The first and only warning Cable got as to the bizarre turn his day was about to take came as a message from Irene over the intercom system. "Heads up, Nate: Deadpool's on his way up to see you. Looked like he was upset about something he was gearing up to share at volume."
That in itself was strange enough to make him hesitate before responding. It wasn't unusual for Wade to drop into his office on a whim, but in the past he'd been more likely to abuse his Bodyslide privileges to take them both outside to talk – and even when he did stop by via conventional methods, it was more like him to take the window than the stairs (whether said window was open or not – if it weren't for the draught Cable might well have given up having it repaired altogether). Coming from the likes of Deadpool, the interruption wasn't nearly so surprising as the fact that an advance warning was possible at all. That Wade had bothered to go past the front desk suggested some not insignificant degree of forethought was involved – and, if Irene's assessment of his mood was correct, the intention to do some proper storming on his way up.
A glance the footage from a security camera overlooking the foyer confirmed her account of his general countenance, but provided little additional insight into the mystery. Wade was in full costume (fresh, no sign of recent battle damage) and armed to his characteristic level of prejudice, but that didn't rule out very much.
Until he made it up, there wasn't much to do but reply, "Thank you, Irene. I'll deal with it," and wait for Wade to appear.
Cable wasn't kept waiting long. Deadpool – and it was very much was Deadpool, given outfit and ordnance – came marching into his office with the look of a man on a mission. The last time Cable had seen him so obviously spoiling for a confrontation, they'd still been in the trading-head-wounds phase of their relationship.
At least that was behind them. Providing Wade remembered as much.
"Wade. What can I do for you?"
"Sure, now he's all customer service," Wade grumbled, crossing the office in a handful of strides to lean over Cable's desk and into his face. "You tell me – you tell me – what the bleep kind of establishment you think you're running here where a guy can spend a whole night scoping out the red light district and not find a single hooker?!"
"Hookers," Cable echoed. Though keeping tabs on Wade had long since crossed the line that divided responsibility from habit, this was an element of his friend's recent activities that he'd evidently overlooked.
"Yeah, hookers! Ladies of the night! Women of ill repute! Persons of a persuasion amicable to exchanging a wad of hard-earned cash for some wads of a sticky and personal variety!" Wade practically vibrated with rage. Or at least, vibrated with something. "You know how long it's been since I had a job that paid out?"
Cable eyed him over the desk and made a swift mental calculation as to the wisdom of moving this altercation away from the furniture. There wasn't anything on the desktop of particular value – even the computer terminal had hardly seen much use since Gareb's addition to the staff. Lately, its primary function was increasingly reduced to granting people somewhere to put the sort of things they felt probably ought to go on the desk of their leader, which would only make it all the more difficult to justify replacing the thing if something untoward became of the existing model. "You had one just last week, didn't you? I-"
"My point exactly!" Wade stabbed at the desk with a finger. "Listen, Nate, I'm a healthy young merc, right? I got a job in the can, a wallet full of greens and an itch in my boxers that seventeen hour Cinemax marathons just ain't scratching no more!" This last statement was punctuated with a very deliberate grab-and-adjust to Wade's crotch – presumably lest there be any possible confusion as to which part of his boxers was in question. That said, the precise movements resulting in that region suggested that no actual boxers were presently part of the equation. Cable carefully dragged his eyes back to Wade's face as he went on, "I am bursting to share some ungodly serious love, and just jonesing to spread some of my good fortune all over some hardworking gal in see-through unmentionables and stilettos longer than my boot dagger! What is even the point of building your own personal hippie island paradise if it doesn't have blackjack and hookers?!"
There were a number of possible answers to that question. Perhaps unwisely, Cable's first instinct was to tackle the question logically. "Well, you should know there's no law prohibiting prostitution on the island. The records actually show more than three hundred recent immigrants who listed assorted varieties of professional sex work among their past occupations on arrival..."
"You're doing that ostensible dominatrix thing, aren't you?"
"The Dominus Objective, yes. It saves on paperwork." Cable mentally probed further through the relevant records. "As I was saying, some hundreds listed among our immigrants over the last six months... but it would seem nearly all of them have since moved on to other avenues of employment."
