Part 2

There's a gorgeous boy on top of him - one deceptively slim but actually thick with muscle and almost preternaturally strong - one that smells of Alpha, musky and acrid at the back of his throat with every breath he takes; but then of Beta, fresh and clean like rain on your skin, calming but disorienting; and finally of Omega sweetness and blood, toxically appealing in an almost nauseating way with his rut so close. Nose flared, he chases after the scent, breathing it in through parted lips, trying to catch it and settle on just one, but he can't.

Dizzily, he realizes there isn't one to find.

Even as the kid thrashes and grinds his knee into his balls in a way that just isn't as sexy as it could (And shouldn't.) be, he's sitting there, dumbstruck by his scent and steely eyes. He can't look away, too caught up by the flush spreading over wicked cheekbones to be concerned about the state of his poor cojones. In all his years and through all the weird shit he's experienced, he can't say he's ever met someone without a type.

You're a fucking idiot. Do something before he gets bored of trying to punch your gut with those pretty hands of his and knees us in the balls again.

"But he's so gorgeous," he whispers back, watching as the boy's eyes widen with confusion and fear. God, he's precious like this and the scent of a challenging Alpha fills the air, rich and suffocating; baby boy isn't going to let up, that much is clear. Wade groans before sighing, high on the endorphins and the instincts telling him to fight. It's a rush like no other, his mind foggy with hormones and adrenalin and all those nice things.

The man stiffens and his scent grows thicker in the air. "Who are you talking to?" he demands, and his voice is scratchy and young, his breath insanely sweet.

Wade practically whines. "And the smell…."

He's a fucking mutant, you dingus - why do you think he smells like that, huh? The point is, he might actually kill us.

We can only hope….

Well, that's true. The only pleasure I'll ever know is the sweet release of-

Ooof this not-Alpha fucking us into the floor!

Death. The sweet release of death.

Before he can respond, pretty boy redoubles his efforts, throwing his whole body down to elbow the him in the stomach. Wheezing wetly, Wade mutters a few choice words. Still, his grip on pretty boy's pretty wrist doesn't waver.

"Hey, uh, you are the guy from the website, yeah?" he asks conversationally, pausing as the boy shifts to grind his elbow just beneath his ribs. It hurts, and the kid knows what he's doing if only in a "I took a self defense class at my liberal arts college one time" sort of way, but any damage is too minor to keep him quiet for long. "I mean, I assumed but maybe I shouldn't assume-"

The other man's eyes go all steely (and sexy) again, and suddenly his hand is around Wade's throat, the pressure there just barely enough to hurt. "Why were you luring people here?" His voice is dangerously even; Wade loves it. "Is anyone else with you?"

Staring up at him dumbly, Wade says nothing. He's a little occupied with trying to follow the non-sequitur reasoning going on here. "Um, to-to get laid?" he says eloquently. "And no? I mean, just my neighbors, I guess. I don't know."

The look on the guy's face is so goddamn exasperated that he actually snorts in response before clasping his free hand over his mouth. Unimpressed, those sharp eyes narrow, and suddenly pretty boy is looming even closer.

His scent is like a damn rollercoaster: one second, Wade is almost sure of his endotype (Remember? Mutant? You aren't going to find one.) but then it goes from the pungent bitterness of angry Alpha to the sourness of stressed Beta to the heart-wrenching iron of fearful Omega. Wade thinks he's in love.

The boy scowls, the Alpha scent washing over him in waves. "You're disgusting."

"Oops, did I say that out loud?" He laughs nervously, feeling like he's shrinking beneath the man's knife-sharp gaze. "Sorry about that. Just comes out! Oh - that sounded dirty-"

Leaning forward, the man puts pressure on Wade's throat in warning; he almost laughs - he's just being so damn gentle about it it's hard not to giggle about it. It hardly hurts and the kid is being careful not to do anything that could possibly cause damage. Instead of applying pressure on his trachea, he's expertly squeezing to place strain on the arteries instead. He'd be really fucking good in bed; Wade actually has to wonder if he learned how to do this in bed. It's fucking precious.

"You disgust me," the kid reiterates, voice dripping with venom, and he just barely eases forward to make it difficult for Wade to breathe. "How could you do this?"

