🎵 Believe it or not, Hugh isn't at home 🎵 🎷 Please leave a message at the beep 🎷 🎶 I must be out, or I'd pick up the phone 🎶 🎺 Where could I be? Believe it or not, I'm not home! 🎺
[He can feel Wade's beady, little eyes on him (not beady, actually. very big. very brown.) and he's not displeased by the attention. He wouldn't say he ever relishes the way Wade speaks to him, but he does find himself enjoying it when he knows he's looking at him. Better still, Wade almost never notices when Cable's looking at him. Probably not expecting it.
He's not the first man he's met, felt profoundly annoyed by and developed an attraction to him. He's just the first one he's met after his wife. And the first one he's ever altered his own future for. Puts Wade in a strange position, he's sure.
So when he feels the ripple, he enjoys it for a second. Like a big, beautiful bowl of ice cream you're eating before you remember you're lactose intolerant. Wade's feelings of attraction aren't as conditional as Cable's. He doesn't feel the same guilt. He just feels horny.]
You first.
[He invites himself to sit impossibly close to Wade. This isn't unusual, it's a power play. It's just that this time, Cable's bare arms are out, he's wet, he hasn't taken his shirt off and he's very pointedly flirting back with Wade.
Then he's drinking his water like he's in an advertisement for it, under a tropical waterfall in a lagoon or something.]
[A power play that momentarily confuses him, 'cause he's not the one soaking wet (yet), but also his attention definitely gets caught somewhere between recognizing it as goading and invitation.
The thing is, Wade never expects eyes on him. He's the horny heehawho man but he knows what the fuck he looks like. He can live with it forever, but there's still some days, when the pain's a little worse, when he has to look in the mirror and remember that dumbfuck Francis is the one who got him looking like the insides of a scooped out melon.
He does have a great ass, though. As long as no one's looking at the skin covering it.
Annnd you know what, he's just grabbing Cable's tanktop and attempting to pull it off, equally getting up right in his space, mottled fingertips skirting skin and metal alike. Invitation, right? (That's totally not what Cable meant. Probably.) Or maybe he just doesn't give a fuck right now if Cable's gonna choke him out for trying. Actually, the way he's feeling watching Cable's Adam's apple bob with each swallow, he would absolutely be into it.] Don't mind if I do. Look, I'm not gonna assault you if I see a tit, don't be so uptight.
[Cable does not doubt for a second that Wade is insecure. He does not hide it well, though he supposes part of his fondness for Wade comes from the way he wears his heart on his sleeve. Something to be said about the vulnerability of the invulnerable. Probably later.
And he does have a very nice ass. He's well-built generally. Unfortunately tall. Blessedly sculpted. With long, grabby arms that Cable doesn't try to swat away. He does grumble like a dog with a bone until he sets his empty bottle aside, however.
He turns, pressing a metal hand to Wade's chest and firmly pushing him. Not away, just downward. Not rough, but forceful.]
I said you first.
[And since Wade has done him the courtesy of making the first move, he's going to try skim his shirt up in retaliation.]
[Forceful is at the top of a very long list of adjectives that Wade would've stayed in English class for. If that was a thing. If they discussed kink lists in English. Wait, maybe they did. It's not like he ever stayed for one.
One of life's mysteries.
Is he thinking about that right now? Sort of. It's like at the back of his mind as he processes what the hell Cable's suddenly asking for -- and pulling off of him -- right after coming out from working on his car and stinking of rain and oil. (Kind of always has the latter to Wade, though.)
Okay then.
He tosses his shirt off. There. Happy? He's not even wearing a brassiere underneath. Jesus, has Cable gotten into his glaze? Maybe. Either way, Wade's scrabbling for Cable's metal hand and putting it right back where it was against him.
He shivers. Ooh. Just a hint cold. Thing about metal, though? It heats up quickly. Kind of like the tension that's been going on in this room for weeks. Tension that, apparently, isn't standing up very well now that Cable's in a mood.] And what's step two, gorgeous?
[Cable answers point blank, like their dicks got together and discussed this prior and like Wade should know.
That Wade reaches for his metal hand is something that speaks volumes but is quietly appreciated. No hesitation. His hand spans curiously over Wade's middle. Despite appearances, he still has nerves in his metal hand. It still feels sensations like warmth and texture, which he's clearly enjoying. There's reverence in the soft sweeps of his fingers as they move up to clasp the crook of Wade's neck and shoulder.
