WHO: Deadpool (
wadewilson) and Siryn (
is_more_sonic)
WHERE: City rooftop Deadpool designated
WHEN: May 19th at 8:00PM
WARNINGS: Deadpool. He's pretty much his own warning.
SUMMARY: After avoiding her for days, Deadpool finally sets a location for the two of them to meet.
FORMAT: Para
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Siryn was about ready to punch him in the teeth. )
He bites his tongue to stave off that train of thought before it becomes some pathetic attempt at a guilt trip. She never needs to know what happened that day after she left him.
Wade is in no way calm. The hitching in his breath is evidence of that. The hand she can't see has a white-knuckle deathgrip on the couch cushion to try and keep himself from shaking.
Deep breaths. Oh god. Deep breaths.
"Terry. You know what I'm sportin' under the hood here. It's sweet that you thought to mention it, but you don't have to worry about that long line of nonexistent supermodels and Kardashians outside my door just clamoring to get a piece of this scabalanche."
A hard swallow.
"Are you absolutely sure you can deal with this ugly mug?"
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But he dropped it, so so would she.
Terry spared him a sidelong glance. With that mask it was sometimes so hard to tell what he was really thinking; it hid most of the obvious facial expressions. Was she sure? It was something she'd been rolling over in her mind for months, if she was honest with herself. She liked Wade, but he was a handful. It's a large part of why she'd told him to wait before. She just hadn't had the time to manage both him and X-Force.
But now that X-Force was gone, now that her responsibilities were more easily tended to... she had the time. Moreover she wanted to, she realized quite suddenly. Not just as a project to keep him from going insane, but because she actually liked him.
"Aye," She said after a quiet moment of consideration, then added with a slight smile. "And if ye get out of hand, I can always punch ye again."
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But still, he pulls off that mask, revealing that mangled face of his. Not sure why he's feeling compelled to be encouraging her to run away. But this is a really important point.
"It involves kissing this, Terry. Not just a pity-touch here and there. It involves bringing this to cotillions and family reunions and ice cream socials. It involves putting your mouth and maybe someday your body on this. Are you sure? Will you be able to handle it when the 41st cousin in a row pukes at the sight of me?"
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She reached up and cupped one of those scarred cheeks, tilting her head to the side a bit as she spoke. "It's nothing I haven't already seen, Wade. And ye don't give yourself enough credit. These marks-- they're a sign of ye bein' determined to live no matter what. It's not somethin' to be afraid of. It's somethin' to respect. Ye should never think less of yourself for 'em."
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His lips purse a little, and his eyes close at her touch.
"That's... kind of you, Red. But you can explain it away all you want. You'd still have to wake up staring this down every morning, and I wouldn't wish it on you."
Yes, he's thinking in long-term terms. Perhaps alarmingly so.
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"I wasn't sayin' it to ye to be kind," Terry said gently, "I was sayin' it cause it's what I think of ye. Ye should know better 'n most that I'm not out to make excuse for ye, or what ye do. When I disagree I make it pretty clear, I thought." She gave him a small smile, "And usually with my fists, I'm pretty sure."
She placed her other hand on his opposite cheek, forcing him to turn and look up at her. "And I'm pretty sure I've told ye before to let me make my own decisions instead of decidin' for me. I hate it when people do that."
And with that she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his.
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Never thought this would ever actually happen.
He watches her light freckles move ever-so-slightly in front of his disbelieving eyes, amazed at how beautiful she even smells. There's even some dramatic music playing from the movie that somehow underscores how remarkable this is.
His free hand slides out of his glove, but he hesitates with it, as much as he wants to sink his fingers into her hair. He's terrified of going too far... but she won't be able to mistake just how much sheer emotion he has bubbling at his surface for her.
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One hand slides down from his cheek to rest at the center of his chest. Prolonging touch yet setting a boundary as her eyes slide closed and she feels his heart pound underneath her hand. Hers is too; in the morning she'll probably be amazed at her own boldness tonight.
But Wade had been honest with her; moreso than he probably ever had been. How could she not've responded in kind?
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And that gradually begins to calm him down. Slowly, he begins to remember that he knows how to kiss a woman, and he's wanted to kiss this particular woman since the moment he laid eyes on her. She's persevered enough with him to push through his self-loathing and his rough-around-the-edges style that likely betrays more of how out-of-practice he was than he'd ever want to admit to, and she's unearthed the man whose only desire is to show her how much her trust and belief has meant to him these recent years.
The soul she saved is poured into this moment.
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But as always, Wade's presence calmed her. She felt safe; a kind of security she hadn't had from anyone in-- well, ever. Waking or sleeping Wade would be there for her, but in a strangely non-smothering way. He'd be there to help her, not save her.
And in turn she'd seen sides of him that no one else had in quite some time, if ever. She treasured them.
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This was something else entirely. There's no rush to do anything more, no need for sex to avoid intimacy. This was something he'd aspired to, something that felt pure. And that absolute thrill that accompanies it is amplified a thousandfold by that ragged little breath she took when she pulled back. That unmistakable proof beyond words that she's feeling the same intensity he is.
It's beautiful.
Good god, she's gonna turn him into a sap.
"Just so I know," he breathes, barely above a whisper. "H-how long are you gonna need to process that before we can do that again?"
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Leaning forward, she kissed him again. Not as long or intense, just enough to make her point. She'd been processing things for a long time. This was one thing she didn't have to do much more thinking on.
When she pulled back she bit at her lower lip, pushing back a smile. "Does that answer that for ye?"
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"Maybe?" he says with the biggest smile he's had since he was 9 and got that Louisville slugger for his birthday that he used to go beat his lunch money out of the teenager what took it from him. "Because the answer I'm getting is that we get to play tonsil hockey for the rest of the night as long as I keep my hands away from the Mason/Dixon lines."
Those hands actually flap with giddy hopeful excitement at the prospect.
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"Aye, so long as ye behave." Though Siryn was increasingly finding that her definition of behave was slipping, given that making out seemed to have made it this side of the line.
She tilted her head in quiet thought for a moment, and then added. "And no following me to the X-Force base."
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"Deal!" he's quick to say. Last thing he wants to do is hang out with X-Force... although he might eventually have to start doing that... ah well. He can at leas tie a tetherball onto Shatterstar's doofy topknot...
"I can totally behave. I'll behave like a motherscratcher. I'll behave so much you'll beg me to misbehave. I'll be the behavin'est behaver that ever behaved."
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It didn't matter what they'd say, she reminded herself. They'd respect her choice or be told they had no say in the matter anyway. Theresa was right where she wanted to be.
That didn't mean she wasn't still a little fuzzy on the mechanics.
"So does this mean that we're-- together, then?"
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