Inappropriando.
WHO: Rogue the Untouchable and Deadpool the Unf***able, aka the worst sitcom ever: The No-Bang Theory
WHERE: His high-rise penthouse
WHEN: After this charming conversation about dry humping.
WARNINGS: Their unlikely friendship has a weird and tangy UST after they got drunk and breathy and admitty together. So there's likely to be some tawdry talk.
SUMMARY: Rogue is bored enough to go hang out with Wade, but she may or may not think this is actually sort of a date.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start, whatever afterwards
The window is left open, just as he said it would be. So a superhot flying X-Babe can pop through the window and cure her boredom.
He certainly doesn't have anything better to do. Those Pacific Blue marathons trick you by rerunning the first 40 episodes again to make their '80' boast.
His current digs are a top-floor penthouse in a swanky tall building downtown - not unlike the last place she might remember, but this time he's not squatting. Thanks to Weazel working techno-magic and dumping millions in his bank account, he's kickin' it himself. The place looks fairly pristine, save for the couch in front of the giant wall-sized television. The cushions look lived-in, slept on and almost like he hasn't left it in days - the imprint of his delectable booty will attest to that.
The coffee table's got nachos and Red Bull, just like he promised, figuring she's bringing the tequila. If she doesn't, he's got a fridge chock full o' various hooches for the hoochie to choose from.
He's slipped on some nice black dress slacks and a dark green button-down over his standard merc-outfit covering him head-to-toe, complete with mask. And his fingers are crossed for her to have chosen the French maid outfit.
WHERE: His high-rise penthouse
WHEN: After this charming conversation about dry humping.
WARNINGS: Their unlikely friendship has a weird and tangy UST after they got drunk and breathy and admitty together. So there's likely to be some tawdry talk.
SUMMARY: Rogue is bored enough to go hang out with Wade, but she may or may not think this is actually sort of a date.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start, whatever afterwards
The window is left open, just as he said it would be. So a superhot flying X-Babe can pop through the window and cure her boredom.
He certainly doesn't have anything better to do. Those Pacific Blue marathons trick you by rerunning the first 40 episodes again to make their '80' boast.
His current digs are a top-floor penthouse in a swanky tall building downtown - not unlike the last place she might remember, but this time he's not squatting. Thanks to Weazel working techno-magic and dumping millions in his bank account, he's kickin' it himself. The place looks fairly pristine, save for the couch in front of the giant wall-sized television. The cushions look lived-in, slept on and almost like he hasn't left it in days - the imprint of his delectable booty will attest to that.
The coffee table's got nachos and Red Bull, just like he promised, figuring she's bringing the tequila. If she doesn't, he's got a fridge chock full o' various hooches for the hoochie to choose from.
He's slipped on some nice black dress slacks and a dark green button-down over his standard merc-outfit covering him head-to-toe, complete with mask. And his fingers are crossed for her to have chosen the French maid outfit.