“What do you mean, ‘Can we keep it’!” These were the first coherent words Nate had managed in a full twenty minutes.
Minutes 00.00 to 00.01, after the initial proposition and subsequent reveal, had consisted of Nate reaching for a firearm.
Minutes 00.01 to 00.50 had consisted of Wade trying to talk Nate into relinquishing said weapon; Nate would have to get through him first.
Minutes 00.50 to 2.14 were, pretty much, all Wade getting shot.
Minutes 02.14 to 10.12 were… sort of a blood-loss induced blur. The room was in shambles, but the two men inside it hadn’t killed each other or carried the carnage out into the streets. Wade decided to cut his losses.
Minutes 10.12 to 14.48 aren’t worth mentioning. It was all diplomacy and bartering – except it wasn’t Nate doing the talking. Wade tried to make a list of pros and cons and realized that when you start with the pros of killing a person, the other guy really doesn’t pay any attention to the rest.
Minutes 14.48 up until “What do you mean, ‘Can we keep it’!” had been loads of fun; all gunpowder and fists and acrobatics until Wade realized the other two weren’t fighting anymore… and doing all of that on his own was making him look kind of stupid.
“Well, Irene, said I could keep it,” Wade reasoned, holstering his guns.
Stryfe sneered at his brother, arms crossed over his chest in a gesture much too grandiose for someone in only boxers and an under-shirt. “It looks like someone’s gone behind daddy’s back. Well, if mom says its okay, I’ll just be making myself at home. You. Idiot brother. Get out.”
Wade grabbed Nate’s arm for – if not physical (Nate was a big guy.) – moral restraint. “Irene said that Reed Richards said I pretty much had to hang on to him for now. They can’t keep him at the Baxter Building. They gave me this, though.” He released Nate long enough to produce a small, ultra-slim remote control from one of the pouches on his belt. “See that thing on his neck?”
Stryfe stiffened indignantly. He clearly wanted no one calling attention to the heavy, metal band around his neck.
“It dampens his abilities – and, aside from being totally S&M chic, it’s also a handy shock collar - if, you know, he tries to kill you… or piddles on the rug. ” Wade gave the remote control a fond smile. “Oh, Richards, you kinky bastard.”
In retrospect, explaining the electrocution feature of the collar may have been a little shortsighted on Wade’s part. “N-no, Nate! Give that back! You can’t just punish him when he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, and we really have to be a united front when it comes to discipline.”
“He isn’t staying here,” Nate warned, turning to Wade and speaking with him privately as he pocketed the remote, leaving Stryfe on his knees a few feet away; cursing aloud and smoking slightly. “This is the most foolish thing you’ve ever done, Wade, and need I even point out just how many ‘foolish things’ you do on a daily basis?”
“If you had been listening to any of my expositionary dialogue, you’d know I wasn’t the one who brought him here. I didn’t even sign for the package.” Wade looked away, crossing his arms in what he thought was a very offended pose. “Besides, we’re just supposed to hold onto him until Richards can figure out how to send him home.”
“And where is home?”
“Well, if he knew that, he would have sent him home already, now wouldn’t he?” Wade grinned; he’d been saving this next part, “See, there’s something this particular Stryfe wants to do other than terrorize you or kill Apocalypse that makes Richards think he’s either from a pocket universe created from a runoff of too much smut from a neighboring reality-”
Nate’s angry expression fell into one of exasperation. “What?”
“Or,” Wade began again, loudly. For once, he had remembered something almost scientific-sounding, and Nate was going to listen whether he was getting it right or not. “Your clone’s timeline is so completely fucked up – and it is. I mean, he’s a clone, he time travels, and he’s been quote/unquote dead so many times - that there are probably like fifteen accidental, time paradox copies of him wandering around different time periods. So, this particular Stryfe only really wants to sleep with me and, honestly, who can blame the guy, I- I skipped something, didn’t I? Damn it!”
“Wait,” Nate interrupted before Wade could begin again. He was massaging his temple, eyes closed as if trying to process the situation. “So, you’re saying that some universal overload of pornography spilled from its own reality and, by some cosmic upheaval too dumb for me to even comprehend-“
“It’s fanfiction. It happens.”
