Archive of Our Own

Drinking warm beer on the X-Mansion’s front lawn wasn’t how Wade thought the day would end, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Sprawled across the dented and slightly bloodstained hood of Dopinder’s taxi, mask half pulled up for easy mouth-access, he finished downing his second beer in as many minutes and lobbed the can into those pretentiously groomed bushes.

Colossus had taken Russell inside a while ago, presumably to discuss the kid’s future with whoever was playing Professor X in this franchise. Negasonic and Yukio had followed him in (prompting the adorable Bye Wade/Bye Yukio call and response), and left Wade in the strange company that was Cable, Domino, and an extremely hype Dopinder.

“What a rush, DP!” The taxi-driver-turned-wannabe-contract-killer said, grabbing another beer out of the large cooler in his trunk and bringing it to Wade. “Running down my prey like a cheetah! This is what it means to be alive!”

“I was gonna say, Dopinder, vehicular manslaughter is a good look on you! It totally felt like you’d been driving a cab in New York City for years, but like, the kind that hunts pedestrians down for sport,” Wade complimented, popping the tab and pressing the can back into Dopinder’s hands. “Drink up, Baby Driver, you’ve earned it. Ain’t every day your murder-cherry gets popped! Bandhu was an accident, so he doesn’t count. Probably.”

The smiling twenty-something managed to take one sip of beer before it was yanked back out of his hands.

“Whoa, slow down there, keg queen! Don’t make me confiscate your keys! God, responsible DD’s are so hard to find.” Wade knocked back the rest of it in one go and handed the empty can back to Dopinder. “You’re welcome. So, how’s the cutthroat world of trunk-based beer distribution treating you? How many of these do you even have back there?”

“And why are they piss-warm,” Cable muttered (though, Wade noticed, this hadn’t stopped him from polishing off two cans almost as quickly as Wade had).

“Ah, you see, the beer is just a cover, Mr. Pool!” Dopinder explained animatedly. “I figured a good contract killer would always have a place to store a body, so I bought the biggest cooler I could find and—”

“Dopinder, I love where this is going,” Wade interjected, “but let’s put that thought on hold so Daddy over there doesn’t fight me for custody.” Colossus had just emerged from the X-Mansion and was striding towards them. Wade waved and raised his voice slightly: “Hey honey, did you get the kids all tucked in?”

“Thank you for patience. Russell will be taken on as X-Men trainee—” Colossus began, only to be immediately cut off by Wade.

“Cool, cool, well I think we can all agree that’s enough exposition for this story! X-People get Flambo, X-Force gets both Elric brothers (I'm talking Fullmetal and full metal), and we roll on home before Professor X can say buyer’s remorse.”

“I am not coming with you, Wade,” Colossus, in his infinite patience, said with only a little weariness. “I am X-Men.”

“Boo, fine, well what’s an entire busload of mutant middle schoolers worth? Can we get Yukio? Wolverine’s left testicle?”

Crossing his arms and soldiering on with the forced ease of a man who is often interrupted, Colossus said, “X-Men thank you for help today, but we cannot take you back as trainee at this time. The recent... incident of an X-Men trainee killing several people—”

“Pedophiles,” Deadpool corrected indignantly.

“—on live television has proven difficult to contain—”

“People know they were pedophiles, right? The get-killed-in-prison-anyway flavor of bad guy? I just saved everybody some time! Not to mention a butt ton of taxpayer dollars, which seems like a weird thing to focus on in the face of blatant child abuse, but hey, people value their money more than other people’s children—”

“Wade. This is not final decision. Take some time. Think about what you want. With everything we now know about Essex House, it may still be possible for you to be X-Men someday.” Colossus nodded encouragingly and held out a hand to shake.

“Oh, get in here, you,” Wade said, bypassing the offered hand and going for his signature hug/butt grab combo. Colossus tolerated this briefly, giving Wade’s back a few awkward pats before detaching himself.

“X-Men thank you three as well,” he said to the others, and Dopinder could hardly contain his excitement at being counted among this number. “We are currently working with Child Protective Services to meet the needs of all the Essex children, so I must be getting back. You know where to find us if you need us.”

As Colossus began to walk back to the mansion, a slightly tinny-sounding chorus of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” burst out to accompany him. Glancing back, he saw Wade holding his phone in one hand and doing the iconic Breakfast Club fist with the other. The man of literal-not-figurative steel gave Wade a smile that could possibly be interpreted as fond and called “be good!” before disappearing inside the school.

“Well, that was impressively anti-climactic,” Wade said, stopping the music.

“Yeah, kind of a letdown,” Domino agreed. “Oh hang on—” She walked over to a nearby shrubbery and plucked a crisp $50 bill from its branches. “Never mind, worth it. Well, I’m outta here. Seeya around, boys! It’s sure been something.”

As she set off walking across the X-Mansion’s yard, Dopinder called after her, “Miss! I can give you a ride back into the city!”

“No thanks! I’ve got a good feeling about walking.”

“Bye, Domino!” Wade yelled. “Let’s do this again sometime!”

She smiled, gave him a thumbs-up, and disappeared down the long driveway.

“So,” Wade turned and clapped a friendly hand down on Cable’s left shoulder. “Ouch. Metal all the way up, huh? Wonder how far that goes—” Cable shrugged his hand off before it could conduct a proper investigation. Undeterred, Wade relocated his hand to the small of Cable’s impressively muscled back – not metal down there – and nudged in the direction of Dopinder’s taxi. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in desperate need of a drink that’s actually meant to be drank, not poured into solo cups and served with ping pong balls. C’mon, big guy, first round’s on me.”

“Think you’ll have time to regrow that hand before we get there?” Cable asked.

“Depends on traffic,” Wade answered, but he removed the offending appendage anyway. When he clambered into the backseat a minute later (surprising Dopinder, since Wade usually preferred shotgun), there were two more cans in his hands. “One for the road?”

Cable grunted and accepted the beer.

*

Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Girls might be a shithole, but Weasel’s blowjobs were solid and, more importantly, free. The harried barkeep immediately enlisted Dopinder into bathroom cleanup duty, leaving the two remaining X-Force members alone with each other at the bar.

