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We all know the part when Deadpool pops through a glowing orange rectangle to anywhere and lays eyes on his first Wolverine. And he, stupidly, peaced out before he could really see what was going on there.
What if he’d stuck around a second longer to see what that little Wolvie could do?
~~~
“Such a cute widdle Wolvie!” Deadpool coos.
Instead of shanking him on sight, this Wolverine tilts his head and looks up at the merc, and I do mean up. Then the strangest thing happens—those eyes sweep Deadpool up and down not once but twice. Deadpool knows those eyes. Those are the same eyes he gives a Disneyland churro before sucking it down in a borderline pornographic fashion, moans and all.
“Whatta you want?” Wolvie grumbles with a jut of his chin.
“Sorry, I can’t quite hear you aaall the way down there, Tiny Tim.”
Unphased, little Wolvie slips his thumbs into his pockets. “Think you’d hear me better closer to the ground, bub? On your knees, maybe?” And that shuts Deadpool right up for about five solid seconds, giving Wolvie an opening to land another blow. “Why don’tcha have a seat in one o’those booths over there, darlin’, then we can talk.” Then he turns, mosies back to the bar without even checking to see if Deadpool will obey or not.
Dumbstruck by being called darling by a Wolverine, Deadpool glides across the room in a daze. Wowza. He settles in the seat awkwardly. The expensive leather squeaks against his fresh new suit. The silence that had fallen over the bar patrons has receded and the sound of chatter, clinking glasses and the occasional thump of an axe more or less hitting its wooden target encircle him.
Wolvie grabs two drinks from the bar before he joins Deadpool, sitting across from him. One’s even got a straw in it. Wolvie slides that one to the merc and looks at him expectantly.
“There’s a good boy. You’re a lot more tame than other Deadpools, aren’tcha?”
Oh. Yep, here come the tight pants. Nope nope no! Back to business. Wolvie can insult him later. “Sure, sure. I’m completely domesticated. In the same way a neighborhood raccoon is—you can feed me hotdogs and Froot Loops on the porch, but I’ll still give you rabies,” Wade warns as he undoes the velcro at the back of his mask just enough for it to dangle loosely over his face so he can sip through his straw without rolling it up. Less risk of making everybody upchuck.
“I believe it. So what’re you looking for, hm? Trouble, or a good time?”
This Wolverine’s either putting the moves on him, or setting him up for a very cruel joke. Deadpool just goes for it. “Maybe both? Look, man I’m just gonna shoot my shot here. I know this is gonna sound like a line, but—I need you to do the hero thing, come back to my universe with me, and save the day.”
Wolvie barks out a laugh, drains his glass halfway. The little shit makes him wait for a curt, “No.”
“Wait, let me—“
“I’m gonna stop you right there. Nothin’ you could say would get me t’go home with you. But you could come home with me for a night.”
Teapot noises in Wade’s head. Maybe actual steam shooting from either ear. He looks around the bar suspiciously. “Is this a set-up? Am I on a hidden camera show right now? My Superstar Senses aren’t tingling—Usually the cameras can’t hide from me no matter how hard they try.”
“No cameras. Not unless you want there to be. So what’s it gonna be, pretty boy? You gonna let me peel that costume off you, or are you gonna get the fuck outta my hair?”
Wade may be stupid. But he’s not a fool. Pipsqueak or no, this is a Wolverine. Who knows if he’ll ever get this chance again?
“Sure, Lil’ Wolvie, you can take off my suit. If you can reach the zipper.”
~~~
The first zipper to go is Wolvie’s.
Wade is testing the waters from the passenger’s side of Wolvie’s truck. The vehicle is well loved, perfectly maintained but obviously sees a lot of use. He scoots as close as he can, hand on the other man’s leg as he drives. He is compact, solid, warm under Wade’s fingers. “Sooo, you’ve met other Deadpools?”
“Mhm.”
“Do we all look like the man in the moon finally met a cheese grater, or what?”
“The scars?” Wolvie doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Only met three, and yes, they did.”
So he’s seen them without their suits on. “Did you take them home, too?”
Wolvie’s eyes darken. He’s smirking, but he doesn’t offer an answer. That’s totally a yes. Wade should feel cheap. Okay, he does, but in a fun way. Like Wade’s just another box to tick. Damn, that’s kinda disgustingly hot.
