[ Yeah. That’s about the reaction he expected to receive. A young man’s pilgrimage to learn the bare basics of the culinary arts, only to throw all that away and rely on his mom to step in? If anyone deserves to be dunked headfirst inside the toilet, it was certainly him.
Much easier to laugh it off these days, looking back and realizing how simple it is to boil spaghetti. With a beer in hand, he sways when Wade bumps shoulders with him, chuckling all the while. ]
Believe me, I would have shoved myself into a locker if I had the chance.
[ He takes a sip of the half-decent beer as he sits back and spreads his legs wider. They're so close together that it wasn't difficult for them to end up rubbing thighs together. ]
Spent another three or four months together before we split. [ A beat. ] Credit to my mother for making the best lasagna in town.
[It feels good to laugh at someone else. Not because he's here to humiliate Harry, but because it's such a normal fucking contrast to his own life. Yeah, it's only one story of man, but the same age Wade had already killed at least one man (maybe more; canon is nebulous) and failed himself out of any chance of going to college, the footnote to an equally as humiliating and pointless childhood.
And now he's here. So.
It led somewhere. A lot of emphasis on the literal meaning of "somewhere." Listening to a guy's very human story from a seemingly very human Earth that could be Wade's Earth if it ever involved anything as exciting as mutant freaks and quasi-governmental corporations that had their own private prisons full of metahumans.
Wade swirls his beer pointlessly in a circle, mulling over his thoughts. Crash out? Crash out who? He's totally fine now.
Wade, ever subtle, just drops a hand thigh and gives it a squeeze. You're not so subtle yourself, Lawyer McLawyerson.] Can't be that good if it was only four months. [Now he's dragging moms out here. The kids call that "negging."] She still around? Your mom.
[Please don't give him a tragic dead parents backstory. There's too many of those in the room at the moment.
Okay, he could've placed the sneaky hand and the mom question at different points in this timeline. Shit. Too late now. Gotta commit.]
[ Harry can’t recall a time when Wade has ever laughed out loud like this. Usually, Wade is the one making the wisecracks at him. The need to bully his younger self still lingers, but he can at least thank himself for having something to laugh over dinner. ]
Still around. As healthy as any woman her age would be.
[ One thing about forming a cosmic bond with a tactile, ex-mercenary superhero mutant, it’s that you build a sense of where and how they want to touch you. Case in point: the hand Wade has firmly on his thigh. He swallows back the primal sound wanting to escape his throat. A similar warmth builds within the bottom of his belly, one he felt not too far from when they huddled together on the bench at that Christmas-adjacent village.
Well…in the middle of talking about his mom, but we can work around this without awkwardly fumbling into the next moment.
And so Harry comes in to peck Wade sweetly on his jawline. ]
I guess I’ve been really lucky, all things considered.
[ His brown eyes staring affectionately at Wade, as if that is exactly what he wants to tell his Valentine this very moment. A hand comes down to brush over Wade’s pinkish mosaic skin and directs it further up his thigh. ]
[If he was a lesser man, maybe around here he'd say "jealous," except he's not, really. Having an alive mom wouldn't be much more positive than a dead one at his place in life. Just. Weird how it'd been him and Vanessa for so long. Hadn't even had a bunch of people to announce the baby to.
The baby that never happened and never came. Might be for the best.
Instead he says:] Good to hear. Big thanks to Momma Wilson for pumping out the baby boy that just made me a hardy dinner.
[Oh, he made it worse. Okay. That's a choice. Of course, Harry has very little reason to tearfully regret the man he selected to be his Valentine. For god knows what reason. Wade still could not fucking even hazard a guess, except maybe the snake charmer thing was kinda hot.
Somehow he still got a peck.] Lucky like interdimensional kidnapping lucky?
[He wants a bit more than a peck. Maybe, like a flare, or more accureately, like an alcohol-soaked cloth in a molotov lighting up, Harry can feel that heat leap up the same moment Wade leans in to kiss him, giving him just a second or two to escape. And don't you worry, he doesn't forget to squeeze Harry's thigh as his hand slides up higher.
As if he needs the encouragement.
It's not like the AU kiss. Not real desperate, and way less sharp teeth to work around. His brain's not stuck on the taste of Harry's blood still rolling in his mouth (admittedly, kind of hot) or the smell of dead vampires (not so hot). The fact that Harry's still chill with him after the brutal disembowelment and deep circumcision of at least two men in his company is kind of stunning, actually.
This one's just -- all want. Simple want. Been a long time since he could admit he'd had a good time on Valentine's.]
[ There is no scientific or tangible way to explain the reaction that sets off within Harry. How every nerve within him lights up like string lights on a patio on a summer’s evening — all suddenly being set off by how much Harry is wanted.
And how much he wants this.
He stays. For all the times Wade Wilson has given him an out, Harry stays. Not budging for a moment of this as he leans in deeper into their kiss. Every inch of his body is warming up, forgetting that they're making out in the world’s crappiest motel room. All Harry is thinking about is how to pleasure the man currently massaging his tongue.
The sensation intoxicates his brain in all the best ways possible. A special cocktail he rarely drinks from, aside from the times he felt extra frisky with Grace. The moment of their kiss lasts for a few moments, but it might as well feel like one hundred and twenty minutes of one of those damn good romantic comedies.
He breaks away, his forehead leaning against Wade’s. Their tips of their noses brush up on each other as Harry gives a breathy chuckle as he peppers a couple of kisses on the bottom of Wade’s plump (albeit a little dry, but who’s complaining?) lips. ]
Lucky, as in stumbling into a world-class snake wrangler right before I met my maker.
[ Honestly, a miracle Harry could string a coherent sentence together. Hard to think straight when your mind is getting drunk with lust.
He places a firm hand on Wade’s shoulder, pushing it enough to signal to have Wade move his seat towards him. These were metal folding chairs, so Harry is already testing the weight limit of these things when climbs on top of him — legs wrapping around his torso before his feet touch the floor. His pelvis meeting Wade’s navel.
Another wave hits him, feeling it especially within his loins. The look on Harry’s face teeters between utterly smitten and surprised all at the exact same moment. A roller-coaster that gets more exciting by the second. He tests the waters by cupping Wade’s face as he leans in for another kiss. All while grinding against his thighs.
[Thank fucking god Harry makes a move, because Wade's brain suddenly clamps down on the fact he just thanked this guy's mom for birthing him before kissing him, and he's definitely cringe on a level rarely reached by most of mere mortal men, but that's pushing it, even for him. That's just bad writing.
Or.
Or maybe he's thrilled that the response was not instant disgust and an attempt to stab a spork into his leg. (Though. He'd be into that, too.) It's the swapping of paprika-tinged spit and a man acting like meeting him is the fault of luck and not real, real bad karma that's replacing any first-hand embarrassment he might've brought down on himself.]
Usually the snakes are in pants --
[Wade's mouth is open and no words are coming out of it for the seconds it takes for Harry not only to shove his chair back but somehow manueuver pretty gracefully onto his lap. Instead of words, there's a sort of croaked groan of surprise. A sound that could be explained by the fact he's getting the feedback of Harry's now screamingly horny brain right back into his, and. He's not even sure where his own begins.
Shit.
