[Fanart by LKiKai]

Issue 9: Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies

Spider-Man continued to swing through the city by sheer force of will.  This night felt like it had been a month.  His head throbbed, his back burned, and every breath brought in a fresh stab of agony to his cracked ribs.  Then there was also the fact that he was carrying a half-naked man over his shoulder.

Right.  He was rather intimately holding a half-naked Deadpool.  Yeah, he was NOT going to think about that anymore.

Spider-Man focused on finding his way through the city.  He ignored the pain as he ignored the conversation Deadpool seemed to be having with himself.  Spider-Man interrupted the constant flow of chatter only to ask directions on how to get to the place Deadpool was staying.

He thought there had to have been some mistake as their route led them right into the warehouse district.  “Is this right?”

He could feel Deadpool shift to look over his shoulder.  “Yeah, that’s my place, third from the end on the left.”

“You live in a warehouse?” Spider-Man asked even as he made his way towards it.

“I’m not exactly the neighborly sort,” Deadpool explained.  “With my lifestyle, sooner or later someone comes and makes a scene and it usually involves explosives and that can be pretty inconvenient for everyone else around me.”

“That’s…really considerate actually,” Spider-Man admitted.  He marveled, “You really are trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“Falling in love with me all over again, baby-boy?” Deadpool chuckled.

“Never fell in love with you in the first place, and still haven’t now,” Spider-Man retorted.  After a moment he begrudged, “But I have been misjudging you.  I’m sorry.”

**********

He apologized and before he thanked us for saving him.  Has anyone else ever done that?
‘Nobody.’
Everybody thinks we’re an annoying menace.
Well, we are.
‘Hey, I’m trying!  That’s why we’re here, to learn how to be a hero!’
Spider-Man actually acknowledges when we do something good.
This is why we like him so much.
“That and his fine ass.”

Spider-Man faltered again.  “Do you want me to drop you?!” he exploded.

He’s so easy to tease.
Are we just teasing?
“Not really.”
Yeah, we totally want to fuck him.
It is a nice ass.  And he shows it off so well in the skin-tight spandex.
“Hands off, box, he’s mine.”

**************

Spider-Man rolled his eyes and landed abruptly in front of the door to Deadpool’s warehouse.  Cautiously, he opened the door and walked into the darkened building.  There was a light switch immediately to the left.  Spider-Man flicked it and was blinded from the sudden glare.  After a few moments, his eyes adjusted and he looked around.  In some ways, it appeared like any other warehouse, filled with a great number of crates.  Except that here and there he could see open crates, filled with guns, ammo, explosives, and other tools of death and destructive mayhem.

Spider-Man raised his eyebrows.  “Yeah.  This is your warehouse alright.”  After taking another moment to take in the excessive collection of weaponry, Spider-Man looked around for Deadpool’s living quarters.  When he couldn’t see any, he asked, “Where’s your room?”

“The office door is over there,” Deadpool answered.

Spider-Man looked around but didn’t see any doors.  “Where?”

“There.”

Spider-Man sighed.  “Deadpool, I can’t see where you’re pointing when you’re over my shoulder like this.”

Deadpool squirmed, turning around.

Spider-Man struggled to keep balanced.  “No, wait, don’t move.  I can’t…”

Unable to keep holding on, Spider-Man dropped Deadpool heavily to the floor.  His balance gone, Spider-Man slumped on top of Deadpool, in the reverse of the position they had been in twice already that evening.  The pain to his ribs caused him to inhale with a sharp hiss, and his eyes shut tightly.  It took a long moment before he could move.  He pushed himself back so he was sitting on his knees.  It took longer before he could force himself to stand up again.  He kept a hand on a nearby crate to steady himself.

Belatedly, Spider-Man realized that Deadpool had been uncharacteristically quiet and looked over to see if he had also been hurt from the fall.  Deadpool lay on his back, slightly propped up on his elbows, his head tilted slightly to the side, and he was silently watching Spider-Man.

“A-are you alright?” Spider-Man wheezed out in question.

Deadpool didn’t respond immediately, but then he chirped out overly cheerfully, “Well Spidey, this is twice in one night—I’m really making you fall for me.”  His wide grin was apparent through the shreds of his mask.

“Right,” Spider-Man sighed.  He felt like a fool for worrying about the mercenary.  “Since I can actually see where you’re pointing now, where’s your living area?”

Deadpool pointed to a doorway on the far side of the warehouse, half hidden from view by the crates.

“Come on,” Spider-Man said.

Deadpool held out his arms like he was asking for a hug and insisted in a childish tone, “Princess-style!”

Spider-Man shook his head and answered firmly, “Not a chance.”

“You said you would carry me princess-style if my back wasn’t burned up and I’m healed over enough so you can carry me princess-style now,” Deadpool insisted.

