the old man have an apartment?--he brought only four boxes-worth of stuff. Deadpool--er, Wade..? Wilson? Wilson very inelegantly kicked open the door to his apartment, showing Peter the inside. With one box in hand--specifically one of his clothing boxes--Peter couldn't help but scowl at the man before him.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Spidey!" Wilson chanted, gesturing to the 'home' in question. He stepped inside with the ease of a man who's lived there for years, which admittedly made Peter feel a little pitiful. No wonder this guy was so fucking weird sometimes--he's been lonely for so long.
And obsessed with Peter. For some reason. Peter can even see some posters and plushies of Spider-Man riddled throughout the apartment.
"Well?" Wilson drawls, similarly drawing Peter's attention. He drags on the 'l' in well. "Is it up to your standards, Spider-Man?"
"Yeah, man, it's fine..." Peter replies, stepping in at last.
"Oh! Let me help you with your boxes."
"We can worry about that later," Peter swishes his hand through the air dismissively. "You sure you want to live in such close proximity like this?"
Dumb question. "Oh, Peter, there is nothing that would bring me more joy," Wilson replies, putting a hand over his heart. "And you?"
Peter looks around the room before him: a nice, gray couch that sat across from a large television, and on top of a big, fluffy, white rug. Two glass doors so tall that they started from the floor and ended at the ceiling lead onto a balcony that promised a perfect view of the city below them. And to his right, his room. Well, Wilson's guest room, that Peter would be temporarily inhabiting.
He blows out a breath and looks back to Wilson, who's in his civies: a way too tight, gray shirt that did nothing to hide the corded muscle beneath, and baggy ass black sweatpants.
Peter came to terms with his bisexuality a long time ago, so he's not necessarily horrified at his attraction to Wilson. It was similar to being in the same room as Ryan Gosling and trying to convince yourself you're not attracted to him. But a grip of discomfort wraps around his stomach--because this is Deadpool, and he's Spider-Man, and now he's living wi--
"Spidey?" Wilson called in a sing-song voice. "Where'd I lose you?"
Beyond Wilson, on Peter's left, was a pleasantly-sized kitchen and to the right of that was likely a hall bathroom and Wilson's room. Peter could make out another poster of himself in there.
Jesus Christ.
"Yeah. This is..." How does one conjure up true gratitude when they live with a fan? A very deadly fan, yes. Someone basically in his field... if you squint. But... "Perfect, Wilson, thank you."
"Oh!" Wilson squeals, putting his hands on either of his cheeks. "You make me blush, Spidey, you." He fans in front of his face. All Peter has time to do is roll his eyes before Wilson's moving, taking the box from Peter's hands and leading him to his new room. When they get there, Wilson all but throws his box onto his new bed. "Here we go!
"Now, if you need anything--and I mean anything, you know where to find me. Oh! And you can use my money until you have another job lined up. You have CashApp, right?"
"If I'm going to be your sugar-baby, then why don't you just buy me a new apartment?" Peter teases, though there isn't a hint of a smile on his face. He approaches his box, ripping it open and beginning to unpack it. He had a closet that was way too big on the left side of his room, a large window flanking it. Beside that window: a nightstand--and beside that nightstand, Peter's new bed. A dresser was behind him, across from his bed, but that was basically it.
No bathroom. He and Wilson would be sharing. Great.
"I could, but you wouldn't let me do that. Besides, this is a great opportunity for me to be up-close and personal with my favorite hero!" Wilson says, pressing up against Peter's back when he stumbles forward and shakes the Spider's shoulders. Peter pretends he doesn't feel a wave of heat flush through him before he twitches out of the larger man's grasp.
"Oh, jeez," Peter says, rolling his eyes again.
He needed a new job. Quickly.