The chair might break before this is over, but it'll die for a worthy cause. Wade catches him by his hips, slipping them under a properly tucked shirt after a mildly impatient tug to get his fingers gliding over bare skin. That's the good thing about a cold room. Makes every touch feel even hotter.
Wade's all about to wind up his best lap dance joke when Harry closes the distance again, kissing him deep enough it has Wade groan into his mouth. Fuck him, but he just wants to make out with the kind of guy who'd make him dinner. For what reason? To be romantic? It's working. It's working real well.
Unfortunate they can't just kiss for a solid hour to prevent Wade from talking.] Got more freak in you than I was expecting from a guy passing out on park benches. [Harry's positively frisky, fuck. And close enough he's beyond feeling just a little hint of Wade's dick responding to it.
Why the hell did he wear so many layers to this dinner? Probably the same but opposite reason he's got a bottle of lube in his bag: a man always comes. Prepared. When another guy invites you over for homecooking on Valentine's Day.
He moves a hand to tug on the bottom of Harry's prime little shirt.] Wanna see me rip it off?
[He's just offering. Last time, it wasn't him ripping Harry's clothes off. Real missed opportunity if you ask him.] Or your nipples gonna get too cold?
[That's the problem when you look like a fully encased burn victim: you don't get to share in cold nipple shock when you don't have them anymore.]
Two things are happening at once: for one, the sobering realization that he is currently sitting on Wade’s lap. Harry feels the flushed, reddish hue warming his entire face. Not to mention how Wade is greedily tugging at the bottom of his ironed shirt.
That and how the other other Mr. Wilson is twitching between Wade’s legs.
Harry’s sex life wasn’t exactly vanilla, by definition. Okay. Maybe it was a tad vanilla with a couple of saucy dirty talk tossed in and the occasional fuzzy handcuffs. But this? Let alone with another man? His first time with a man, mind you.
Well…Mr. Wilson is definitely exploring uncharted territory here with no YouTube tutorial to walk him through this.
A part of his brain calls out to pump the brakes on this now — take it slow. Treat it as you would any other date. A little cuddle here, a little foreplay there. Bring your hands up and unbutton your shirt one by one …
That brings us to the second thing in this equation: the other voice that’s telling that voice over there to shut the hell up. The voice who is clearly winning this internal battle when he can’t form any intelligible thought.
A pleasurable, husky purr that bubbles from Harry’s throat when he goes to peck his lips. ]
Now you’re just showing off, hot shot.
[ Then it hits Harry again. Ooh! Here we go again.
An immense wave of pleasure and a ravenous appetite for his skin to be rubbing up against Wade. He moans, rutting once more against Wade’s twitching member.
A desperate need to be ripped open and unraveled.
Both of their eyes stay locked in contact, Harry staring hungrily at Wade.
There is no thought being put into these next steps as he guides Wade to the collar of his to rip it apart. He can’t even keep his hands there for long before they're sliding down to grab whatever part of Wade’s extremely well-formed glutes he can greedily latch onto. ]
[Thing is, when you've got plenty of experience, as the chads say, dicking down, you can kind of spot a guy who's a bit new to the scene. Not that Wade had too much of a wandering eye once he got with Vanessa, but come on. He spent his best, most fertile years in the military. He's at least 70% of Marvel's canon pansexuals (and you can check the wiki). He manages carefully the line between twink and twunk -- or at least he's convinced himself of it.
Saying all that, it definitely helps he feels Harry's hesitation like a physical thing -- and it's weird, feeling it, 'cause he's about as far as you get from a telepath, and even for him, this is a new level of intimacy. It's like a cord cutting off the breath in his lungs. A gentle jerk of the leash.
Helpful, though.
And kind of reminding him of Cable. Not in a bad way -- not even in a good way -- but in the way where this kind of. Happened before. Wade gets a little wet in his garters and suddenly the other end of his red thread of horny is getting a little too sex now, think later.
Ugh. Hard to be the careful, selfless partner when Harry's egging him on. He rises to the occasion to kiss the bottom of his chin, leaving a little bite behind.] That's my secret. I'm always showing off.
[Right about the time Luther Vandross's dulcet tones in the background hits the high notes with Mariah, Wade's ripping Harry's shirt apart like paper, in two different directions, tossing them to either side of his chair. So. No hope of really sewing that baby up again. (Wait, does Harry have a Luther Vandross Greatest Hits album? Another point in the pros column.)
He brings him down for another kiss, hungrier than the last and a bit more demanding, like they've been reduced to one horny brain cell that's bouncing back and forth in God's most cursed game of Pong. On top of that, the cold fingertips of his hands are already starting to slide up Harry's naked waist. Normally, he's all for it. Lose himself in a fuck and maybe get stabbed in the heart in the middle of it. Nothing mixes better with an orgasm than a bit of bloodletting.
But this is his very human cross-canon [undefinable noun], and Wade. Fucking cares. If he does something to fuck this up. On their first. (Date? Is this a date?) Including being way too horny for his own good and sending it down someone else's way like he spiked a concussion-inducing volleyball.
He was. Supposed to be slowing his roll. Fuck. Fuck. He could still think if Harry wasn't fucking his leg. Probably.
He pulls off the kiss with a groan, throwing his head back. Big swallow. Big boy talk. Okay.] I gotta ask. [He really doesn't have to. He could just not. Asking is making this way harder.] You ever been with a guy before?
[That's character growth: recognizing not everyone spent their life flouncing through a series of sexual trysts with every willing participant. Especially with a full grown man pinning him down. Even though the guy went to college. Are you telling him not everyone in lawyer school is having orgies on the weekends, between the LSATs or whatever? American movies are just bullshit, huh? Can you even trust anything these days?
Even the chair is whining at the brakes being pumped. Or that could be the screws giving out.] Real talk, H-Dog, I can barely think straight right now. [Something something he's never thought anything straight in his life. But seriously, this isn't something you just jump into after a series of girlfriends on a first date (? still questionable) with the first ex-merc slash killer you happen to fall into the arms of. Twice. Three times?] It takes. You know. A gentle touch. And some patience. And a whole lot of lube.
[Or it hurts like a bitch. Ask him how he knows. He's had his own week of crabwalking, he's not about to inflict that on anyone else.]
[ Nights like these, Harry reveled in being the one to provide his ex-wife with everything she wanted and then some. A distinct pride whenever Grace begged and pleaded from underneath the covers as he pumped steadily into her, seeing her face flush in pure ecstasy. Years of experience (and trial and error) have led Harry to be the sensual and sensitive man he is today.
Look at him now.
His eyes were drunk with sex and animalistic yearning — the kind where you don’t think about how it affects how you walk the next day. When Harry looks to the side, he can find his nice shirt in tatters. Shirtless, but now he can feel how tight his pants have become. Looking down, he can see how much his member stretched and dampened the fabric of his pants with precum. The sheer horniness from Wade is enough to make Harry want to yowl and beg to be touched. To have this tiger, with all of his stripes, come in and give him what he wants.
He nearly whines when Wade pulls away from their passionate make-out session. If Wade can barely think straight, imagine the mental war zone Harry is currently trudging through. Pulling himself away from his date is out of the question; he is far too skin-hungry and hard to do anything rational.
His toes curl and dig into the fresh carpet as the chair continues to groan under their combined weight. Over three hundred pounds of two men sloppily pawing and dry humping each other.
Breathing heavily, Harry leans his head downward to hide underneath the crook of Wade’s neck and suckles around his skin while peppering in a love bite.
