Cable and Deadpool Kink Meme
Hosting another kink!meme, this one based on the Cable and Deadpool comic. The main pairing is Cable/Deadpool obviously, but in the interest of fair play I shall allow any characters/pairings based on the comic series. Rules are as follows:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there ( Read more... )
“Sorry, Romeo,” Wade managed to gasp, trying his best not to buck into War’s grip, “I never did the horizontal tango with your version in my world.”
For a moment, War stiffened, looking up into his eyes, catching his chin with his right hand, then he smiled, slow and lazy and cruel, and now the kiss was just like the first, Wade choking on War’s tongue, a finger pressed against the pulse on his throat, revulsion an ugly blend with pleasure. The hand slipped back, twisting against his mask at the back of his skull and dragging the fabric uncomfortably tight over his nose and cheekbones.
His arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets when War slammed him back against the wet tiles, dragging his legs up to a narrow waist, Wade’s elbows on broad shoulders, the metal hand on the small of his back, taking his weight, the other now fisting his cock. War grunted, hungry, grinding between his legs, and Wade remembered himself through his dizzy shock of panic-lust-fear-anger to bite.
War pulled back, licking his lips, predatory even as he let Wade back onto the balls of his feet and sank down to his knees, took Wade’s cock in his metal hand and rubbed the callused palm of his right hand over the mercenary’s balls. Wade’s breath stuttered to gasps in his throat, as War looked up at him, lust and possessiveness and all that banked violence. He must have moaned, something. War lowered his head, drew the tip of his metallic tongue all the way up the vein of Wade’s straining prick.
“Jesus fucking God in Heaven,” Wade choked. “Nate.”
“Good,” War whispered against his thigh, the edge of his sneer pressed against scarred flesh, and the rush of sheer hatred that seethed in his belly and put a flush to his cheeks surprised even Wade himself. “You’re learning, Wade.”
“I will kill you,” Wade promised harshly, hissing as lips briefly encircled the fleshy head of his cock. “I’ll find a way.”
“So serious now,” War drawled, mockingly, with a delicate nip at the folds of foreskin that forced Wade to hastily swallow a whine. Another glorious wet lick, root to tip, then slower, encircling, nips, a sucking kiss at the tip that curled his toes. “Where are your jokes and your juvenile songs?”
“Wasted on psycho pervert killers, usually,” Wade pointed out, then jerked convulsively as War seemed to tire of teasing him and swallowed, all unhurried control, all the way to the hilt, Wade’s back arched into a tight bow, a hoarse cry escaping from his throat. War was purring as he began to suck, his throat a wet, tight vibration that made Wade shudder uncontrollably in his shackles. His wrists felt slick, and the scraped wounds from his struggles stung even as they closed.
The first finger that pushed into his ass was uncomfortable, dry, and Wade growled breathlessly in futile warning, jerking forward. War didn’t choke, chuckling instead, if muted, nose pressed against his belly, pulling back, then sinking down again, this time with teeth, the gentle scrape forcing Wade to groan and mouth something unintelligible and filthy in German.
The second finger hurt.
Pain ebbing. Fingers uncomfortable, and probing. It didn’t take genius to see what came next; Wade twisted and bit down hard on his lip when fingertips abruptly stroked up against his prostate. War smirked around the flesh in his mouth, and sucked harder, teeth and tongues and metal fingers curled into his hips, hard enough to bruise.
The third finger made him scream.
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War spat carefully on the ground and got to his feet, a little unsteadily. The chain loosened from the ceiling, and Wade slumped down onto his side hard enough to knock the breath from his chest. Gasping, Wade hardly noticed War stepping carefully on his shackled wrists, his metal hand stroking himself off, rough, uneven jerks. He remembered enough of himself to flinch as War drew a slick line from Wade’s shoulder and across his cheek before grinning and cupping the rest in his palm.
Wade watched as War washed himself, dried off, dressed, all clinical efficiency. At the door, War tossed a key that bounced to a stop an inch from Wade’s fingers. At the mercenary’s frown, War smirked. “I always gave you a day’s grace to start running, love.”
Wade waited until he could no longer hear War’s footsteps before freeing himself and throwing up.
VI.
Wade was fairly sure he was near Dupont Circle by now. It was rather hard to tell, underground by himself with only the dead skeletons of trains for company. Still, he had established some important facts of life, being a) what with all the feral animals underground, he probably wouldn’t go hungry, and b) he would probably catch dysentery, and c) he wasn’t sure if his healing factor covered Interesting Diseases Other Than Cancer. Hmm.