“Your blowjobs.” Weasel set the two shots down and topped them generously with whipped cream. Cable, who had incorrectly assumed that Wade running into the bar yelling for oral sex was meant to be another stupid joke, now eyed the drinks with more than a little skepticism.

“What’s wrong? Never had a blowjob before?” Wade snickered. “Here, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head and secured the shot glass between his lips, then bobbed his head back and swallowed the whole shot down. A few patrons wolf whistled, but most regulars had seen him do this often enough that it didn’t get much of a reaction anymore.

“Jesus Christ,” Cable said as Wade returned the shot glass to the bar, still no hands, eyebrows waggling exaggeratedly under the mask. “I’m not doing that.”

“No blowjob? Didn’t peg you as a pillow princess, but if you don’t want to—”

Cable took his glass in hand and downed it like any other shot. He had intended to make as little a deal of it as possible, but he wasn’t prepared for the sudden, aggressive sweetness that set his mouth watering. He’d never tasted anything like it before, and from the devious grin on Wade’s face, he could tell.

“Was it good for you?” The merc asked, somehow managing to sound both suggestive and sincere.

“Too sweet,” Cable decided.

“Shoulda guessed you like it a little rough,” Wade said, motioning Weasel back over and ordering two new drinks Cable had never heard of.

Several drinks later, Cable proclaimed his amaretto sour “not bad”, and Wade considered that to be a resounding success. He himself had settled into sucking down Dirty Shirleys like it was his job. God, he missed being able to get drunk. Cable, on the other hand, was feeling it. A slight flush was creeping up the back of his neck, and he kept setting his glass back down a little too hard.

It was at this point that Wade decided to roll the dice on what kind of drunk Cable would be and ask, “So... what’s next?”

Cable was quiet for long enough that Wade thought he’d decided not to answer. “There are others,” he said finally, and the merc’s wandering attention snapped back to the man beside him. “Others like Russell. People who need to be stopped so the world doesn’t whip itself into a perpetual shitstorm.”

“Huh. I can’t tell if I just don’t understand how time travel works in this particular movieverse, or if that’s actually a super dumb plan? Like what if something you change sets off a chain of other events that result in your wife never being born?”

Cable sighed deeply and drained his drink. “What I’m going to do needs to be done. Aliya and Hope will be... fine.” His hand went to the teddy bear on his hip, stroking it absentmindedly.

“Yeah, not really an answer, but I’m thinking we can chalk this one up to suspension of disbelief. How’s about we don’t talk or even think about it ever again? I wanna stay as far away from the realm of foreshadowing as possible.”

“Not talking doesn’t seem like something you’re capable of. Not thinking, on the other hand...”

“If this is the part where I’m supposed to say then why don’t you shut me up and then you kiss me, I just want you to know something first: no matter how much you beg me, I’m not gonna make love to you tonight. Heavy mackin’, sure, maybe even some light petting, but no further than that til you’re sober enough to consent to the good stuff.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cable groaned, standing up from the bar with enough force that Wade just barely managed to grab his barstool before it fell over.

As Cable marched off to the restrooms, Wade couldn’t resist calling after him, “Is this one of those things where I follow you in a bit and we make out in a bathroom stall?”

“Follow me and I’ll clog every toilet in this shitpit with body parts I cut off you,” Cable replied, voice a little too loud from the alcohol.

The bar went a bit quiet at this announcement and Weasel said, “Wade? Please don’t follow him.” Behind him, still holding the mop, Dopinder nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s just lucky I’m not into that,” Wade acquiesced, tilting his empty drink back and tapping the bottom, managing to catch one ice cube in his mouth while the rest cascaded off his face and onto the floor. “Hey Weas,” he said, crunching down on his cube, “send some burgers and fries this way. Whatever’s fast. I think Gramps has low blood sugar.”

When Cable returned, his aggravation with Wade appeared to have faded into a grumpy silence. This lightened considerably when Weasel brought over the food, and was gone entirely by the time Cable had finished his second burger.

“Thank you,” he said, more gruffly than begrudgingly, when he finally surfaced for air.

“What can I say? I’m a provider, an exceedingly giving lover, and have you seen my ass in this suit? Talk about the complete package.”

The double entendre was lost on Cable, who looked equal parts distracted and conflicted. “Do you...” He seemed to wrestle with himself for another moment before gritting his teeth and committing. “Do you know somewhere I can crash for the night?”

Wade choked on a mouthful of fries. “What – wait – you know that’s the opening line to like a hundred pornos, right?” He coughed, thumping his chest as if that would jiggle the fry bits out of his lungs.

“I didn’t exactly plan for an extended stay in this time,” Cable explained.

“Oh, a sci-fi porno, nice twist,” Wade said. “Hang on. Holy tits, Batman, is this heading where I think it’s heading? Are we actually delving into oh my god they were roommates territory? If we’re gonna be roommates, you legally have to tell me. I’m a both-names-on-the-lease kinda guy. Way more romantic and contractually binding than being Facebook official.”

“If I had money for rent, I wouldn’t be asking for a place to stay tonight.”

The merc shooed this away like an approaching mall kiosk attendant. “No prob, Hydra Bob, I can spot you the first few months. I happen to have a nice little powdery nest egg. And Weasel can hook you up with a job or two so you can pay me back. Unless, of course, you wanna pay with your body?” Wade pulled a knotted cherry stem out of his mouth and presented it to him with a flourish, like a saner person might have done with a rose, but in an entirely different situation.

“I watched you tie that and put it in your mouth not two minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I really need to start keeping one of these babies in there 24/7. All about that long con.” Wade tossed the stem over his shoulder.

“So, you have an apartment, and you’re... looking for a roommate?” Cable clarified cautiously.

“No, I actually blew my apartment up pretty recently, it was a whole thing—” Cable groaned and massaged his temples wearily. “—so it’s sounding to me like we’re both homeless, a problem much more easily afforded with a roommate! And hold onto your fanny pack, cause I’m about to solve that problem: I already know a place that’s cheap, fully furnished, and we can move in tonight.”