What if Harry screwed this whole thing up? He should have been upfront with Wade about being his first man. What if he isn’t good at this? Harry’s already set himself up to disappoint Wade, yet his pants didn’t get any less tight than before.
So, no. There's the answer to his question. ]
No! [ Harry chuckles while his face nuzzles at the cleavage of his muscular chest. ] I’ve never been with another man.
[ God. He knows this is supposed to be a serious talk. But he has become too smitten to change his tone. ]
I’m sorry, honey. [ One more peck on the lips. ] I should have told you. It’s just … I never realized this is how you felt around me.
[Pretty sure Wade being able to try to push for a real, non-sex-fueld adult conversation with a boner poking him in the stomach is something worthy of a Purple Heart. Possibly even two, considering there's two boners involved right now. One for each.
No! Okay. Stop thinking about the b word, or any b-related verbs associated with it. Chill the fuck out, Wade Jr. Not like we're about to go home completely dry. Pretty sure Harry might legitimately find a way to kill him if he suddenly tries to zip on outta here.
-- it's a miracle he's still actively thinking now Harry's moved to sucking on his neck. He might be catching on that the guy in his lap currently is an absolute freak. Apparently cancer is not always a huge turn-off when you find the right hungry, hungry hippo. Wade is not helping this by tipping his head back, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the load in his mouth. (Of saliva!)
He seriously can't feel if it's even cold in here anymore.
Honey? My god, stooop. He's trying here.] It's no big deal. Lots of men were straight before they met me. [That's not even a good fucking joke. He swallows again.] You mean distractedly horny? I hate to tell you that's, like, my default state of being. [This is not romantic. Maybe Harry should throw him out before he keeps talking.] I'm starting to actually worry that I'm giving you some sort of horny, cancerous stormkissed brain damage. [Now say that five times fast.] Please tell me you're just repressed and ready to let your hair down in the unknown streets of homoerotic hornytown.
[ Okay. They’re doing this. Jesus Christ, he’s panting. ]
Okay. Wait here. Hold on. Let me —
[ As much as Harry doesn’t want to peel away from the stiff member brushing between his legs, this next part is crucial. He manages, although a few whines and yips escape his throat while running over to the other side of the room.
In hindsight, maybe Harry should’ve growled into Wade’s ear and said something along the lines of “I’m all yours”. Then again, that may be a touch too predictable for such an unexpected couple of two middle-aged men from vastly different universes.
And now? Harry has to commit to the bit. ]
Don’t move — Ah, ah…!
[ There have been zero sexcapades, and already Harry is melting into a puddle of orgasmic ectoplasm. But this part is crucial.
All to … light a couple of candles by the nightstand. Two on each side for the extra layer of mood lighting, to be exact. ]
Alright. I’m almost do—NE!
[ If the rules of a stormkissed bond are true, then now this is Harry’s turn to let Wade in on what he is feeling at this moment. His erect penis is only a part of this equation. Here, Harry allows himself to sink into his shoddy spring mattress. Right now, though? This feels like a world class goose-down bed.
Luther Vandross fades out in the background. Cue Billie Holiday
Harry’s breathing as if he has just run an entire half-marathon. But he did it, smiling to himself and feeling a warmth inside his chest. A thin layer of sweat covers him from head to waist. As Billie's sultry voice plays on in the background, a new sensation blossoms from Harry. While Wade was the one to ignite the flames from within his loins, Harry is the one who waters the garden from beyond the rib-cage of Wade's chest - allowing the roots of his passionate emotions burrow deeper into Wade. An elixir combining one's lust and one's seeping affection to create a moment only poets could dream in their maladaptive daydreams.
He hums contentedly to himself, his erect cock sprouting like a spring lilac flower. This one is for Wade to unwrap. ]
[Okay, so the answer to that question was definitely a "yes, yes, oh god, yes!" with a little throw of the head back, visually. So, the probably last surviving thought in Wade's head has now gripped onto the Titanic of his self-control that is quickly being swallowed by icy, cold water, which is timed exactly with the amount of time it takes him to watch Harry jut across the room like --
Maybe the cat in heat comparison is really coming in clutch here. Oh, god. He's somehow gotten the power to invoke heat in men above their fifties. Clearly Nora Roberts is just gritting her teeth to write about him.]
I'm not moving, promise. [The chair thanks him for its survival of the night. Mostly he's trying to turn the sludge that is his brain into something resembling an organ that might make sense of what Harry is fucking doing --
My god. He cannot be serious. Watching a horny lawyer try to light candles like they're the key to his orgasm, all while sporting a full mast is definitely going into some permanent memory bank in the back of his head forever. It's one of those things you treasure forever, like the sight of a breaching albino whale.
Guess this is the part where he can move. He's moving. And while he's moving, it's the dexterity that allows him to kill men without taking a single hit that gets him onto the bed with the force of whatever pornographic brainblast he's on the other end of.
Oooh boy. Okay, so now he's suddenly understanding Cable's melting brain comment. Harry might be investing in some superb flowery imagery that he is about the furthest person from deserving, but Wade's brain's just sunk beneath the waves. Feels like his skin is on fire, prickled with heat and goosebumps that pluck up between the craters. There's just this blissful pit of nothing where he usually stuffs all the feelings about what he looks like, what his skin feels like under unbothered human fingers, what kind of man he is (the answer is: the worst). Maybe even the part where he's confused to this second about how he got to this point with the most seemingly normal human he's met here, who lived out a whole Twilight fantasy with him, rated R, and still invited him over for dinner.
This is. This is kinda nice. Is that what normal people feel like, in the day-to-day? There's no fourth party peeking in, nothing but this cozy-by-the-fire feeling that he might not be the absolute failure he's made himself out to be.
He ends up straddling Harry as if he's pinned to the bed, a knee pressed in against his hips, Wade's hands sinking into the mattress. So that's why he keeps the room for, huh? The nice bedding?] The candles, or what you're packing down here? [Wade figures he doesn't have to do much more than roll his palm over the cloth barely keeping Harry's cock covered to get him going.] Both getting a solid review from me. Definitely a B&B I'll stay in again.
[Already got rid of that shirt for him, so he can work on getting his pants off next. One hand works on that task, and the other coaxes its way up Harry's naked chest, picking up sweat on the way, tracking the rapid rise and fall of his lungs. It's only incredible core strength that keeps him from falling over. Good thing he's the closest thing to ambidextrous anyone gets to.] You good still? You can pump the brakes anytime.
[He can't help but give anyone this deep in with him their final out.]
[ In another timeline, if Wade didn’t stop when he did, there is a version of Harry Wilson reaching peak sexual brain rot (but the sexy kind of brain rot) — raw dogging all of Wade with half a tube of lubricant in his hole, moaning ever so loudly, “Want you in me so bad! Ungh! It’s so big!” By the twentieth pump, that metal chair would have broken clean through, turning a very sexy situation into one where Harry is walking like a cartoonish cowboy for the rest of the month.
And then he would have spent the rest of his days hiding from the fact that he shouted, “Stretch me out, big guy!” A perfectly normal thing to say when you’re doing the bedroom tango, but revealing enough for Harry to reevaluate where he has been keeping this power bottom energy this whole time.
But that’s for another cross-canon scenario (or further down the road. Gotta keep things tabula rasa, you know?).