“You did! You dirty little dingo. So is it the radiant complexion, or the unmatched wit that gets you—”
“Hush, sugar.” Still not looking at Wade, eyes diligently fixed on the road as he changes lanes. “I’m tryna listen to the radio, yeah? I know you can’t control that pretty mouth of yours, so how ‘bout we keep it busy?”
With one hand, Wolvie easily flips his belt buckle open. Zipper’s down, no underwear, and if Wade’s heart doesn’t fucking skip a beat at the sight. Little Wolvie’s little Wolvie isn’t so little, even soft. Jesus, Wade hopes he’s a shower and not a grower otherwise he’s gonna be jealous.
“Don’t mind if I fucking do,” Wade almost whispers in awe.
He rolls the mask up just enough to get his nose and mouth free, carefully gets into a more comfortable position to get his mouth on Wolvie. The man tastes like he smells—musky, heady, kinda nasty if you think about it too much but in a way that’s fucking divine. His cologne clings to his shirt, but face down in his groin, all Wade can smell is uncut Canadian sausage. He sucks Wolvie deep into his mouth, prepares to give him the road head of his dreams when Wolvie puts one hand on the back of his head.
“I didn’t say suck it,” Wolvie chastises. “Eager little thing, aren’tcha?”
Wade herumphs around his mouthful, mumbles who’re you calling little, short stack? But it sounds more like whooocahiluluhshorhsawk.
“Shh. Stay still. Just feel it.”
He can feel it, alright. Slowly expanding in his mouth, growing warmer and firmer on Wade’s tongue. He presses up against it and he’s reprimanded immediately.
“I said stay still, slut.”
Wolvie doesn’t do anything as punishment, but his tone? His tone says or else.
Now, Wade’s never been great at responding to authority, except in the bedroom—or in this case, the truck cab of a tiny, furry, charming little murderer with sparkling green eyes and a shiny coat. He’s met less friendly house cats, for sure. So Wade stays still, only swallowing around him when he absolutely has to as Wolvie’s length creeps down his throat, starts to cut off his oxygen and Jesus Mary Mother of Fuck, it keeps creeping. Wade can’t breathe, can’t feel his toes because all the blood in his body’s gone to his dick. He’s bent sideways and down awkwardly, supporting himself with one hand on the floor and can’t really rub against anything. Ain’t that a bitch? The only sensation he gets is Wolvie’s long, hard cock getting longer and harder as he salivates around it until it finally reaches critical mass.
Every bump in the road makes Wade’s head bounce a little bit, eyes rolling back. He’s been stabbed in less agonizing ways. Wolvie keeps both hands on the wheel, hums along with the radio and taps his fingers absently from time to time. His calm demeanor drives Wade up the wall like a goddamn L.A. traffic jam.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” Wolvie reminds him softly at some point.
Breathing is for chumps. Still, Wade moves when he needs to drag his lips up that monstrous cock enough to suck in a couple deep breaths through his nose, then he painstakingly swallows him back down. It’s no easy task, and Wade’s a black belt in cock sucking.
He’s got a whole rolodex of one-liners backed up, pressurized, just waiting to shoot out once his mouth’s less occupied.
The trip isn’t very long. Wolvie doesn’t cum. He just sits there and Wade dissociates until every quip he planned to rattle off dissolves from his memory, and when the engine finally dies and Wolvie touches the back of his neck, he is no longer a Deadpool but a Deadpuddle.
Today’s scoreboard? Oral fixation: one. Wade Wilson: zero.
~~~
Lil Wolvie’s apartment isn’t what Wade would’ve expected. It’s nice. It’s clean, simple, but with a little bit of flair. Hardwood floors, cream interior with a burgundy accent wall. It’s certainly a choice. Then again, maybe this is just how the place came. Doesn’t feel like it, though. No, it feels like this is how little Wolvie keeps his affairs on purpose.
Once he’s regained the ability to run his mouth, Wade chatters away, touches everything in sight and even breaks a lamp immediately. Little Wolvie doesn’t seem to give a damn. He just strides into the kitchen and starts rustling around, so Wade follows him. Wolvie’s poured them a couple shots.
“Are you trying to roofie me? Not really necessary, I already took the candy, got in the van and checked your oil.” Wade jokes as he’s shrugging his katana holster off and putting it on the counter.