Something about his tone makes it sound so intimate - like Wade has personally hurt this gorgeous boy laid out across his chest, breath steady, eyes vicious. Shame bubbles up in his chest, in his throat, until bitterness reaches his tongue. He swallows hard, fingers twitching around the man's wrist.

"It was an old picture," he confesses, voice small. "I'm sorry."

His picture wasn't real either. If he's pissy because of that, he's a hypocrite.

"True."

Stricken, he stares down at Wade as if he's speaking Greek. "What?"

Squirming, Wade laughs stiffly. "I think… we're not on the same page here."

After a tense moment spent studying Wade's expression, the kid tries to pull his wrist free once more with just a quick jerk (Jerk!) to no avail. Wade stubbornly holds on.

"Where are my manners?" he gasps, amused by the little furrow of the boy's brows. "Hi there! My name is Wade Wilson!" He shakes his wrist eagerly, grinning up at him through the mask. "I'm, like, maybe ten hours from my rut and I'm not sure what's up with you but damn am I in need of a good fuck."

The silence that follows is oppressive. Wade wants to continue to babble and rant but the look in those eyes keeps him from saying anything more. Instinct tells him to crack a joke, to lighten the mood, but the almost horrifying lack of guidance from the voices in his head and the actually horrifying severity of this man's face has him shutting up for once in his life.

"I can't believe this," he whispers, and suddenly he looks so much older, world-weary and burdened, that it twists Wade up inside. He's obviously feeling guilty and it's really confusing to say the least.

Once more, he tries to pull away, but at this point Wade's fingers are locked around his wrist and they aren't going anywhere. Making a rough noise low in his throat, annoyed, the man bows over him, those doe eyes trained on Wade's own. Even through the leather of his gloves, his breath is warm against his hands; shivers wrack his spine, skin prickling at the back of his neck just from those eyes trailing over his face.

It's so intense that Wade feels like the kid is looking right through his suit, through his skin, and to his goddamn soul. The vulnerability (yuck) of it has him itching to get out and get the fuck away. There's a twinge just behind his eyes that tells him he's really gonna want a bullet in his head before this is all said and done.

"You know," he begins, voice cracking like a goddamn pre-teen's, but the boy's lips part and it's like all the words die on his tongue.

The voices are gone, and in their place is a throbbing pain. He wants to put a bullet between his own eyes. He feels lost, and maybe a little stupid, but when doesn't he? At this point, he just wants to get this kid off him so he can retreat and lick his wounds in peace.

The boy doesn't look away from his eyes even once, forcing the contact to continue even as he lowers his head. Breath caught in his throat, Wade wonders if he could kill himself by holding that breath before - well, before whatever is happening happens because he gets the distinct feeling he's about to embarrass himself. Just as he thinks he's garnered enough sense to respond, the man's brown eyes slide shut, his lips ghosting over his thumb, the touch too light to feel through his glove.

The noise that escapes Wade's throat is so high and thin that it takes a moment for him to realize he's the one who made it. He can't take his eyes off the boy with his long lashes and plush lips and flushed cheeks. Teeth sink into his wrist, and he's so shocked by the sight of those lips closing around leather that his grip slackens, releases the kid's arm.

Moving faster than he would have expected of some plain man, he hops up and back out the door before Wade can even think to object. But he must be stupid because he doesn't leave, instead lingering there, staring down at the other man as if he can't put his finger on him; it's a look Wade knows all too well. He's shaken though, his face a little paler than it was and his lips twisted into a tight frown.

Wavering, he looks down the hall both ways as if considering his options, then back to Wade. "You're actually Deadpool?" he asks, hesitant as if afraid of the answer.

Wait, what now?

He knows us!

Red flag.

That he knows us? That's not a red flag-

Consider who we are and what we do, idiot.

… Oh, shit. That's a red flag.

Cautious, Wade sits up but makes no move to stand; he's still not sure of the boy's type and the last thing he wants is to piss off another Alpha right now, particularly when he can feel the weak heat of his rut pooling in his abdomen. He's not really in a position to defend himself, to say the least. So far, he's held his rut back pretty well but he's running low on self control after having a handsome man draped across his chest, smelling like sin.

"Yeah, I'm Deadpool. Y'know - Merc with a Mouth, Regeneratin' Degenerate, resident assassin, sexiest man alive," he babbles. "And I will gladly use that mouth on you! Pretty boy," he adds, almost timid, feeling his face grow warm.

What are you even thinking?