Did Harry have to run around the bed, stiff as a board, tip-toeing with his buttcheeks and thighs clenched tightly together and squirming like some eccentric mating call? All to light four damn candles? Well, by the look on Wade’s face, it was well worth it. Sometimes you’ve got to cut loose and make it fun. Some people are not meant to be the main protagonists in those steamy 1980s novels your mom used to read under a hot bubble bath with the jetstreams going at it full-force.
Being straddled like this — tight enough that Harry doesn’t slip away but not enough to bruise his skin — it felt nice. He feels secure. The sensation of Wade palming over his cock makes him groan with delight. This time, he doesn’t have the same carnal desire to jump all over Wade’s bones. Instead, he looks at Wade with a softer gaze and a dimpled grin.
Now it was Harry’s turn to get curious around Wade’s body, tracing a hand over his thigh and making it over to his pert and perky ass — giving it an experimental squeeze. Softer than a pillow. ]
I’m still good.
[ His cock is exposed to the brisk, cold room after Wade methodically peels away his pants. The scent of fresh soap and musk melds together to create something tantalizing to the nose. Here he lies naked and exposed, inviting both Wade and himself into this very new venture.
Harry uses his other free hand to brush over the apple of Wade’s cheek. ]
How about we take this one from the top and you show me how it’s done? Nice and steady. And with no furniture at risk of breaking into pieces.
[Okay, but where is this power bottom energy stored? We're looking to find it.
Wade swears he feels that groan crawling into all his little crevices. If anything, he's giving Harry's wandering hand an encouraging little squeeze of his cheeks. It's. Nice. Real nice. Having someone new, touching him like they're happy to explore. And Wade? He obviously loves attention. Loves being stared at. Hence the suit with the tight Lycra around his ass. Sometimes on his better days, he'd go out even before his overly elaborate and meant to be permanent hair system just to make people look at him. Just a funny thing that, now? Yeah, Harry might be near naked, but Wade's feeling exposed, flayed to the bone.]
Dunno. [Prepping his next words with a cheeky little grin:] I'm pretty sure I could break this bed without trying. [Not to give an Edward Cullen flex or anything. Speaking of. He turns his head to kiss the palm of Harry's hand, lifting up on his knees to unbutton his cardigan, tossing that to the chair they abandoned, as well as the shirt underneath it. At least Harry's already seen him down to the briefs. Not much to explain there.
Holy shit. Okay, yeah. That's cold. Okay, note that he's at least stealing this guy a fucking space heater.] Dammit. [He just got warm. Things needs prepping, though, so he miiight spend a very unsexy moment lifting Harry enough he can shuffle them both under a sheet. And then another unsexy moment of having to give him a hold that thought as he slips out of bed to grab the lube he definitely brought for anticipatory reasons. And then a final unsexy moment of moving back to the bed, unbuttoning and shimmying out of his pants (okay, that little move might be kinda sexy), and then shuffling back under the covers, dropping the little bottle next to the pillow.
When you think about it, there's way too many steps to this shit when it's impromptu.
Maybe the fact that he's wearing a bit of lacy panties barely holding everything in, like he promised, makes up for all of that. When Wade talks, he means it.] I gotta admit to you, Hare, I'm not real good at being nice or steady. [He says as he starts kissing down his chest, down to his stomach, spreading Harry's legs on either side of him. Wade's hands draw up over Harry's naked thighs. Cover's trapping a bit of body heat. They're getting somewhere.] But I guess now's a good time for a bit of character growth.
[The character growth is also gonna be getting him through the steps and not just sucking him off. Like. It's right there.
Nothing says he can't give Harry's dick a tantalizing little lick, though, peering up through his -- oh, right, no eyelashes. But he gets big brown eyes gazing up at him from under the tent of the cover.
Maybe he's putting off the main attraction for. A second. A minute. (And because sucking him off would be fun.) It's been the first time he's had to approach the "weird dick" warning part of this. Sure, he'd almost been naked running around that haunted house, but the whole on-fire melting flesh part of that changed things.] Listen. [He crawls back up, busying himself with opening the lube, slicking up the fingers of his right hand.] I'm like this. [He'd gesture if he wasn't busy.] All over. [Oh, look how fascinating it is to watch how fingers shine under neath the veil of candlelight. No, really. This might be his first time ever fucking beside actual candles. Usually it's in the dark.
As if he can't wait for the answer alone (he can't), Wade wraps a hand around Harry's dick like he's testing the lube's slick enough, giving him a good ol' distracting stroke. Yeah, that's slick all right.] If that's a dealbreaker. [That's probably cheating.]
[ Damn. He really needs to touch himself now. Even without the horn dog glasses, his cock is still hard while he waits for Wade. He soldiers through it, biting back how much he needs those hands to stroke and caress. Part of him feels a touch greedy, lying on the bed while Wade is putting on the final touches. Should he get up and fill two glasses of water? In case they get thirsty after they come.
But man… The more he waits, the more tender his loins become. His nipples are already stiff as a board. That same lustful sensation builds up from the bottom of his belly, salivating at the mouth for Wade to come for him.
As the saying goes, the best rewards come to those who wait. The bed shifts and dips when Wade comes crawling under the sheets in the most decadent pair of panties. The lining of his cock and balls under those delicate floral patterns stirs something inside him to reach out and get all over that sweet, decadent garden.
Of course Wade teases him. Never one to be nice and steady, yet here he is, softly stroking his hot member. The warmth of Wade’s tongue and breath tracing Harry’s cock sends him into a tailspin, knocking his head back onto the cluster of pillows and panting.
With Wade’s condition, it was never a point Harry felt all too compelled to bring up. Not unless Wade brought it up himself. Mostly because he can pinpoint all the gorgeous qualities of the man looking salaciously between his legs. Although, tough to convince a man covered head to toe in scars otherwise. Not something you can wave a wand over to wish one’s insecurities away. These things take time.
Harry can spot his uneasiness from underneath the covers. Naturally, he puts that unease to rest. ]
Oh, I know what I signed up for, and I’m still in.
[ Said with the confidence of a Southern man ready to dine at a hearty gumbo shop. ]
Besides, I’m your … [ His face goes beet red. ] pretty little kitty. It’d be a shame not to have a jungle cat as big as you to keep me nice and toasty.
[ He sounds nervous saying it out loud. Mostly unsure of whether he is making a total ass of himself or he really wants to take a shot at this entire pillow princess affair, and he wants to set the mood for the two of them.
Set the mood for Wade to lose himself for this one moment and put the shame with his scars to rest. ]
[There really is something to be said about Southern charm. Or maybe it's the stormkissed thing. Or maybe it's because Harry's gotten copious amounts of brain damage through his life that Wade doesn't know about. Thing is? In the moment, Wade believes him. That he doesn't give a shit. That it was a stupid thing for him to even bring up.
Look. It's been a while. It's been, maybe, longer than a while, since his last time with someone who can't benchlift an eighteen-wheeler. And it was always Vanessa, on both sides, smoothie Wade and fucked up mutant Wade, and even she needed a few drinks in her that first time after. Harry's never brought up what he looked like in that little train fantasy, didn't ask what the hell happened to you? Fall into a vat of acid? either 'cause he doesn't care or it doesn't matter.
Just something to note. Maybe it means something to him and, horny little crabwalker or not, that makes Harry. Really fucking hot, actually.