“If you’re talking about that shithole I found you in earlier—”

“What, Al’s place? I’d like to see you try your hand at interior decorating while blind, Mr. Insensitive. Is this another racist thing or do you hate the visually impaired now too?”

“I meant the cockroaches and mold, shit-for-brains.”

“Welcome to the big city, princess! Roaches and mold were here before us, and they’ll be here long after. Anyway, nah, Al’s place is off the table. She’s maybe-probably-definitely still mad that I peed on her couch while I was re-growing my bladder.”

“Christ.”

“Hey, my entire lower half was a baby at the time! I couldn’t exactly walk to the bodega and buy diapers!”

“Get to the fucking point, Wilson.”

“Right. Weasel!” Wade threw a fry across the bar, which unerringly hit his friend’s cheek. “Is the apartment still available?”

“Yeah. You can go take a look, if you want.” Weasel slid a key across the bar, and Cable found himself following Wade upstairs into a fairly shitty two-bedroom apartment. Weasel’s idea of “fully furnished” appeared to mean the cheapest furnishings Goodwill could offer, mostly in clashing colors, and to Wade, that was beautiful. There wasn’t a single thing in this apartment that couldn’t be easily replaced if he broke it or bled on it or shot it.

“What a dump,” Cable said. But he had lived in much worse. This was doable.

“Yeah,” Wade agreed dreamily. “Roommates?”

Cable considered. He had been looking for a short-term solution to a long-term problem, but what Wade proposed might, shockingly, work. He wasn’t exactly in the financial position to be turning down the offer of a few months’ rent spotted. And, despite the merc’s many annoying quirks, he had proven himself to be a good man through Russell. Maybe the lingering effects of alcohol were making him sentimental, but every now and then, one of the other man’s jokes or even his laugh would remind him of Aliya. That hurt, but in a necessary way—it reminded Cable why he was still here.

“Taking awhile,” Wade remarked. “Is it the blown up apartment thing? Because that was on purpose, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m a great roommate! Al can totally back me up on that. Just give her, like, a month to get over the wet couch incident first.”

“Fine.”

“And I’ve got a Netflix subscription, if that sweetens the pot, and a Pornhub Premium account—”

“Jesus, I said fine,” Cable interrupted with enough exasperation that you wouldn’t think he’d just agreed to move in with the source of it.

Despite this entire, insane plan being Wade’s idea, the merc appeared to be completely blindsided by Cable’s compliance. His mouth started moving out of reflex, but no sound came out, and Cable discovered with no small amount of satisfaction that he had rendered the man speechless. “So you are capable of being quiet,” he said, just a little smugly. “Thanks for the demonstration. Wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

“I’ll take Lines Straight Out of a Porno for $200,” Wade said, finding his tongue again. “This is a pretty elaborate set-up if you just wanted to get in my pants. So much worldbuilding. But seriously, if this is leading up to one of those shove-your-dick-in-my-mouth-to-shut-me-up moves, I’d appreciate a heads—”

“Don’t make me regret this before we’ve even signed the lease, Wilson,” Cable warned.

“Call me Wade. Wilson is for Owens and Lukes and volleyballs. And how can I be sure this isn’t what you attempting humor looks like? Wait, you’re not still drunk, are you?”

“I’m serious. Now lock it down before I change my mind.”

“Are you telling me to put a ring on it? And people say lesbians move fast! I mean, we take down one freaky pedophile cult and now we’re moving in together? Should we just get our first kiss out of the way now?”

Cable took a step towards him, laying on that heavy eye contact he was so good at, and the merc’s brain briefly went into overdrive—there was no way his bluff was being called, right? The moment passed when Cable brushed past him saying, “I’m going to bed” in a tone that, tragically, did not sound very receptive to the “without me? ;)” Wade would have liked to fire back.

Instead, he just said, “Cable.”

The other man paused, and then grunted, “Nathan.”

Wade took Nathan’s metal hand, meeting the expected amount of resistance from the appendage’s owner in doing so, but managing to link their pinkies together (and cop a feel of the metal arm while he was at it). “No take-backsies,” Wade said, quieter, almost seriously. “Nate.”

The look he got in return might have been lip balm-worthy.

Then Wade tore out of the room at a full run, calling, “Sweet dreams, roomie!” over his shoulder. The man had good instincts. Nathan’s other hand had been on his knife, ready and willing to stab him in the dick again if he got too handsy.

Taking advantage of the Wade-free time (something he suspected was soon to be a precious commodity), Nathan gave his guns a quick clean and rinsed himself down as best he could without any bath towels. When he collapsed onto the bare mattress in the room he had picked, he thought sleep would reach him in minutes. But time passed, maybe an hour, maybe three, and his body began to ache with tension. He was breathing too fast, thinking too much, no perceivable threat and yet he remained on high alert. Fumbling for Hope’s bear, in the dark, his eyes briefly tricked him into seeing the shadows as burns. His hands were trembling as they stroked its soft fur. The walls were thin. Nathan could tell that the bar was closed, but every gentle thump of a barstool and rattle of a dish fell on his hypersensitive ears like a gunshot.

And then, muffled but still clear enough to make out, he heard Wade say “Nathan. ” Distant laughter followed—the asshat had to be making fun of him. But something about that distinctive, relentless voice, rumbling on and on from below, put him at ease in a way that he hadn’t been since he first came to the past.

“Wade, you know how I feel about getting paid in cocaine,” Weasel called up the stairs, jerking Nathan out of the slight doze he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen into.

“And you know how I feel about parting with my cocaine,” Wade answered, “but you don’t see me being unprofessional about it.”

Nathan heard the apartment door open and click shut. For a moment, there was complete stillness. Then Wade let out a long, somewhat unsteady breath and padded down the hallway to his new room. The talking started back up almost immediately, but it was surprisingly soft, more of a background hum than distinct words. Nathan was out before he knew it.

*

Nate was, in many ways, a better roommate than Blind Al had been— as Wade delighted in telling her during their semi-weekly “Wade broke in to say hi and get high” chats. He still had a respectable 1300 kilos of cocaine, which he had affectionately dubbed his ‘nest egg,’ stashed in her apartment.