"See? The hell kind of operation are you running where ninety percent of hookers are out of work inside a month?!"
"While the remainder are now making an hourly rate in excess of that of many mainland corporate executives?" Cable added.
"Well price me out of the market and call me a sucker, but it don't get me laid, do it?!"
Cable shrugged back at him. "That's very sad, Wade, but regulating supply and demand of non-essential services goes far above my usual level of interference with day-to-affairs on Providence. I don't think I see what you expect me to do about it."
"Now what kind of defeatist attitude do you call that?" Arms in the air as if gesticulating to a non-existent further audience, Wade threw himself away from the desk to pace a tight circle around the office, the ensuing motion of muscle under spandex rendered unhelpfully distracting in the light of other recent points of focus. (It really was a very well-tailored costume. From anyone else, Cable might almost have thought he was drawing attention to this on purpose.) "Oh, I see how it is – you need to solve world peace or feed the starving lepers, Priscilla Summers is your man – why, he'll take on all the world's problems before lunch – but can he get his best friend a little action? Now that's too hard! You wanna hear what else has been too hard to futz with around here lately?"
The impulse to reply, No, really. Do tell, was some effort for even Cable to stymie. Wade rather did have that effect on the best of people.
"Well, there are always other options," he volunteered instead. "I understand our south-east quarter has a reasonably thriving singles culture. And the Church of the Many Limbed Conglomerate were supposed to be christening their newly-approved hall this week. An unconventional sect; I gather their approach to evangelism takes a... uniquely personal touch."
"Sure, he understands there are hook-up bars, he gathers there's a kinky sex-cult setting up shop down the street, do you even hear yourself, Nate? 'Cause what I'm hearing is that hisself hasn't bothered to apply his own 'uniquely personal touch' to investigating whether the other options are so very satisfactory since he first landed us all in the ocean! No interest in finding out how many times a guy can try out his 'wanna see how a real hit-man handles his wetwork'-line before he gets introduced to the new bouncer from Asgard, Alabama. No idea how much free evangelism one guy is entitled to before they start expecting him to put a ring on that denominational indecisiveness!" Very little time was allowed for Cable to reflect on how much invasive monitoring of Wade's leisure time would have been necessary to answer those questions by his own means, or how little Wade would likely appreciate that level of invasion of privacy were any other subject under debate. With a glint in his eye that carried right through the mask, he went on, "You tell me, Nate, when was the last time you got any?"
This last diversion earned itself a raised eye brow. "I thought this was about you."
"Don't you change the subject!" complained Wade, both hands slamming back into the desk. "So you're prepared to play messianic monk till you're blue in the balls, so what? Does that mean you get to take your sexual frustration out on the rest of us? Don't think I haven't noticed you practically living in this office, 24/7-"
"-excluding alien invasions, the odd assist to certain freelance mercenary friends, liberating the occasional Eastern European country..."
"-and your daily bathroom breaks, sheesh, you think that shit counts as getting out? (no pun intended) You call that satisfaction? (no pun intended) A whole population practically worshipping at his feet and he's all, oh I couldn't go asking for complimentary blow-jobs when they're all on their knees, that would be unethical! You think that's normal? You think that's healthy? Healthy is paying eighty dollars an hour so some dame will tell you your skin condition adds character while she sucks your brain out through your junk! And not in the creepy alien symbiote way either!"
The level of impotent rage Wade had whipped himself into over the matter was quite something, even by his own standards. "And you feel it should be my job to provide you with that?" concluded Cable, with great patience.
"Provide you and me both, Nate! Don't do it for me, do it for America! Do it for Justice! Do it for Capitalism! Do it for the boasting rights and the complimentary packet of thin-mints!"
Cable gave Wade a long, hard look. "Do I gather," he asked, "you've come here with some avenue of solution already in mind?"
One of Wade's boots landed on Cable's desk with a thump and a flurry of dust. "See, I knew they put you in charge for a reason!" crowed Wade, now leaning even further into Cable's space. "So what do you wanna bet that under all this torrid sexual frustration I've been lugging around – under all those little voices crying 'oh just one more shattered vertebra for the road, go on,' under all those nights lying awake pondering the existential mystery of just how many licks will get you to get to the centre of a tootsie pop – there's a moment of bona fide genius brewing up here as to how two old buds with pent-up tension to burn and twenty-three pages of gripping hijinks to fill out this month might go about solving two problems for the price of a very reasonable hourly rate and delivery in under twenty minutes or the orgasm is free, huh? But go on, let's see if you can get there first."
