saucefactory:

Imagine Wade as a car mechanic and Peter as the supposed rich kid bringing him Lamborghinis and Maseratis to work on.

Imagine Wade as a hard-bodied, oil-stained, dirty, sweaty, huge guy, covered in ropy scars and corded muscle, towering above Peter.

Imagine Peter’s stomach doing a hot little flip, because damn, that dude is hardcore.

Like, literally the moment Peter sees Wade, Peter’s mouth falls open and floods with saliva. It’s an instant, undeniable reaction. All the way down to the reaction in his pants. Lust ripples through Peter like a wave of heat, making him flush and shiver and gasp.

Because Wade is clothed in nothing but sinfully tight jeans and a sticky, near-transparent tank top that clings pornographically to his washboard abs and his flexing, massive pecs. And his nipples. Dear god, the dark, pebbled, pointed silhouettes of Wade’s nipples through that tank top. Just the sight of them makes Peter stagger as he gets out of his car.

And it only gets worse. (Or is it better? Nah, it’s definitely worse.)

Wade’s muscles ripple when he moves, and he has this dangerous, loose-limbed prowl as he stalks toward Peter that makes Peter’s brain go offline.

Peter just stammers whatever the problem of the day happens to be, and gulps nervously when Wade slides himself under the car, screwdriver clenched in his teeth and legs spread, his muscular thighs bulging as the crotch of his jeans all but outlines his oversized package. His unfairly oversized package. Fuck, but Wade’s cock is downright intimidating.

And Peter sure is intimidated. Boy, is he ever. His throat swallows around the imaginary weight of that cock, the solid, inescapable girth of it as it’d push slowly past his lips. Peter’s practically drooling. He has to scrub his hand over his mouth to check that he isn’t drooling visibly.

Alas, Peter’s fantasies don’t stop there. The more he sees Wade, the more details he can’t help noticing–for example, the fact that Wade’s hands are so broad and callused that a single well-aimed spank from them would drive a grown man to tears. The sound of that heavy, stinging, resounding smack echoes through Peter’s mind like an actual, physical blow, making the skin of his ass flare and throb in anticipation.

Little does Peter know that all his blushing and stammering is doing it for Wade, and that, when Wade finds out Peter isn’t a spoiled li’l rich boy but is instead just the valet at Stark Tower, Wade begins to like him right back.

Guys, do I really need to write about them having sex on top of a sports car? With Wade just folding Peter’s legs back and up and rutting into him hard enough to dent the hood?

God fucking damn it. Damn it. Damn it all.