|"Evil Taste Good", collection of fic bits (War/Deadpool, Stryfe/Deadpool, Nate/Wade)
||[Dec. 17th, 2009|09:14 am]
Cable x Deadpool
Okay, I'm just going to post these fic bits that were originally anon response to kink memes, at 4chan, or in the comments, before I forget, and I have an inkling I've forgotten a few already...might separate some of them into another post before I post at cabledeadpool
"Causal Non Con" (War/Deadpool AU drabble, Exactly What It Says On The Tin, Rated M)
Before War had finished undressing, Wade's chains have already pulled his legs apart and folded him up in his Proper Position.
"So while you're home I was thinking you could do something about the decor, what would our friends think?"
War smiled, and silenced Wade with a kiss.
"That was nice, but hey, hey, I said NO! The kids are trying to sleep in the next room and-"
War slid in, and what words Wade have left melted into moans.
It was a change of pace, that War rather liked.
"Sensitive In Public" (Nate/Wade, very affectionate PDA)
It's because he's Deadpool, manly professional assassin! He so does not turn into a kitten in a second whenever he has Nate's hands upon him.
He's in Providence because he's still Detective!Deadpool, not because he's Nate's playtoy, and the needless handsyness is distracting him from his Important Duties of keeping an eye on everyone in the mess hall.
Like, is Nate really playing up the Cult Leader image or what? He sits in a communal chair like it's a throne, and Deadpool is just tired when he slides down into Nate's lap instead of staying in his own chair when Nate starts molesting him again. Hand on his shoulder, lightly sliding down to rub circles on his inner arm, pulling a now doll-like Wade into his lap, and Wade is just cold when he curls up to snuggle, and Nate is so very evil when he starts stroking his back, while carrying on his conversation with a sector leader about the lunch menu.
...and everyone acts like it's NORMAL.
Even though paradise isn't prudish about public sex, Nate is just being evil now, because Deadpool, Merc With A Mouth, and a Reputation to maintain, oh, oh, oh, mewl.
"I Know You Can Heal" (Stryfe/Deadpool, Messiah War dialogue, Rated M)
"That was mean boss, that was very mean."
"You shot me, for my brother."
"1. It was nothing you couldn't survive, and 2. Nate was here first."
"He left you."
"...I gave you a love tap and you tore me in half!"
"Shut up or I'll attach you backwards."
"Can't you just...fix this for me?
"You're reattaching already.
"I can't stand up."
"The Flavour Is Fleeting" (Stryfe/Deadpool, desires, two part POVs, Rated M)
Wade comes to life beneath your fingers like a flower in bloom, muscles mending beneath soft new skin as he trembles in ecstasy while you strokes him. His beautiful hands clutches onto your shoulders like a vise as you pull him down to engulf you to the hilt, all the reconnected neural pathway running bright with memories and dreams and it feels like the birth of a galaxy. You mark him with bruises all over his freshly filled flesh, and as you claim his mouth again you can taste a thousand extincted luxuries on his tongue. You push inside his body and his mind, penetrating so very deep that Wade can never, never, forget, he'll remember he's yours even when he thinks about him. Once you've splintered all his bones and healed him to do it all over again, but Wade still thinks about him, and all you can do is bring up the the day Nate abandoned Wade and the day that you've put him back together.
You can feel his attention and intentions, shifting through your thoughts like a sieve, holding onto what he can grab, and trying to bend you just the way he like.
You just dance through his fingers like wind. You can't forget what you remember (and you refuse to remember it differently, unless you already did), and he - can't - make - you - anything you are not.
Stryfe leaves his marks, every single time. When he's not looking, you look at the bruises and teethmarks and nailmarks and the circles of skin reddened by his sucking mouth, and try and burn that into your memory, your mental repertoire, before you lose his marks with your looks, and before you do, you feel loved.
The sun dial on the window sill reads around eight and a half and his armour is on. Your lips are already shriveling up again when he forces his tongue through them and dips you because he can. You make a joke when he lets you go, wishing he won't. His parting grip on your shoulder will bruise more if your blood is circulating as fast as it should, "Nobody touches you (except me)", and you wiggle your eyebrows (while you still have them) and promises to keep your legs crossed. You feel decay returning with each step he takes away from you.
"Reclaim" (...the old fashion way, microshipping also considered, Nate/Wade after Stryfe/Wade, smutty fluff, Rated M)
Nate expresses his jealousy much more gently than Stryfe. He was bossy and forceful and no fun when he held Wade down and silenced with telekinesis, and he did it before Wade can finish telling him that funny story involving Nuns with Nunchucks and that thorny forest that caught your clothes that he never told Nate before he was trapped in the fridge for 800 years, 800 years while he wondered if everyone outside was gone because where was the fucking calvary?
Couldn't find you, couldn't hear a single thought from you, until now
Nate covered Wade's body with kisses and his large strong hands, touching and kneading away all the tension that's been keeping Wade taut and pained, pausing here and there, fingers spread over flawed skin like a declaration of ownership. The light weight of those hands upon him was enough to send Wade's heart a fluttering like some newly wed maid, he hope he didn't project that.
There was this smile on Nate's face, that was gently smug, like he realised how much he was missed, and he ran the back of his knuckles down Wades heated cheek, confident that Wade wouldn't (couldn't) bite.
Wade had meant to roll his eyes at Nate, but they just rolled up with the curling of his toes. Nate had found that spot under his ear and down his neck, and stroked Wade into purring. He shifted under invisible weight and curled up closer to Nate, nuzzling his face upon the lap of the master he had wanted all along. There were familiar motions, but Nate's gentle massage of his scalp was much more sweeter than all the afternoons spent with Stryfe's hands running through his hair.
Stryfe was just as flatteringly possessive of Wade, but Nate cared about Deadpool beyond the amusement value. Nate had looked out for him, and not being able to read him, Nate still figured out what made him happy...eventually.
There were a hundred million little things that Wade had never noticed until Nate was gone. His favourite food was always in the fridge, the jobs Nate gave him were always challenging but doable and good. He healed as fast as he got hurt in a fight but Nate still worried about him.
Wade didn't know how long he had been missing Nate, missing that one night they had spent together before, until Nate was holding his hands again, and kissing his fingers from joint to joint, tender and solemn like a marriage oath. When Nate was done, he held the last hand over his heart, and Wade gave it a little tap (Knock, knock?), and he sworn he could hear Nate thinking, you.