“He cooks, cleans, and lets me call him my trophy husband,” Wade bragged one afternoon, two months in, lying spread-eagled on Al’s carpet after ingesting (in one way or another) an entire kilo of coke. It was true; Nathan kept their apartment obsessively neat, despite Wade’s best efforts toward the contrary. And, after learning that Wade’s idea of a balanced diet was beer, Mexican takeout, and a truly obscene amount of Tums (Wade liked their “crunch factor”), Nate took over grocery shopping and cooking for himself. Occasionally, he would claim to have “made too much,” and leave a plate out for Wade.

“Just say you cooked for me, you domestic wet dream!” Wade admonished gleefully every time, never one to pass up a home-cooked meal even if it was way too healthy for his taste.

Another spectacular upside was that Nate sometimes walked around the apartment shirtless, which Wade made sure to be extremely vocal about appreciating. During the first few weeks, his “Cable body” was gorgeously, unforgivably muscular. However, as he adjusted to the food availability and less strenuous lifestyle of not living in a fucking warzone, a thin layer of fat began to form around his stomach, arms, and thighs. Wade was almost unspeakably elated about this, thrilled by both Nate’s indulgence and enjoyment of the time’s food resources and by how comfortable it was becoming to cozy up to the other man. Also, Wade totally had a thing for dad bods. Though, to be fair, what Nate currently had going on was more of a Daddy bod, wink wink. He expressed all of this and more, of course, with fervor.

Unfortunately, that brings us to Nate’s main downside: he wasn’t nearly as tolerant of the merc’s couch-cuddling, body-clinging habits as Al had been. Wade’s main advantage in that department was Nate’s reluctance to spill (much of) his blood on their shared furniture. And what’s a few light, artery-avoiding stabbings between friends?

After the first few days’ putting up with Wade’s musical chairs routine of following him around until he sat and Wade could pounce, a worn sofa chair appeared in the living room. Wade hated that chair. He pushed the couch as close to Nate’s chair as possible, and he could almost feel the warmth emanating from the other man’s metal arm if he leaned as far over the couch’s armrest as physically possible.

The first time that Wade beat him to the chair, patting his thighs in the universal invitation to come sit, he found himself hoisted unceremoniously into the air and dropped on the floor by Nate’s telekinesis. Nate would regret that decision for weeks to come. Wade’s customary flirting and dirty humor took Nate’s TK to graphic places with entirely too much enthusiasm.

After several more incidents of Wade waiting for Nate in his chair, all of which ended in much less fun ways than telekinesis, the chair mysteriously vanished and was replaced by a sturdy, leather loveseat. Wade’s explanations for this were as wildly outlandish as they were inconsistent, ranging from a dramatic retelling of a 7-man heist to stubbornly insisting that the chair had been a baby couch all along and had just hit its first growth spurt.

At this point, Wade wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Nate had brought in a new chair, but instead, something happened that shocked them both: he never did. To himself, Nathan justified this as conceding in the face of a losing battle. He could only assume that Wade would continue to replace his chairs as quickly as they could be brought in, so it just made sense to cut his losses now. What he couldn’t admit to himself yet, though it was equally true, was that the merc’s exposure therapy might be succeeding in wearing him down.

To his credit, Wade Wilson was extremely good at cuddling. Despite his obnoxious, unrelenting persistence, Wade’s actual cuddling style was shockingly unobtrusive. Like a dance partner, every time Nathan shifted or rearranged, Wade moved accordingly, always managing to settle into the other man’s side in a way that was maximum comfort for both of them. And, Nate realized a few months in, he was comfortable—not just with the somewhat begrudgingly tolerated cuddling, but with the rest of it too. He was comfortable with Wade.

*

Unfortunately, that sense of ease didn’t seem to carry over into the solitary hours of night. Nathan fluctuated between periods of insomnia and sickening nightmares. When sleep refused to come, he had taken to lying on the couch with the TV on low, just so the silence didn’t put his teeth on edge. Wade, whose sleep schedule was non-existent, stumbled upon him like this by accident the first time.

“OMG,” the merc said delightedly, oblivious to Nate’s foul mood, “are we having a slumber party? Should I break out the popcorn and dirty mags? No, wait, better idea—skip straight to the good stuff—sexy pillow fight and kissing practice. I’ll go get the pillows, you take off your shirt!”

Wade bolted down the hall and was back in seconds with two stained, lumpy pillows that probably looked more like him than his pre-mutant selfies did. He was a little surprised to find that Nate hadn’t moved; he’d figured the other man would have escaped to his room and locked the door, even with the precious little time it had taken him to retrieve the pillows.

“Nate?” Wade nudged his knee. “You dead?”

Nathan grunted.

“Cool. Can you scooch those size elevens for just a sec—”

Without opening his eyes, Nathan kicked at the hands attempting to move his feet and connected with a solid crack.

“Fuck! I think you broke a finger. Aaaand... all better. Guess I missed the fun part of the sleepover. I was always the kid who wanted to stay up all night. Talk about feelings and boys and all that. Ah well. This is what I get for not RSVPing.”

Nathan heard Wade cautiously approach the couch again and tensed. When the merc touched him (the neck, this time), he grabbed the offending limb and finally opened his eyes, already winding his other hand back in preparation for a well-deserved punch. Wade was bent slightly over him with a pillow in his non-restrained hand, poised to slide it under Nate’s neck. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but the moment of hesitation was all Wade needed to slip the pillow beneath his slightly raised head.

“Old man like you, should really take better care not to blow out that back,” he said lightly. “Whoever designed this piece of shit couch clearly never heard of lumbar support.”

Nate’s metal fingers tightened on Wade’s wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise the bone. He hadn’t quite relinquished the desire to punch the merc square in his still-flapping jaw. Might buy him a few minutes of peace. Would probably feel good to hit something.

