Chapter Text
No warnings, readers are responsible for their own reading.
He knew people would want to resolve this. Peter Parker, the typical nerdy boy with thick-rimmed glasses, Spider-Man, the cereal box character around internet memes, and Parker Pan, the Manhattan-dressed streetwalker. How did he manage to balance these transparent identities?
Simply delete one of them.
The story's hypothetical scenarios, such as his former best friend becoming the Green Goblin and being killed by him, Aunt May's death, JJJ's re-expulsion from him, and Peter's first discovery of physical pleasure.
It could be described as a subtle, almost drug-induced euphoria. When the classmate merely sneered, treating Parker as a freak for entertainment, and half the city hurled insults at Spider-Man, a boy needed a convenient outlet for his emotions and a way to make a living. And then he realized that all he needed to do was dress up a little—something people would praise him for, something to emphasize during foreplay or in bed, something he wouldn't have to worry about money.
He was genuinely happy to finally have enough to eat, going from once or twice a month like with the raccoon to eating every day—a complete leap in quality. He had a decent place to rent, and normal hours without being interrupted by Spider-Man. Can you believe he was usually hungry when he played Spider-Man? Peter himself didn't know how he'd managed to get through it all, but he believed it wouldn't happen again.
And because he was Spider-Man—or at least he used to be, until Spider-Man disappeared—he didn't really need to worry about encountering any weirdos he couldn't handle. A high-end car or a rather eerie-looking van, it didn't matter, right? As long as he busted some human trafficking ring, that would be perfect.
So when that dark blue van stopped in front of him, Peter simply leaned over to the passenger-side window in his high heels.
"Handjob: fifty, oral sex: one hundred, touching me: one hundred and fifty, two hundred and you'll get full service. If it suits you, you can choose in the car or at my place. Of course, if you want to go to your place, that's fine too, but if it's too far, you'll need a tip first."
"I'll give you three hundred every half hour, if you're willing to come with me." The voice from the driver's seat was high-pitched yet deep, a strange voice, not pleasing, but unforgettable.
The prices offered were attractive enough to attract the attention of any streetwalker, Declaration : the police truly didn't care about the deaths of prostitutes. Especially since the guy in the driver's seat was so well-covered—a baseball cap and a gray-black hooded hood didn't give a good impression; only a NOVICE serial killer would act that way.
Just as Peter was thinking this, the eerie figure in the driver's seat offered some subtle explanations, like someone who could read minds: "I know, I know."
"You're probably wondering where I'm going to take you and dismember you? No, no, no, sweet face, it's just that when you have an avocado-like skin like mine—" The other person peeled back their layers, and Peter instantly understood what they were talking about.
The red, uneven skin was definitely from a severe burn accident. The marks even seeped deeper, making one wonder if a naked body looked like that. And when Peter looked at it longer, he noticed that the open wounds on the skin seemed to be moving and changing. The other person, as if reading his mind, gestured with their black-gloved hand over themselves.
"It's like a huge amount of rotten meat sauce from a standardized process, just to let you know what kind of mess you'll have to deal with if you take my hand. Of course, I can guarantee it's 100% non-infectious, just a bonus of the mutant factor, unless you're interested in horror and signals—oh DAMN, I'm not that, you know? DOM'T WORRY, I absolutely don't play with anything hardcore, just somethings like normal companionship."
"Got it." Peter shrugged. "In your car or...?"
The other person opened the car door for him. "To my place. Don't worry, I'll start timing you from now on." The car engine started.
The boy hadn't fastened his seatbelt yet. He glanced out the window, then at the other guy, reaching for his buckle, and asked pointedly, "So you want me to start now? So you know, the passenger seat or under the driver's seat is fine, obviously I'm flexible enough to be anywhere."
"Nobody can be crammed anywhere."
"Try me."
The other boy chuckled. "How old are you? How am I supposed to address you?"
"Are you a cop?" Peter scoffed, starting to untie the boy. "Parker. And you?"
"Wade."
"Wade," the boy mumbled, repeating.