Cuuute boooy….

Jesus Christ.

It's worth the teasing to see the pink rise to his face and the fluttering of his pulse beneath his pale skin. Pleasure coils in the pit of him, warm and effervescent, and the sight has a smile curling his lips. Wade watches, already enamored, as the man's expression shifts from disgruntled to begrudgingly and shyly pleased, his lips pressed into a thin line to stifle what's obviously a smirk and his eyes trained on the wall.

For a moment, Wade is dumbstruck by the boy's expression before it finally sinks in that he did that and he's grinning like a goddamn fool. He got this gorgeous-beautiful-sexy stranger to look all flattered and wary and utterly perfect. He'd do anything to see that expression over a plate of tacos and those cinnamon things or, even better, while this pretty thing's clothes are on his floor and he's tucked in Wade's good bed - the one in his apartment in Chicago.

He has the prettiest goddamn lips Wade has ever seen, not to mention the tight bod he's obviously hiding under all those layers. The itch that creeps across his skin as his eyes slide over the boy's in turn is enough to tell him his rut is definitely kicking in. Even then, it's hard to give a fuck. He almost misses the boy's words he's so caught up in watching the movement of those lips.

Sighing, the boy repeats himself, "Are you here because of the attacks?"

Scratching his chin, Wade considers the question - considers those pretty, pretty lips, honestly. So far as he can tell, the only attack here is the one on him. He's likely forgetting a recent assassination attempt or he missed a bad drug deal downstairs or something but it's sort of hard to care because holy hell those fucking lips and god what would it be like to kiss them?

He leans back, pursing his own lips as he takes in the hardened look on that young face. He imagines what this gorgeous boy's lips would look like pursed and pouty, too, which is a mistake because as soon as he does his cock is twitching with interest between his thighs. But that's nothing compared to thinking about those lips around his dick.

I think I'm gonna die.

… Honestly? Same.

"Deadpool?" he snaps, and when he says it Wade feels a little uneasy. Or maybe that's just indigestion from the Blair's Ultra Death Hot Sauce he had at lunch.

Finally, he shrugs and says, "Yeeeah. I am. Here because of the attacks, I mean. Who's askin'?"

With a scoff and a little curl of his lips, the kid steps forward, offering his hand to the other man. Staring at it dumbly, Wade doesn't dare move. He feels like he's going to ruin everything if he so much as breathes because a pretty boy just hit him but now he's sort of smiling lopsidedly and offering to touch him and sweet baby Jesus how'd this even happen?

"I figured you weren't," he laughs, but his eyes are warm. After a beat, when Wade doesn't respond or take the offered hand, the he steps back, hand falling away awkwardly.

He clears his throat. "Right. I'm James. I'm the one who set up that account."

"No shit!" Wade titters and rocks back. "What's your real name, sweetcheeks? You look like a Daniel. A Nick? Maybe something cooler like Xander."

"My name is not Xander," he says incredulously. "And for now you can just call me James-"

Wade whines, hunching his back dramatically. "But cuuutie! I'll tell you mine!"

"You already did, remember?" he snarks with a wave of his hand. "Did you actually put up that profile?"

What's that supposed to mean?

Something's amiss!

Yeah, some- Wait, what? Did you really just-

Let me have some fun!

Fundoesn't involve the word "amiss." What are you? A-

Shut uuup!

"God, you're giving me a headache," Wade growls, tapping his knuckles against his temple roughly.

James snorts. "So,so sorry."

"What? Oh! Oh no, no, no! I was talking to them!" he explains, pointing to his temple. "The voices!"

He doesn't bat an eye. "Alright. I'm serious, though, so I'd really appreciate it…" He bends down, resting a hand on the top of his head, eyes searching. Wade goes stiff, ready to hear something condescending or cruel spill from the kid's lips. "If they'd ease up for a minute and let you think."

Wade stays stiff because good god the boy's fingers drift over the side of his face and it sends shivers down his spine even though their skin is separated by leather. The touch is almost cruelly gentle and not at all what he was prepared for and James smells lovely, like soft Omega and protective Alpha and gentle Beta all at once. Wade's heart can hardly take this treatment.

"Holy shit," he squeaks, and the boxes are dead silent.

"Huh? Did I make it worse?"

He actually looks worried and Wade thinks he might be hallucinating.

"You aren't hallucinating."

