GOD'S PERFECT IDIOT

“Would anyone in their right minds want that? I’m surprised you aren’t curious as to WHY I am here.”

            CONFUSION DISSEMINATES from between his eyes, though it is not lessened; at face value, he has no choice but to accept the evidence presented, his gaze flicking again between the shreds of this man’s suit & the now unblemished skin beneath it. it is truly remarkable, even if strange; something can likewise neither hide in his narrowed assessment. he has not seen anything resembling the phenomenon within humans & even among the greater creatures of the universe, the ability to heal oneself & so rapidly, is rare. Spock levels his stare on the white shapes of the stranger’s mask. it should not surprise him the other man is additionally strange given his behavior, his language. however, he has never been spoken to in such a crude, inappropriate manner before.            it is appalling. “ i am inclined to none of those options — . ” he answers quickly, firmly, justifying the way in which he’s straightened to conceal his disturbance, & replacing it with a feint guilt of his rudeness overall. he’s known this individual fifteen minutes thirty one seconds. & while there were more pressing matters, Spock cannot keep referring to him as the man in red, “ nor do i know your name. ”

      honestly, Wade is just enjoying the fact that he’s blowing one of the smartest minds in most universes. without even really TRYING. clearly Spock doesn’t come across anyone like him often. he glances down at his torso for a moment, so used to it stitching itself together on an almost daily basis that he sometimes forgets it’s not a normal occurrence for most people. even an alien who’s seen probably some crazy ass shit.

     “suit yourself. i could stab myself, if you wanted a little demonstration? makes no odds to me.” he shrugs, setting his hands on his hips and plastering on a grin. “you’re RIGHT! i didn’t give you my name, that is so rude. i’m Wade Wilson. or Deadpool. or Captain Deadpool, if you’re feelin’ that.”

“Do I look like someone that cares?”

     “Sorry friend-o, tis a busy night and all I have are red markers.”

            HE HAD NOT THOUGHT it possible that he could be flustered in such the manner that he is; a sort of profound confusion displayed openly in the collective rise of both Spock’s brows as they’ve climbed beyond the fringe of his bangs. by quick analysis, he deems the stranger proficient of an additionally astonishing number of bewildering statements. all done with a rapid fire rate of frequency that — to his dismay, has left Spock struggling ( an impressive accomplishment, he would admit ) with where to begin. not only that, but this man OR something else, should most certainly be deceased. instead, according to what he’s managed to absorb so far, this red worn character considers Spock his bestie, has no qualms in propositioning him for food, & perhaps, the strangest ( sounding too pleased ) — refers to Spock as someone else. this, Quinto. “ i apologize — but it was clear you had sustained grievous injury. given the force with which you were stuck, you would likely have been decapitated. & yet, aside from the obvious tears in your clothing, you are inexplicably healthy. how? ”

      Wade knows that Spock won’t have a CLUE who Quinto is - which in itself is a travesty - but finds himself unable to stop the reference. and there’s definitely no denying the amusement that floods the merc’s system when he notices just how STUNNED Spock is by him. to make him so flustered and confused is no doubt quite a feat, and it’s only spurring Wade on. 

     “i wouldn’t say HEALTHY, my dude, but alive-- sure.” rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug, Wade glances down at himself, eyeing the aforementioned tears in his clothing. damn, he’s gonna have to get repairing tonight.

     “Do you like it? It’s Iron Man and Cap makin’ out. Gotta please the fans.” 

     “I cannot BELIEVE you won’t sign my chest.” 

      “Quit starin’ at my ass.” 

      “... You’re interrupting my alone time.” 

      NATALIA COULD ALMOST HEAR the man’s thoughts as she felt his BURNING gaze following the trace of her fingers up and down her body. She knew he would react in such a way - ANY MAN WOULD. It was just the amount of temptation that the redhead could SEND into the surrounding area, the amount of NEED she could plant in the hearts of the men around her - it worked almost every single time without a shadow of a doubt. She was the BEST of the best after all.

“You are one twisted man, WADE.” Natalia pointed out with a grin, not even ONCE stopping the movement of her finger up and down her stomach, grazing her breast before moving down again. “How about you UNWRAP your gift?”

      Wade is pretty sure he’s dreaming. Or, you know, that this is very much a trap and if he dares to touch her his balls are going to end up in his throat. But that doesn’t stop him from taking a step forward, eyes glued to the fingers that are sliding slowly up and down her body, TEASING him effortlessly. 

     “I am... You’re right.” He agrees, not really listening at this point, taking another small step closer as he tilts his head. “-- Wait, WHAT?” Her offer hits him and Wade’s gaze shifts back up to meet hers, his brows raising behind the mask. 

       ONLY HALF OF IT. Natalia arched a brow at those words, at his FACE stuffed with the food she had prepared for herself “ONLY?” the redhead asked, overly SWEET smile on her lips even if her eyes turned DEADLY “—you ate only HALF of my SANDWICH?”

     “I mean... What the SHIT was that?” 

     “... What? I only ate HALF of it.” 

     THERE IS A SMIRK TUGGING at her lips, yet the redhead tried to hold it backa s much as possible, though even with her attempts she was not quite SUCCESFULL - grinning widely a moment later when Wade spoke about his dreams. Head thrown back, a soft laugh escaped the Widow’s mouth before her green eyes settled on him again. He wanted to PLAY? FINE. She had mastered the game of seduction and TEASE decades ago — how else do you eliminate DOZENS of men without a word of complaint? “What else is going to be in your dreams, Wade?” Natalia asked, tilting her head to the side, one of her hands resting on her hip while the other began to slowly, LEIZURELY trace an invisible line up and down her stomach, higher and higher until she reached the swell of her breasts and then down again “Is ONLY my ass a work of art?” She continued, voice dropping into one DRIPPING with seduction “What about the rest of me?”

      -- Is this real?

            No, idiot, you’re OBVIOUSLY dreaming.

      Wade squints as her fingers trace up her stomach, over her breasts, and then back down. And, OH, the urge to just push his face into her chest is almost overwhelming. Instead, Wade just stands and gawps like a teen-aged idiot, that seductive voice shooting STRAIGHT to his crotch. He’s not got an erection yet, but honest-to-god she’s gonna have to be careful.

     “I’m okay! Maybe... Definitely not-- Can you call my mom?”