Wolvie laughs under his breath, throws back both shots when it’s clear Wade doesn’t want any. “Not a chance. I want you awake and alert.” A wink. A goddamn Wolverwink. “Bedroom’s down the hall. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll only be a minute. Try not to break anythin’ in there.”
“Nothin’ but your heart, sweetums,” Wade calls as he partially skips down the hallway.
“An’ my lamp.”
“It was like that when I got here!”
~~~
Wade most certainly does not make himself comfortable. He inspects the room, habitually mapping out potential emergency exits and weapons until Wolvie joins him. Wade’s by a window, taking in the view when a big, broad hand settles on his lower back. Fingers follow the seam of his suit up, find the clasps and the zipper, and then slowly he pulls it all the way down. Wade shivers at the chill.
“Wow. Lookit that, you can reach.”
An affirmative grunt. “Mm. Sit.”
“Arf!” Wade yips, plopping down on the Short King-sized bed. His knees jut up comically due to the height of the frame. Maybe it’s custom made for the world’s smallest, hairiest tripod.
Wolvie undresses Wade gently, his hands trailing over the skin as it’s exposed. He spends too much time looking at the mangled mess and Wade begins to feel a little less flirty and a little more ashamed. Wolvie probably smells his insecurities in the air or some shit—that’s a thing Wolverines can do, right?— because he leans in to place a kiss to Wade’s bare chest. A kiss. From a Wolverine. Wade nearly blows his load right then and there in his suit, which is only half crumpled around his waist.
Okay, so this is happening. Equal parts terrifying and wet dream inducing.
Fuck.
“Mask stays on,” Wade blurts.
“Shame. I bet you’re pretty as a picture under there,” Wolvie sighs before pushing Wade onto his back so he can fight the bottom half of the suit off.
“Crime scene photos, maybe.” Wade laughs humorlessly, lifting his hips as Wolvie tugs. “I look like Mr. Potatohead needs to be introduced to Accutane. I look like a pothole full of cottage cheese on a good day. I look like Trixie Mattel out of drag and Freddy Krueger got blotto drunk, ended up in a hotel room together and forgot to wrap it before tapping it.”
“And maybe I’m into that,” Wolvie says. “Roll over.”
“I am a strong, independent, hot-blooded Canadian man, not your trained labradoodle.” Wade rolls over anyway. “So, what you’re saying is you’re into burn victims with hyper-eczema? You really wanna stick it in two-hundred pounds of sentient raw hamburger meat? That’s sick, man. Woop! Jesus!”
Wolvie didn’t so much as warn him before spreading his cheeks and spitting on his asshole like a three-dollar hooker. Used to be two dollars, but you know, inflation.
“There goes that mouth again.” Wolvie’s rubbing the pads of his fingers over Wade’s hole, but that’s it. Just teasing him.
Wade chances a look over his shoulder. “You’re not gonna tell me to shut up? Y’know, I’ll talk less if you give me somethin’ to chew on.”
Wolvie flashes him a drop dead gorgeous smirk, one pointed tooth glinting in the low light like a goddamn comic book. Wade swears he sees the sparkle graphic, hears the little twinkle, then looks away. His face is probably the same shade as the mask underneath. God.
“Nah,” Wolvie purrs. His fingers are gone, and while the petting was an agonizing tease he’d rather be teased than left hanging, but they’re back before Wade can do more than groan in dismay, much slicker than before. “Right now, I wanna hear every sound you make.”
Wolvie preps him with a finger rather routinely. He knows what he’s doing, gets two heavily lubed fingers knuckle-deep in Wade without so much as a tickle of discomfort. Not that that’s any feat with the things Wade’s shoved up his ass lately, but it’s still nice to be taken care of by a total stranger.
Oh. Oh, goddamn, Wade’s ass up and whimpering out half formed curses for a stranger from another universe.
Just because this man’s wearing Logan’s face, he’s clearly not the same. Sure, he was expecting a certain level of rugged, loveable assholeish charm, but this Wolvie’s absolutely dripping in charisma. Drippin’ in finesse. Inconceivable rizz. He’s got some kind of…sexier strain of Napoleon complex. Wade’s imagining him in crushed velvet and a big tasseled hat when the fingers are replaced by something else. Blunt, cool, but not cold.