“You can, if you want.” Wade’s voice was still casual, but quieter now. He might not be a telepath – hell, Cable might not even be one in this continuity, who the fuck knows – but it wasn’t hard to guess what Nate was thinking about. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Nathan’s grip slackened in response to the strange edge to the other man’s words, and he abruptly recalled the few details he’d been able to glean about the death of Wade’s girlfriend. The merc rarely spoke of her, which was a dead giveaway for someone so talkative—he was clearly still hurting too. It wasn’t fair of Nathan to take his grief out on him, no matter how resilient a punching bag he’d be.

“It’s the sexual tension, right?” Wade said, ruining the moment like a goddamn pro. “It’s suffocating. Whaddaya say we move this along before it turns into a multi-chapter slow burn—”

Nathan groaned and shoved Wade away before draping one arm across his eyes, clearly dismissing the other man. To his exasperation, the merc only went as far as the loveseat, and it sounded like he was settling in. Not even a full minute passed before Wade was talking at the TV. He did this during the day too, and Nathan typically found it grating when he was actually trying to pay attention to the news or whatever show had briefly caught his interest. Now, though, it was honestly a relief. The stream of chatter was constant, low, and surprisingly soothing, like white noise or a late-night radio host broadcasting from just a few feet away. The pillow beneath him smelled like Wade; so, it could definitely use a wash, but it was familiar and calming all the same. Sleep found him easier after that.

In the subsequent weeks and months, the merc made himself an uninvited, but not altogether unwelcome, part of Nate’s struggle with sleep. Whenever he posted up on the couch with the TV on low, the other man was sure to follow sooner or later.

Wade never asks about his insomnia, and Nathan never asks about the time he found Wade in the tub after hearing a muffled gunshot. He especially never tells Wade that, for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, he stayed with the merc’s body until a rattling breath finally announced his return to life.

*

And so, like most things in domestic life, what starts as routine can quickly become habit. Between the almost daily couch cuddling and occasional late-night sessions of what Wade had dubbed “Deadpool ASMR”, the change between them had been so gradual that Nathan didn’t realize how fucked he was until the damage was done.

It was maybe four months into this arrangement, and Wade had been away for a week on a longer-than-average contract, when it suddenly struck Nathan that he missed the other man. And not in an “I need to get out more” way, either—he missed Wade specifically. When the merc came limping home that evening – one leg still shorter than the other as it regrew – Nate cooked them both a big dinner and let Wade cuddle up to him with significantly less protest than usual.

That night (or, more accurately, an ungodly hour of the following morning), after a particularly gruesome nightmare had rendered Nathan unable to sleep yet again, he dragged himself to the couch as usual. His eyes were shut, TV droning softly in the background, when he heard the familiar tread of Wade’s bunny slippers approaching. For some reason, in that warm, dark moment, it didn’t strike him as at all strange to roll from his back onto his side and open his arms.

There was a long, breathless pause (Wade had literally stopped breathing), and then the merc eagerly (and, to his credit, somewhat gently) slid into Nate’s arms and assumed the little spoon position. For several uncertain minutes, Wade didn’t say a single word. Barring a few soft sighs and indistinct hums of pleasure, he didn’t make a sound. This was new, and fragile, and it felt like his invitation could be revoked at any moment.

And then Nate exhaled, readjusted, and pulled the other man in tighter. His forehead pressed against Wade’s shoulder, and may even have nuzzled it briefly. The merc’s tension broke and he finally allowed himself to relax into the embrace. Then, as if it was any other night, he started quietly talking at the TV. It was like this, hearing as well as feeling Wade rumbling against him, that Nate fell asleep faster and more deeply than he had in a long time.

When Nathan woke up, he was alone in the apartment. To some extent, this was a relief. He wasn’t quite sure how to face Wade this morning, and he suspected the insufferable fuckwit’s smug attempt at pillow talk would have been unbearable. Still, some weaker part of him couldn’t help feeling a little let down, robbed as he was of the opportunity to shove Wade off the couch at the first inappropriate joke or unsubtle grope. Without Wade here to cheapen it in some way, Nathan was forced to confront the fact that he had willingly instigated an intimate situation with the other man—and he had enjoyed it. He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t like not knowing.

When Wade came barreling into the apartment twenty minutes later with a bag full of burgers, Nathan realized he needn’t have worried.

“Breakfast!” Wade announced, throwing his mask on the floor and jumping onto the vacant couch. He rarely wore his mask around the house anymore, which was a private testament to his own comfort level with Nate. “This is all the International House of Bad Ideas sells now, so I hope you like the taste of mediocrity!”

Nate stepped out of the bathroom, freshly dressed and hair still wet from a shower. He unerringly caught the foil-wrapped package Wade chucked at his face and the merc made a disgruntled noise, wishing he had stopped it with TK instead. Nate downed the entire burger in remarkably few bites, ignored the predictable “oh baby, tell me you eat ass like that” comment, and nodded to Wade in thanks while he chewed. Wade, of course, took this as confirmation that he does eat ass, and chose to celebrate by concocting a truly vulgar fantasy involving telekinesis, ass eating, and a bottle of ketchup. Nate stifled a smile and reached for a second burger, relieved that nothing had really changed.

*

The next time Nathan woke up gasping and sweaty, it was for an entirely different reason.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, staring down at his erection while snippets of the dream he’d been having replayed a little too vividly in the back of his mind. The infuriating, barely sane, cumrag of a man in the next room was balls fucking deep in Nate’s brain now.

Groaning, he palmed his dick, feeling a certain sense of trepidation even as his climax approached. Honestly, of all people, why did it have to be the man who couldn’t hold an adult conversation if his life depended on it.

Aliya had been a little like that at the beginning of their relationship. Enthusiastic, physical, a shameless flirt, and skittish as all hell when it came to discussing any of it. He certainly did have a type.

Aliya. Nathan’s hand slowed, bracing for the dull, familiar ache that accompanied most of his thoughts of her. The grief was still there, but it felt quieter, muted beneath his impending release and the strange thrill that the sex dream had left him with. He was healing. Wade was helping.