Another random service tunnel, another abandoned set of pipes, and Wade wandered out into a long-dried sewage tunnel, the walls discolored with interesting shades of green. “I’m a mighty mighty man… I’m young an’ in my priiime…”
“Can’t imagine how you could live by yourself for so long, Wilson.” Wolverine commented, stepping out from an intersection of tunnels. Logan looked wary, distant, and as he sniffed at the air, Wade was sure that the very thorough bath that he had taken in War’s castle wouldn’t fool the mutant. Still, Wolverine said nothing.
“How’s Terry?”
“She’ll be up an’ about in a week. Right now she’s just swingin’ between bein’ real angry an’ real guilty.”
“Women, eh.” Wade grinned under his mask, unwilling to be baited. “You come out of hiding just to tell me that, old man?”
“Here.” Wolverine took a wad of paper from under his jacket, and tossed it to him. “Figured it was the least I could do.”
A faded map of the subway system, with three careful crosses in red ink, one circled. Out on the flat space surrounding the city proper, there was another cross. “We’re near Dupont,” Wolverine added, not particularly helpfully.
“I’m gonna pass Go, and get me a couple hundred dollars,” Wade murmured. “Is this a map of every last hot dog joint in this country? Because, you know, it’s Tuesday.”
“You had bolt holes all over the subway, some out in the Wastes. Some o’ them with food. Some o’ them with gear. That’s all the places you’ve ever showed me or told me about, bub. Figured you’ll want t’know.”
“What’s the circled one?”
“Compromised. Could be the rest are. Never went t’look if I could help it.”
“Thanks,” Wade said, with feeling, and added, when Wolverine’s expression didn’t change, “I really mean it. No speedcoach jokes.”
“I’m doin’ you no favors, Wilson. You get armed, you live longer, an’ the longer War forgets about comin’ after the rest of us.”
“The other three Horsemen are going to feel so left out if they heard you say that.”
“We can handle those three. That’s why we haven’t killed them,” Wolverine said flatly. “If there’s ever goin’ t’be a reckonin’, ‘least we know how t’take care o’ three o’ them. Not War.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and thank you anyway. Owe you one.”
“You don’t.” Wolverine said curtly, “If you want, we’ll call it even an’ quits. An’ one more tip for you, Wilson-”
“What, another one? My lucky day!”
“This world’s Theresa Cassidy is dead. You goin’ after what’s left o’ her is just goin’ t’get you hurt worse. Your Theresa, we’ll keep safe.”
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“Yeah?”
“Why did I choose to come out of hiding and get myself killed in this reality?”
“Think you know why already, bub.”
“Guess she just gets me that way anytime, seems, anywhere,” Wade smiled thinly. “Thanks for the map.”
VII.
The first cross was buried under rubble, but the second one at Falls’ Church had traps that Wade recognized as something more likely of his own handiwork than certain amateurs in Providence. Setting the traps back after him, Wade noted the fake door and the fake, booby-trapped room with the desk and chair, and then let himself down a grille underfoot, a claustrophobic tunnel, and finally to what looked like an otherwise walled-off maintenance room. The light switch turned on a small generator, and Wade saw a cot in a corner, a table made of stacked crates, a smaller crate for a chair, a wardrobe, and a rack full of the fighty-time sort of happiness.
“Future weapons. My favorite,” Wade lifted a rifle as long as his arm that felt only as heavy as his revolver. “This thing better shoot laserbeams.”
Another tunnel led to a bathroom - joy of joys - and a square chamber with a hell lot of wiring, three large console screens, a keyboard, several gleaming… box CPU things… and, disturbingly, a jar of a brain. With wires going into the watery solution that kept it afloat, connecting it to the rest of the setup.
A ratty, stuffed toy of a weasel set beside the jar gave Wade a sudden sense of schadenfreude.
“Need ‘on’ button,” Wade muttered to himself, peering at the boxes, then he flinched as all the consoles flickered to life, Weasel’s cartoon animal icon centered on all of them. There was a long pause, then a echoing version of the voice Wade remembered spoke, disembodied, from somewhere on the ceiling.
“Wade? Is that you?”
“What happens if I drink from your brain jar?”
“But I saw you die,” Weasel even managed to sound surprised. “I’ve even saved footage.”