“-that affected some reality’s Stryfe, who, magically, appeared in the Baxter Building and said-“
“Take me to your Deadpool.” Wade glanced over to Stryfe, who had moved to lean against the wall and was currently glaring at the two with an expression that emphasized his impatience. “But yeah, one side of the earth, butterfly flaps its wings – other side Wolverine’s doing… stuff, probably boning some Asian chick – it doesn’t matter what, exactly. He’s always doing something somewhere.”
“Fine, but you get what I’m saying, right? Butterfly flaps its wings, Wolverine gets laid. One universe writes a lot of porn, adjacent universe sends us Stryfe for a threesome.”
“A threesome?” Whether Nate believed Wade or not, the mention of a threesome had caught his full attention. He looked to his clone who uncrossed his arms long enough to spread his hands in blank indifference. Nate turned back to Wade, his urgency implying just how scared he was of the answer to his next question. “With who?”
“Me and Irene,” Wade said in a deadpan tone that earned identical horrified looks from both Nates. “Oh, come on, me and you. Obviously, it’s between the three of us. Why else would I have even told you about him?”
“Because, we’re – I thought the two of us were- wait, how do you even know this is what he wants? I don’t care where he’s from. Stryfe-“
“I hate you, Cable.”
“Yes, see? Thank you. He hates me. What could possibly make you think that what he wants is a threesome?”
It was a nice feeling, having all the answers. “He came with a note.”
“He came with a note?”
“Yes, he materialized in the Baxter Building naked, with a note tied to him that said-”
“Where was the note tied?”
“-‘Nate/Wade/Stryfe in a 'relationship'. Nate and Stryfe still have their whole competitive-brother/clone thing going on and Wade is caught in the sexy, porny middle. Bonus for I’m sorry Mr. Wilson, I don’t feel comfortable reading this to you over the phone.’ Richards said we probably needed to go ahead and do what the note said. If we don’t it could cause some chaos-theory-madness, reality upheaval that could tear the very fabric of time and space. Butterfly flappin’ its wings, Nate! Freaky alien-puppies in other universes are dying by the truckload while we stand here wasting time! Now, get in bed and help us save the world!”
Nate didn’t look as if he cared very much about the freaky alien-puppies in other universes. “We’re not having a threesome.”
“Well, we could wait around for the Exiles to get here and force us into bed together. That could be kinky too.” Wade tapped a grenade on his belt thoughtfully, watching as Nate headed for the door. He had known this would be a tough sell, but he had been confident he could pull it off. Why wasn’t Nate cooperating?
“I have contractors I need to meet with. I want him gone by the time I get back, Wade. I’ll call Reed Richards myself, if I have to.” Nate’s hand was on the door handle when Wade decided that if he couldn’t have both men…
“Cool Nate and I will just save the world on our own, right Cool Nate?”
Nate turned in time to see Stryfe grab Wade possessively from behind. “You’re not going to sleep with that monster.”
The hypocrisy of Nate’s words stoked an anger in Wade that he hadn’t known was there. “And why not? It’s not like we’re exclusive. I know for a fact you and Domino were going at it three nights ago. Until now, the whole non-exclusive deal only benefited you. Maybe there are some pretty fucked up, outside forces at work here, but you can’t change the rules when someone actually wants to sleep with me without asking for cash upfront.” Wade could have said more, but the too-tight grip Stryfe had around him was making it a little hard to concentrate. “Maybe, uh, leave the remote to that collar before you go?”
“I think I’ve waited patiently through enough inane banter.” Stryfe shooed Nate away with a flick of his wrist. “Leave. I’m sure we’ll get along fine without you.”
“I don’t care if killing you does disrupt the time stream, Stryfe. If you don’t shut up, I’ll kill you. With that collar around your neck, it would be the easiest thing in the world for me to give in to that temptation.” Nate removed the remote control from his pocket as a warning, reminding Stryfe that this was his turf. He wouldn’t tolerate any back-talk.
It was a bit of a surprise when Stryfe was so quick to comply, stepping back from Wade to take a seat on the edge of the bed without so much as a threat. Then again, after you woke up naked in the Baxter Building, had a collar clamped around your neck, and found yourself with an insatiable lust for deformed mercenary sex, what was another indignity or two?