He leans over, damp hair flopping down to flick Wade on the forehead. Meeting his gaze.]
You're making me horny. [Of course he says it in a completely literal way that leaves his understanding of the double entendre up for interpretation. Why wouldn't he make this harder? That's what he's here for.]
If you want me to stop, tell me.
[But he doesn't want to, is what he's signalling. And, given that Wade's answer is likely affirmative, he makes a move to pin him. Since he's not going to make taking his shirt off easy either.]
[Okay, in Wade's defense, he didn't know sex was on the table, or else that would've happened, like, in their first thread. Which. He did attempt it, if he thinks back and sort of remembers, but he was also drunk for a bit of it, so...
Seriously, there wasn't even a NSFW tag before now. How was he supposed to know?
Oh, now it's there. How convenient. Which means... oh, this is really gonna happen. This means it's gonna be fun.
And funny. He doesn't mean to, but Wade laughs right in his face.] Yeah? I'd chalk that up as a good thing. Tell me more, Lord Byron.
[Hell if he could say what it was, or if he cares about needling at the moment too much. Maybe it's the drugs, or maybe Wade cleaning his swords is, like, a super horny activity in the apocalyptic future. Maybe dudes get hand-jobs between lubing their pistols. (Not only a futuristic activity, actually --) Maybe it was the car work?
Whatever it is, he's taking it. Ohh, yeah, he's taking it. While they're unfettered by the homophobic proclivities of modern Hollywood blockbusters.] Not a chance I'm tellin' you to stop. [Gotta appreciate that commitment to consent, though.] C'mere, big boy. The sexual tension up to this point has been off the charts.
[Seriously, he's been playing will-they-won't-they with himself every thread and losing. Enough that he stopped wondering. But he didn't stop fantasizing, which is a lot harder to hide when you're living with a guy. There's absolutely no way it wasn't obvious.
And those? They start a lot like this. Except Cable says something maybe a little less literal, like "I've come to terminate you... with my cock." That sounds way cooler in his head that it would in any other form, including written. Actually, just ignore that's there at all.]
How much you like this shirt? [Wade has a cheat code, and that's having a knife in his pillow. There are, in fact, knives all over this room, even a few inside the wall. You know, just in case.
But he might not give Cable time to answer, as long as he's willing, 'cause Wade grabs the back of his neck and pulls that weight down more firmly on top of him, lifting up on his elbows to kiss him.]
[If Wade is actively hiding the fact that he's having vivid, sexual fantasies on a near-constant basis, Cable is curious about what it looks like when he's completely unfiltered. Drop of restraint in a bucket of tom-foolery, he suspects.
Cable doesn't get to vocalise his obvious displeasure at losing a shirt. It's clearly not worth more than the kiss, though. He sinks down into it with little more than a grunt.
It's perfectly natural the way that they feed off each other-- but it's certainly emphasised by something in the water. Or the air. Cable, at the very least, doesn't half-ass anything in his life. His metal arm circles Wade, his flesh one holds his chin. He deepens the kiss and he no doubt enjoys it because for once in his life his mouth is open and he's not complaining.
His eye is also glowing. Brightly. A feature, not a bug.]
[Cable's sort of nailed it, 'cause Wade's kissing him and he's already thinking this could be their real time to dock, except he's not sure if Cabe's still packing a foreskin. Who knows what the hell people are up to in the future? Ooh, guess he might be finding out soon.
That definitely won't make it to the gossip room floor. Promise.
Cable's shirt does, though. To the floor. Because he definitely cut it off in the half second it takes them to smash together. What's the point of being handy with knives if you don't use them for emergencies? The knife goes to join his tattered shirt on the floor somewhere, perfectly landing point-down as it stands, at attention, in the shitty carpet of their motel floor.
Then he's free to indulge in sensation. The freezing cold of Cable's metal arm, the heat of his hand. The luxurious feel of a tongue in his mouth. God, it's been too fucking long. Maybe in general; maybe for being able to sink against someone he knows. That knows him. And is here, anyway. For whatever fucking reason.
And he can trust Cable not to disappear on him. (Until he fucks that up, too.)
Even if he might be blind in one eye by the end of this... worth it.