Wade. Images of the merc splayed upon his bed, moaning wantonly as Nate fucked his remaining brains out returned to the forefront of his mind with a vengeance. Cursing under his breath, he flipped onto his stomach and grinded into his fist, imagining Wade babbling ecstatically beneath him. He came with a quiet grunt, spilling onto the sheets and quickly mopping it up with a handful of tissues.

“Christ,” he mumbled, collapsing back onto his bed and feeling the damp patch beneath his bare chest. “Fuck you, Wade Wilson.”

*

Despite everything, all of Wade’s flirting and dirty talk and butt-groping, the man still managed to look surprised when Nathan dropped a heavy, tentative hand onto the merc’s bare thigh a few nights later.

“I knew you lied about not liking my hotpants!” Wade said automatically, and the fingers on his leg tightened in both annoyance and resolve.

“Wade. They’re awful. And it doesn’t matter what you call them; they’re definitely not pants.” He wondered, as he often did with Wade, how the conversation he wanted to have had been derailed so quickly.

“You take that back! These bad boys say ‘bootylicious’ on the butt, and—”

“Wade,” Nate repeated, with enough authority that the other man actually quieted this time. And, in that moment, he realized there was nothing he could say that wasn’t already being said by the way Wade’s warm, solid body pressed into his side. So he settled for, “What can I do to make you take those off?”

Okay, that was clumsy. He was out of practice. But it seemed to do the trick for Wade, whose poorly named ‘hotpants’ were managing to become even tighter on him. Nate felt his own cock twitch at the sight and was again struck by how absurd the entire situation was.

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re propositioning me or if you just really hate my hotpants,” Wade answered, almost managing to sound casual while Nate’s thumb rubbed circles into his thigh. “I’m gonna need it in writing if you actually wanna see me naked, ‘cause the last person to get an eyeful without suing for emotional damages was Blind Al, and. Well. Speaks for itself.”

“I’ve seen you with goddamn toddler legs, Wade. And it’s not like that full-crotch condom you’ve got on is leaving much to the imagination anyway.”

“You don’t know what I’ve got under here! It could be the face of Lord Voldemort for all you—”

“Jesus Christ, Wade, enough!” And then Nate’s lips were covering his. The kiss started hard, but quickly deepened into something long and slow and exploratory, with Nate setting the pace because Wade still hadn’t figured out what the ever-loving fuck was happening. When he finally pulled back, Nate said, “I’m serious. I want to give whatever the hell this is a try. What do you want?”

When Wade didn’t know what to say, he had a tendency to start talk-singing whatever song was stuck in his head at the time. In this case, it happened to be the JBiebs remix of Despacito. Nate waited (only somewhat impatiently), and the merc soon tapered off as he discovered that he didn’t know the lyrics half as well as he thought he did. In the brief silence that followed, Nate leaned in slowly, giving Wade plenty of time to decide if he wanted to be kissed again.

Wade did.

The second time wasn’t nearly as gentle. Wade kissed Nate back thoroughly, hungrily, with a certain desperation, as if he thought he’d never get to do it again so he wanted it done properly. Also, the man had about six hands. Nate’s arms, chest, back, ass, and thighs were all caressed and groped, somehow in a way that felt both greedy and worshipful. At some point during this kiss, Wade’s tongue forced something thin and foreign into Nate’s mouth. With a sound of disbelief, he broke the kiss and pulled a tied cherry stem out of his mouth.

“All about that long con, baby,” Wade said with the biggest shit-eating grin he had ever seen.

“I’m gonna tie you in a fucking knot,” Nate threatened, shoving the other man onto his back none-too-gently and pushing his shirt up. When he attached his lips to one of Wade’s nipples, with just the right amount of teeth to make the merc yelp out “oh holy shitcakes,” he pressed two fingers into the man’s mouth. He worked his way down Wade’s body with kisses and nips while simultaneously working his fingers in the other man’s mouth.

When he finally reached Wade’s so-called hotpants, he gave the merc’s bulge a slow, heavy rub with his techno-organic hand. The stretchy fabric was already slightly damp with sweat and, he suspected, precum. Wade arched into his hand with a garbled laugh of “and the hotpants do it again!”

Nate snorted and retrieved his fingers from the merc’s mouth before yanking the ridiculous article of clothing down to his knees. Wade’s erect, leaking dick sprung free and he groaned in appreciation. Being careful not to touch the other man’s erection, Nate moved back up the couch for another enthusiastically-received kiss.

“God, I thought you’d never get with the program,” Wade gasped between kisses. “Ness and I talked this out months ago, and she’s cool with it obvs, she’s the best—” He lost his train of thought with a strangled noise as Nate pressed his two spit-slick fingers against the tip of Wade’s cock, mixing saliva with precum, just barely rubbing the slit. The merc’s hips bucked in response, and Nate adjusted so that his thighs were resting most of their weight on the other man’s, preventing further movement.

“My wife and I have an arrangement,” Nate murmured against Wade’s pockmarked neck, nose brushing the other man’s ear and making him shudder. “The future’s a goddamn hellscape. It’s important to take pleasure where you can find it.”

“Would you believe this is actually not the worst dirty talk I’ve ever heard?” Wade asked.

Nate couldn’t help it; he laughed. Emboldened, Wade grabbed two eager handfuls of ass and massaged briefly before tugging at the back of the other man’s shirt. Nate let him help pull it over his head, and returned the favor with Wade’s. Skin aside, the merc’s body was strikingly toned. He placed his T-O hand on Wade’s chest, thumb idly rubbing a nipple, and stroked his wet fingers across the head of the merc’s dick one last time. Then, he reached lower.

Wade’s balls jerked as a rough palm briefly grazed them, and then one slick finger was circling his hole. His breath hitched and sped up, hands fumbling for the waistband of Nate’s pants. When the other man batted his hands away playfully, the merc actually whined.

“Relax, beautiful,” Nate told him, pressing a chaste kiss to the other man’s collarbone. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Whatever Wade had expected to hear, it was not fucking that. With a slightly breathless oath, the merc managed to hook an arm around Nate’s neck and drag him down, kissing his lips, neck, anything he could reach, really. The other man chuckled, allowing this for a minute before prying Wade off and pinning both his wrists over his head with one hand.