If a beat elapsed here, it owed less to Cable's need to think this through than a polite check to make sure he was quite done before interrupting. Wade's tirade opened itself to a few possible avenues for interpretation, and being one of a very short list of persons with better than even odds of guessing the right one first try, seemed, for once, like not nearly enough fun. "Well, far be it from me to critique your love of over-complicating a simple matter," said Cable, "but you do realise, Wade, that if you want me to have sex with you, you could just ask."
The silence that followed on the tail of this remark soon developed into a very promising candidate for the award of longest continuous duration of quiet ever to occur in the course of a casual conversation with Wade Wilson, ultimately broken only by the words, "Wait, what?", and these delivered weakly.
"I don't see how else you expect me to solve your problem," replied Cable, reasonably.
"Whoa – whoa – no, see," Wade was now back-pedalling at speed, "I was angling for you and me maybe getting our Bodyslide on, taking a little road-trip down to Vegas – maybe catching dinner and a show, check out the night life down on the strip, rent out one of those nifty suites with the ping-pong table and the basketball court-"
"Getting our what on exactly?"
"It's a turn of phrase, you know what I mean!" snapped a Wade apparently three parts furious, two terrified, and another three horribly confused. "What, just because a guy brings up Bodysliding – and maybe the minor implication he's stalking your schedule – and mutual sexual frustration – exacerbated by all those hours of sweaty pounding each other in our gym shorts... wait, I didn't bring that last part up until just now, did I?"
"You didn't, no."
"Ahahaha, that's me, Deadpool!" The pitch of Wade's voice by this point was rapidly approaching a level of desperate hysteria. "Always making those wacky sexual innuendos, nudge-nudge, wink-wink, oh that cad, how we all know he doesn't actually mean any of it but we all laugh along!"
"Of course," said Cable, even as a spirit level.
"Yeah, only someone had to go and make it all awkward! You know what, Nate, I'm gonna be a bro here and take this opportunity to come in again, so's we can do this conversation over without your wacky add-libs!"
"Whatever makes you comfortable."
"Perfect!" Turning on his heel, Deadpool marched out the door and slammed it behind him.
The door cracked open again. A moment later, Deadpool's head appeared around the edge. "So, hypothetically speaking, if I was – hypothetically – proposing a hypothetical solution to my not-at-all-hypothetical problem involving you and me doing something in the lines of the metaphorical nasty..." Here, uncharacteristically, he stopped for breath, "Was that you offering? Like, just supposing I was asking, is this your way of telling me the answer would have been a yes?"
Cable leant back in his chair. "Do I take this to mean you're asking now?"
"Don't you go giving me that smarmy 'am I planning to conquer the world or am I just kidding, teeheehee'-routine. Who do you think's asking the questions here? Hypothetically speaking."
"If you're not asking, it's all hypothetical, though, isn't it?" said Cable. "You realise that by definition, a hypothetical question is one that doesn't need an answer."
"Yeah, yeah, we all saw that Simpsons episode," Wade griped, marching back into the room with renewed vigour. "Forget the question, I need that answer! Me!"
"Why?" asked Cable, innocently. "Would it make a difference to you if I was?"
There was another extended pause, if not quite so prolonged as the last.
"Are we... are we playing Gay Hook-up Chicken now?" said Wade, edging rapidly into incredulity. "Is that what's happening here? We take turns to see how close we can get to asking for it before one of us cracks? Is this the level of puerile immaturity you've reduced us to?"
"Wade," said Cable, only a little more soberly. "In all seriousness, is it so implausible I might be willing to offer you, say, a helping hand with your problem? I do consider you a very good friend. I do come from a very different time. And you know as well as anyone I'm a very open-minded man."
