Disclaimer: I don't own "Deadpool 2" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I was sent this prompt, and could think of no better way to fill it than to take my first dip into the "Deadpool" fandom with it. Prompt: "Would you look at that? Anger does fuel me." - "Daddy." - "Ew. Emotions."
Warnings: flirting, unresolved sexual tension, humor, drama, romance.
Apocalypse (tomorrow)
"What's shakin' one-armed metal daddy?" he sing-songed as he casually flipped through Nate's open hotel window. Humming the lyrics to "Poker Face" by the Queen herself, the very lovely and talented Lady of Gahs as he landed on the carpet and immediately grunted in pain.
Fucking ow!
"You really need to stop flirting with me, I am a married man, you know," he called out. Pulling the metal arrow out of his leg as he followed its trajectory back to the wall where it had been set up as a trap. It wasn't eye level, however, so that's how he knew the guy still loved him.
Growing new eyes was the worst.
The sound the arrow made as it fell made him look up. Head cocking at the metallic clatter that should have been muffled against the threadbare carpet. Yeah, carpet definitely wasn't supposed to sound like that.
"What the shitting-"
He broke off, wheeling around. Taking in the spent bullet casings and broken furniture. Evidence of a throw-down fight of some sort. And a hell of one if he was reading the scene right. His boy had definitely given them their monies worth.
He passed the bed, checking the bathroom quickly. Inhaling the man's familiar scent before getting distracted by the trio of splayed assholes that'd died before they could do whatever it was they'd been sent to do. Finding something damn near poetic in the brutal lines they made against the floor. One of them impaled with a chair leg, another deep-throating a knife and the third riddled with bullets like a scene from a wet dream he absolutely remembered having at least once since the man had bulldozed his way into his life. Wafting the scent of metal and cocoa butter Chapstick so thick around his head that he got automatically hard every time he smelled it.
He did like to watch the man work.
But this time Nate wasn't nowhere to be seen.
Which was a problem.
He was gone.
Taken.
He hissed out a fractured breath underneath the mesh of his mask as he took it in. Grabbing one of the dickholes by the tac-vest as he rummaged through their pockets for clues. Trying to figure out who had sent them and why.
Frankly, this shit was rude. He'd found his own grumpy ass, semi-murderous friend from the future by himself, thank you very fucking much. As far as he was concerned this was a full-grown amber alert situation.
Ahaha!
He fished a phone out of one of the pockets and skimmed through it. There was always one moron who didn't read the terms and conditions on being a professional merc. He would know, he'd usually been that moron.
He clicked his tongue and dabbed to a silent, frowning wall he figured Nate had related to as he tapped the GPS app.
Bingo.
He sighed and cricked his neck. Flipping his blades into their sheaths as he took the window at a dead run and nearly fumbled the exit. All but bleeding machismo to hide real pain as he allowed himself to consider all the things they could be doing to him right fucking now and honestly- the red he was seeing had nothing to do with color of his mask.
It was time to save his asshole.
Unlike last taco Tuesday at Chilis.
Ugh.
"Would you look at that...anger does fuel me," he murmured as he looked down at the scene from the glass ceiling. Knuckles cracking as one of the putzs hauled back and sucker punched his hunk of burning Cable right in the gut.
He grinned under his mask when Nate just took it. Sweat dripping from his hairline and flicking off the ends when he straightened again. Fixing them with his patented eat shit and die expression that never failed to make him hard.
'Atta boy.
"Took you long enough, dipshit," Nate deadpanned after he not so subtly crashed through the ceiling and broke every bone in his body with the landing. Able to actually feel the force of the man's glare as he slowly levered himself off the floor like a spatula poking under a pancake on a griddle. Feeling more or less like swiss cheese as the mercs unloaded into him in panic.
But he just grinned, prancing around as the last asshole rattled through his death throes. Swinging his swords like cheer-leading batons as Nate shook off the ropes he'd untied with a grunt.
"Yeah, yeah. Ew, emotions. We get it. You're a paragon of toxic masculinity, hiding your feelings behind a mmpph-"
Nate kissed like a drowning man.
It was a god damned cliché but it was true.
It was violent and in your face. Full bodied with teeth tugging, biting demandingly on his lower lip through the mask like he wanted to bite right through it. Big hands curled over his shoulders like-
In short, Nate kissed like he punched.
And in his dreams, how he figured the man might fuck.
"Thanks, Wade," Nate clipped off, hiking up his jeans with an indecent hitch. Metal arm glinting like a god damned halo as he hauled back and slapped him on the back. Other arm reaching for his 'future packsack' that'd been dumped out on the metal table beside the chair they'd tied him to.
"Anytime," he wheezed. Breathless and absolutely panting for more as he staggered off to the side with the force of it. Nearly tripping over a cluster of the fuckers as Nate snorted and collected his things.
It was safe to say his little crush had become more or less an entire avalanche.
Oh yeah.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.