[Wade's unpredictable, unruly nature is uniquely challenging-- and Cable likes to be mentally stimulated. He can't deny, though, he does get a thrill whenever Wade physically submits without questioning it. Especially now.
It doesn't stop him from looking befuddled for a moment, visibly processing the new information. This is also uniquely challenging, because Wade is wiggling his ass. Cable shakes his head.]
Uh-huh. [He doesn't have time to unpack how he feels about that (good) when there's business to attend to. His finger pushes against Wade, working its way inside him. Like with anything in Cable's life, he's very precise about every motion. He pushes in to the base of his finger, then half out, then he's circling his finger inside Wade. He keeps the pressure on him, persistently looking for the places that make him squeak.]
[He'll love being compared to a cat with a slow-feeder mat after the coitus, promise. Whether he's actively killing Nate's braincells or providing visual and auditory stimulation does not matter right now.
As long as he's gonna get simulation soon. Before he starts resorting to more than just a little tease.
Which. Okay, he was kind of joking. Maybe. He can definitely say the first time being pegged hurt about the same amount as the tenth time, and that was before the mutation. Assholes are flexible. Wade's just happens to rebuild every time his cells decide to die and be sparked back to life, or replaced with spicier, cancerier cells. It's like a puzzle box that's rescrambled itself up just in time for every new sexytime.
This is the worst analogy (heh, anal-ogy) ever. Just forget he made it.
There. A beautiful spark rockets across his brain, probably frying one the lobes in the mean time.] Fuck. Finally. [One finger, no matter how thick and calloused, isn't comparable to a dick, but they're getting somewhere.
Maybe not quite a squeak. But Wade's about as vocal as he ever is, with little grunts and groans and another chill that moves him closer until he's all but straddling Nate's lap. Thing is, that's reminding him (fuck, he was not kidding, thinking is about as easy as swimming in maple syrup right now) he didn't finish his job.] Yeah. Fuck, yeah. It's good.
[Gives him a little encouragement, then he gives Little Nate a heated look between them. Give enough room for Nate to finger his asshole, give himself enough room for his lubed fingers to wrap around Nate's cock again and stroke again. Something something Kill before me and I'll come you. Wait. Close enough.] You? Good?
[They're nailing the conversational part of this.]
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It doesn't stop him from looking befuddled for a moment, visibly processing the new information. This is also uniquely challenging, because Wade is wiggling his ass. Cable shakes his head.]
Uh-huh. [He doesn't have time to unpack how he feels about that (good) when there's business to attend to. His finger pushes against Wade, working its way inside him. Like with anything in Cable's life, he's very precise about every motion. He pushes in to the base of his finger, then half out, then he's circling his finger inside Wade. He keeps the pressure on him, persistently looking for the places that make him squeak.]
Good?
no subject
As long as he's gonna get simulation soon. Before he starts resorting to more than just a little tease.
Which. Okay, he was kind of joking. Maybe. He can definitely say the first time being pegged hurt about the same amount as the tenth time, and that was before the mutation. Assholes are flexible. Wade's just happens to rebuild every time his cells decide to die and be sparked back to life, or replaced with spicier, cancerier cells. It's like a puzzle box that's rescrambled itself up just in time for every new sexytime.
This is the worst analogy (heh, anal-ogy) ever. Just forget he made it.
There. A beautiful spark rockets across his brain, probably frying one the lobes in the mean time.] Fuck. Finally. [One finger, no matter how thick and calloused, isn't comparable to a dick, but they're getting somewhere.
Maybe not quite a squeak. But Wade's about as vocal as he ever is, with little grunts and groans and another chill that moves him closer until he's all but straddling Nate's lap. Thing is, that's reminding him (fuck, he was not kidding, thinking is about as easy as swimming in maple syrup right now) he didn't finish his job.] Yeah. Fuck, yeah. It's good.
[Gives him a little encouragement, then he gives Little Nate a heated look between them. Give enough room for Nate to finger his asshole, give himself enough room for his lubed fingers to wrap around Nate's cock again and stroke again. Something something Kill before me and I'll come you. Wait. Close enough.] You? Good?
[They're nailing the conversational part of this.]