He slides a hand between Cable's very considerable shoulder blades, following his spine with a nail. When they separate for air, he manages a few words:] Should I cut your pants off next?
These are nice pants. [Cable remarks mildly, but there's a soft, sexual edge to his tone. As they break, his metal palm kisses Wade's stomach. His fingers spread, gently applying enough weight for Wade to know he's leaving his pants alone.
He follows this process even when he sits up to unbuckle his belt. His leg presses down on Wade's thigh. Not heavily, but heavily enough. His fingers flick his buckle and button open deftly, but his eyes don't leave Wade's face.]
We can't unring this bell. [This time he's not really searching for consent so much as he'd like to address the elephant in the room so he can promptly dismiss it and move forward. His hand moves to Wade's waist, so he knows lack of interest isn't precisely why he's addressing this now.]
[Okay, they're nice pants 'cause they're on Cable, but he's not saying that. Not yet. He's not melting into his gooey, big-wide-doe-eyes stage. (It's probably gonna come. Probably prematurely.) He's not showering compliments and calling him Karl Urban but in a better remake than Judge Dredd. Yet.
Right now? Honestly, Wade's not thinking much. Beyond the little twitch of his stomach as Cable's hand goes low, but not low enough.]
I've been ringing it in our shower for months. [He's about to chase after another taste of Cable's mouth when he pauses, laughing in a huff under his breath.] I heard the quotation marks around that. [Yeah, does he not? He's not going around Panorama, advertising his sexual prowess on billboards? One of Wade's hands covers the one at his waist, guiding it down. He's nothing but oozing encouragement.] You wanna do it with me. That's all I give a shit about.
[Easy as pie. He'll give him all the encouragement he wants, if that's what he needs.]
[Cable isn't surprised by Wade's laissez-faire attitude toward fucking his current friend, room-mate, confidant and former multiple-attempt murderer. His mouth still twists into his little frown of displeasure, though not because Wade is guiding his hand down like a horny college boy.]
You're allowed to give a shit about more than that.
[Eye contact has ceased and, since they're connected, Wade can feel all the complicated emotions one might feel when they're really starting to like someone but a few weeks ago they were holding their wife's charred corpse. Life comes at you so fast.
But he allows his hand to be guided, palming over Wade's perpetual boner. Firm, not rough. Touching him like he means it, but he's not rushing yet.
He tips his head closer, so they're almost murmuring in one another's faces. Not unusual for them.]
I value your company. [In a low voice, right in the praise kink. Now is not the time to add "but I'm not ready for a serious relationship". It's implied, and he doesn't want to lose momentum too much. His hand snakes under Wade's layers until his bare, flesh palm is on his dick. He resumes stroking, thumb teasing over Wade.]
[Jesus, yeah, life comes at you fast. Like how he's suddenly having to confront the several years between them, because Cable's a few weeks out from being a widower and Wade's been texting him non-sequiturs for five years and getting radio silence, presumably because it was the wrong number. Or maybe Cable went back. Or maybe Josh Brolin was too busy renewing his career and turning into this generation's Roger Moore. To Wade, it makes sense he just fucked off and found something more important.
Did he seriously reference Roger Moore? God, he's so old.
Oh, hand on his dick. Brain rewired. That cures any bad thoughts, actually. Instantly. Like a fucking miracle.]
I care about lots of stuff. [He's like 20 seconds behind, let him catch up, Christ.] Like maybe the brain injury's that got you sayin' that so sincerely.
[But Wade doesn't give a fuck. The way his stomach flips over and he grabs the back of Cable's neck to smash their noses together so he can kiss him is what he cares about. (Okay, the words, too, because he's gonna repeat those in his mind and maybe jack off to them later, and probably do something else meaningful with 'em that's not sexual but holy god he's only thinking about sex right now). Thing is, the sexytime thought is mixed up so deep in a sense of slightly unhinged veneration that it's inevitably gonna hit Cable like a wave.
Whoops. Wade continues to do nothing halfway. He'll have time to worry about shifts in their roomate-siuation later.
He licks his lips. The groan he gives is not at all voluntary, along with the jerk in his legs.] Keep up like this and you're gonna have to choke me, Nate, 'cause I'm not making any promises.