“Like that, do you?” Nate asked, returning his other hand to the merc’s ass with some difficulty—the man was too damn tall. “Thought you might. All that big talk, but here you are practically begging to be my pillow princess.”

“Don’t go throwing around slang you don’t understand, grandpa,” Wade answered, and then clamped his mouth shut as Nate’s finger pressed inside him, barely managing to stifle an embarrassing moan.

“Didn’t catch that,” the smug bastard said as he worked his digit into the merc’s ass with ruthless efficiency. “Speak up, Wade.”

But Wade was right not to trust his voice at that moment, because the other man pushed a second finger in and began spreading him in earnest. When Nate had gotten as far as he could with two fingers, he paused and stared in the direction of his bedroom, left eye briefly flickering orange. Confused, the merc craned his head around to look. He was rewarded with the sight of a lube bottle hurtling out of the room and into Nate’s hand, courtesy of that oh-so-convenient telekinesis. God, Wade did love a show. He didn’t even realize his arms were free until Nate’s fingers slid out of him, then his hands were right back on Nate’s gorgeous ass before any lube could make it out of the bottle.

Nate might have laughed at the state Wade was in – face flushed, pupils fully dilated, lips red from biting back moans – if his own erection wasn’t throbbing so insistently. Instead, he told the merc to make himself useful, and Wade was only too happy to help Nate shimmy his pants down. It felt strange to be doing this for the first time on their shitty couch, not even fully unclothed, like a couple of impatient kids. Nate had wanted to take things slower, but Wade was more touch-starved than he’d expected; the merc was already bordering on overexcited, with the head of his dick mottled reddish purple. Neither of them were going to last very long at this rate, Nate realized, his own cock aching under Wade’s hungry stare.

Nate tipped the lube into his hand, swiftly coating his fingers and cock, trying to focus on the cool sensation and calm himself down a bit. Two fingers pressed back into Wade, joined shortly by a third. The fingers kneading Nate’s bare ass picked up speed. When Nate pressed in to the knuckle and finally brushed the perfect spot, Wade snapped.

“Enough prep already!” He ground out, too worked up to be embarrassed by his own hoarse voice. His fingernails were biting into Nate’s ass. “What kind of excessive mise-en-place bullshit—”

“Calm down, princess,” Nate said, somehow managing to sound both soothing and insulting as he removed his fingers from Wade. The merc made a noise of protest, but Nate just held his wiggling hips down until Wade could collect himself. Nate’s back was already aching from this position. With a groan, he slid one leg off Wade’s thigh and onto the floor. The merc’s fingers instantly clamped down on his ass, preventing Nate from getting off him entirely.

“Where the actual ass do you think you’re going?” Wade asked indignantly.

Nate huffed out a laugh and grabbed the other man’s hands, tugging Wade upright with him. “Get up,” he said, “and take off those stupid pants.”

Wade scrambled up from the couch, more than a little suspicious. “If this was all some elaborate prank because you hate my hotpants, I’m gonna kill you, Nate!”

Nate blinked at him and then very deliberately stepped out of his own pants without breaking eye contact. The merc swallowed convulsively, unable to stop his eyes from flicking down to take in Nate’s impressive erection. Then, Nate sat back down on the couch properly and patted his thighs in wordless invitation.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joe Biden,” Wade said and finally kicked the clingy fabric off his ankles. Placing his hands on the other man’s broad shoulders, Wade clambered onto his lap, thighs burning pleasantly as he straddled Nate’s thick legs. His dick bumped against Nate’s and both men groaned.

Nate grasped the merc’s hip with one hand and dragged his neck down for a searing kiss with the other. Wade couldn’t resist rutting his hips forward, seeking more friction on his neglected cock. There were suddenly two hands on his hips, effectively stilling him.

“Can’t wait, can you?” Nate growled, teasing. “Your generation really is all about instant gratification.”

“Rate you’re going, I’m starting to wonder if you mean waiting for marriage,” Wade retorted. “Get on with it, old ma-aaah!” The merc’s taunt cut off in an embarrassingly loud moan as Nate, without further ado, lifted Wade’s hips and pulled him down onto his cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re tight,” Nate grunted, adjusting his angle a bit and guiding Wade’s ass down slowly, slowly, there.

He bottomed out and the merc cursed, caught somewhere between arousal and severe discomfort, muttering something to himself about “big dick energy”. Nate held still and let Wade adjust for a few seconds before experimentally rolling his hips. Shit, too soon. Wade hissed, nails digging into Nate’s shoulders.

“What happened to ‘get on with it, old man’?” Nate gibed, but his voice was fond and his thumbs rubbed Wade’s hipbones gently.

“Ness’s wasn’t this big,” the merc grumbled, “that what you wanted to hear, you fucking Adonis? Think you punctured a lung... just gimme a minute for my goddamn guts to rearrange...” He cautiously readjusted, tilting his hips further back and bracing one hand on Nate’s knee. When Wade rocked his own hips out and back in on Nate’s cock, Nate rewarded him by taking his dick in hand (not the metal one, but Wade wouldn’t dream of complaining in this moment) and giving it a single leisurely pump.

“Ohthatissonotfuckingfairyoubastard,” Wade groaned, throwing his head back, automatically thrusting into the sensation and bottoming himself back out in the process.

“Christ, Wade, you are so fucking beautiful like this,” Nate said, and he meant it.

Wade didn’t know what to do with this kind of compliment. Sure, it gave him the tinglies, but in a certain “not sure if this sweater is soft or itchy” way. Sometimes you just can’t tell til you take it off and find a rash. And Wade, well, he had one hell of a rash.

In what may just as easily have been a punishment or a reward, the merc used his inner muscles to abruptly clamp down on the other man’s cock. Nate moaned in surprise and snapped his hips up reflexively, and goddammit, that was his prostate, now Wade was moaning too. Nate seemed to realize what he’d hit because he did it again, and then again, pumping Wade’s cock in time but never with as much pressure as the merc needed. Wade started to pick up the pace on his own at that point, and Nate did his best to meet him halfway. The merc could feel his climax in the distance, but knew he’d never reach it if Nate didn’t start jerking him off fucking properly.