“Is this really what you want?” Nate asked, and Wade could hear the strain in his voice. “If this is something you want to try, we could find someone else… anyone else.”
The cold T.O. of Nate’s left hand cupped the side of Wade’s face. He could feel it through the Deadpool mask as Nate gave him one of those serious, guilt you into admitting that back in the fifth grade, you beat up Talking Flower #2 in the school play looks. Things had been good. Wade couldn’t say that things hadn’t been, very, very good.
Ever since Nate had come back, ever since he had started rebuilding Providence as a somewhat less ambitious venture; more foundation than city, where Nate could still feel all helpful and righteous without pissing off the rest of the world – ever since then, it had been like old times… but with sex.
Lots of sex. Lots of super-fun, ‘Hey, do you think we could do it here if you bend your leg that way?’ sex. Time apart really had made the heart grow fonder - and Nate a lot hornier. Wade figured that the future must have been a pretty barren, unsexy place… or that Domino wasn’t immediately unavailable. Probably a little of both. With his healing factor, to say a lot of heavy drinking had taken place was an understatement – which was to say, Wade didn’t remember a lot from their first night together. The morning after had been a little shocking, but when life gives you an attractive, mutant bedmate, you… make lemonade, or something.
That look of Nate’s could drive a guy to run out of kinky metaphors. “Nope, sorry. Two Nates is way too tempting. Plus, I didn’t realize it until now, but it’s always been my dream to play out a really pornographic Terminator. Nate’s good Arnold, Cool Nate’s-”
“Stop calling him Cool Nate.”
“-bad Arnold. Hey, bad Arnold, think you can call me Sarah Connor while we’re having sex?”
“If it will get you into bed faster.”
Wade looked back to Nate who still looked unhappy with this, but a new kind of unhappy; the resigned, reluctant but willing kind of unhappy. Getting him to go along with things wasn’t out of the question just yet.
“That’s all right, good Arnold. You didn’t come in until the sequel, anyway. You can sit this round out.” Wade dove into bed where he was intercepted by an eager Stryfe who, if the speed at which he was removing the Deadpool belt was any indication, hadn’t been kidding about getting impatient. “B-be careful. That gun doesn’t have a safety, and- ha! – that tickles. Woah, okay well, that grenade’s live now. Let’s put the pin back in really quick. You know what? Maybe it’s safer if I just undress myself.”
Stryfe ignored Wade and tossed both the belt and the harness aside. “So many weapons,” Stryfe said, frowning at a thin cut along his index finger that could have been from just about anything in the small arsenal Wade was decked out with on a daily basis.
Wade went ahead and removed the katanas from his back. “Yeah, it’s kinda tricky fitting all that into the uniform, but I like to be prepared. Plus, I feel guilty if I start picking favorites. Sorry.”
“I like it.” Stryfe’s lips curled into a positively wicked smile as he licked the excess blood from his finger, only to have more bead up along the length of the cut.
“Oh, well, in that case, there are a few more – mmmf.” Wade fell back against the headboard as Stryfe shoved the Deadpool mask upwards and kissed him; an act that involved an alarming amount of teeth for something that was usually meant to be a display of affection.
Stryfe’s lips were replaced with his hand, “More, hmm? I’ll have to look for those too. I’m used to being the one to draw first blood. We can’t have you get too far ahead of me, can we?”
“No, mm gef nod.” Wade tried to respond, but the hand covering his mouth muffled his words.
“And that’s another problem,” Stryfe said, his other hand already busy somewhere out of sight, insinuating itself between Wade’s skin and the top half of his costume. “That mouth of yours. We’ll have to keep it busy.”
“Hold that thought.” Stryfe pushed two fingers past Wade’s lips, over his tongue to further muffle anything else he might try and say. “Get these ready for me. I’ll need them for something in a minute.”
Wade seriously doubted that Stryfe cared about foreplay. It was glaringly obvious that all of this was for Nate’s benefit. Wade could see him, still standing on the other side of the room, trying very hard to look impassive about all of this and failing. Stryfe was enjoying angering his brother almost as much as the imminence of sex. Wade had never been so happy to realize that he was being used.