[Seriously, that's not one of his superpowers. However, one of them is getting supremely horny about being threatened with death. If he wasn't hard before (he was), he's fucking rock hard now, and he's using all that strength he's got in his tightly muscled body (one of his superpowers, thanks) to drag Cable closer to their bed.] Maybe you should sit your ass down and let me blow you first, before it gets messy.
Uh-huh. [A little dismissive, mostly because he's distracted. His mental faculties are suddenly swept dramatically off their feet. He's experienced fondness before. He's also experienced horniness from time to time. He rarely allows himself to feel things at this level of intensity.
Unsure how to cope with it, he's visibly dumbfounded before he finally finds some words.]
You're a brain injury.
[He fires back, viciously articulate and absolutely not resorting to Wade's type of defence.
But he is trying to pay a compliment, because Wade is a brain injury that makes him stupider with his presence. And he is fond of him, sincerely. He gives him a lingering, cryptic look as he releases Wade's boner and rolls off him.
His metal hand reaches around the back of Wade's neck, guiding his head toward his lap. Not unlike the way Wade guided him to his dick moments before.]
I'm your brain injury. Permanent. Debilitating. Frequently causing migraines.
[Sure, he could tease Cable ruthlessly about both that expression and the fact he seems to lost complete faculties of his witty insults (no more mentions of clownery?) because Wade's at his same baseline of usual stupidity, but honest to god? He's so into it. He's so into it he's not gonna bring it up because then it might turn into a thing, and he wants to hear Cable say something else stupid, especially mid-fuck.
Wade easily slips to his knees, only taking long enough to get his fucking pants off. They're just in the way and if he's gonna be hard, he's gonna be hard and freeballing it, baby. Literally. If he's not already turned off by Wade's weird cancerous cock, he's not gonna be turned off by anything.]
But not erectile dysfunction, thank god.
[Oh, there's some of that Cable witticism.] I got a whole lot more mouth than I got money.
[At least he's not too interested in teasing it out to an annoying level, though. (Yet.) He's all method here, pushing whatever clothing's still remaining out of his way to get to Cable's cock, scooting himself between his spread legs, which are giving just enough room for Wade's weirdly big shoulders. Wade gives him a salacious glance upwards -- somewhat offset by how dewy his brown eyes are -- his hand rolling over Cable's dick with a quick one-two stroke (just like the horny romance novels, a little spit goes a long way) right before popping his mottled lips over the tip, wet with a swipe of his tongue.
He goes at it like a soldier with a mission.
The moan he gives isn't put-on. No, that's authentic, high-grade horny buffoonery. AAA Canadian wish fulfillment. And mouth fulfillment.]
[As Wade will feel with his mouth, Cable is not turned off by anything he's seeing. Though he's not the type to say something trite about scars being beautiful, it is a feature he feels he has in common with Wade. Not the same, but bodily disfigurement is something he shares with him. And he is, regrettably, incredibly cute. Which is also not a word Cable likes to use. It's just the one that sticks.
He does quietly wonder if they'll ever talk about that, since his fingertips are tracing shapes over the topographical map that is Wade's shoulders.
Unsurprisingly, Wade is very good at this. He's a lot of talk, but he's not all talk. He gets the highest honour a man can get out of Cable-- a small, pleased huff as he relaxes into getting his dick sucked. His fingers run along Wade's spine, down his neck to his back and up again.]
You're very good at this.
[Some things don't need to stay secret in the internal monologue. Not when Cable's feeling particularly stupid. He meets Wade's big, brown eyes with his mismatched ones. It's still glowing, which means Wade is doing something right. He's also doing something right when the light disappears, because it means Cable is closing his eyes.
His hips roll up to meet Wade's mouth, murmuring:]
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He's not the first man he's met, felt profoundly annoyed by and developed an attraction to him. He's just the first one he's met after his wife. And the first one he's ever altered his own future for. Puts Wade in a strange position, he's sure.
So when he feels the ripple, he enjoys it for a second. Like a big, beautiful bowl of ice cream you're eating before you remember you're lactose intolerant. Wade's feelings of attraction aren't as conditional as Cable's. He doesn't feel the same guilt. He just feels horny.]
You first.
[He invites himself to sit impossibly close to Wade. This isn't unusual, it's a power play. It's just that this time, Cable's bare arms are out, he's wet, he hasn't taken his shirt off and he's very pointedly flirting back with Wade.