"Okay, Wade, now, watch your road, don't let us both get into a car accident and die, otherwise it'll be as embarrassing as an American pantheon* (the protagonist's wife dies in a car accident while cheating)."
However, before he could slump down, the other person stopped him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and lifting him up.
"You don't look like the kind of guy who'd run away from home.. What made you decide to come out here?"
Because his salary WASN'T enough to cover his metabolism, which was FIVE TIMES higher than normal?
Peter almost rolled his eyes. He only occasionally encountered these guys, thinking that by constantly asking questions, maybe he could become the taxi driver who saves Iris* (movie: Taxi Driver plot). He could only pray that the other person wasn't the hypothetical Hinckley (referring to Reagan's presidential campaign and child star Jodie Foster). But regardless, he had a way of dealing with that guy.
"When I don't know I have to kneel down and suck your dick, cuming out shouldn't be a problem, man."
The boy winked at him with a sly smile, and when the other person froze for half a second, he knew his eyes had an exciting effect. Peter seized the opportunity, reaching out to squeeze the other's shoulder, leaning half his body against him and making sure he looked good enough: "You'll understand I have a tongue that's flexible enough, or whatever you like. Either way, I'm the most professional one right now."
The other's apartment wasn't bad; compared to all the others Peter had ever seen, it wasn't the most chaotic. This is typical of bachelor pads: takeout boxes piled high like a pizza tower, and you should be grateful if smelly socks and dirty underwear are neatly arranged in the laundry basket. Ignore the mismatched or—is that bloodstain on the wall?—small details; the overall decor, with its lavish kitchen island, is undeniably upscale, even without the pervasive musty smell.
Seriously, a cracked window would be necessary, but obviously impossible; some windows are haphazardly nailed shut with planks and cardboard boxes. So what? Is his client today a vampire, like Låt den rätte komma in *(Let the Right One In movie scene)*?
Okay, the bloodstains are certainly alarming, but should Peter worry? His spider-sensors aren't working.
"Sooooo." After roughly looking around, the boy at the door shrugged. "Where do you want to sit? I personally prefer a place where I can lie down, you know, that's more comfortable. But it looks like there's something wrong with your sofa."
The sofa, which was unclearly yellow, was probably a pretty orange one, except for that one area in the middle that was obviously meant to be lowered for some reason.
The other boy plopped down in the target area and beckoned Peter over.
Okay.
The boy chose a spot with light sauce stains and quickly snuggled up to the other boy, his fingertips circling his chest, his eyes fixed on the perfect position of his buttocks.
"You look like a proud king. Would you like me flipping you over?"
"Simple, a little cake. Maybe you'd rather grab some popcorn from the cupboard."
The other person pulled a light from under the sofa and turned on the TV.
Peter was baffled by this. It wasn't that he'd encountered a weirdo; some guys like to play rap or pop music during sex to create a certain atmosphere. So, if Wade liked to play Netflix during sex, Peter would be fine with that. However, instead of the chilling romantic comedy, the other person chose a WWII film, like The Pianist (The Pianist) – a film that would absolutely make you lose your appetite.
What's wrong with him? It wasn't that Peter was obsessed with photocopying or anything—believe me, he even bought Blu-ray discs as a small tribute to the classics—it was just that when a man brought a Stray animals home, pulled his hand back from the Stray animals's belt buckle, put his arm around his shoulder, and said, "Let's watch a movie, Bambi. Don't worry, I'm keeping track of you," it was clearly not normal behavior.
Although the spider-sensor still hadn't gone off, who knew it might be broken. Peter actually started to want to leave; a strange feeling made the boy feel uneasy.
"Hey big guy," he started unbuttoning his white blouse, trying to remind the other man of his purpose: "I'm a professional, so if all you want is a hug or company, you should go to Cuddle.com or Craigslist. With a little tidying up of your apartment, I'm sure you can fit as many roommates as you want."
The other man's response was to pull his hand away from his unbuttoning and shove several hundred-dollar bills into his palm.