"Well, sure, Nate," said Wade, tone flattening with impatience, "but you also got one twisted sense of humour, and I thought I could mostly tell when you're kidding, but now you've gone and made me wonder! Yeah, maybe we had that whole Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell if-you-know-what-I-mean thing going, but I thought we were buds! And if all along we've really been the kind of buds who might throw years of comics code-mandated heterosexuality to the wind at any moment and start bumping uglies, that might be something you could've mentioned!"
If this was Wade's idea of an impassioned plea for honesty, Cable did not find himself greatly moved. "You were hoping perhaps we could sit down and talk about our feelings instead?"
"I was hoping you might give a pal the heads up if you woke up one morning suddenly craving the D!"
"Well. That only makes any sense if you're assuming it would be a new development. Or one I hadn't acted on before."
The whole-body twitch Wade experienced then suggested something in the family of a double-take performed while facing forward. "Wut, no, but you don't swing that way!" he protested. "I would know! I have read every one of your back issues!"
"Well, not for just anyone, certainly," Cable allowed.
"You've had, like, at least three girlfriends!"
"That many?" Cable deadpanned. "No, Wade, how can I argue with logic like that? The fact we both know I'm attracted to women completely rules out any possibility I might ever have looked elsewhere."
"I," said Wade, "am honestly very confused right now."
"How much simpler do you need for me to make this?" Cable asked him, head tilting sideways.
Wade shrugged a shoulder and took a sudden and inexplicable interest in the geometric pattern that decorated the office floor. In the course of his next couple of sentences, Cable would have sworn he saw Wade actually scuff a toe. "Well, okay, yeah, you, me, a bit of a handsy circle-jerk in the name of curiosity and some mutual satisfaction, let's be honest: I've done worse... So the whole yes homo thing – the wasting all those decades of building up that macho manly image – that doesn't even give you a little bit of pause?"
"I dedicated a whole artificial island to the cause of giving humanity a space to find 'new ways of doing things'," said Cable. "I don't see why that should begin and end with economic quandaries and obscure philosophical matters, do you? Besides," he went on, "in the past year alone, I've fought by your side, swallowed and regurgitated your dissociated cell mass, swapped our genetic material to save both our lives, torn my fused body from yours on several occasions, invited you to personally lobotomise my mind, telekinetically repaired your own brain damage, and aged more than forty years in your company in the space a matter of hours. Why should this be the level of intimacy where I draw the line?"
"Okay, no, I can't really argue with that," Wade allowed, still fidgeting like a man half-expecting the crew of Candid Camera to come leaping out of a closet any second.
"There's no need to make this so complicated," Cable told him, when it become apparent more reassurance might be called for. "You came to me with a problem, I proposed what seems to me to be the simplest solution. There's no need to make it into more than it is."
Wade scratched the back of his head, apparently struggling with task of maintaining eye contact. "You didn't consider maybe coming out with this sometime when I was drunk?" Wade tried. "When we were both drunk, say? Or back when my memory still had more holes in it than the tree beside the target at Stormtrooper Marksmanship Class?"
"You can't get drunk, Wade."
A beat passed in silence.
"Remind me what's going here?" Wade asked, having already seemed to consider this for several times longer than his last several major professional decisions. "A helping hand, right?"
"That at least," Cable agreed.
Wade appeared to perk up slightly. "Well, if you put it that way..."
"Yes?" Cable prompted him, when an answer wasn't immediately forthcoming. Wade cleared his throat.
"Okay, keeping in mind I am very desperate, and alternative options are running very thin, and that I would be very angry if it turned out anyone was taking advantage of any of that..." he said, gesticulating emphatically at somewhere in the vicinity of the base of Cable's desk, "...hey, I'm up for it if you are."
Cable may have smirked, a little. He felt he'd more than earned it.
Ease of removal had obviously been well down the priority list in the design of the Deadpool costume – the variably heavy outer layer of belts and weapons harnesses accounted for only the first strata of fastenings – but it did, for mundane practical reasons, have the equivalent of a fly. Having joined Cable in the laughable privacy of the far side of his desk, Wade unzipped and adjusted himself. On the few previous occasions where he'd been present to see Wade naked, Cable had achieved a credible job of following contemporary locker room protocols; now, he observed the result with some interest.