Then he's drinking his water like he's in an advertisement for it, under a tropical waterfall in a lagoon or something.]
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The thing is, Wade never expects eyes on him. He's the horny heehawho man but he knows what the fuck he looks like. He can live with it forever, but there's still some days, when the pain's a little worse, when he has to look in the mirror and remember that dumbfuck Francis is the one who got him looking like the insides of a scooped out melon.
He does have a great ass, though. As long as no one's looking at the skin covering it.
Annnd you know what, he's just grabbing Cable's tanktop and attempting to pull it off, equally getting up right in his space, mottled fingertips skirting skin and metal alike. Invitation, right? (That's totally not what Cable meant. Probably.) Or maybe he just doesn't give a fuck right now if Cable's gonna choke him out for trying. Actually, the way he's feeling watching Cable's Adam's apple bob with each swallow, he would absolutely be into it.] Don't mind if I do. Look, I'm not gonna assault you if I see a tit, don't be so uptight.
[Or touch one, as in this case.]
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And he does have a very nice ass. He's well-built generally. Unfortunately tall. Blessedly sculpted. With long, grabby arms that Cable doesn't try to swat away. He does grumble like a dog with a bone until he sets his empty bottle aside, however.
He turns, pressing a metal hand to Wade's chest and firmly pushing him. Not away, just downward. Not rough, but forceful.]
I said you first.
[And since Wade has done him the courtesy of making the first move, he's going to try skim his shirt up in retaliation.]
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One of life's mysteries.
Is he thinking about that right now? Sort of. It's like at the back of his mind as he processes what the hell Cable's suddenly asking for -- and pulling off of him -- right after coming out from working on his car and stinking of rain and oil. (Kind of always has the latter to Wade, though.)
Okay then.
He tosses his shirt off. There. Happy? He's not even wearing a brassiere underneath. Jesus, has Cable gotten into his glaze? Maybe. Either way, Wade's scrabbling for Cable's metal hand and putting it right back where it was against him.
He shivers. Ooh. Just a hint cold. Thing about metal, though? It heats up quickly. Kind of like the tension that's been going on in this room for weeks. Tension that, apparently, isn't standing up very well now that Cable's in a mood.] And what's step two, gorgeous?
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[Cable answers point blank, like their dicks got together and discussed this prior and like Wade should know.
That Wade reaches for his metal hand is something that speaks volumes but is quietly appreciated. No hesitation. His hand spans curiously over Wade's middle. Despite appearances, he still has nerves in his metal hand. It still feels sensations like warmth and texture, which he's clearly enjoying. There's reverence in the soft sweeps of his fingers as they move up to clasp the crook of Wade's neck and shoulder.
He leans over, damp hair flopping down to flick Wade on the forehead. Meeting his gaze.]
You're making me horny. [Of course he says it in a completely literal way that leaves his understanding of the double entendre up for interpretation. Why wouldn't he make this harder? That's what he's here for.]
If you want me to stop, tell me.
[But he doesn't want to, is what he's signalling. And, given that Wade's answer is likely affirmative, he makes a move to pin him. Since he's not going to make taking his shirt off easy either.]
nsfw comin in hot... soon
Seriously, there wasn't even a NSFW tag before now. How was he supposed to know?
Oh, now it's there. How convenient. Which means... oh, this is really gonna happen. This means it's gonna be fun.
And funny. He doesn't mean to, but Wade laughs right in his face.] Yeah? I'd chalk that up as a good thing. Tell me more, Lord Byron.
[Hell if he could say what it was, or if he cares about needling at the moment too much. Maybe it's the drugs, or maybe Wade cleaning his swords is, like, a super horny activity in the apocalyptic future. Maybe dudes get hand-jobs between lubing their pistols. (Not only a futuristic activity, actually --) Maybe it was the car work?
Whatever it is, he's taking it. Ohh, yeah, he's taking it. While they're unfettered by the homophobic proclivities of modern Hollywood blockbusters.] Not a chance I'm tellin' you to stop. [Gotta appreciate that commitment to consent, though.] C'mere, big boy. The sexual tension up to this point has been off the charts.
[Seriously, he's been playing will-they-won't-they with himself every thread and losing. Enough that he stopped wondering. But he didn't stop fantasizing, which is a lot harder to hide when you're living with a guy. There's absolutely no way it wasn't obvious.