"Respect history, little pepper. Even watching 'Silence' while having sex is a bit much, don't you think? Come here and let me hug you like a comforting kitten, so the following scenes don't make this macho man cry."
Wade pulled him over to a small section of the sofa with the other man's legs spread apart. Peter could feel how the other man was wrapped around him like a thick bearskin coat. And those thighs clamping around him... good heavens, the other man was far too strong. Spider-Man knew that such a physique couldn't be achieved solely through a gym, and the way he casually tossed out hundreds of dollars... the possibility of him being a gangster had increased dramatically.
However, Peter found himself not wanting to leave.
To be honest, this all-around, squeezing embrace felt like he was something precious and fragile that needed to be tightly wrapped up? Forget about a long time, it's probably never happened before, so don't blame Peter for deciding to start enjoying it, regardless of whether the other person is actually a stranger or not. Since the other person hasn't yet revealed their dark side as a serial killer, like Jack the Ripper killing a street hooker—again, the worrying splatter of blood on the apartment wall—and has indeed paid him.
Besides, Peter has seen the movie and owns it like he owns The Pianist. Perhaps the conflict between soulmates as opposing forces is a cliché, but the film portrays the emotional turmoil so well that the boy even cried the first time he watched it, having just gone through an absolutely terrible day.
He believes the guy holding him tightly behind him has also definitely had a terrible day, because the other person has been crying nonstop from the very first tragic scene, literally using up an entire pack of tissues just from blowing his nose. But when Peter asked if he needed a new pack from the bathroom or anywhere else, Wade just hugged him tighter, as if afraid he'd run away, and shoved several more bills into his hand, telling the boy to just stay put.
For the money. Peter tell himself.
So Peter sitting there, listening to the guy behind him sobbing uncontrollably. The boy figured the guy must have been unable to see the movie clearly when he chose to use a large pillowcase instead of tissues, so his continued silent sobbing obviously wasn't really because of the movie.
A bad day, or a whole week?
Peter looked around the apartment again, the various filthy trash suddenly taking on a different meaning, no longer just the slovenliness of a single man. The guy looked to be in his thirties; most people at this age would have already found their soulmate and gotten married. He suddenly wondered what had happened to the guy's soulmate, a part he, as a hooker, usually didn't allow himself to think about. His clientele came from all walks of life: college students looking for a new experience, young people having affairs who discovered their soulmates weren't as wonderful as they imagined, but most were unfortunate soulmates whose partners had died. Some even became regular clients, providing him with a stable income.
Soulmates may not be as perfect as in fairy tales, but it's a match made in heaven, and usually, people eventually return to each other's arms, no matter how many arguments or affairs occur. Isn't that how soap operas always go? Making up, breaking up, making up again, breaking up again.
"Do you have a soulmate?" the burly man suddenly asked. As the luxurious television screen played a crucial scene...
Alright, so it really was about soulmates. A man who wasn't middle-aged but had already lost his way, yeah? Peter had seen too many like this; this wasn't the first guy to ask him this question.
Many of his clients, and practically all his regular clients, had asked him this. People generally expect someone in Peter's profession to be without a soulmate. It's unclear—a societal expectation combined with the clients' self-created fantasies. So Peter usually lied, telling all his regular clients that his soulmate was dead, to keep them coming back.
It was no different from being dead. His soulmate had stopped communicating with Peter several years ago. The boy might have once fantasized that his soulmate would rescue him from dire straits like a Disney superhero, perhaps keeping Aunt May on a ventilator for a few days, or saving a homeless boy from starvation. But now, she/he had simply stopped communicating with Peter; perhaps she/he had found someone better. You can never be sure. The "soulmate rebellion" was a trendy online tag, and since attitudes have become more open, the concept of a soulmate is no longer considered a legitimate reason for domestic violence.
So he showed the other man his clean left wrist, the place where the soulmate's name would usually appear, now spotless—normally a symbol of the soulmate's death, regardless of whether it was actually removed through tattooing, as most sex workers he knew did. But the big man was clearly fooled, like all of the boy's past clients.