“Zoinks?”
“Relax, sweetheart. There you go.” Wolvie soothes him by running his free hand up and down Wade’s thigh as he eases what Wade immediately recognizes as a medium firmness silicone cock into him inch by inch. It doesn’t feel modest, either—Wolvie’s aiming to open him up real good. “What a pretty, greedy thing you are. Just a bit more.”
“Fucking. Fuck.” Wade hisses, rocks back onto the dildo when Wolvie pulls it out an inch or so and eases it back in.
“Attaboy,” Wolvie murmurs.
Wolvie fucks him with the toy gently at first. Almost sweetly. (Almost.) Wade wonders if he’s used this toy on other Deadpools, hopes so. By the time he pulls it out of Wade’s ass he’s panting, sweating and damn near chafed from rubbing himself shamelessly on Wolvie’s soft sheets. Seriously, the thread count on these must be insane. Wade’s mouth is running the whole time, but God knows what he was even saying. His words, Wolvie’s words, none of them really made it past the blood brain barrier, not until Wade’s gaping and empty and dangerously close to begging but we don’t need to talk about that.
“Fucking gorgeous. Stretched out all nice for me, took it so well too, like I knew y’would. Think you’re ready?”
“Yeah,” Wade whines. He immediately gets his knees under him so he can stick his ass out and spread his legs.
Wolvie’s hands find either asscheek, squeezing, and he laughs from deep in his belly. “Simmer down, bub. At least try not to act so desperate.”
Wade’s sitting back on his heels immediately with an indignant grunt to glare at his tiny tormentor. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you were just playing pingpong with my prostate for like twenty minutes, I might be a little fucking frazzled!”
Wolvie strips down, unhurried and clearly amused. Wade eyes him like a cat watches a mouse. Ready to pounce. Feral. Hungry. Then Wolvie sits down, leans back against the upholstered headboard and pats his thick, furry thighs and Wade forgets he was ever wild in the first place, crawls right up into his lap like the housepet he is. Woof.
And like any dog, he’s about to be rewarded with a big ol’ bone. One that is highly disproportionate to the size of the box it came in and curving slightly upward and to the right, drooping under its own weight. Yep, direct deposit into the Spank Bank for sure.
“Good boy,” Wolvie grins up at him. “Sit.”
“If you call me a good boy one more time, I’m expecting some kibble and a walk when this is all over. Bring a baggie, and be warned: I’m a puller.”
Wolvie actually chuckles at his stupid joke. Christ, that’s probably the sexiest thing a person can do. He needs to ride this little fucker straight into the grave yesterday.
With a deep breath, Wade spreads his asscheeks apart and eases back. Prepped as he is, Wolvie’s still a stretch. Wade doesn't realize he’s holding that breath until the pressure finally gives and Wolvie’s bulbous head finally slips inside. Wolvie’s breath hitches and he grabs Wade by the hips, not bearing down on him but encouraging him to take too much too fast and then Wade’s sitting down, ass to thighs, shaking because the pressure is absolutely off the charts. He imagines this is what a balloon feels like when it’s being filled up, in like, a sexy and incredibly erotic way. Not to be confused with inflation porn. Totally separate kink.
It’s entirely too much in the worst, best way.
“Knew you’d take it all right away,” Wolvie breathes. “Could tell you were a cock hungry little bitch the moment you walked through that portal. Is it nice, baby? Feel good?”
“I…y-yeah,” Wade’s going to fucking cum. Wolvie knows it. Keeps talking to him, fingers digging into his hipbones.
“So soon? Hm. You can go more than once, can’t ya?” Wade nods sharply. Wolvie’s smile only grows more sinister. “Go on then, cum. I won’t tell anybody how pathetic you are, babydoll...”
With a shout and a shudder, Wade’s head lolls back and he shoots his load on command because yes, yup, you betcha! At this moment, he is pathetic. And not only is he baby, but babydoll. He’s never been anyone’s babydoll.
It takes a moment to recalibrate the word processing systems…beep boop.
“At least I…d-dont have to use a step stool to brush my teeth,” Wade huffs, head wobbling back into place because it feels like his neck bones haven’t quite solidified yet.
Wolvie snorts. “You’re a real charmer, Red.”