And those? They start a lot like this. Except Cable says something maybe a little less literal, like "I've come to terminate you... with my cock." That sounds way cooler in his head that it would in any other form, including written. Actually, just ignore that's there at all.]
How much you like this shirt? [Wade has a cheat code, and that's having a knife in his pillow. There are, in fact, knives all over this room, even a few inside the wall. You know, just in case.
But he might not give Cable time to answer, as long as he's willing, 'cause Wade grabs the back of his neck and pulls that weight down more firmly on top of him, lifting up on his elbows to kiss him.]
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Cable doesn't get to vocalise his obvious displeasure at losing a shirt. It's clearly not worth more than the kiss, though. He sinks down into it with little more than a grunt.
It's perfectly natural the way that they feed off each other-- but it's certainly emphasised by something in the water. Or the air. Cable, at the very least, doesn't half-ass anything in his life. His metal arm circles Wade, his flesh one holds his chin. He deepens the kiss and he no doubt enjoys it because for once in his life his mouth is open and he's not complaining.
His eye is also glowing. Brightly. A feature, not a bug.]
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That definitely won't make it to the gossip room floor. Promise.
Cable's shirt does, though. To the floor. Because he definitely cut it off in the half second it takes them to smash together. What's the point of being handy with knives if you don't use them for emergencies? The knife goes to join his tattered shirt on the floor somewhere, perfectly landing point-down as it stands, at attention, in the shitty carpet of their motel floor.
Then he's free to indulge in sensation. The freezing cold of Cable's metal arm, the heat of his hand. The luxurious feel of a tongue in his mouth. God, it's been too fucking long. Maybe in general; maybe for being able to sink against someone he knows. That knows him. And is here, anyway. For whatever fucking reason.
And he can trust Cable not to disappear on him. (Until he fucks that up, too.)
Even if he might be blind in one eye by the end of this... worth it.
He slides a hand between Cable's very considerable shoulder blades, following his spine with a nail. When they separate for air, he manages a few words:] Should I cut your pants off next?
[Shit. Gonna have to find another knife, though.]
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He follows this process even when he sits up to unbuckle his belt. His leg presses down on Wade's thigh. Not heavily, but heavily enough. His fingers flick his buckle and button open deftly, but his eyes don't leave Wade's face.]
We can't unring this bell. [This time he's not really searching for consent so much as he'd like to address the elephant in the room so he can promptly dismiss it and move forward. His hand moves to Wade's waist, so he knows lack of interest isn't precisely why he's addressing this now.]
And I don't do this much. [A beat.]
"Hook-up."
throws this in your inbox outta nowhere
[Okay, they're nice pants 'cause they're on Cable, but he's not saying that. Not yet. He's not melting into his gooey, big-wide-doe-eyes stage. (It's probably gonna come. Probably prematurely.) He's not showering compliments and calling him Karl Urban but in a better remake than Judge Dredd. Yet.
Right now? Honestly, Wade's not thinking much. Beyond the little twitch of his stomach as Cable's hand goes low, but not low enough.]
I've been ringing it in our shower for months. [He's about to chase after another taste of Cable's mouth when he pauses, laughing in a huff under his breath.] I heard the quotation marks around that. [Yeah, does he not? He's not going around Panorama, advertising his sexual prowess on billboards? One of Wade's hands covers the one at his waist, guiding it down. He's nothing but oozing encouragement.] You wanna do it with me. That's all I give a shit about.
[Easy as pie. He'll give him all the encouragement he wants, if that's what he needs.]
Bless you
You're allowed to give a shit about more than that.
[Eye contact has ceased and, since they're connected, Wade can feel all the complicated emotions one might feel when they're really starting to like someone but a few weeks ago they were holding their wife's charred corpse. Life comes at you so fast.
But he allows his hand to be guided, palming over Wade's perpetual boner. Firm, not rough. Touching him like he means it, but he's not rushing yet.
He tips his head closer, so they're almost murmuring in one another's faces. Not unusual for them.]
I value your company. [In a low voice, right in the praise kink. Now is not the time to add "but I'm not ready for a serious relationship". It's implied, and he doesn't want to lose momentum too much. His hand snakes under Wade's layers until his bare, flesh palm is on his dick. He resumes stroking, thumb teasing over Wade.]