"When was that? Have you met her?"
From needing to use cardboard boxes for warmth and lacking scholarships to attend college...
It all started with the fact that Peter, fed up with hunger and the endless insults New Yorkers hurled at Spider-Man, sneaked into a tattoo parlor, borrowed tools, and personally erased the 'Wade'. The next day, he put on his best clothes and stood on the street, discovering the convenient way that physical pleasure could be made money.
It turns out that not having a soulmate isn't so bad. Dramas always exaggerate that. Peter is doing fine now and doesn't think he has the energy to deal with another person. His reason for contacting this Wade today is simple: one of his regular clients recently proposed a serious relationship—an obviously crazy act. Did Peter really want to abandon everything he'd built up and believe that someone who wasn't even a soulmate would take care of him? Don't be ridiculous, he's out to make money.
However, the reduced income means a delay in his college plans, so tada—the pretty boy is back on the streets looking for clients.
And this Wade can pay him a lot of money, so if it could develop into a regular relationship, Peter would be willing to put in the effort to make it happen.
He's no longer a novice; he knows when to say what. He didn't believe the other man genuinely wanted to understand a hooker; it was just a surge of self-satisfied sympathy fueled by the hormones of depression.
A sympathy he could exploit.
Don't look at him like that. If you've ever been forced to live on the streets, the big guy was just a customer in the act of prostitution to him. So he wove a story for him, half true, half false. The true part was that he had never met his soulmate—most customers liked that, it gave them a sense of purity—the false part was how heartbroken Peter was on the day his soulmate died.
And his story was obviously too good. Of course, when someone repeats a story a hundred times, even the most immature story becomes a ripe fruit. In short, the big guy cried even harder. Good heavens, Peter began to suspect that the other man's reason for asking his story was just to cry more.
"Hey, big guy." Peter turned to wipe the other man's tears with his sleeve. After all, the money the other man had given him was enough to buy hundreds of the same short-sleeved shirts, and wiping tears with his sleeve seemed more intimate, didn't it?
The boy knew what to do. He smoothed the other man's tear-stained face, kissed his cheek that looked like it was hurting, and spoke gently in a comforting, perfectly soft voice: "Your soulmate's lost too, isn't she? Well, that kind of shit happens, it happens to people who've already suffered too much. It's okay, it's okay. I can't say I understand how you feel, but I just want you to know that someone's here with you."
The other man's strong arms wrapped around his waist, and the small sob, the strength of the embrace, told Peter that he was succeeding. The boy cupped Peter's face in his hands, carefully avoiding any open wounds that might cause pain, and soothed him with utmost gentleness: "It's okay, Wade, you just need to sort yourself out, right? Everyone's like that, I understand you need this... Is this hug okay? I just don't want to hurt you, big guy, I hope you feel good."
Peter sniffled for a few more minutes, and then, as the movie entered its final moments, Wade finally calmed down, as if he had finally successfully hugged a cat that could soothe his emotions. The big guy rubbed against Peter quite tenderly a few times, clearly feeling safe to be affectionate because of the boy's demeanor, and kissed Peter a few times for the first time.
"Pretty Bambi, how much would it cost to hire you? If you stay this sweet, I think I'd want to be your Sugardady."
A statement that teetered between flirting and a potentially dangerous topic. When it came to money, Peter worried the other man might quickly lose interest due to his hormones, potentially ruining his plan to turn him into a regular client. Besides, the boy had never been one to be kept, and it would be TOO FOOLISH to place all his hopes on any outsider.
"Then you might have to wait in line, big guy. But if you continue to be this gentlemanly, I'd be willing to move your ranking up a bit, given how good you make me feel." Peter was certain he was smiling well, with a shy yet innocent glint in his eyes, like one of those young fools who lower their guard when a client shows affection. The boy had practiced this in front of the mirror countless times; after all, almost everyone fell for it.
The other man hummed a few times, clearly pleased.
"Want to know where you are now, little sweetie? Tell Daddypool how your scoring system works again?"