“My name is—”
“Don’t wanna know your name,” Wolvie cuts him off, pulling him down onto his giant cock roughly like he’s trying to jab the factory reset button in Wade’s brain. Wade’s stomach tenses and he curls forward a bit involuntarily, gasping. “Just wanna see how much you can take.”
Fuck. This is…this reminds Wade of some dark (but fun) times. Hooking up with totally random guys and gals in rooms too dark to see, or via duct tape covered holes in the wall. Once, he fucked a guy wearing a Scream mask and nothing else while he himself wore a simple black balaclava, but now he’s the freak in the gimmick mask getting pounded. How the turns have tabled!
Except there’s no pounding yet, and Wade’s really keen on changing that. He rolls his hips back, but Wolvie grips him tighter, pulls him flush against him and cements him in place. Plants his flag deep up inside Wade like he just landed on the fucking moon, and he growls, “Don’t fucking move.”
“What,” Wade seethes, “is with you and not wanting to put that lethal weapon you’re carrying around to use? I’d ask if you’re Mormon but the amount of alcohol you sucked down tonight has me thinkin’ no. So whaddaya even need it for if you’re not gonna annihilate my ass with it, you pint-sized piece of—ah—”
Wolvie’s dick twitches inside him and it feels—it feels.
Feels like lightning striking inside him. Snips Wade’s train of thought right in half and leaves it dangling, loose in the wind. Wolvie smirks up at him and does it again.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” Wade groans, accusatory. “Your—your dick is not a muscle! Stop flexing it, nobody likes a show off!”
Wolvie does it again just to prove that he’s evil incarnate. Wade makes involuntary teapot noises, definitely aloud this time.
“Seems like you do. Touch yourself, sweetheart,” the miniature menace mutters.
Not one to need telling twice, Wade wraps a hand around his dick and squeezes gingerly. He clenches down around Wolvie, stuffed to the brim like it’s thanksgiving and he’s the bird. Wolvie looks like he could carve into him any second.
“Gobble gobble,” Wade sighs under his breath. “Jeez. I thought you were a nice Wolvie. I was so naive back then…so innocent.”
A condescending chuckle. “Fancy yourself the delicate young ingenue, do ya? We can pretend, but I think we both know yer just a dick drunk slut.”
“Fuck you. You’re disgusting,” Wade whines, ruined. He is not dick drunk, he’s just dicksy-tipsy, thank you very much. He knows how to handle a little (or a lot of) dick, okay? He could dick you under the table. Heh.
“And you’re lookin’ absolutely photogenic. Kinda wish I did break out the camera...”
He still can’t fucking tell if Wolvie’s buttering him up or mocking him. He can’t slow the pace of his hand either, working himself over roughly in his frustration. “Fucking—What’s wrong with you? What’s your damage, you freak?”
“Just like watchin’ pretty boys like you come apart.”
Wade shudders like a demon’s been exercised from his guts. Who gave this guy a How To guide on how to push Wade’s buttons?
Wolvie groans below him, thighs tensing, every inch of that veiny monstrosity throbbing. Pulsing, not just twitching, with every beat of his heart. Wade has a toy at home that does something similar, but it’s nothing like this.
“Fuck, that’s nice. You’re so tight, baby, you feel like a fuckin’ dream,” Wolvie’s voice is rough and ragged at the edges. He releases his hold on Wade’s hips in favor of holding onto him by the thighs. “S’what you’re made for, isn’t it? Takin’ cock and cum.”
Wade’s hand gains speed on his dick. If not for the remnants of his first orgasm still clinging to him, he’d be chafing like a bitch but his fist is slick and slippery and his ass is full and he’s rocking his hips just the tiniest bit and Wolvie’s letting him, growling up at him with heavy hooded eyes ohmygod.
“Oh, you like that? Knew you would. Pretty sluts like you always do. Love the idea of drippin’ in it, don’t you? God, Red, you’re so soft and…nngh, strong. Squeezin’ the life outta me, y’know that? Gonna make me cum…”
Tip-toeing the edge of orgasm number two, all it would take is a gentle breeze to topple him over. Wade can’t muster up more than a pathetic “Mm...mmmnngh…” which was supposed to mean…something.
“You want it? I’ll give it to you,” Wolvie promises, massaging Wade’s hips encouragingly, “all you gotta do is let go.”
Yup. There it goes. Elsa who?