Stryfe pushed down spandex, sliding one hand down the mercenary’s hip with a lazy, teasing touch that made both Wade and Nate squirm. Wade moaned into Stryfe’s hand, his tongue moving against the fingers in his mouth; feeling the joints of them, the pliable flesh around the scratch from before, the fingertips that weren’t as calloused as Nate’s. This was a real telepath, after all. He was Nate without all that messed up machine cancer; Nate at his full potential – a disturbing thought since that kind of made Wade’s Nate, Nate-lite.
Wade wanted to point that out. There was a joke in there somewhere about mutants and beer. Like a chain smoker without a lunch break, he needed that next oral fix. What good were all those words in his head if no one could hear them? They were going to waste like all those naked pictures of Domino on Nate’s external hard-drive. What use were they if he couldn’t organize them together and click Send All?
Wade gave another moan, this one frustrated, and sucked hard on Stryfe’s fingers. He knew he couldn’t push him away, so he grabbed the telepath’s wrist and pulled him closer.
“Oh, disgusting. Oh, Wade, no. Don’t do that. You don’t know where that’s been.” Nate was collapsing into a desk chair, his head in his hands when Wade looked over.
All right, he thought. Score one for aversion therapy. Maybe Stryfe had the right idea, after all.
“Well, I see you thought to make sure this gun had a safety.” Stryfe’s wicked smile showed a hint of amusement as he removed the semi automatic from Wade’s pants. “Come here.”
Stryfe pulled his fingers from Wade’s mouth, leaving behind the faint, salty metallic taste of blood, and the strange absence of anything to say next. He pulled him up by the front of his costume. Wade leaned against Styfe’s chest and felt him slide a hand back into his pants. He really was more surprised than he should have been when those fingers, still slick with his saliva, were pushed into him.
Wade was vaguely aware of gasping, vaguely aware of shouting about Taskmaster doing something horrifically vulgar with his own mask in lieu of any coherent sort of exclamation. Stryfe’s free hand pushed back Wade’s head. Another possessive kiss was pressed to his mouth, then his neck, then the top of his costume was being ripped open so the clone could get at his shoulder; Styfe’s almost animalistic passion regressing from kissing to licking to biting at an alarming speed He had barely gotten a third finger in when Wade’s world exploded into numbing pain and static points of light. He was off the bed and twitching on the floor for nearly a minute before he realized what had happened.
“Oh, fuck you, Pricilla, Queen of the Jealous Asshats. You electrocuted us!” Wade was still twitching slightly as he pulled himself up onto his knees against the bed. Stryfe was looking downright murderous; hunched over on the mattress, his hands in hair that looked like it might have actually accumulated enough of a charge to start broadcasting its own radio service.
Nate was standing in the middle of the room, his breathing hard and uneven. He had no excuse, and he didn’t seem to care. “You didn’t expect me to sit there and watch that, did you?” he demanded once Wade was back on the bed.
“No,” Wade said, making an effort to flatten Stryfe’s hair while he talked. “If you’re going to stay and watch, I kinda expect you to join in. I mean, I don’t sit there, skulking in the corner while you and Dom have sex… Huh, well, except that one time…”
“What? Nothing. You should join the party.”
“Yes, Cable, join the party,” Stryfe said in nonplussed tones that carried a manic, overtly violent quality that made Wade a little nervous.
Nate took one step toward the bed then stopped, shaking his head. “Why do you even like this?” He was looking at Stryfe, but the question was clearly aimed at Wade.
“Leave, brother. If you’re going to stay and whine, whine, but do it in this bed, because the next time you press that button, I swear I’ll find some way to rip off this collar and shove it so far up your-“
“Fine!” Nate was stripping down to the bare T.O. before Wade could even properly congratulate himself on somehow pulling this off. Of course, there was plenty of time for that pat on the back once Nate was actually in bed. “So, what now?”
Stryfe seemed a little confused about the logistics of this as well. Certainly, he had no intention of sharing. “Well, you could hold him still while I-“
“Well, Stryfe and I could pick up where we left off, and you can just… jump in if you see an opening.”
“No! And letting him bite you like that is just encouraging more violence.”
Wade rolled his eyes beneath his mask and rubbed absently at the skin under his costume, where his healing factor had already taken care of the teeth-marks. “Jesus, it’s like chocolate and vanilla. If you’ve got a healing factor, flaunt it. Sex with you is great, Nate, but sometimes you just want to fuck! Sometimes you just want to be bent over and tied up! Sometimes you just want the other guy to spank your ass and call you a slut!”