"Uh, so," said Wade, still twitchy, "obviously when I was telling you this was urgent, I wasn't trying to say it was as urgent as all that, so to speak. I wouldn't want you thinking normally when folks get to see Little Wade, he doesn't have the good manners to stand up and say hello."
"No. Of course not," agreed Cable, mostly for the look of the thing.
"I mean, it's not personal or nothing, right? And it's totally not about the scene – don't you think I never got it up using the good ol' executive-office-quickie-porn before or nothing like that."
"The thought never crossed my mind, I promise."
"Serious!" Eyes fixed shamefully downwards, Wade was actually starting to fidget anew. "And the cyborg-ruler-of-fantasy-island scenario usually does it for me just great! Ain't easy being so healthy all the damn time, you gotta keep the inspiration coming if you wanna keep this monster beat down, lemme tell you – the Wilson Spank Bank does more transactions than American Express! And it's totally not you! I'd hate for you to think the idea of you reworking the 'life saving genetic transfer'-routine was a bam, fun's over, go-home sort of deal with me if it crosses my mind when I'm rubbing one out – usually that goes and works out fine! I'm just..."
"...a little nervous?"
"Well shit, Sherlock, wherever did you get that idea?"
"Wade. Relax." Dropping to his knees, Cable brought his hands up to bracket Deadpool's hips, finding as he did the outline of flesh and bone beneath barely camouflaged by the thin layer of fabric.
Wade twitched under his hands. "Says the guy who's not about to let some asshole who once Fedex'd him home get familiar with his junk!"
"No, that's fair," Cable allowed, working his thumbs inwards. "If it helps, I do have every intention of offering someone who shot me in the head not so many months ago the chance to return the favour in a little while." The texture of Wade's skin here proved softer than the ubiquitous ridging and crenulations would suggest on visual inspection alone. Interesting. He hooked a finger underneath and ran it gently up the length as he continued his examination.
"Well, I guess a bit, but... uh... did we talk about whether Senor Lefty McIronGrip was getting invited to this party?" said Wade from somewhere above.
"Did you say something?" asked Cable, having been legitimately distracted.
"Uh... okay, so it turns out the metal there is warmer than you think it's gonna be. That's a thing I learned today. That's... uh, that's a really interesting sensation. Kinda working for me."
"Mm, I thought you'd like that." Though it was nice of Wade to say so, the evidence was available to Cable in more immediate form. "Here we go."
"So, if you had any ideas that this was gonna go down without the running commentary," said Wade, "I figure now'd be a good time to di-oh my god..."
Cable looked briefly up from where he'd been mouthing Wade's rapidly-hardening erection. "Don't let me interrupt."
"I'm just saying, I know it puts some folks off... that's your mouth happening to my dick down there!"
"That was the general idea, yes."
"Did I say stop? I do not remember saying anything in the family of 'stop'. Fffff, okay, the-Mutant-Messiah-of-the-South-Pacific is now officially going down on me. That's... that is hot. How hot that was going to be is another thing I was not prepared for. Jeez... You're... you're really getting into that down there."
"Thoroughly." The answer came not from Cable's mouth, which was otherwise occupied, but from a speaker hooked to a computer terminal built into the side of his desk. Wade's neck whipped around to locate the source of the sound. "Not as elegant as telepathy, but it does have advantages," Cable added, as Wade clicked to the source.
"And people say I talk too much," he snickered. "Gotta give it you, Nate, this is officially the kinkiest ventriloquist act I have ever been part of."
"I'll take that as a complement."
"'Long as you're not taking it as an invitation to stick your hand up my ass, we're good." The shrewd look Wade threw down his way killed most of the impulse to suggest 'perhaps some other time' before it could properly form at all. "Any more clever uses of your updated powerset I should look out for? Or is that all you got?"
"I can see what we're doing through two different camera feeds," admitted Cable. Both feeds had been long since discretely redirected away from the main security hub, recording their footage only to a heavily encrypted subfolder buried deep in his personal files. The security camera mounted on the interior wall of his office had a particularly good angle on proceedings, granting him an out-of-body view of the back of his own head; of Wade backed up against the desk, his fingers clutching fitfully against the hard edge behind him, his body arching above in pleased jerks when Cable got the suction just right – anyone else in his position could only dream of feedback as immediate or gratifying. The second camera had managed only to capture the scene obliquely, the desk wholly obscuring Cable's own crouching body; the view instead presented only the back of Wade's torso, the motion of the muscle under his suit as his breath rose and fell unevenly – more arthouse cinema than hardcore porn, but in its own manner scarcely less appealing.