Wade does as he’s told and earns himself another good boy and an absurd, inhuman, unholy amount of cum in his wrecked rectum that leaves him positively glowing. Indifferent to the fate of Wolvie’s fancy sheets, Wade has to support himself with both hands after that, soiled or not. He leans forward on his palms, shaking. Wolvie’s still pulsing inside him from time to time, and Wade’s sensitive and overstimulated and strung out on happy chemicals, whimpering at every little twitch.
“You really are a well behaved little bitch, aren’t you? Got half a mind to keep ya here all for myself. I could lose days inside you.”
“K-keep me? Wha’do I look like—Haaa-aa-ah,” Wade stutters on an exhale, the words plucked right from his mouth and forgotten at a particularly forceful pulse. Fuck, words.
Wolvie reaches up, muscled arms glistening with sweat under what seems like their own freaking atmosphere of thick, dense hair. He circles a thumb around one of Wade’s areolas, eliciting a whimper like broken glass from him. He chuckles, licks his other thumb and reaches up to give the other nipple the same treatment with the added benefit of slippery spit that leaves Wade cold and dying for the heat of his touch when he stops. Wade arches, chasing the sensation with a poorly stifled whimper.
“Perfect,” Wolvie sighs, leaning in to flick his tongue over one nipple. “Couldn’t be any better if I trained you myself, sweetheart.” Another lick, followed by a warm open mouthed kiss. He sucks harshly at the pebbled nub as he pulls back. “Fat ass, sensitive tits, hungry little hole…”
“Shit on a shingle, give me a fucking second!” Wade nearly sobs. His oversensitive cock’s already weeping again, given exactly zero seconds to recover between his orgasm and the nipple play.
“Oh, pretty baby...” Wolvie chuckles against his chest before switching sides. “You poor thing. Gonna cry for me? Sounds like it.”
A watery laugh rattles out of Wade. “Fuck you. I’m, ah, I’m already crying. Lookit my dick. That’s not cum, those’re tears, big boy.”
Wolvie laughs a little louder and the vibration travels right up Wade’s spine from where his dick feels like it’s pressed directly into it. “Take a second. Sit back.” He guides Wade with gentle hands. “There you go. Mmm. Lift your hips just a bit? Fuck.” He’s twitching inside Wade again, still hard as a rock. Wade clenches involuntarily, gasps at the feeling of cum dribbling out of his hole just like Wolvie fucking said he would, and that in itself has his ears burning. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous… Lookit you tryin’a close up around me. That’s good, sugar, go ahead ‘n relax.”
Wade follows his instructions like a self help tape fucking wishes he would.
Wolvie groans, kicks inside him and makes Wade gasp again. The room goes out of focus for a second. Vision clearing, he follows Wolvie’s gaze down to his stomach. Ohhh. Oh, shit, that’s also going directly into the spank bank and already collecting interest.
When he relaxes at this angle, the bump of Wolvie’s goddamn cock bulges out of his stomach Obscenely with a capital O. Wade’s laying his hand across his stomach immediately, pressing down just slightly but that alone is enough to make Wolvie arch his back and try to press up into him, but jokes on him because Wade’s already holding every inch of him hostage.
“How the fuck is there even—nnngh—enough blood in your hairy little body to keep this thing at attention? Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not gonna p-pass out on me, are ya?”
“Higher chance of you passin’ out.”
Wolvie does the goddamn dick flexing move again and Wade feels it under his hand this time. “Fucking hell, man.” His eyes flutter closed, then snap right back open when warm fingers ghost over his dick and the way he whines shall not ever be brought up ever again. Ever. “Fuck, stop!”
“D’you mean that?” Wolvie asks. His fingers go still.
“No! Yes? Mmmpngh…” Wade bucks into the touch, grabs a more forceful handful of expensive sheets and yanks.
“Are you gonna squirt again, darlin’?” Wolvie’s hardly touching him, but he is touching him, stroking gently with three fingers and it sort of hurts but it’s a good hurt that makes his toes curl and his eyes water.
“No! …yes,” Wade whines, defeated.
This time, he keeps his wits about him enough to watch a couple of weak spurts of cum shoot up Wolvie’s chest and dribble obscenely into his body hair, taking ages to reach the skin and adding to the most beautifully disgusting mess he’s ever seen. He has to take his hand off his stomach to support himself with both arms again, wracked with white-hot waves of pleasure like a captainless boat at sea.