Not that he isn't already. There's something enchanting about the copious amount of crow's feet around his eyes and his penchant for loafers. And now, apparently, candlelit coitus.]
Mmhmm. [He laughs, lifting up to angle his face above Harry's big ol' brown orbs. (Wow. Like looking in a mirror.) Then he's diving in to kiss just under his jaw with an appreciative rumble to his words.] My pretty slick kitten. [He can't say where Harry's going with these cat metaphors, but they are making him laugh, a deep noise that gets stuck in his throat. (Secret furry? Hmm. Could be the type.) Yeah, no one adores a panther with mange who sounds like the worst version of Hal Jordan more than the human under him, apparently.
Can't argue the power that calling someone "mine" has, though. Wade's already about ready to kill for him if Hare has the slightest inclination towards wanting someone who mildly inconveniences him to live without both legs.
Woof. He might be in deep already. That's the sex-brain talking.
Much as he's naturally inclined to leave Harry just dying in the throes of his passion, he's here to give him a fresh, fun, undoubtedly homoerotic experience. So he moves the hand that's not currently stroking his cock (perhaps a little too slow) to pluck up the lube, and the way Wade can manage not only to open it but squeeze out enough to slick up his fingers with one hand probably lends to how much he's done this. (Mostly to himself, let's be real. He needs at least one dry hand to hold the unicorn stuffie, okay?)] Like you said. Nice and steady.
[He'll start with one finger, ringing his hole with the blunt tip of a warm index finger, watching Harry's face to gauge the levels of "whoaaa nelly" versus "this is definitely awakening something in me," until he finds an invitation to start pushing in up to his first knuckle.] First time means you get to set the pace, Mr. Wilson. [If he wants to draw it out like hell, or come as quickly as possible. Don't think that's gonna be hard. Both are an option.] Just gotta tell me what you want.
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Much easier to laugh it off these days, looking back and realizing how simple it is to boil spaghetti. With a beer in hand, he sways when Wade bumps shoulders with him, chuckling all the while. ]
Believe me, I would have shoved myself into a locker if I had the chance.
[ He takes a sip of the half-decent beer as he sits back and spreads his legs wider. They're so close together that it wasn't difficult for them to end up rubbing thighs together. ]
Spent another three or four months together before we split. [ A beat. ] Credit to my mother for making the best lasagna in town.
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And now he's here. So.
It led somewhere. A lot of emphasis on the literal meaning of "somewhere." Listening to a guy's very human story from a seemingly very human Earth that could be Wade's Earth if it ever involved anything as exciting as mutant freaks and quasi-governmental corporations that had their own private prisons full of metahumans.
Wade swirls his beer pointlessly in a circle, mulling over his thoughts. Crash out? Crash out who? He's totally fine now.
Wade, ever subtle, just drops a hand thigh and gives it a squeeze. You're not so subtle yourself, Lawyer McLawyerson.] Can't be that good if it was only four months. [Now he's dragging moms out here. The kids call that "negging."] She still around? Your mom.
[Please don't give him a tragic dead parents backstory. There's too many of those in the room at the moment.
Okay, he could've placed the sneaky hand and the mom question at different points in this timeline. Shit. Too late now. Gotta commit.]
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Still around. As healthy as any woman her age would be.
[ One thing about forming a cosmic bond with a tactile, ex-mercenary superhero mutant, it’s that you build a sense of where and how they want to touch you. Case in point: the hand Wade has firmly on his thigh. He swallows back the primal sound wanting to escape his throat. A similar warmth builds within the bottom of his belly, one he felt not too far from when they huddled together on the bench at that Christmas-adjacent village.
Well…in the middle of talking about his mom, but we can work around this without awkwardly fumbling into the next moment.
And so Harry comes in to peck Wade sweetly on his jawline. ]
I guess I’ve been really lucky, all things considered.
[ His brown eyes staring affectionately at Wade, as if that is exactly what he wants to tell his Valentine this very moment. A hand comes down to brush over Wade’s pinkish mosaic skin and directs it further up his thigh. ]
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The baby that never happened and never came. Might be for the best.
Instead he says:] Good to hear. Big thanks to Momma Wilson for pumping out the baby boy that just made me a hardy dinner.
[Oh, he made it worse. Okay. That's a choice. Of course, Harry has very little reason to tearfully regret the man he selected to be his Valentine. For god knows what reason. Wade still could not fucking even hazard a guess, except maybe the snake charmer thing was kinda hot.
Somehow he still got a peck.] Lucky like interdimensional kidnapping lucky?
[He wants a bit more than a peck. Maybe, like a flare, or more accureately, like an alcohol-soaked cloth in a molotov lighting up, Harry can feel that heat leap up the same moment Wade leans in to kiss him, giving him just a second or two to escape. And don't you worry, he doesn't forget to squeeze Harry's thigh as his hand slides up higher.
As if he needs the encouragement.
It's not like the AU kiss. Not real desperate, and way less sharp teeth to work around. His brain's not stuck on the taste of Harry's blood still rolling in his mouth (admittedly, kind of hot) or the smell of dead vampires (not so hot). The fact that Harry's still chill with him after the brutal disembowelment and deep circumcision of at least two men in his company is kind of stunning, actually.
This one's just -- all want. Simple want. Been a long time since he could admit he'd had a good time on Valentine's.]
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And how much he wants this.
He stays. For all the times Wade Wilson has given him an out, Harry stays. Not budging for a moment of this as he leans in deeper into their kiss. Every inch of his body is warming up, forgetting that they're making out in the world’s crappiest motel room. All Harry is thinking about is how to pleasure the man currently massaging his tongue.
The sensation intoxicates his brain in all the best ways possible. A special cocktail he rarely drinks from, aside from the times he felt extra frisky with Grace. The moment of their kiss lasts for a few moments, but it might as well feel like one hundred and twenty minutes of one of those damn good romantic comedies.
He breaks away, his forehead leaning against Wade’s. Their tips of their noses brush up on each other as Harry gives a breathy chuckle as he peppers a couple of kisses on the bottom of Wade’s plump (albeit a little dry, but who’s complaining?) lips. ]
Lucky, as in stumbling into a world-class snake wrangler right before I met my maker.
[ Honestly, a miracle Harry could string a coherent sentence together. Hard to think straight when your mind is getting drunk with lust.
He places a firm hand on Wade’s shoulder, pushing it enough to signal to have Wade move his seat towards him. These were metal folding chairs, so Harry is already testing the weight limit of these things when climbs on top of him — legs wrapping around his torso before his feet touch the floor. His pelvis meeting Wade’s navel.
Another wave hits him, feeling it especially within his loins. The look on Harry’s face teeters between utterly smitten and surprised all at the exact same moment. A roller-coaster that gets more exciting by the second. He tests the waters by cupping Wade’s face as he leans in for another kiss. All while grinding against his thighs.
All to say You want this? ]
nsfw comin in hot 🍆
Or.
Or maybe he's thrilled that the response was not instant disgust and an attempt to stab a spork into his leg. (Though. He'd be into that, too.) It's the swapping of paprika-tinged spit and a man acting like meeting him is the fault of luck and not real, real bad karma that's replacing any first-hand embarrassment he might've brought down on himself.]