"Are you recording this?" squeaked Wade.
"I wasn't planning on letting it archive with the main feeds, no," said Cable, smoothly, which remained technically truthful. "Unless you were hoping for a souvenir."
"Now that – that is service you do not get with hookers," said Wade, sounding distracted and happy, his voice gone breathy and fine. "Unless you pay extra. Or you talk 'em into doing it on the splashdown ride... nngh. Damn, Nate, where did you learn to do that? That – that is not in the standard merc handbook, I would know."
The speaker crackled. "I did mean to warn you I might be a little out of practice. Evidently I needn't have worried." Fully erect, Wade was larger than he could easily get his mouth around, but a mouth and a hand did the job nicely – and as a matter of principle, any job Cable might not get a second shot at, he made a point of doing well.
Wade snorted. "Typical. Compare the guy to a hooker once and it goes right to his head."
Cable decided that didn't need an immediate comeback and turned his focus forward. His free hand presented a chance to explore further he didn't intend to waste. Wade clearly wasn't going to appreciate being fingered on this occasion (later, perhaps, if that opportunity arose), but a handful of Wade's ass (regrettably covered by his costume, but impressively defined even through it) was more easily excused, and if Wade didn't enjoy having his balls played with at least a little, Cable would be very surprised.
"Okay... that would be a metal hand fondling my balls down there. A metal hand that could do very serious damage to very sensitive bits of Wade. I, ah. I am fairly sure I should not be turned on by that."
"I could always try the other hand," said Cable, before Wade could quite make up his mind on this, and switched them out, wrapping warmed metal over the base of Wade's cock. "Though I wouldn't want you to imagine the relative threat differs so very greatly." The TO had made for an acceptable preliminary examination, but it couldn't hope to beat skin for breadth of sensitivity, and that was wanted here. Reinforced stitching around the groin notwithstanding, the very best thing about spandex was how much it stretched. Even down there, Wade proved entirely hairless – not surprising, but knowing it by touch was a new sort of privilege.
"Threatening to crush my balls does not count as good dirty talk!" said Wade, but the abortive forward thrust of his hips that came with the statement suggested otherwise.
Cable elected to concentrate rather than reply, and for several lovely seconds, heavy breathing was the only sound from above.
"Okay, I think blowjob etiquette calls for me to warn you I'm getting really close to, uh, oiling some of your joints there," said Wade, after a bit, the gravely quality in his voice becoming deliciously pronounced.
"What, are you sure? The eruption of Mt Deadpool should not be taken lightly, Nate. No-one's gonna judge you for taking two steps back and assuming the brace position."
"Wade, you have the most overactive healing factor known to science or mysticism," said Cable, with great patience, "You don't really have any STDs, and we both know it. I'm inviting you to come in my mouth. Are you really going to turn me down?"
"Jesus, Nate, you drive one hard bargain," Wade muttered – barely – and that was the last wholly coherent sentence out of him for seconds on end.
The sound of Wade coming was a long, broken moan, peppered with half-formed but creative expletives. None of Cable's names were among them (not even 'Priscilla'), but neither was Bea Arthur's or either of the Olsen Twins, so he was prepared to call that a win.
Wade, being Wade, took very little time to get his breath back afterwards, though he seemed more than happy to let the desk take most of his weight for the moment. "Jeez," he wheezed, sounding satisfyingly wrecked. "Well, that was..."
"...to you liking?" Cable suggested, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.
"Aha," muttered Wade, vaguely, sounding more than a little like a man discovering a new religion. "Just think," he said, still sounding slightly in awe, "all those people out there wandering 'round your island without any idea what a cocksucker you can be."
"Ah, that would be another of your 20th Century human insults, yes?" Cable deadpanned. "You'll forgive me if I take it in a different sense."