“Look at that; still conscious.” Wolvie purrs smugly.
“C-can’t…keep a good man down,” the words dangle from his mouth like limp noodles.
“Think you mean good boy. Again,” he commands, still dragging his fingers up and down Wade’s poor cock, flushed red and begging for more or less or who fucking knows anymore.
Wade just snuffles like a kicked mutt.
~~~
All Wade recalls is a never-ending demand of again that he meets with wet eyes and labored breath every single time.
Cut to now. Slumped forward, curled over Wolvie’s headboard and damn near suction cupped to the thing because he needs something solid to hold onto but Wolvie’s too small to curl up against—plus the stubborn prick refuses to move from where he is, arms wrapped around Wade’s waist while he grunts out the occasional backhanded praise between his pecs.
Don’t ask Wade how many times he came, the ability to do even kindergarten level math peaced out long ago.
His hands are being pried off the wood and he grumbles or whines or makes some kind of sound he can’t really hear but he feels in his chest. Wolvie shifts inside him and Wade shakes his head no but presses closer. He’s guided onto his back. Every tiny little motion feels like being cleaved in half at this point. Wade chokes on a sob when Wolvie slips out an inch or so, then pushes right back in.
The Deadpool mask is drenched in sweat and spit and tears, clinging to him uncomfortably, but he can’t take it off now. Because now, Wolvie’s holding his legs apart for him and shushing him gently, leaning back in and for a second Wade thinks he’s going to get a kiss but nope. Wolvie goes for the nipple like a suckling kitten with far too many teeth. He bites down hard enough to bruise just as he starts to grind his hips forward, and Wade wails in ecstasy.
“Attaboy. Don’t worry, all you gotta do is take it now.”
Wolvie starts to thrust. Wade can’t breathe. His body bows under the intensity, fistfulls of sheets in either hand and fresh tears in his eyes. A wavering whine is all he can manage when he tries to beg for it harder. Yep, definitely dick drunk now. Blowing waaaay over .08 on the Dickalyzer.
“Shhh, pretty baby, y’been so good,” Wolvie whispers as he picks up the pace. “This is your reward. You wanted it so bad, remember? Mm, think you said annihilate yer ass?”
“Unh!” Wade turns his head, tries to hide his face even though it’s already hidden because he’s on fire, burning with something that’s definitely not shame but maybe a close cousin to it—and arousal and desperation and fuck. He wants it to be over. He never wants it to end. Each thrust knocks another sob from him, tears running down and tickling his nostrils, the shell of his ear before the mask drinks them up.
Wolvie shifts again, letting go of Wade’s legs so he can loom over him and jerk his face up by the jaw with one hand. His grip is firm, unforgiving.
“Look at me.”
Wade nibbles his lip, chews on a whimper. Tastes blood for a second before it’s gone. Sick, squelching slaps echo through the air, thick with man musk and sex and sweat.
“There’s a good boy. There’s my beautiful little whore,” Wolvie sighs, and by the grace of God, he thrusts in hard so he can scoot as far up Wade’s body as possible, pressing a kiss to his wet mask and that’s all she fucking wrote, folks.
Seriously.
Black screen. Dial-up noises. Error 404, Deadpool not found.
~~
When he comes to, Wade burrows himself deep into the mess of silky soft heaven he finds himself wrapped up in. He’s sore and tired but weirdly pleased about it—
“Waitaminute.”
Wade’s eyes snap open and he sits up like a bolt of lightning. He’s still in Wolvie’s bedroom, rolled up in the plush blankets like a burrito. His face and neck feel disgusting, and that can only be due to the damp mask still clinging to him. Wade looks around the room. No Wolvies to be seen. He tears the mask off and scrubs his hands up and down his face, trying to wipe the feeling away. It does nothing. What he needs is a shower…
But what he needs more, apparently, is a taste of whatever is wafting through the air, rich and savory—his stomach grumbles loudly. Wade points menacingly and glares daggers at it. “Zip it!”
Wolvie’s got his own bathroom right there in the bedroom. Wade makes good use of it, scouring both himself and his mask in the sink, and pressing it as dry as he can with a towel. At least it smells better, now.