And if you come before I do, I'll kill you.
:D
Did he seriously reference Roger Moore? God, he's so old.
Oh, hand on his dick. Brain rewired. That cures any bad thoughts, actually. Instantly. Like a fucking miracle.]
I care about lots of stuff. [He's like 20 seconds behind, let him catch up, Christ.] Like maybe the brain injury's that got you sayin' that so sincerely.
[But Wade doesn't give a fuck. The way his stomach flips over and he grabs the back of Cable's neck to smash their noses together so he can kiss him is what he cares about. (Okay, the words, too, because he's gonna repeat those in his mind and maybe jack off to them later, and probably do something else meaningful with 'em that's not sexual but holy god he's only thinking about sex right now). Thing is, the sexytime thought is mixed up so deep in a sense of slightly unhinged veneration that it's inevitably gonna hit Cable like a wave.
Whoops. Wade continues to do nothing halfway. He'll have time to worry about shifts in their roomate-siuation later.
He licks his lips. The groan he gives is not at all voluntary, along with the jerk in his legs.] Keep up like this and you're gonna have to choke me, Nate, 'cause I'm not making any promises.
[Seriously, that's not one of his superpowers. However, one of them is getting supremely horny about being threatened with death. If he wasn't hard before (he was), he's fucking rock hard now, and he's using all that strength he's got in his tightly muscled body (one of his superpowers, thanks) to drag Cable closer to their bed.] Maybe you should sit your ass down and let me blow you first, before it gets messy.
[See, he can have top energy too. A little.]
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Unsure how to cope with it, he's visibly dumbfounded before he finally finds some words.]
You're a brain injury.
[He fires back, viciously articulate and absolutely not resorting to Wade's type of defence.
But he is trying to pay a compliment, because Wade is a brain injury that makes him stupider with his presence. And he is fond of him, sincerely. He gives him a lingering, cryptic look as he releases Wade's boner and rolls off him.
His metal hand reaches around the back of Wade's neck, guiding his head toward his lap. Not unlike the way Wade guided him to his dick moments before.]
Put your money where your mouth is, Wilson.
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[Sure, he could tease Cable ruthlessly about both that expression and the fact he seems to lost complete faculties of his witty insults (no more mentions of clownery?) because Wade's at his same baseline of usual stupidity, but honest to god? He's so into it. He's so into it he's not gonna bring it up because then it might turn into a thing, and he wants to hear Cable say something else stupid, especially mid-fuck.
Wade easily slips to his knees, only taking long enough to get his fucking pants off. They're just in the way and if he's gonna be hard, he's gonna be hard and freeballing it, baby. Literally. If he's not already turned off by Wade's weird cancerous cock, he's not gonna be turned off by anything.]
But not erectile dysfunction, thank god.
[Oh, there's some of that Cable witticism.] I got a whole lot more mouth than I got money.
[At least he's not too interested in teasing it out to an annoying level, though. (Yet.) He's all method here, pushing whatever clothing's still remaining out of his way to get to Cable's cock, scooting himself between his spread legs, which are giving just enough room for Wade's weirdly big shoulders. Wade gives him a salacious glance upwards -- somewhat offset by how dewy his brown eyes are -- his hand rolling over Cable's dick with a quick one-two stroke (just like the horny romance novels, a little spit goes a long way) right before popping his mottled lips over the tip, wet with a swipe of his tongue.
He goes at it like a soldier with a mission.
The moan he gives isn't put-on. No, that's authentic, high-grade horny buffoonery. AAA Canadian wish fulfillment. And mouth fulfillment.]
no subject
He does quietly wonder if they'll ever talk about that, since his fingertips are tracing shapes over the topographical map that is Wade's shoulders.
Unsurprisingly, Wade is very good at this. He's a lot of talk, but he's not all talk. He gets the highest honour a man can get out of Cable-- a small, pleased huff as he relaxes into getting his dick sucked. His fingers run along Wade's spine, down his neck to his back and up again.]
You're very good at this.
[Some things don't need to stay secret in the internal monologue. Not when Cable's feeling particularly stupid. He meets Wade's big, brown eyes with his mismatched ones. It's still glowing, which means Wade is doing something right. He's also doing something right when the light disappears, because it means Cable is closing his eyes.
His hips roll up to meet Wade's mouth, murmuring:]
We should do this more often.