Deadpool

{ 

HELLO MY SWEET BEAUTIFUL LITTLE ANON! Thanks for the sweet message <3 <3 <3 <3 It’s been a CRAZY YEAR (literally it’s been like almost a year yikes) but I’m glad to see there’s stills ome little fans out there <3 <3 <3 

Who knows! Maybe this is a rebirth...or a very, very cruel, sick joke (feel free to egg my house if I dip. I deserve it). 

LOK (lots of kisses!!) 

Sometimes, Nathan regrets giving Wade access to his floating utopia. Wade can zap to anywhere on the island with the little belt he “borrowed” from Taskmaster, including Nathan’s private office. Nathan has nothing to hide. He truly doesn’t.

But he does get slightly annoyed that Wade rummages through his things. It’s not even the act itself. It’s that Wade leaves a mess like a red tornado. Once, he left Cheeto-prints on some of Nathan’s very nice and prestigious awards and a whoopie cushion on his chair.

He opens the door and is not at all surprised to see Wade going through his drawers again. He closes the door behind himself quietly, expression mild.

“Use a pen like an adult,” he replies, approaching his own desk. He sits on the opposite side in a small, ergonomic chair made of reclaimed wood and recycled fabric. Nathan crosses his ankle over his knee and lounges back, resting his head on a techno-organic fist as he watches Wade dig.

“This is my office and we are past the days where I’d keep crayons in my pouches for you. You have your own pouches.”

   ☺ ✖ – “Tried,” Wade doesn’t even bother looking up, just gives a grand gesture to the pens across the desk. “All black. I’m pretty sure I’ve given you at least a red. What the hell do you do with just black pens?” 

The hand comes back to shut a drawer. The papers that were organized in folders are mostly in good shape. He opens another to a tablet and an eyebrow raises. He pauses, though, at the reply from Nathan. The small scrunch sideways from his lips is easy to see with the way his mask is bunched up to the top of his head. A good place, in his opinion, one where he could tug it down if someone waltzed in. 

“No, I pulled it from the lame attempts to make Deadpool smile hashtag.” 

Did he want to know what sort of shirt entailed Wade being ridiculed? Probably not. Daredevil sighed. Deadpool. Fucking nuts but a great guy. Even if he smelled like spicy food 80% of the time. 

“Are you going to finish that or should I run up on ahead? It should be a pretty mellow night, I just have a heads-up that Stilt-Man’s probably going to try to rob the bank on 8th street in a bit. That’s where I’m heading but if you’re not done with your dinner, then, by all means, we can wait,” he explained with dry sarcasm and an expectant gesture of hands on his hips.

“I’m not a kid. I’m an adult and I know exactly what I’m doing,” He replies, even and stern. 

He lets Wade take his hand back to tug down his mask. Nathan places his left hand high up on Wade’s hip, right above his belt. He presses firmly to keep Wade in place, not wanting him to get away when maybe, this could be an opening. 

Right now, Nathan feels nothing for Deadpool. They don’t have the history, the connection. Not on his end. But he knows that Wade will have sentiment for him. He might be young, but he’s still Nathan Summers. He knows that if he wants Wade on his side and not in his way, he’s going to have to play on those lingering feelings. Is it a terrible thing to do? Yes. But a part of him wants to see what his older self did in Wade Wilson that nobody else could.

“Wade,” he says, a bit more softly. “It’s all going to be alright. Don’t mourn. I’m right here. I can be right here for you.”

The floating bomb sets itself down and the flare of Nathan’s eye dims just a little. He focuses on Wade, trying to see past the covering of his mask. Trying to imagine what the other man might be feeling.

He lifts his free hand and touches the high point of Wade’s cheek through the material. Gentle as it trails down, over the shape of his jaw. Down to the untucked bottom of it. His fingers slip underneath as he tugs it up again, to bare Wade’s mouth. His eyes go right back to his lips. Curious.

“Let’s just talk.”

☺ ✖ – “Yeah, sure. That’s totally not what used to say with my fake,” Wade claps back, giving a look that’s conveyed simply by the mask. That connects nothing with the way his jaw is tight. With the way his chest aches. 

It doesn’t matter how many times Nathan dies, it doesn’t hurt any less. Seems to get more painful, really. 

He’s starting to feel cornered, especially when that hand presses against him. Keeps him in place. Wade doesn’t like feeling trapped, especially when his insides don’t feel right. When he feels seconds away from snapping out a Desert Eagle and jamming it right under his own jaw. 

The way his name sounds coming out of Nathan’s mouth sends a small tingle down his spine, pushes at the voices that are starting to build up in the back of his mind and has his eyes snapping to those bright blues, to that softening glow. 

There isn’t a word from the merc, his body ridged and unmoving as he holds his breath. At that ghost of touch that turns firm on his face. He wants to lean into it. Wants to push his face firmly against it and smoosh that hand between his. Keep that contact. 

When Nathan pulls up his mask his gut twists, makes his eyes shift to the side at a sting. He hadn’t seen Nate in a couple years, had just heard little whispers of where he’d been, where he might be going. 

“Don’t,” it comes after a minute. An edge to his voice he’s not so sure the younger man can even pick up on. It comes out almost strained and soft as Wade pushes it out with the breath that’s left in his lungs. He tries to fix that line to his mouth. To the way it’s been set in a frown for days behind that mask to try and hide. 

