newyorknative | I really need you with me, it's so lonely in this city

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wade wilson : mouthymercwade

I really need you with me, it's so lonely in this city

Peter hasn't been at this nursing gig terribly long, but he'd like to think he's getting better at it. He has a decent roster of patients, though none of them are terribly difficult, or have many complicated needs. When they do, they get transferred to somebody who's better equipped to handle them - Peter is just a student, after all, working his damnedest towards his residency. It's not the typical kind, since he's not going for a full practitioner license like his Aunt, but, he enjoys the work. Monday morning rolls around, and Peter has a new patient file waiting for him.

"Wade Winston Wilson." Peter can't help but smile - it's not like he has room to talk with a name like Peter Parker, but at least he has the Benjamin in the middle to break it up a little. He reads through the file over a mug of hot chocolate, flicks through the recommended exercises with a practiced thumb. The more in depth the file goes, though, the more fascinated Peter becomes. Helping people is absolutely what he's here to do...but biochemistry is kind of a passion, and the more he reads about the experimental treatment Wade has been through, the more in awe he becomes. It's exactly the kind of work his father did, and it's worked. Not without consequences - it seems Wade is in a lot of pain, but he was alive, and that was kind of the first step, wasn't it?

Needless to say, Peter is a little nervous when he knocks on Wade's apartment door that afternoon, duffle-bag of supplies strapped across his back. He adjusts his glasses and runs a hand through his hair, smile already curling up the edges of his mouth.

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What could you say about Wade? At one time, he'd kind of been one of those...life of the party kinda guys. He loved being the center of attention and he had a wicked sense of humor to boot. But that was before the cancer. He'd found out late and honestly, there really hadn't been much hope. He'd pretty much given up the moment his test results were confirmed. He'd done a little more partying with friends sort of as a way to say goodbye.

And then he'd just disappeared into the woodwork.

So when he'd been offered a chance out of the blue that could save him? Sure he'd jumped on it. They'd warned him it wasn't going to be comfortable and that he could experience pain. No where in the warning labels did it tell him it would turn him into a monster.

So that was that. Sure, he was cancer free, but he also looked like, what had Weasel said? He looked like Freddy Krueger had 'face-fucked' a topographical map of Utah. Ouch. That one had kind of stung.

So now he pretty much stayed to himself at home. He used one of those grocery services for food delivery or just ordered food. The only time he went out was when he absolutely had to. He had money from the experimental treatment. A settlement for the suffering and deformity they'd made of him and it was enough to live fairly comfortably for a pretty long time.

When there was a knock at the door he frowned, getting up slowly and shuffling over, pulling the door open and peering out carefully.

Peter shuffled from foot to foot, glasses slipping down his nose (he really, sincerely needed to replace them, but hadn't the time or the money, lately). The apartment building wasn't that great - though, perhaps, better than Peter's - but he wasn't surprised. He'd heard that Mr. Wilson was isolating himself, as was to be expected. Depression wasn't exactly a surprising side effect, given the nature of the treatment he'd been subjected to.

"Mr. Wilson? Wade Wilson?" Peter asks, when the door opens just enough for him to see a sliver of a person in a hoodie, an eye and a corner of a mouth at best. He puts on his best smile - a genuine, earnest thing - and offers up a file folder. "My name is Peter Parker. I was sent over here, by the relief firm? I'm a nurse."

The file has his credentials, and the request Wade had submitted. Peter shuffles his feet again and half-shrugs, smile turning partially apologetic. "I think I'm a few months late from your request but - well the firm gets backed up, sometimes. But I'd really like to help you, if you'd let me try."

He blinked, staring at the man for a long, long time just trying to decide if he's actually gonna let the other in. He reached out, snagging the file folder and flipping through it for a long moment. He studied it all before sighing and opening the door. "So you're supposed to be my care nurse, huh? Not that I really think there's much of anything you could do to help."

He walked over to the couch, sitting down where he had been and getting comfortable. He slumped some, staring at the TV. "Unless you're the one gonna do all my errands for me." And he highly doubted it. Though Peter might be required to do some things. HE wasn't sure.

Peter waited patiently while Wade decided whether or not he wanted to accept the help. His smile never waned as he stepped through the doorway gratefully, duffel bag still slung over his shoulders. "Yes. And I don't know...you never know unless you try." Looks like Peter would just have to have enough optimism for the both of them.

The place looked lived in. Like Wade hardly ever left, which, point. Peter took the cue to follow him, setting his duffel down on the coffee table amidst the ruins of what appeared to be several pizza boxes. "...not exactly within my purview, no."

"I'm here for pain management." Peter informed him, unzipping the duffel. "I've been told that it's unlikely you'll ever be able to live pain free but...I might be able to make it more bearable for you."

"Pain management." He laughed at that, shaking his head. "Look at me. Do you think anything is going to be more bearable for me? How old are you, anyways? You look like a kid." Not that Peter was really that much younger than him, but Wade was good at lashing out. Hell, it was all he knew anymore.

"Unless you've got a massive duffelbag of weed, I really don't think there's much you can do." He said softly, shaking his head before laying his head back and closing his eyes. "Whatever. Try whatever you want."

"Like I said, you never know unless you try." If Peter's swayed by Wade's obvious doubt, it doesn't show. He starts rummaging through the bag, pulling out several different bottles and oils. "Twenty-three, thanks. Hardly a child."

"I really don't think you have any idea what I can do, Mr. Wilson." Peter manages a smile, holding up a bottle of lavender lotion. "Though I will say weed is probably more exciting. I'd like to try a massage, if that's okay?"

It's the simplest thing he can try, right off the bat; the bottles he's pulled out are mostly herbal pain lotions, and topical aspirin. Like he said, it might not be possible to live without pain, but he can probably live in less pain.