"Oh, did I say that out loud, too?"

"Nah, just sort of guessed."

His smile is lopsided and so, so pretty that Wade thinks his heart is about to fucking quit on him. This can't possibly be real. He's too soft, too bizarre, and, most importantly, too good to be true.

James's face falls into that same exasperated expression from before. "Okay, you saidthat out loud."

Wade laughs, manic and strained. "You sure are handling this well!"

James offers his hand again. "I've dealt with stranger. Can you help me with this, though?" He pauses, considering Wade, then says, "It would mean a lot to me. Innocent people are getting hurt. It's not right."

Wade blinks at him, thinking he sounds a hell of a lot like Spidey, and liking it more than he should. Finally, he grabs his hand in both of his own, his pulse so loud in his ears he can hardly focus on what he's doing. "Of course. Anything for a man with lips like yours."

It's fun to watch the expressions flitting across his face as Wade's words sink in, and it's cute when it finally settles on what Wade interprets as "frustratedly exasperated but shy and a little flattered." He's probably way off but he can dream.

That mutant strength makes itself known again when James pulls him to his feet with no trouble at all. Standing, it's clear he has a few inches on the slighter man and he probably has fifty or so pounds to go with it, but he doesn't think it matters. He looks up at him with sharp eyes, all dark and beautiful and dangerous. Wade swoons.

This is going to be fun. So, so much fun.

There are so many things wrong with this….

What's wrong about helping out a man with an ass like that?

He looks like he's fucking twelve.

He's fucking built- there's no way-

It's called hyperbole! Look it up!

"Hey, how old are you?" Wade asks, trying and failing to sound casual.

James gives him a dull look. "Why? Feeling guilty about ogling my ass?"

Deja vu makes Wade pause. The little quirk to his lips and the way he cocks his head makes him think of Spidey again. It's pathetic but true.

You're delusional. I can't believe your ridiculous crush is this bad.

Glancing over James once more, he swallows down his unease like he always does, chuckling lowly. "Nah, the voices are, though."

He honest to god laughs at that - bright and honeyed and fucking beautiful as all hell.

Oh….

He's going to fucking ruinus.

Wade thinks he's okay with that.

"I'm sorry," Peter says suddenly, sounding so goddamn sincere that Wade wants to assure him it's a-okay, hunkydory, but he's too busy wondering what the hell there is for him to be sorry for. "For hurting you," he answers, as if he can read his expression even through the mask. "Things have been… tense."

Wade nods like he totally understands. He doesn't.

"Want tacos?" The question pops out before he can stop himself and the look James gives him has him shrinking back.

Smooth.

Our date isn't ruined!

This isn't a date.

James leans to the side to peer into Wade's apartment as if just now realizing this might not be the best idea. He twists his lips, avoiding meeting his eyes. Wade's heart sinks.

"Carne asada," he singsongs, trying to tempt him, and he does look tempted, his teeth digging into one pretty lip. Still, he shrugs, looking to the side, nostrils flaring, and Wade realizes what's wrong. He wasn't apologizing for hurting him, at least not just that, but for speeding up his rut with the adrenalin and conflict. It's sort of sweet.

"Oh!" Wade says, a little amused. "And- Um, don't- I'm not going to- I can control myself," he finally gets out, laughing as he rubs the back of his neck. It's hard to speak with the kid looking at him so intensely. "To be honest I can't tell your endotype! But, in case you are an Omega or a Beta, I just want you to know I'm not going to be a dick and use my rut as some sort of excuse to be a bastard. You get what I'm trying to say?"

His eyes soften, the last of his discomfort seeming to slip away. "I get it, yeah."

He shifts to the side, hoping James will actually come in (No way.) and he does, tugging at the edge of his hoodie to straighten it as he goes. It's fucking precious. Wade is ready to kiss this kid.

"Say, uh, do you mind me asking?" he broaches, sucking in another breath of the man's scent just because he's thinking about it; it still reveals nothing.

"Manners," James growls back, once again all Alpha, but the look he casts in Wade's direction is amused and soft.

"Goodbye Moonmen," Wade whispers, slack jawed and staring as James hesitantly wanders into his apartment.

This isn't good - and what the fuck was that reference? Get that fucking mutant out of our apartment before he turns into a raging Alpha-Beta-Omega nightmare and kills us or something.

He grins and closes the door.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!