Bracing his feet more firmly on either side of Nate’s thighs, Wade released his grip on the other man’s shoulder and wrapped his hand around the hand that was stroking his dick. He squeezed and started pumping, forcing Nate’s hand along with him at the pace he wanted. Nate just laughed, and the vibration of it did sinful things to Wade’s currently hypersensitive body.

“Fuck, Nate, I’m close,” he gasped, and Nate’s own breath caught in response. Nate began rutting up into him with purpose now, matching the punishing pace Wade set with his hand, still grinding against his prostate more often than not. Wade was finally getting everything he wanted and it was fucking glorious.

“Wade – inside – can I?” Nate panted, and Wade was positively giddy about his incoherence.

“Yes, you fucking gentleman!” Wade answered, and then Nate was coming hot and hard into the merc’s ass. Two more strokes was all it took for Wade to join him, striping his own stomach with cum while a thin dribble of the remainder leaked down Wade’s shaft onto their intertwined fingers. It was goddamn romantic.

When they had caught their breath, Nate TK’d a towel over and mopped them both up as best he could. He slid out of Wade so carefully that the merc rolled his eyes and asked if Nate was so sex-stupid that he’d forgotten about Wade’s healing factor. Nate didn’t take the bait, but he did capture the merc’s lips in a final, lazy kiss before pushing Wade off of him.

“Gonna take a shower,” Nate said, grabbing his clothes off the ground and giving Wade a welcome eyeful in the process. “No, you can’t join me.”

“Hey, I’m the one who just got cummed on and in,” Wade protested.

“You take too long. I’ll be five minutes.”

“Make it three, and we’re cuddling after!”

Nate shook his head, but he was smiling as he walked away. They did end up cuddling after.

*

Remarkably little changed between them. Now that sex was finally on the table, Wade found himself unwilling to risk the very real threat of sex withholding, so he tried not to test Nate’s patience too frequently. Besides, the merc had already been such a flirt that it was kind of hard to up the ante without going to some truly shameless places. Which he did, of course, but only when he was feeling particularly desperate for a down-and-dirty quickie. Wade liked to think he still had some dignity.

Nate’s nightmares came less frequently now, but he found other excuses to end up on the couch late at night, knowing Wade would follow. For example, the next time Nate woke sporting a semi, he decided the merc should really take some responsibility for it.

Lying in the dark, just barely stroking himself, the few minutes before Wade finally approached felt far too long. When Nate opened his arms, Wade slid into little spoon position as usual—but this time, he was treated to an unexpectedly aggressive hand shoving its way into his pants.

“That’s one way to say hello!” Wade said, and Nate’s other hand slipped under his shirt to tweak a nipple. The merc groaned as – sweet Sodom and Gomorrah – metal fingers clasped around his already-swelling dick. Nate gave him a few dry, harsh jerks before reaching for the lube he’d strategically brought from his room. Seeing this, the merc exclaimed delightedly, “it was premeditated, your honor!” Then Nate’s teeth were on his neck and a slick finger was in his ass, and the resulting exclamation would have looked like a whole lot of #$@&%*! if this were a comic.

Nate’s lubed hand returned to Wade’s dick, setting a somewhat urgent pace. He wanted to know what it looked like, what it sounded like, to have the merc come undone in his grasp.

“We’ve come so far since that first time, emphasis on come,” Wade said, voice a little strangled under his ministrations. “Remember how you almost punched my face in? But just look at us now! We might get that sexy pillow fight after all.”

Nate huffed out a breath on the merc’s shoulder, simultaneously annoyed and amused as he often was with Wade. A man getting his cock and balls so thoroughly fondled had no business sounding that coherent. Concentrating, Nate pulled a pillow out of his room with TK and sent it flying straight into the merc’s face. It bounced off and landed on the floor with a satisfying thump.

“See, totally sexy,” Wade said, but it came out as more of a moan when Nate’s hand twisted on the head of his dick just right. Nate pressed another rough kiss to his neck, and the prickling stubble sent a shiver down Wade’s spine.

Nate’s own achingly hard cock was trapped between their bodies. Every now and then, he rocked it pointedly against the merc’s back to remind him it was there. Wade’s breath was ragged now, and Nate figured it was just about time. Pulling his hands out of the merc’s boxers, he growled “pants off” in the other man’s ear and Wade scrambled to comply, shimmying them down to his knees, not bothering to kick them off fully. Nate stifled a smirk at Wade’s impatience and stripped his own pants off in one efficient movement.

“Turn around,” Nate said, and Wade made a noise of surprise before awkwardly rolling over to face him. It was a tight fit on the couch, and their dicks bumped together enticingly with the position change.

“Uh oh,” Wade said. “Tip to tip. Should I be worried? Where’s the knife?”

Nate grabbed the back of Wade’s head and pulled him in for a distractingly thorough kiss as his other arm pulled the merc flush against him by the waist. Wade groaned into the kiss and, ever the ass-man, wriggled his hands under and around Nate to get in a solid grope. Then, he used his grip on Nate’s ass to tug him forward while simultaneously rocking his own hips. The kiss lost its form as both men made noises of appreciation when their erections ground together.

Shoving a hand between them, Nate took both cocks into his large fist and began pumping with a twisty wrist technique that had Wade babbling praises and masturbation jokes alike. This was what Nate had wanted: to see Wade’s eyes open and unfocused, hear him panting as they breathed each other’s air, feel him rutting needily against him. To make him fall apart.

“Come for me, beautiful,” Nate murmured. Wade’s glassy eyes locked onto his, and the merc obeyed with a moan so obscene that Nate was only a few strokes behind.

In the breath-catching minutes that followed, Wade lazily traced a finger through the wet stain between them and snickered. “At this rate, we’re gonna need a new couch, like, tomorrow.” The merc then made to roll onto his back, forgetting how small the couch was, and promptly knocked the wind out of himself by falling flat on the floor.

“Nate?” He wheezed. “What’re your thoughts on sofa beds?”