“I’m Alternate Reality Wade Wilson,” Wade said, peering at the brain jar. A peeling label on the side read ‘Peanut Butter’. “This is so cool! I love myself, seriously.”
“Oh… I see. I am so relieved to see… that is to say, I am so relieved that you are back. That is to say, here. In the first place.” Awkward pause. “Have you, er, met…”
“War?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Yes,” Wade said curtly, and brain jar Weasel actually got the point.
“Right. Sorry.” Awkward pause, take two. “You want to watch the footage?”
“What footage?”
“Of you er… actually, forget I said that.”
“Weasel,” Wade grinned, patting the jar and making the console screens flicker, “I am really, I can’t even express how really, happy to see the only part of you that ever mattered to me.”
“… Thanks.”
-tbc-
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map used for this fic is fallout III's, being:
http://www.giantbomb.com/guides/dc-metro-ruins-transit-map/483/ :)
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VIII.
“Oh- kay. Time we got organized,” Wade was cleaning out some of the older guns, those whose parts he recognized enough to disassemble and oil. “Weasel.”
“I’m listening.”
“No no no no. When you ‘wake’ up, didn’t I tell you what I wanted to hear?”
“… Windows startup jingle.”
“Yees.” The ammo had been neatly sorted into tackle boxes. This Reality’s deceased Deadpool, whom Wade had started referring to as DeadWade, see clever emphasis in italics, was highly organized. It probably came from spending far too much time by himself out of necessity.
“I’m more of a Mac sort of guy.”
“We’ll see how resistant you are to viruses after I spit in your brain jar, PC Weasel.”
“Fine.” Weasel sighed, and played the jingle. Da da da daaa daa. Trippy. “Happy?”
“I feel so at work now. Where was I?”
“Getting organized.” PC Weasel had tiny speakers hidden within the walls, and could speak to Wade anywhere in most of Wade’s boltholes - or at least, those that Wade had installed Weasel in. Much to Wade’s initial disappointment, the brain jar was mostly for show - a large proportion of Weasel’s personality and smarts had become ‘one with the InfoNET’, being a set of servers that DeadWade had set up in now bricked up sections in subways in several state capital cities, not only Washington D.C..
At this point in the explanation, Wade had decided that it was too much non-English for his bad day, reasoning thusly: brain jar equals cool, therefore, brain jar equals Weasel.
Weasel’s sigh at his decision was more of the ‘old argument, long suffering’ sort than exasperation, anyway.
“We’re making a list. Number one,” Wade began to put the rifle back together, “We need some sort of cool technojargon that your name can stand for, so I can call you W.E.A.S.E.L.. Sort of like H.A.L..”
“You spent a week on this before, Wade, and you kept changing your mind. The last time, it was Worthless External Artificial Seal Exhaust Lovecraft.”
“Working on it,” Wade said, mentally circling the idea and underlining it several times. “Number two. I’m going to visit all the other hiding places you have in your memory system, see if I’m reinventing the wheel.”
“Doing what?”
“Maybe DeadWade kept a journal or some sort where he had some last minute plans for taking out Apocalypse and his Happy Friends, and I can follow this and save the day?”
“Negative, Wade. Besides, that doesn’t happen in real life.”
“Shut up, Negative PC Weasel. Nobody asked for your opinion. Just take notes.” Wade carefully placed the rifle back in place on the rack and took down a second one. “Also, I need to see his stash. I mean my stash.”
“I have an inventory-”
“Silence. Number three. Is Providence the last human encampment around these parts?”
“The largest one. Sec. Retrieving data.” Wade began to dismantle the rifle. “One other small outpost, linked to Providence, location Tahoma Park, last known leader, Kitty Pryde. There’s another settlement out in the Wastes, sewer system under unknown town, last known leader, Sasquatch. Next closest is in Philadelphia.”
“But my base of operations is here?”
“Ever since War uprooted Liberty Island and put it down within swimming distance of Washington, yes.”
“I knew I wasn’t going crazy.” Wade paused, and rewrote Weasel’s last statement in his mind. “He did what?”
“Uprooted an island…”
“He did not.”
“Negative, Wade, I have footage.”
“That’s it, I’m crazy.” Wade cleaned out the barrel, muttering under his breath. He was going up against Nate-Bender-On-Crack, and he was cleaning up some guns that were probably dinosaurs in this age and time. Still. “Number four. Locate closest hotdog stall.”
“None operational.”
“The humanity!”
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Love this fic so hard, can't wait to see more of it <3
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