|Fanfic: Drinking Buddies
||[Oct. 18th, 2009|09:25 am]
Cable x Deadpool
TITLE: Drinking Buddies
Pairing: Deadpool/Bullseye, Deadpool/Cable, Bullseye/Daken
Summary: Bullseye and Deadpool are drinking buddies.
Notes: spoilers for Deadpool: Suicide King. x-posted to gayreign (a lovely Dark Avengers com, come join us)
Deadpool cocks his head and hits at his temple to get rid of the annoying buzzing sound.
*bang, bang, BANG*
“Okay, that did not make things better evidently,” he says to himself.
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, ASSWIPE!”
“Wha--? That did NOT sound like my little yellow boxes,” Deadpool mutters and, after some deliberation, goes to open the door.
“Finally!” Bullseye exclaims and marches into the apartment with several bags in his hands. Clanging and clanking bags.
“Did I invite you and forget it? I do that some times like the time I ordered a sing-a-gram and then forgot and killed the guy when he turned up on my door step though he shouldn’t have worn purple with yellow anyhow because that is cause enough for murder—“ Deadpool rambles and watches with growing interest as Bullseye empties the bags onto the counter.
Booze. Lots and lots of booze. Oh alcohol, how I missed you!
“Alcohol, my permanent accessory. Alcohol, a party-time necessity. Alcohol, alternative to feeling like yourself! O alcohol, I still drink to your health!” Deadpool croons and hugs Bullseye tightly in joy.
“Unhand me before I bludgeon your brains out. You have three seconds,” Bullseye says matter-of-factly and continues to unpack.
“Right-o my forever bestest I-Love-Killing-You buddy!” Deadpool replies, unhanding his fellow psycho-for-hire in less than three seconds, saluting him smartly.
“Whatever. I just needed some where to drink where people wouldn’t bother me but I where wouldn’t be bored to death. So I thought ‘Hey, who is the funniest most avoided-like-the-plague person I know?’ and guess what, your name just popped up,” Bullseye stated, grabbing a bottle of Stoli and flopping down on the ratty couch.
“I knew you loved me,” Deadpool replied and served himself to a bottle of dark rum, a bottle of apricot palinka and another of raki, “Man, did you rob an entire liquor store or just pick things with your eyes closed because seriously, these combos are deadly well if we didn’t have those nifty healing factors they would but yeah---”.
“High volume of alcohol. If it said over 40 percent I got it. Nothing else really works anymore for getting drunk,” Bullseye replies and swings the bottle, chugging down a good quarter of it.
“Same here, buddy. Writer inconsistency is pretty useful some times, ain’t it? I love it when they give me enough of a break to actually let me get drunk for longer than three minutes,” Deadpool chatters, pulling up his mask to his nose and seats himself on the couch as well.
“Uh-huh, whatever. What you been up too, still moping about Mr. GI-Jesus-I-have-too-many-names?” Bullseye asks and continues to drink the Stoli.
“WE’RE DIVORCED! I’M TOTALLY OVER HIM! It’s not like I’ve been eating more chocolate and ice-cream than humanly possible and shooting at anything that reminds me of his stupid, putzy face and calling the x-jerks asking if he’s back yet from his back-to-the-future trip so many times they’ve actually made a voicemail message about it for me,” Deadpool very specifically denied to the incredulous face of Bullseye.
“Besides, I had sex with Outlaw. So there,” Deadpool finished with a raised chin and a swing of rum and palinka at the same time. It wasn’t half-bad.
“Hot crazy cowgirl?” Bullseye asked.
Deadpool nodded in agreement.
“She fucked you, didn’t she?” Bullseye stated more than asked and then valiantly emptied the Stoli.
Deadpool burst into a longwinded refusal, which Bullseye ignored and instead started on a bottle of whiskey.
“—and you totally let Wolvie Jr. fuck you anyhow so you’re not one to speak about getting fucked anyhow! Not that there’s anything wrong with that it’s just that c’mon that hair and the general doucebaggery, it’s like a textbook case of super dickery with the matching daddy issues--” being the part where Bullseye tuned in again.
“As if, shit-for-brains, I wouldn’t let that little whore anywhere near me,” Bullseye snarled, spitting whiskey.
“C’mon buddy. I’ve known you for like ages, I know how you work. Every time you get specifically homicidal with someone you obsess like a rabid fangirl. I bet you know what brand of shampoo he use, how he likes his eggs, every single person he’s fucked, even if that list is longer than the manual for your average smartphone, and what grades he had in preschool,” Deadpool said and stared pointedly at Bullseye.
“…Kérastase Bain Volumactive, over easy, ain’t getting started on that, top grades…” Bullseye mumbles near inaudibly and chugs from the bottle, amber liquid running down his chin.
“And when you know all of that you end up obsessing even more until either of you dies. And as far as I know you’re both alive and kicking, thus your convoluted logic has it that you must resolve some that UT somehow and it becomes UST and then it’s just a case of snowballing, and I so DID NOT just say that, brain bleach STAT!” Deadpool continued slightly alarmed and rummaged underneath the couch for peanuts, they always ended up there.
“…I’m not drunk enough for this,” Bullseye laments and goes about doing something about that.
“Yeah. Awkward,” Deadpool agrees and they drink.
Several bottles and some drunken snacking (cottage cheese, honey and pickles are surprisingly good with enough Tabasco) later, both of the slightly mentally divergent private entrepreneurs of creative problem solving are thoroughly shitfaced.
“Heeey, ‘pool,” Bullseye slurs.
“-and then the chicken, you really gonna love this, jumps up on his—wai’ wha’?” Deadpool replies mid ramble.
“Mm, tired. Try to kill me in my sleep or draw on my face and I’ll kill you with a yap dog, ‘kay?” Bullseye mumbles and closes his eyes.
“Ol’ buddy, ol’ friend, I would nevah even consider it. But you can’t sleep here, seriously, this couch is nasty, and you’re my friend and hospitapapabiba— whatever, says that you shan’t. So, up you go!” Deadpool rambles and half-drags, half-carries Bullseye to the bedroom, flinging him onto the bed with a resounding thud!
“…motherfucker…” Bullseye mutters but goes back to sleep, not even noticing when Deadpool crawled up against him moments later.
Several hours later…
“What the hell? Psstuii! Blergh! Oh god, what crawled up my mouth and died?” Bullseye moans as he woke and then immediately regretted it as his killer headache of hangover doom reared its ugly head.
“…kill me…” he whimpered, curling up under the covers of the unfamiliar bed. Wait, a minute—
“…the hell?” he whispered and tried to look around, squinting against the light of day that filled the trashy looking room.
“Good morning, sunshine!” a very, very familiar voice, gravel and gasoline and a hefty dose of Demi Moore, exclaimed from somewhere close.
With an impending sense of dread Bullseye looked behind his shoulder right into the mercifully masked face of the Merc-with-the-Mouth. There is a shocked silence from his side as Deadpool happily babbles on and on and on about something trivial.
Snapping back to reality, Bullseye grabs Deadpool by the throat, choking him into glorious silence.
“This did not happen. I was never here. We did not— you know nothing,” Bullseye snarls and then makes a quick exit, his aching head be damned.
Deadpool, for once silent, stares at him as he leaves, eventually he hears the telltale slam of the door.
“What’s his problem? It’s not like we fucked this time, sure he snuggled me and called me by Sniktbub Jr.’s name but that’s him every time he’s drunk, that dude’s so in Narnia” he remarks to himself and goes to make some coffee, “Hmm, gotta call x-jerks ‘bout Nate...”.