His hand moves up again to try and pull it back down. He can feel himself starting to crumble at his core. The move move move he’d pushed himself into since he’d heard the news stalled. Giving him time to think and dwell- especially with Nathan’s younger carbon copy in front of him. Wade knows it isn’t the same. Knows he isn’t the same. 

But that’s his one and only with no one really in between. Even those he holds closer, calls friends with some semblance beyond mocking have never held the place Nathan did. Had never treated him like Nathan did.  

“Uh – because i have taste?” Was that an ouch moment or was it pretty much socially acceptable not to smell like Sriracha? Matt was going to go with that. “I might just keep my distance from you for a bit until it mellows out…”

☺ ✖ – “You know, I didn’t come here to be ridiculed. I’m not wearing the right shirt for that. I came here to give you a hand.” His head rolls to the side, a chimichanga in hand, sauce leaking down his glove. 

“I’m not going to argue the semantics of time travel with you,” He tries to sound as belittling as he can. All he feels is annoyed. His grip tightens on Wade’s wrist as the merc tosses the little bomb but instead of letting go to try and catch it, his left eye glows brighter.

The bomb hovers in midair just before it hits the cabinet and it rotates over and over, clicking gently, as Nathan deactivates it with his telekinesis. His lips purse and he grabs at Wade’s other wrist after he tosses the bottle. It shatters on the floor into a mess and he tries not to get angry at the thought of more that he’ll have to clean up.

He presses Wade back against the counter to make him stop moving. Pins his hands against the counter top. They’re eye to eye as far as height goes. Nathan still has to growing to do, but it doesn’t make his frame any less thick. He’s trim with youth, but he’s got all the makings of a man who will eventually be made up of pure muscle.

“You’re mourning,” he accuses after a moment, gaze flickering over the whites of the mask. His eyes go down to Wade’s scarred mouth for a moment, trace the shape of his lips, before going back up. “I understand it. I understand that you feel you have a debt to pay. What can I do to erase that, or ease it? You said he paid. I can do that. I can do anything he could do.”

☺ ✖ – “‘I’m not going to argue the semantics of time travel with you’“ his voice mocking, higher pitched and as nasty as he can underline with his fake cheer. He sighs loud, unpleased at seeing his little bomb trapped by the other’s telekinesis and he wants to tell Nathan that that’s fucking cheating. That he knows he hates that shit when that stupid hand curls around his wrist.

But the words would fall on deaf ears. Ears that didn’t fucking understand. 

“Fucking listen,” he starts, turning towards that grip only to have a firm body pressing up against his. It has Wade’s lanky frame coiling up like a snake in a corner as he’s pressed against the counter. As those hands trap him in place. He could get out- Nathan had always commented on his slipperiness- on his flexibility - but his brain seems to short circuit at the proximity. At the set of eyes that focus on his before dipping down to his mouth. 

He swallows hard when the man speaks, a hand darting up to tug down that mask as his eyes move to the side. 

“What the fuck,” it’s whispered under Nathan’s breath as Wade begins to practically tear the kitchen apart. He dodges the plate thrown so carelessly over his shoulder, watches it shatter on the ground. He’s about to move to grab the broom and dust pan hung up on the far wall, but he can see Wade tossing and planting familiar little discs around. Nathan moves forward and begins to gather them up, fingers moving deftly over the discs to begin disarming them. He can hear the whisper of technology in the back of his mind, guiding him as if it were sentient and thinking.

“You just told,” Nathan points out, pocketing the little bombs as he disarms them. “Stop what you’re doing. I’m using this base. You can’t just come in here and blow it up while I’m trying to work. This is all mine.”

He reaches out to grab at Wade’s wrist, tugging at him to get his attention and make him stop what he’s doing. He scowls deeply.

“I am Nathan Summers. Your pact is null because I’m still alive. If all goes according to plan, I never have to come to the future to kill my older self. But if anything happens to me before I go back? You and him never meet. Never… End up however you end up.”

He only knows vaguely how close he and Deadpool were. He knows that they were intimate, on and off. Knows that even though his older self terminated a romantic relationship, they were still a close approximation to friends and occasional partners. 

“So how about you stop being a dickbag and maybe, I dunno, help me? If you feel you need to. Or stay out of my way.”

☺ ✖ – “Tomato Potato,” Wade says as he tugs up his mask, shoves that bottle of beer to his mouth to chug at it as he hooks a booted foot to a door and tugs it open. He can hear the younger man trailing behind and a flicker of his eyes behind his mask verifies that he is deactivating Wade’s bombs. 

He’d gotten them from Nathan after a shit-ton of begging. It was nice having a tech genius as a....well, just having. Knowing. Used to know. 

He peaks into the cabinet and sees a fucking doodle taped to the bottom with a shitty shrugging DP made of crayon. He rolls his eyes, straightens up to toss a little bomb into it only for Nathan to catch his wrist. 

The merc sighs out dramatically at the ‘I am Nathan Summers’, letting his head roll at the tug towards the man only to straighten up at the scowl on his face. At the familiarity of it. The merc goes stiff at his words before he moves to jerk his hand away.  “That tastes like bullshit,” He gives with a point of his finger, little disk clamped down between two others. “You expect me to believe he’s just gonna fucking pop out of nowhere? Fat fucking chance. It just makes another timeline then I’m stuck here with a fucking dust bucket.” 

The whites of his mask are settled on Cable’s face before his wrist flicks, tosses that little bomb into the cabinet in a metaphorical middle finger. His lips are a tight frown from where the red is tugged up to drink his beer and he turns away.