“In your head I said that.  My actual words were something along the lines of ‘no way in hell’,” Spider-Man retorted then hauled Deadpool over his shoulder again.  Deadpool gave a squeak of alarm and squirmed.

Fearing that he was aggravating Deapdool’s injuries, Spider-Man hurried to change how he was holding him.  To keep them from falling again as Deadpool repositioned himself, Spider-Man placed a steadying hand back on the nearest crate.  At last Deadpool stopped squirming.  Spider-Man did not find the position comfortable—Deadpool was keeping himself strangely distant on his shoulder—but he only to carry Deadpool a little longer, so Spider-Man figured he could manage.  He walked as quickly as he could across the warehouse.

Opening the office door, Spider-Man turned on the overhead light and looked around.  The snug office had been made over into a living space of sorts.  The wall next to the door was dominated by a large flatscreen TV with both an X-box and PlayStation hooked up, the controller cords tangled, and a few game boxes and DVDs scattered around the systems.  There was a large easychair in the middle of the room facing the TV.  In one corner stood a small refrigerator unit, sink, and a plastic table with a hotplate and a microwave.  Food wrappers and takeout boxes overfilled a too small garbage can under the table.  There was a bookshelf with stacks of comic books.  A wardrobe filled with the distinctive red and black spandex costume stood in another corner, and beside it a small bureau with a few drawers partially opened from being overfilled with regular clothing.  Nearby, a sewing machine was dangerously perched on top of a box of fabric.

“Huh, so you make your own costume,” Spider-Man noted.

“Of course I do.  I go through them fast enough that I found it easier to make my own.  Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Spider-Man said.  He grew up helping Aunt May sew—it saved money making their own clothes.  “I just didn’t think you would.”  Another new thing he learned about Deadpool that evening.  Spider-Man hadn’t thought there was much depth to the wise-cracking mercenary, but he kept getting blind-sided with these new facets.

“I am also a pretty good designer.  Made my own prom dress.”

Spider-Man nodded along before he fully got what Deadpool had just said.  “Wait, what?”

“I’ll show you my collection sometime, we can trade tips.”

Spider-Man decided Deadpool was pulling his leg and as his legs were tired enough without someone pulling them, it was past time to set Deadpool down.  After further inspection, Spider-Man realized there wasn’t a bed in the room.  He asked, “Where do you sleep?”

From behind him, Deadpool answered, “I doze off on the chair sometimes.  I don’t really sleep all that much anymore.”

‘That probably doesn’t help with the whole insanity thing,’ Spider-Man thought but managed not to say out loud.

He placed Deadpool down onto the chair.  Immediately Deadpool curled up into a ball.  Spider-Man let him be and went over to the fridge looking for some water or juice.  There were a few cans of fizzy pop and Ramune, a few mystery leftover boxes, and a bottle of extra hot, hot sauce.

“I’ll go out and get you some food and drink,” Spider-Man wearily let out, exhausted but resigned.

“Nah, don’t bother.  I’ll be healed up by tomorrow,” Deadpool said, still curled up on the chair.  He didn’t look over at Spider-Man.  “You should head out and recover yourself.  From the way you were breathing, you probably have a cracked rib or something, and you don’t have a Healing Factor.”

The mention of it brought his pain and exhaustion crashing back down on Spider-Man.  Necessity had kept him going so far, and sheer force of will would keep him going a bit longer.  Deadpool had died for him and Spider-Man was determined to make sure he was taken care of before he worried about his own extensive injuries.  “But you died…”

“I die a lot.  I get better.  Go home, baby-boy,” Deadpool waved him off, still without turning around to look at Spider-Man.  “See you in a few days and we can do this all over again.  Hopefully without the dying part.  That part sucks.”

Soundly dismissed, Spider-Man left, completely forgetting that he had meant to send Deadpool away earlier that evening, and refusing to think about why he felt disappointed with the abrupt dismissal.

**********

He offered to go out to buy us food when he’s barely able to stand up.
That boy is going to kill himself with all that self-sacrificing nobility of his.
“He’s falling over half dead himself and he’s asking how I am.”
So you say something stupid instead of being honest about how much you care about him.
“It’s better if he just sees me as a joke.”
We ARE a joke.  You got aroused by his slight touch on your ass when he went to pick you up. That’s pathetic.
“What, I haven’t had someone touch my ass in a long while!  And self-sacrificing nobility is such a turn-on!”
But why hide it?  Why not flaunt it?
Because he knows Spider-Man would be disgusted and he doesn’t want to face the inevitable rejection.
“Shut up and let me enjoy my delusions.  While the feel of his touch is still fresh in my mind, I want to go all Pool-o-Vision and imagine him pinning me down and having his way with me.”

Having shut the boxes up as much as he ever could, Deadpool leaned back, closed his eyes, took himself in hand, and let his mind sink into an erotic fantasy.