He eyed the bottles, shifting a bit before he leaned forward and started turning the different bottles and oils so he could read the labels. Okay so he was starting to be a little impressed. Even if he did have an absolute baby face, the guy really did seem to know his stuff.

"A massage? What kind of massage?" He asked, clearing his throat and scrubbing a hand over the back of his head and neck. Course, he knew what kind of massage, but it was more that he wanted to know just how much he was gonna need to strip down.

After all, his body looked the same as his face did everywhere. He was self conscious and the guy was...well, good looking. He cleared his throat, looking down.

"Not deep tissue," Peter clarified quickly, mistaking Wade's hesitation. "Not until I know it won't just cause you unnecessary pain but - just enough to relieve tension in the muscles, and to get the topical into your skin."

Peter raises an eyebrow and waves with one hand. "I'm pretty adept at it, if I do say so myself."

He stares Wade directly in the face - doesn't let his eyes wander, feigning politeness. If the extent of Wade's scars bother him, Peter's not giving any outward indication. "So, Mr. Wilson, what do you say?"

"I just want to help," Peter says honestly, because he can see that Wade is reluctant, and hell, Peter doesn't blame him. The extent of his injuries is no joke.

He swallowed, looking at Peter and really studying him for a long moment. Then he let out a breath and slowly nodded. "Alright. I'll give you a chance. So ah...how much do I need to strip down for this exactly?" He asked nervously, chewing on his lip.

He clutched at his shirt for a moment, clearing his throat before he glanced around. "And where would be easier for you? Couch isn't exatly a good place for me to lay down."

Peter brightens considerably at that, eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses. He's sure if he can just show Wade what he's here to do, it'll help, at least a little. "We could just start with your shirt, maybe? Or, if it makes you more comfortable, I can do the massage under a towel?"

"Wherever's easiest. I have a mat I can lay down on the floor, or if you'd prefer your bed. This is really just about your comfort, Mr. Wilson."

"First off, please stop calling me Mr. Wilson. Making me feel older than I already am compared to you." He said pointedly, looking the kid over again. God why did they have to send someone so attractive? He cleared his throat as he considered the options before motioning for Peter to follow him into the bedroom.

Once there he pulled his shirt off, keeping his eyes down so he wouldn't have to see the look of disgust he was sure the other had. He kicked his sweats off as well, leaving him in just a tight pair of boxer briefs. He hesitated with that, taking a breath before he shoved them down as well. "You can use a towel if you want. Doesn't matter to me." He said before dropping onto his bed and stretching out.

"Sorry," Peter offered a self-deprecating sort of laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You're not that old. I mean - it's just professionalism, I guess. Can I call you Wade? Is that okay?"

Peter grabbed his bag and followed Wade into the bedroom, taking a cursory glance around as Wade started pulling off his shirt. His eyes flickered back up tracing over the lines of Wade's body as the man removed his shirt and - well jeez, the scars ran down the whole of him but also, uh, was anybody else going to tell him Wade's abs were totally stacked?

There's not an ounce of disgust on Peter's face, if Wade bothers to sneak a peek at all, and he rummages around his bag for the lavender lotion to start on. He poured some onto his hand, rubbing it between his palms to warm it as Wade stretched out, fully naked, on the bed. Not a problem, he's seen plenty of nudity in his line of work...though Peter has to admit, it's usually someone a little more, uh, elderly.

"It's more effective if I can see what I'm doing," Peter admits, gently spreading the lotion over Wade's shoulders. His touch is light, but not because he's hesitant; just because he wants to be considerate of the pain Wade must be in. "If it hurts too much, or I do something you're uncomfortable with, just say the word."

"Wade is fine." He said with a nod, having actually peeked once he was stripped down. He bit his lip a bit, stretching out more and taking a slow, steady breath and closing his eyes. "Sure you want to see this?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder at the younger man.

"Stuff like this generally doesn't hurt. Its mostly...a lot of phantom pains now?" Well, he knew he did have some fairly deep seated aches and pains. "Surface level...most of my nerves were burnt off in the fire. Some places weren't as affected as others." He pushed his fingers through his hair before he got more comfortable.

"Little more sensitive around my legs though. Just so you know. Oh and if I...ah, if I end up rolling over and I'm...you know, if a certain soldier is standing at attention, please don't sue me." He said, shaking his head.

"It doesn't bother me," Peter says easily, gently, meeting Wade's eyes when he glances back over his shoulder. "...if that's what you're worried about."

It's kind of a lie, except that it isn't. It's not Wade's scars that bother him, but the knowledge of how much pain he must have had to go through to get them. Pretty much why Peter got into this line of work in the first place. "I see. Depending on the burn pattern, it's not unusual that it was inconsistent...which hopefully makes your life easier and not harder?"

Peter starts working the lotion in broad circles, rubbing the heel of his palm into the scar tissue. Hopefully it would produce the good type of ache Peter was looking for. "I'll be careful down there, then."

The last comment got a laugh out of him, genuine and bright, and Peter nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he worked his way down Wade's spine. "As flattering as that is, I don't think that will be a problem."

He gave a slight nod before sucking in a breath as the man started working. Already it felt amazing and he breathed out then, groaning as he shifted and arched slightly into the touch.

Jesus. Then again, he'd absolutely be lying if he said he wasn't touch starved at that point. No one wanted a man who looked like him after all. He just turned his head and looked back at the other slightly.

"Can't blame me. Got a gorgeous guy giving me a massage? Heh." He shrugged a bit, sighing. "Not like anyone wants to do this normally. Sorry. Pain meds. I'm just..." He went a bit quiet for a moment before scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm touch starved. Sorry. I'll shut up now."

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I really need you with me, it's so lonely in this city

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