“Ow! Shit.” Wade pushed himself up off the mattress, wincing slightly at the stinging soreness around back. “That was just an example, Stryfe – but good effort! See? At least he’s open to suggestions That’s called being a team player.”
Stryfe shrugged. “Just doing what I can to speed things along, Sarah Connor.”
“Aww, you remembered. Nate, you could really le-” Wade fell back onto the mattress, pinned between Nate and the bed.
It was about damn time.
Wade had always (Always, in this instance, being an entire three months, five days, and thirty… eight minutes.) been a little baffled by Nate’s apparent need to get most, if not all, of his clothes off before sex. If Wade had been given any say in the matter - and he never was - he would have voted to keep, at least, the mask on.
“This is always one of those things you see in movies that play out better in theory than practice.” Wade said, his voice muffled as he spoke into the bunched-up folds of the Deadpool costume.
“What? Getting undressed?”
Wade tried to ignore Stryfe’s unimpressed tone. “It’s harder than it looks when-nn…” Nate seemed less interested in issues closer to the headboard. A nasty draft was the first thing that told Wade his pants were being stripped off. The second part… Oh, God, that T.O.
Stryfe made a noise. “That seems a little like cheating, to me.”
Wade shuddered and arched his back against the sheets. Nate had let up some and it almost made things worse. He used his mouth, no T.O. He wouldn’t want Stryfe to accuse him of cheating. The man had too much of that stupid, testosterone, man-pride to lose this on a technicality. Wade could feel his tongue on his thigh, tracing the ridge of a scar, feel the heat of his breath and the bush of a mouth at his cock that wasn’t enough to do anything but drive him completely, fucking, nuts.
“God damn it!” He thrashed in the shirt still caught in a ridiculous tangle of spandex over his head. “A hand, Stryfe? I’m feeling pretty, you know, unsexy here.”
“Here, there. You’re – What did you call it? – ‘unsexy’ everywhere, Wilson.”
That one cut a little. It wasn’t that Styfe had said it, so much as the matter-of-fact way he said it. “Yeah, well you’re a clone.” Stryfe had removed the top of the costume, but only over Wade’s head. He left his arms trapped – which all seemed kind of calculating on Stryfe’s part. Wade was beginning to have some second thoughts about this clever plan of his.
Stryfe leaned back against the headboard, taking Wade’s bound arms with him. His taste clearly ran considerably darker than Nate’s. The sight of the mercenary trapped and writhing beneath his brother’s oral ministrations made him smile – and that made him angry. Wade had a feeling his anger was more like pity for himself rather than shame at how completely, fucking creepy he was. “This is dehumanizing.”
“Don’t make me explain to you how fanfiction works again.”
“Don’t say anything,” Nate warned, sitting up and moving closer to the headboard. “You’ll only encourage him.”
“Oh, he's encouraging me now. Who’s side are you on any-oh, both sides.” Wade found himself pulled off the mattress, his arms finally freed but his body caught between both Nates. He wrapped his arms around Stryfe’s neck, which seemed to be the wrong move. Nate jerked him backward by hips. Pressed up against him, he could feel – “Jesus, Nate. Be careful with the T.O.-down-below. You could poke an e- Hey! Is that why Dom always has a black eye?”
Stryfe rolled his eyes as he jerked Wade back, grinding their hips together in one smooth, expert motion that made the mercenary groan. “Does he think he’s funny?”
“You get used to it,” Nate said into the back of Wade’s neck, jerking him backward a second time. Stryfe was still holding onto his arms and neither man seemed willing to offer any give. “Uncomfortable” wasn’t quite the word. It was like that Judgment of Solomon they “re-imagined” on all the good sitcoms (and most of the bad ones). It was like that time Stryfe ripped him half that he wasn’t supposed to know about.
“And you have sex often?” Stryfe asked, ignoring him.
“Guys, this is really-“
“As often as our schedules allow, I guess.” Nate wrapped his arms around Wade, pressing the length of their torsos together as he kissed his shoulder.
“You aren’t listening to me are you?”