Peter wasn't sure what 'Daddypool' was, but whatever. "I liked that movie, just so you know, being held by a strong guy like you makes me feel really safe." He lowered his eyes, making himself seem shy: "You're a pretty special person I've met." One sentence, no need to add too many details, just let the other person think of all the plausible explanations, like bringing a sex worker home but not touching him—perhaps the boy had met someone who treated him that way before, so logically it was subtly appealing.
But Peter had experienced something similar before. The guy who proposed a serious relationship with him eventually started going on dates with him. The boy meant that since he was paid, he was willing to cooperate on many things, including any acting requirements.
And his acting was clearly honed to a high enough level that Wade seemed to like him quite a bit. He treated him to a Tacos Bell meal that was hard to call afternoon tea or dinner, and then drove him to the subway station entrance. Before parting, they exchanged phone numbers, with Peter telling the big guy it was a private number, just like he told ALL his regular clients. The other guy laughed and made more witty remarks, clearly even more hooked. “My apartment isn’t always that messy, you know,” Wade added before parting. “It’s just been a really bad time—”
Peter nodded slowly, displaying a thoughtful understanding, much like his own exposed stomach as he spoke: “I’m not always on the street either. It might just be a…—I liked your hugs, Wade, you’re really warm, you know?”
So they said goodbye, and Wade texted him goodnight that night.
And even the next day, Wade texted him again, asking to meet up.
And Peter?
Lying on his apartment sofa, counting the thousands of dollars he’d earned the day before, the boy really didn’t think he could refuse. He replied with just the right amount of sweetness, adding a few playful :3 emojis to describe how much he looked forward to seeing her again.
Before heading to the meeting place, he prepared himself: proper lubrication, never forgetting his professional role. Even if Wade performed well, it still cost money, though he had to admit that the other man's gesture of taking him to a children's amusement park once again struck Peter as odd.
The theme park headband the other man wore was undeniably childish. Peter tried to refuse when the other man tried to put bear ears on his head, but with a cheese hot dog and marshmallow shoved into his hands, it was difficult for a boy to free a third hand to stop someone. They rode countless roller coasters, and the magical headband remained stubbornly in place, much to Peter's exasperation.
However, he had to admit that the other man's witty remarks were quite amusing; at least, the boy rarely encountered someone who could pick up on his jokes so easily. He casually mentioned Felix Felicis (Harry Potter) while getting his drink, and the other man immediately understood he was referring to the packaging and color of the drink, jokingly comparing the wolf-shaped aconite to the boat-shaped aconite to the greasy hair of the clerk. They both laughed.
In an instant, Wade bent down in front of Peter as if he had unearthed a treasure.
"Look at those dazzling stars on the Christmas tree, baby boy! You look so beautiful lit up."
Perhaps it was because it was the first time Peter had genuinely laughed, because of a silly joke, the whole situation was silly, including the boy's subsequent silly act of letting himself continue laughing.
"You're the star, Wade, the most flamboyant kind!" He pointed to the several blinking headbands newly put on Wade's head, warningly taking a few steps back from Wade's wicked hand: "And you wouldn't dare put one on my head—...Wade, you asshole!—God, how many of those things have you bought, you childish brat? I'm warning you—"
When they finally decided to catch their breath from their elementary school-like chase, Wade went to a vendor to buy them sour cream fries, and when he came back, he curiously asked the boy what he had been looking at on his phone. Peter, without batting an eye, swiped the page to a TikTok video, then laughed until tears streamed down his face along with the person on the other end, all while watching the wobbly little penguin babies. So the other person had no idea that Peter had actually been contacting a client he was meeting the next day.
Peter admitted he also enjoyed his time with Wade, with their witty banter and childish teasing. The whole amusement park trip felt like a high school date, if you ignored the thousands of dollars she'd handed him on the way there. And importantly, everything was great—too great—and TOO LATE.
He wasn't a foolish kid anymore, bringing home a street hooker like a stray animal? Fairy tales didn't exist; he'd better rely on his own methods.
<3
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