All in all, he wasn’t that dirty to begin with aside from his face, which definitely means Wolvie cleaned him up while he was konked out, and the thought of being pampered and doted on by a Wolverine while unconscious manifests as a familiar tingle in his loins.
Wade thinks about unsexy things. Margaret Thatcher. International shipping fees. Those pistachios that are just a little rotten and taste of betrayal.
His suit’s folded neatly on a dresser. Wade suits up, clips everything back into place…and then he just stands there for a minute, deer in headlights style.
He has the tempad. He could just zip-zap himself outta here and be gone like a fart in the wind, and probably be missed about as much.
From behind him, “Leavin’ so soon, Red?”
Deadpool spins on his heel, draws his weapon on reflex.
Standing in the doorway, Wolvie raises one eyebrow, tilts his head. “What a way to thank a guy.”
Wade lowers and holsters the gun. “Whoopsie. Bad Deadpool.” he clears his throat and claps his hands together. “I, uh…yeah. Got places to be, other Wolverines to shake down.”
“Other Wolverines, huh?”
“Yeah, since you won’t come home with me, even if it is to save my whole universe. Unless maybe my spectacular performance changed your mind?” he asks hopefully.
A rich, buttery laugh from Wolvie, sweet and syrupy. Oops, looks like Wade’s still thinking about his empty belly. “Not a chance, sweetheart. I think you’ve got it covered.”
Okay, that almost sounded like reassurance but the glint in his eyes makes him impossible to read. Hands in his pockets, Wolvie looks Wade up and down like he had when they first met. Only this time, Wade knows he’s unlocked memory-vision, knows he’s basically looking right through the suit at all Wade’s faults and soft spots.
“Fuck. Figured as much. Can’t blame a guy for trying, can ya? In that case yes, I will be getting out of your perfectly coiffed hair now.”
“Any chance you wanna bite before you head out?”
“You can hear my stomach, can’t you?”
“A mile away.”
~~~
So he has corned beef hash and coffee with Wolverine in his dining room with his mask rolled up over his nose and his katanas sitting next to him, right where he left them the night before. He makes the Wade equivalent of smalltalk with this tiny man who’s looking at him over a plate of food bigger than he is—and why does Wade feel like he’s the tiny one now?
He puts his dishes in the sink like a good boy when he’s quite literally licked his plate clean, and that’s that.
“Well, I guess, uh, guess it’s time for me to put on my ruby slippers and hit the yellow brick road,” Wade says as he’s tucking the edges of his mask back into the suit collar. “Thanks for teaching me the values of soaking before stroking, Short King. Breakfast was nice, too.”
“Pleasure was all mine.” Wolvie’s arms are crossed, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter and Wade wants to kiss him more than anything in the world but he’s all the way over there and Wade’s all the way (about seven feet) over here and— “Your heart’s hammering, babydoll.”
Fuck off with the babydoll shit! Fuck! Fucking fuck!
“Sorry, that happens when I think about young Luke Skywalker sometimes. Or old Luke Skywalker. Or Luke Cage...”
Wolvie half-snorts, which is definitely Wolverine speak for good one bub, uncrosses his arms and saunters across the room right up to Wade. He loops two fingers through his katana holster’s strap and doesn’t so much yank as he does politely guide Wade down to his level, and Wade damn near ends up on the floor because his kneecaps have suddenly dissolved and his legs are overcooked spaghetti because Wolvie’s lips meet his through the mask.
He was too dick drunk to appreciate it the first time. But right now, Wade’s got his wits more or less about him and he puckers up too, leaning into the warmth that still reaches him through the thick fabric. Wolvie’s facial hair scratches lightly against it as he pulls away.
It’s hell, being so close but unable to really feel him. Still, better than nothing.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Wolvie asks, tapping him on the cheek firmly. “Scram.”
Wade stands up straight and generates his portal.
“See you around, widdle Wolvie,” He gives a two finger salute before stepping into the portal, one leg in front of the other as always. Zip-zap, here, there, and nowhere all at once.
“Hope not,” Wade hears the amused lift in Wolvie’s voice just before his head passes through. And he doesn’t hear, but boy does he feel the resounding smack! that lands on his left asscheek right before the portal closes and he’s spit out into a new universe with a yelp.
One can only hope the next Wolverine is even half as handsy.