“Healing factor, right? That sounds like fun.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Nate assured Stryfe a little too quickly to reassure Wade that his clone hadn’t inherited those perversions of his from somewhere.
“You know what? Forget it. I’m comfortable now. Don’t bother m-ah!” Wade dug his fingers into Stryfe’s shoulders as Nate entered him. “Cut! Fade-to-black! We’re glossing over some-ah!-transitional steps here.”
Oh, yeah. Fanfiction.
“Fuck!” Wade cursed into Stryfe’s chest, trying to brace himself against each thrust. Unfortunately, Stryfe seemed to take the exclamation as a reminder, or maybe a personal challenge. Wade wasn’t sure. All he knew was that suddenly Stryfe seemed to realize that this wasn’t the end of Wade he wanted.
Nate barely caught a hand beneath Wade’s chest before he hit the mattress. Stryfe had disappeared somewhere behind him, and he didn’t need to look to know this wouldn’t end well.
“Move,” Stryfe demanded, thoroughly impressing Wade with his bargaining skills.
Nate ignored him. This was also impressive. He had ignored the rest of the world when they said, “Hey, don’t make your own island nation.” and that had worked out splendidly. Why wouldn’t this?
First two fingers were inserted, then three, jostling awkwardly for a position alongside the selfishly angled rhythm of Nate’s dick. It was painful, sure – but Wade had had worse. Mostly it was just confusing, and Wade, being Wade, took this opportunity to wax nostalgic.
Just that morning he had been so optimistic. Two Nates, one shock collar. It had sounded promising enough. The note, alone, had done its part to get his hopes up.
…Nate and Stryfe still have their whole competitive-brother/clone thing going on and Wade is caught in the sexy, porny middle. Bonus for…
Wade decided that he didn’t much like Reed Richards and his prudish sensitivities. He was just plotting out the climax of a lurid oneshot involving Richards, Doom, and sex pollen, (with which to tip the porn balances of the universes) when the end of the note revealed itself to him.
Wade opened his mouth but words escaped him. Sound escaped him. Hell, even some of his baser cognitive functions escaped him as Stryfe replaced the fingers with his cock.
There was a brief exchange of words that Wade heard but could make no sense of. His fingers twisted in the bed sheets, spine arched, body doubling over as far as it dared move. His mind singled in on the pain, and his throat finally stopped seizing up enough to lend him a hoarse keening noise to voice it with.
“Yes!” Stryfe hissed, clearly delighting in Wade’s suffering. He thrust in deep and hard enough to shake the bed. Wade shook as well, his arms refusing to continue offering their support in his irrational efforts to remain conscious. Nate’s hand centered itself on his chest. Telekinesis did the rest; Wade assumed it must have. His body was fast giving out, lost in the all consuming pain of both men inside him.
“Wade?” someone grunted. He assumed it was Nate. It sounded concerned, not willing to slow down for the world, but concerned. Nate wasn’t as eager to cause him discomfort; he kept a steady, rhythm Wade was familiar with – just, this time, it wasn’t alone.
Part of Wade was furious. He steeled himself against the agony and forced his arms and knees to obey him. His hands continued to twist the sheets, but most signs of his body’s initial distress were gone – and the rest of Wade… A few fractured syllables died in his throat before they could form some longer stream of nonsensical rambling. Now that his efforts weren’t divided between sex and keeping Wade steady, Nate could offer Wade a much needed helping hand – or mind, rather.
Oh, Wade was enjoying this, but that would only last for so long, and that wasn’t as long as the two brothers behind him were going to be at this. This was a pissing contest; only, instead of pissing it was fucking, and instead of a contest, it was a to the death grudge match of tantric proportions.
Wade twisted the sheets one last time and finally found it. He palmed the small remote control and let both men get in a few more thrusts, let those trippy mind-powers of Nate’s stroke the length of his erection a few more times; he even let Stryfe create a few more bruises on his left side, where that greedy bastard was holding Wade to give himself better leverage. And then he pushed the button.
Reed Richards may have overestimated the amount of electricity required to take down someone like Stryfe. Wade would have to send a thank you card on the back of that sex pollen drabble later. His muscles spasmed, his nerves tingled, more static-white points of light obscured his vision. He came hard and collapsed onto the mattress in a numb, over-stimulated heap.