Usually the snakes are in pants --
[Wade's mouth is open and no words are coming out of it for the seconds it takes for Harry not only to shove his chair back but somehow manueuver pretty gracefully onto his lap. Instead of words, there's a sort of croaked groan of surprise. A sound that could be explained by the fact he's getting the feedback of Harry's now screamingly horny brain right back into his, and. He's not even sure where his own begins.
Shit.
The chair might break before this is over, but it'll die for a worthy cause. Wade catches him by his hips, slipping them under a properly tucked shirt after a mildly impatient tug to get his fingers gliding over bare skin. That's the good thing about a cold room. Makes every touch feel even hotter.
Wade's all about to wind up his best lap dance joke when Harry closes the distance again, kissing him deep enough it has Wade groan into his mouth. Fuck him, but he just wants to make out with the kind of guy who'd make him dinner. For what reason? To be romantic? It's working. It's working real well.
Unfortunate they can't just kiss for a solid hour to prevent Wade from talking.] Got more freak in you than I was expecting from a guy passing out on park benches. [Harry's positively frisky, fuck. And close enough he's beyond feeling just a little hint of Wade's dick responding to it.
Why the hell did he wear so many layers to this dinner? Probably the same but opposite reason he's got a bottle of lube in his bag: a man always comes. Prepared. When another guy invites you over for homecooking on Valentine's Day.
He moves a hand to tug on the bottom of Harry's prime little shirt.] Wanna see me rip it off?
[He's just offering. Last time, it wasn't him ripping Harry's clothes off. Real missed opportunity if you ask him.] Or your nipples gonna get too cold?
[That's the problem when you look like a fully encased burn victim: you don't get to share in cold nipple shock when you don't have them anymore.]
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Two things are happening at once: for one, the sobering realization that he is currently sitting on Wade’s lap. Harry feels the flushed, reddish hue warming his entire face. Not to mention how Wade is greedily tugging at the bottom of his ironed shirt.
That and how the other other Mr. Wilson is twitching between Wade’s legs.
Harry’s sex life wasn’t exactly vanilla, by definition. Okay. Maybe it was a tad vanilla with a couple of saucy dirty talk tossed in and the occasional fuzzy handcuffs. But this? Let alone with another man? His first time with a man, mind you.
Well…Mr. Wilson is definitely exploring uncharted territory here with no YouTube tutorial to walk him through this.
A part of his brain calls out to pump the brakes on this now — take it slow. Treat it as you would any other date. A little cuddle here, a little foreplay there. Bring your hands up and unbutton your shirt one by one …
That brings us to the second thing in this equation: the other voice that’s telling that voice over there to shut the hell up. The voice who is clearly winning this internal battle when he can’t form any intelligible thought.
A pleasurable, husky purr that bubbles from Harry’s throat when he goes to peck his lips. ]
Now you’re just showing off, hot shot.
[ Then it hits Harry again. Ooh! Here we go again.
An immense wave of pleasure and a ravenous appetite for his skin to be rubbing up against Wade. He moans, rutting once more against Wade’s twitching member.
A desperate need to be ripped open and unraveled.
Both of their eyes stay locked in contact, Harry staring hungrily at Wade.
There is no thought being put into these next steps as he guides Wade to the collar of his to rip it apart. He can’t even keep his hands there for long before they're sliding down to grab whatever part of Wade’s extremely well-formed glutes he can greedily latch onto. ]
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Saying all that, it definitely helps he feels Harry's hesitation like a physical thing -- and it's weird, feeling it, 'cause he's about as far as you get from a telepath, and even for him, this is a new level of intimacy. It's like a cord cutting off the breath in his lungs. A gentle jerk of the leash.
Helpful, though.
And kind of reminding him of Cable. Not in a bad way -- not even in a good way -- but in the way where this kind of. Happened before. Wade gets a little wet in his garters and suddenly the other end of his red thread of horny is getting a little too sex now, think later.
Ugh. Hard to be the careful, selfless partner when Harry's egging him on. He rises to the occasion to kiss the bottom of his chin, leaving a little bite behind.] That's my secret. I'm always showing off.
[Right about the time Luther Vandross's dulcet tones in the background hits the high notes with Mariah, Wade's ripping Harry's shirt apart like paper, in two different directions, tossing them to either side of his chair. So. No hope of really sewing that baby up again. (Wait, does Harry have a Luther Vandross Greatest Hits album? Another point in the pros column.)
He brings him down for another kiss, hungrier than the last and a bit more demanding, like they've been reduced to one horny brain cell that's bouncing back and forth in God's most cursed game of Pong. On top of that, the cold fingertips of his hands are already starting to slide up Harry's naked waist. Normally, he's all for it. Lose himself in a fuck and maybe get stabbed in the heart in the middle of it. Nothing mixes better with an orgasm than a bit of bloodletting.
But this is his very human cross-canon [undefinable noun], and Wade. Fucking cares. If he does something to fuck this up. On their first. (Date? Is this a date?) Including being way too horny for his own good and sending it down someone else's way like he spiked a concussion-inducing volleyball.
He was. Supposed to be slowing his roll. Fuck. Fuck. He could still think if Harry wasn't fucking his leg. Probably.
He pulls off the kiss with a groan, throwing his head back. Big swallow. Big boy talk. Okay.] I gotta ask. [He really doesn't have to. He could just not. Asking is making this way harder.] You ever been with a guy before?
[That's character growth: recognizing not everyone spent their life flouncing through a series of sexual trysts with every willing participant. Especially with a full grown man pinning him down. Even though the guy went to college. Are you telling him not everyone in lawyer school is having orgies on the weekends, between the LSATs or whatever? American movies are just bullshit, huh? Can you even trust anything these days?
Even the chair is whining at the brakes being pumped. Or that could be the screws giving out.] Real talk, H-Dog, I can barely think straight right now. [Something something he's never thought anything straight in his life. But seriously, this isn't something you just jump into after a series of girlfriends on a first date (? still questionable) with the first ex-merc slash killer you happen to fall into the arms of. Twice. Three times?] It takes. You know. A gentle touch. And some patience. And a whole lot of lube.
[Or it hurts like a bitch. Ask him how he knows. He's had his own week of crabwalking, he's not about to inflict that on anyone else.]
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Look at him now.
His eyes were drunk with sex and animalistic yearning — the kind where you don’t think about how it affects how you walk the next day. When Harry looks to the side, he can find his nice shirt in tatters. Shirtless, but now he can feel how tight his pants have become. Looking down, he can see how much his member stretched and dampened the fabric of his pants with precum. The sheer horniness from Wade is enough to make Harry want to yowl and beg to be touched. To have this tiger, with all of his stripes, come in and give him what he wants.
He nearly whines when Wade pulls away from their passionate make-out session. If Wade can barely think straight, imagine the mental war zone Harry is currently trudging through. Pulling himself away from his date is out of the question; he is far too skin-hungry and hard to do anything rational.
His toes curl and dig into the fresh carpet as the chair continues to groan under their combined weight. Over three hundred pounds of two men sloppily pawing and dry humping each other.
Breathing heavily, Harry leans his head downward to hide underneath the crook of Wade’s neck and suckles around his skin while peppering in a love bite.
What if Harry screwed this whole thing up? He should have been upfront with Wade about being his first man. What if he isn’t good at this? Harry’s already set himself up to disappoint Wade, yet his pants didn’t get any less tight than before.