Wade waved a hand and looked generally cheerful. "Well just now I'd probably forgive you for anything, so, uh... So."
"So it's been a while since I brushed up on all the buddy-blowjob P's and Q's," said Wade, still leaning back on the desk on his elbows, "but I'm pretty sure this is where I ask if you wanna – y'know – wanna see how I do at returning the favour?"
"Well, far be it from me to presume that was the agreement," said Cable, "but if you'd like to give it a try..."
Somewhere between the part where Wade's hand was suddenly fisted in the front of his shirt and finding himself yanked in so close to Wade's face he could make out individual stitches in the mask, it dawned on Cable, belatedly, that it might have been a mistake to assume Wade was going to need a minute to recover. "Excuse me, did I stutter? Because I'm pretty sure we were done with the 'only if you wanna'-toe-dipping-tango a whole scene-break ago, and I pretty clearly just asked you do you want me to blow you or not?"
Cable had been accused of many things in his lifetime, but being slow on the uptake or quick to back down was rarely among them. An ultimatum like that deserved a proper reply, and his was to yank the Deadpool mask up over his nose and kiss Wade hungrily, full on the lips. Startled, Wade's mouth opened under his, probably before he'd quite caught up, and Cable licked into it like a man on a mission with a time limit. He had a message to deliver here, and he'd need to be clear again before he could make sure it got through.
"Yes, Wade," he pronounced, "I'd like that very much."
Wade blinked and ran a tongue over his teeth. "Okay, on the one hand: spunk breath, not really selling the whole experience. On the other hand..."
Wade's other hand was suddenly making itself at home in the hair on the back of Cable's head, tugging him forward with purpose. Wade kissed back with a tongue on a mission of its own – one that swept the back corners and was done with minimal lingering.
"No, no, yeah," said Wade, "I could maybe get used to this... you were saying?"
"That I might just have some frustration of my own I think you could help me with," Cable supplied.
"Swell! That's all I wanted to know!"
Levering himself off of Wade, Cabled slumped back into the chair behind him, knees spread. Wade followed, winding up with his knees on the floor and his elbows on the seat of the chair. "So... now, right?"
Both of them eyed the obvious bulge in Cable's pants, left as evidence he hadn't been exaggerating his feelings on blowing Wade minutes before. Cable waved a hand in that general direction. "Be my guest."
Wade took to his button and zip with the zeal of a man trying not to lose his nerve. When it came to actually handling Nate's erection his fingers were less than certain, but once he'd finally got it free... "Nate," Wade exclaimed, and whistled. "You never told me you had a TO dick!"
"Ten percent of one, maybe." It didn't matter how familiar the sight of it was, looking down was automatic. "If I had told you I had a TO dick, you'd have been disappointed." Really, the encroachment barely reached beyond the base on a sliver of the left-hand side, though the fact the metal cut a hairless swathe through his pubic region did admittedly make it more obvious than it might have been.
There wasn't anything particularly erotic about the fascination Wade turned on his tackle. "Aw, don't be so modest, Nate!" More to the point, though, there shouldn't have been anything erotic about it; none of his more important nerve receptors seemed entirely clear on the matter.
"I do have one TO testicle," Cable offered, in what might have been the strangest compromise of his career.
Cable helpfully shoved his pants a little lower so Wade could see. "Nate, Nate, does this mean you have TO spunk? Am I going to come away with techno malware? Do I need to back up my fillings before I put this down my throat?"
"It's perfectly safe, Wade," said Cable, with the resignation one who knew perfectly well he had no excuse for not having seen this coming. "And even if it wasn't, it's not like this is the first time you'd had the TO virus in your system."
"It doesn't light up, does it?" Wade asked, now rubbing the organ in question between a finger and thumb. "Detach? Get wifi reception? TO junk's gotta do something cool!"
"The last man to knee me in the groin broke a kneecap."
Wade snickered happily. "You totally let him on purpose, didn't you?"
There was no sexual ice-breaker quite like TO-infected genitalia. At least not when your partner was Wade Wilson.
"Okay, but seriously: does it have a vibrator setting?" asked Wade, enthusiasm unabated. Cable groaned internally.
Aloud, he said, "Why don't you find out?"