So, no. There's the answer to his question. ]
No! [ Harry chuckles while his face nuzzles at the cleavage of his muscular chest. ] I’ve never been with another man.
[ God. He knows this is supposed to be a serious talk. But he has become too smitten to change his tone. ]
I’m sorry, honey. [ One more peck on the lips. ] I should have told you. It’s just … I never realized this is how you felt around me.
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No! Okay. Stop thinking about the b word, or any b-related verbs associated with it. Chill the fuck out, Wade Jr. Not like we're about to go home completely dry. Pretty sure Harry might legitimately find a way to kill him if he suddenly tries to zip on outta here.
-- it's a miracle he's still actively thinking now Harry's moved to sucking on his neck. He might be catching on that the guy in his lap currently is an absolute freak. Apparently cancer is not always a huge turn-off when you find the right hungry, hungry hippo. Wade is not helping this by tipping his head back, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the load in his mouth. (Of saliva!)
He seriously can't feel if it's even cold in here anymore.
Honey? My god, stooop. He's trying here.] It's no big deal. Lots of men were straight before they met me. [That's not even a good fucking joke. He swallows again.] You mean distractedly horny? I hate to tell you that's, like, my default state of being. [This is not romantic. Maybe Harry should throw him out before he keeps talking.] I'm starting to actually worry that I'm giving you some sort of horny, cancerous stormkissed brain damage. [Now say that five times fast.] Please tell me you're just repressed and ready to let your hair down in the unknown streets of homoerotic hornytown.
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[ Okay. They’re doing this. Jesus Christ, he’s panting. ]
Okay. Wait here. Hold on. Let me —
[ As much as Harry doesn’t want to peel away from the stiff member brushing between his legs, this next part is crucial. He manages, although a few whines and yips escape his throat while running over to the other side of the room.
In hindsight, maybe Harry should’ve growled into Wade’s ear and said something along the lines of “I’m all yours”. Then again, that may be a touch too predictable for such an unexpected couple of two middle-aged men from vastly different universes.
And now? Harry has to commit to the bit. ]
Don’t move — Ah, ah…!
[ There have been zero sexcapades, and already Harry is melting into a puddle of orgasmic ectoplasm. But this part is crucial.
All to … light a couple of candles by the nightstand. Two on each side for the extra layer of mood lighting, to be exact. ]
Alright. I’m almost do—NE!
[ If the rules of a stormkissed bond are true, then now this is Harry’s turn to let Wade in on what he is feeling at this moment. His erect penis is only a part of this equation. Here, Harry allows himself to sink into his shoddy spring mattress. Right now, though? This feels like a world class goose-down bed.
Luther Vandross fades out in the background. Cue Billie Holiday
Harry’s breathing as if he has just run an entire half-marathon. But he did it, smiling to himself and feeling a warmth inside his chest. A thin layer of sweat covers him from head to waist. As Billie's sultry voice plays on in the background, a new sensation blossoms from Harry. While Wade was the one to ignite the flames from within his loins, Harry is the one who waters the garden from beyond the rib-cage of Wade's chest - allowing the roots of his passionate emotions burrow deeper into Wade. An elixir combining one's lust and one's seeping affection to create a moment only poets could dream in their maladaptive daydreams.
He hums contentedly to himself, his erect cock sprouting like a spring lilac flower. This one is for Wade to unwrap. ]
Do you like it?
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Maybe the cat in heat comparison is really coming in clutch here. Oh, god. He's somehow gotten the power to invoke heat in men above their fifties. Clearly Nora Roberts is just gritting her teeth to write about him.]
I'm not moving, promise. [The chair thanks him for its survival of the night. Mostly he's trying to turn the sludge that is his brain into something resembling an organ that might make sense of what Harry is fucking doing --
My god. He cannot be serious. Watching a horny lawyer try to light candles like they're the key to his orgasm, all while sporting a full mast is definitely going into some permanent memory bank in the back of his head forever. It's one of those things you treasure forever, like the sight of a breaching albino whale.
Guess this is the part where he can move. He's moving. And while he's moving, it's the dexterity that allows him to kill men without taking a single hit that gets him onto the bed with the force of whatever pornographic brainblast he's on the other end of.
Oooh boy. Okay, so now he's suddenly understanding Cable's melting brain comment. Harry might be investing in some superb flowery imagery that he is about the furthest person from deserving, but Wade's brain's just sunk beneath the waves. Feels like his skin is on fire, prickled with heat and goosebumps that pluck up between the craters. There's just this blissful pit of nothing where he usually stuffs all the feelings about what he looks like, what his skin feels like under unbothered human fingers, what kind of man he is (the answer is: the worst). Maybe even the part where he's confused to this second about how he got to this point with the most seemingly normal human he's met here, who lived out a whole Twilight fantasy with him, rated R, and still invited him over for dinner.
This is. This is kinda nice. Is that what normal people feel like, in the day-to-day? There's no fourth party peeking in, nothing but this cozy-by-the-fire feeling that he might not be the absolute failure he's made himself out to be.
He ends up straddling Harry as if he's pinned to the bed, a knee pressed in against his hips, Wade's hands sinking into the mattress. So that's why he keeps the room for, huh? The nice bedding?] The candles, or what you're packing down here? [Wade figures he doesn't have to do much more than roll his palm over the cloth barely keeping Harry's cock covered to get him going.] Both getting a solid review from me. Definitely a B&B I'll stay in again.
[Already got rid of that shirt for him, so he can work on getting his pants off next. One hand works on that task, and the other coaxes its way up Harry's naked chest, picking up sweat on the way, tracking the rapid rise and fall of his lungs. It's only incredible core strength that keeps him from falling over. Good thing he's the closest thing to ambidextrous anyone gets to.] You good still? You can pump the brakes anytime.
[He can't help but give anyone this deep in with him their final out.]
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And then he would have spent the rest of his days hiding from the fact that he shouted, “Stretch me out, big guy!” A perfectly normal thing to say when you’re doing the bedroom tango, but revealing enough for Harry to reevaluate where he has been keeping this power bottom energy this whole time.
But that’s for another cross-canon scenario (or further down the road. Gotta keep things tabula rasa, you know?).
Did Harry have to run around the bed, stiff as a board, tip-toeing with his buttcheeks and thighs clenched tightly together and squirming like some eccentric mating call? All to light four damn candles? Well, by the look on Wade’s face, it was well worth it. Sometimes you’ve got to cut loose and make it fun. Some people are not meant to be the main protagonists in those steamy 1980s novels your mom used to read under a hot bubble bath with the jetstreams going at it full-force.
Being straddled like this — tight enough that Harry doesn’t slip away but not enough to bruise his skin — it felt nice. He feels secure. The sensation of Wade palming over his cock makes him groan with delight. This time, he doesn’t have the same carnal desire to jump all over Wade’s bones. Instead, he looks at Wade with a softer gaze and a dimpled grin.
Now it was Harry’s turn to get curious around Wade’s body, tracing a hand over his thigh and making it over to his pert and perky ass — giving it an experimental squeeze. Softer than a pillow. ]
I’m still good.
[ His cock is exposed to the brisk, cold room after Wade methodically peels away his pants. The scent of fresh soap and musk melds together to create something tantalizing to the nose. Here he lies naked and exposed, inviting both Wade and himself into this very new venture.