"Heh." Though the mood might not recover, Wade had a gloved hand wrapped around Cable's cock without further hesitation. "So, for the record, this is still the first time I've had my hands on another dude's dick," he said, jerking him steadily, in what obviously came as a very natural motion. "But I never had no trouble working over my own 'till it was ready to spill its dirty secrets all over the furniture, and let's be real, I was putting worse stuff in my mouth back in preschool, and I'm not just talking about Auntie Mabel's vegan meatloaf experiment."
"Wade, you're getting me off, not trying to pass a job interview." If Wade had worried about developing a liking for metal fingers, Cable was beginning to realise it had nothing on the risks that might come of getting involved with Wade Wilson.
"Aww, and I had this whole spiel about how with the right direction, I'm sure I could be a real fast learner." All previous fears about putting Cable off with too much talking were clearly banished. "So, lessee if this is really as easy as they make it look on TV..." Wade went on, and opened his mouth.
The groan that emerged from Cable's throat this time had a very different character – less than wholly dignified, and certainly much less than entirely intentional.
What ensued was, bluntly, far from being the most accomplished blowjob Cable had ever been fortunate enough to receive. Wade licked and sucked (and at one point actually attempted to blow), rubbed the tip of Nate's cock into one cheek and then the other, and more or less everything in between – while his hands shifted experimentally from the base of Nate's erection to the inside of his thighs to the seat of the chair in every possible combination that might give him a new angle of leverage – until his hands were sticky with his own saliva and Cable halfway out of his mind. Deadpool, still very nearly in full costume, eagerly at work teaching himself the basics of fellatio in Cable's lap was a sight beyond the furthest outpost of the obscene. For several long minutes, the feeds from two different security cameras lay quite utterly forgotten and ignored.
His own contribution reduced to a stream of heart-felt encouragement, "yes" and "that's it" and interspaced with Wade's own name – feedback which was certainly being heard, and just as swiftly disregarded as Wade inevitably kept up with whatever strategy seemed to be working for him – generally for just long enough for it to be obviously no accident before he'd tire of it and try something new. If Wade came away with this with the impression that anyone else would have been so forgiving (let alone enthusiastic, to a level surprising even himself) about putting up with that many scrapes of his teeth, then Cable had surely done the world a disservice – and wouldn't have cared, because if he had any say in the matter no-one but himself ever would have the privilege of being on the receiving end of Wade's eager tongue ever again.
In all the excitement, he quite miserably failed to give Wade any warning when he was getting close, but Wade, for his own part, did not greatly seem to mind. There was a certain amount of coughing and spluttering, and more than a little semen splattered on the seat of the chair – but throughout, Wade gave nothing so much as the impression of a man terribly pleased with himself. (The chair would possibly need replacing. Or gilding and framing for posterity. He could decide which later.)
"Sheesh, Nate," Wade muttered at last, wiping his mouth, "Little warning."
"Sorry." If this came out less than entirely sincere, Cable was quite beyond caring. "Got a little caught up in the moment." Flexing his fingers, Cable was only moderately surprised to discover that one of his hands had migrated to cup the back of Wade's head somewhere in the preceding minutes, which was no cause for regret – all the more excuse to tug him up and kiss him again, Wade settling into his lap with his thighs over Cable's own, already very much at home.
"Okay, feedback form time," said Wade. "So, rating on a scale of blowjobs-I-have-known – how'd I do?"
"Hrm." Cable made a show of considering the question. "Not bad. A little more practice wouldn't go amiss."
"Yeah?" Wade caught his meaning with no effort at all. "Always did learn best through demonstration though, if you know what I mean. Thinking I'm gonna have plenty more frustration to work through, but right now I'm thinking, Vegas? Hookers? Totally overrated. And overpriced. And way too far away. You gonna be up for it?"
Awash in a stupefying flush of contentment, the reply, "Give me ten minutes," was out before Cable had given any real thought to the real possibility Wade would expect him to put his money where his mouth was. Or where his mouth had been, knowing Wade.
From Cable's vantage point all such dangers seemed comfortable long minutes away, while in the now, the snickering of Wade's mouth against his skin in response was well and truly worth all indignities, and all seemed well in the world.