Harry uses his other free hand to brush over the apple of Wade’s cheek. ]
How about we take this one from the top and you show me how it’s done? Nice and steady. And with no furniture at risk of breaking into pieces.
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Wade swears he feels that groan crawling into all his little crevices. If anything, he's giving Harry's wandering hand an encouraging little squeeze of his cheeks. It's. Nice. Real nice. Having someone new, touching him like they're happy to explore. And Wade? He obviously loves attention. Loves being stared at. Hence the suit with the tight Lycra around his ass. Sometimes on his better days, he'd go out even before his overly elaborate and meant to be permanent hair system just to make people look at him. Just a funny thing that, now? Yeah, Harry might be near naked, but Wade's feeling exposed, flayed to the bone.]
Dunno. [Prepping his next words with a cheeky little grin:] I'm pretty sure I could break this bed without trying. [Not to give an Edward Cullen flex or anything. Speaking of. He turns his head to kiss the palm of Harry's hand, lifting up on his knees to unbutton his cardigan, tossing that to the chair they abandoned, as well as the shirt underneath it. At least Harry's already seen him down to the briefs. Not much to explain there.
Holy shit. Okay, yeah. That's cold. Okay, note that he's at least stealing this guy a fucking space heater.] Dammit. [He just got warm. Things needs prepping, though, so he miiight spend a very unsexy moment lifting Harry enough he can shuffle them both under a sheet. And then another unsexy moment of having to give him a hold that thought as he slips out of bed to grab the lube he definitely brought for anticipatory reasons. And then a final unsexy moment of moving back to the bed, unbuttoning and shimmying out of his pants (okay, that little move might be kinda sexy), and then shuffling back under the covers, dropping the little bottle next to the pillow.
When you think about it, there's way too many steps to this shit when it's impromptu.
Maybe the fact that he's wearing a bit of lacy panties barely holding everything in, like he promised, makes up for all of that. When Wade talks, he means it.] I gotta admit to you, Hare, I'm not real good at being nice or steady. [He says as he starts kissing down his chest, down to his stomach, spreading Harry's legs on either side of him. Wade's hands draw up over Harry's naked thighs. Cover's trapping a bit of body heat. They're getting somewhere.] But I guess now's a good time for a bit of character growth.
[The character growth is also gonna be getting him through the steps and not just sucking him off. Like. It's right there.
Nothing says he can't give Harry's dick a tantalizing little lick, though, peering up through his -- oh, right, no eyelashes. But he gets big brown eyes gazing up at him from under the tent of the cover.
Maybe he's putting off the main attraction for. A second. A minute. (And because sucking him off would be fun.) It's been the first time he's had to approach the "weird dick" warning part of this. Sure, he'd almost been naked running around that haunted house, but the whole on-fire melting flesh part of that changed things.] Listen. [He crawls back up, busying himself with opening the lube, slicking up the fingers of his right hand.] I'm like this. [He'd gesture if he wasn't busy.] All over. [Oh, look how fascinating it is to watch how fingers shine under neath the veil of candlelight. No, really. This might be his first time ever fucking beside actual candles. Usually it's in the dark.
As if he can't wait for the answer alone (he can't), Wade wraps a hand around Harry's dick like he's testing the lube's slick enough, giving him a good ol' distracting stroke. Yeah, that's slick all right.] If that's a dealbreaker. [That's probably cheating.]
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But man… The more he waits, the more tender his loins become. His nipples are already stiff as a board. That same lustful sensation builds up from the bottom of his belly, salivating at the mouth for Wade to come for him.
As the saying goes, the best rewards come to those who wait. The bed shifts and dips when Wade comes crawling under the sheets in the most decadent pair of panties. The lining of his cock and balls under those delicate floral patterns stirs something inside him to reach out and get all over that sweet, decadent garden.
Of course Wade teases him. Never one to be nice and steady, yet here he is, softly stroking his hot member. The warmth of Wade’s tongue and breath tracing Harry’s cock sends him into a tailspin, knocking his head back onto the cluster of pillows and panting.
With Wade’s condition, it was never a point Harry felt all too compelled to bring up. Not unless Wade brought it up himself. Mostly because he can pinpoint all the gorgeous qualities of the man looking salaciously between his legs. Although, tough to convince a man covered head to toe in scars otherwise. Not something you can wave a wand over to wish one’s insecurities away. These things take time.
Harry can spot his uneasiness from underneath the covers. Naturally, he puts that unease to rest. ]
Oh, I know what I signed up for, and I’m still in.
[ Said with the confidence of a Southern man ready to dine at a hearty gumbo shop. ]
Besides, I’m your … [ His face goes beet red. ] pretty little kitty. It’d be a shame not to have a jungle cat as big as you to keep me nice and toasty.
[ He sounds nervous saying it out loud. Mostly unsure of whether he is making a total ass of himself or he really wants to take a shot at this entire pillow princess affair, and he wants to set the mood for the two of them.
Set the mood for Wade to lose himself for this one moment and put the shame with his scars to rest. ]
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Look. It's been a while. It's been, maybe, longer than a while, since his last time with someone who can't benchlift an eighteen-wheeler. And it was always Vanessa, on both sides, smoothie Wade and fucked up mutant Wade, and even she needed a few drinks in her that first time after. Harry's never brought up what he looked like in that little train fantasy, didn't ask what the hell happened to you? Fall into a vat of acid? either 'cause he doesn't care or it doesn't matter.
Just something to note. Maybe it means something to him and, horny little crabwalker or not, that makes Harry. Really fucking hot, actually.
Not that he isn't already. There's something enchanting about the copious amount of crow's feet around his eyes and his penchant for loafers. And now, apparently, candlelit coitus.]
Mmhmm. [He laughs, lifting up to angle his face above Harry's big ol' brown orbs. (Wow. Like looking in a mirror.) Then he's diving in to kiss just under his jaw with an appreciative rumble to his words.] My pretty slick kitten. [He can't say where Harry's going with these cat metaphors, but they are making him laugh, a deep noise that gets stuck in his throat. (Secret furry? Hmm. Could be the type.) Yeah, no one adores a panther with mange who sounds like the worst version of Hal Jordan more than the human under him, apparently.
Can't argue the power that calling someone "mine" has, though. Wade's already about ready to kill for him if Hare has the slightest inclination towards wanting someone who mildly inconveniences him to live without both legs.
Woof. He might be in deep already. That's the sex-brain talking.
Much as he's naturally inclined to leave Harry just dying in the throes of his passion, he's here to give him a fresh, fun, undoubtedly homoerotic experience. So he moves the hand that's not currently stroking his cock (perhaps a little too slow) to pluck up the lube, and the way Wade can manage not only to open it but squeeze out enough to slick up his fingers with one hand probably lends to how much he's done this. (Mostly to himself, let's be real. He needs at least one dry hand to hold the unicorn stuffie, okay?)] Like you said. Nice and steady.
[He'll start with one finger, ringing his hole with the blunt tip of a warm index finger, watching Harry's face to gauge the levels of "whoaaa nelly" versus "this is definitely awakening something in me," until he finds an invitation to start pushing in up to his first knuckle.] First time means you get to set the pace, Mr. Wilson. [If he wants to draw it out like hell, or come as quickly as possible. Don't think that's gonna be hard. Both are an option.] Just gotta tell me what you want.