Chapter 3

by imp



Summary

Notes






Two days later, Domino stabbed a fork into her pile of pancakes and said, "So, I heard a rumor DMC is down a strike team."

"What kind of police state asshole bureau has a strike team?" Wade waved his ketchup-covered fork back and forth. "Like, seriously, what is happening here? Has anyone bothered to figure out just how far the judicial process has broken down in this reality? Where's the investigative reporting on all this? Fourth estate says what?"

"That rumor is correct," Nate said.

"The depot attack?"

"The very same."

"By the way you'd described it, I figured it was just a couple cops or something. Not a whole strike force."

Digging a blade into Nate's ribs would have been a less effective means of upsetting him. "They're very...effective."

"Scary. Cable means scary." Wade rolled up a pancake around some of his scrambled eggs. "But don't worry, baby, because I was on it."

Nate scowled. "Of course, next time they'll send a mutant specifically tailored to bring you down."

"Lighten up, buttercup. That mutant doesn't exist. If it does? Huge game-changer. I win either way."

Nate felt reasonably certain that wasn't how any of that worked. But Wade was avoiding his gaze, tapping his foot on the floor: he was nervous, Nate thought, for a reason he couldn't quite divine.

"Be that as it may," he said finally, "if they couldn't immediately replace the people you killed, that's good news for us."

"Murder usually is." Wade pulled out his phone. "Ooh, hey, check it out."

Nate blinked at the text message Wade shoved in his face. From: Sugarbear. Message: vote count up to 42. Good job, Wade.

He cleared his throat. "Sugarbear?"

"The chrome drone himself."

Colossus. Right. "We'll need fifty-two votes in the clear. We can't depend on the Vice President to deliver for us."

Wade didn't look up from his texting. "You never can. Not as dramatic that way."

"So we're still outnumbered," Domino said. "And all the easy ones have flipped or committed, right?"

Nate nodded.

She sighed. "I hate politics."

"I think we should sent Russell to Nevada," Wade said. "Have him fire-fist his way into a couple committed votes."

"Blackmail or intimidation would only invalidate the results," Nate said. "I know you don't want that."

"Ha! No, you're right, but it would be funny."

"Oh," Domino said. "Hey. That's a really good idea, actually."

"Of course it is. I'm a genius. Wait, what idea?"

"Russell's a witness to the DMC's depravity. A sympathetic witness - no offense."

"None taken. Some taken."

"I think you're very sympathetic," Domino said, patting Wade's hand, "But old asshole Senators probably wouldn't."

Nate's mind was already working through the implications in her statement. "You want us to tote Russell around."

"Pretty much."

"You've heard him talk, right?"

"Hey," Wade said sharply. "Russell's a good kid."

Nate barely glanced at him. "Yeah, I know." Now he did, anyway. "But he's not exactly, you know, nice."

"What if I took him on a talk show tour?" Domino said. "I went on Ellen a few years ago when we were doing early AirBnb ads, I still have her number."

Wade gasped. "You're friends with Ellen and you didn't tell me!"

"Yeah, 'cause I wanted to stay friends with her. But." Domino turned to Nate. "It would be pretty unlucky if Russel started demonstrating his Candy Shop cover or cursing out DMC's Director on live, nationally broadcast television. I think I should do it."

Nate nodded. "Good idea."

"Hey. As leader of X-Force, I get a say in this too!"

The corner of Domino's mouth curled. "Sure, boss. What do you say?"

Wade nodded slowly, looking like a bobble-head doll with a broken spring. "Domino. Your time has come. You are...America's Next Top Model."

"Okay, thanks. I'll let you guys know when I've scheduled us some airtime." She snagged Wade's last pancake.

"Hey!"

"Later," she said, and left.

"In the sitcom AU of our lives," Wade said, "she's our really annoying kid."

"If this were a sitcom from my era, one of us would have three arms. Radiation poisoning mutation."

"I never know how serious you are when you say stuff like that."

Nate bit back a smile. "Pretty sure you'd be our kid."

Wade gasped again, even showier this time, putting ketchup-smeared fingers over his cheeks. He looked ridiculous. Nate loved it.

"Dis. Re. Spect. Cable, you take that back."

"It's her house. She's the only one with a job."

"I'm freelance!"

He couldn't stop the laugh then. It was worth it for the way Wade smiled.

-

Domino delivered on her promise the next day. One of Ellen's guests dropped out ("coke-fueled three-day marriage-divorce culminating in a sky-written threesome proposition to Prince Harry and Princess Rachel-From-Suits," Wade told him, which explained absolutely nothing). Colossus sent Russell along with a stack of X-Men recruitment pamphlets; Domino tossed them in the garbage and played up the 'multiple generations of tragic tortured orphans' angle. The audience bought it hook, line, and sinker. Xavier had been paying for polling on the DMC issue for months; their numbers, Wade gleefully informed Nate, fucking shot up after the interview.

"You know what just occurred to me?" Domino said that night over beer and Go Fish. "People might introduce their kids to me now. I'm so not the right person for that."

"Send 'em to Wade instead," Nate said. "Got any fives?"

"Toss out a fishing line," Domino said gleefully.

"I don't think anyone should send kids to me," Wade said. "Unless they want, you know, assassin training."

"What, you don't want practice for when you and Cable adopt a bunch of photogenic orphans?"

Wade flicked a card at Domino. "Can it."

"I would love to babysit for you," Dopinder said, "if you wanted. I have cousins, lots of them, and none of them died in my care."

"Thanks, Dopinder." Wade cupped his cheek and caressed his eye socket. It was insane to be jealous of that, Nate told himself as his grip on the cards tightened.

"When you two get divorced, we should throw a double bachelor party," Domino said. "I know some guys who are down for anything if you get a little tequila in them."

"I know those guys too, Domino, they're my Uncle Larry and Cousin Brad." But Wade sounded intrigued. "Are we talking rager at home, or bowling alley?"

"My home is your home. Literally, right now, but also, as a tax thank-you thing."

"Aw, you're the best."

Nate stared at the table and didn't engage, doing his best to direct the mental energy in the room everywhere but at him. My home is your home. Well, he didn't want it to be. Not generally, though he had nothing against Domino, but especially not when an essential component of that home was sitting next to him, bumping his knee and jabbering about Cheeze Whiz pizza.

Wade really would be a good father.

He tossed his cards to the table and stood. "Gotta run."

"Where? Home Depot? If you're going to finally build me a portico, you should know, they legally count as structures and you have to get a permit. They don't accept sexual bribery."

"Great," Nate said. "I'm not going to Home Depot." He looked at each of them, felt the confusion radiating from Domino and Dopinder. "I - bye," he said, and made his escape.

Pathetic. Completely pathetic. Shame kept him at the park a few blocks away for the first hour or so; cowardice did the job for the rest of the day.

He had to go to bed eventually, so he did his usual routine, stripping down and lying on the edge of the bed where Wade was less likely to touch him. But Wade being Wade, he waited until Nate was drifting off to say, "I wrote a note to myself to apologize."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, all the kid jokes. Dick move, my bad, et cetera." The sheets shifted as Wade scooted over to him. "Not that we should raise kids, because any child of ours would undoubtedly have really bad skincare habits and the kind of killer instincts that get you expelled. But, given your tragic backstory, I shouldn't have turned it into a joke."

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing." Nate glanced at him. "About you."

Wade's face went through a complicated tumbling routine of emotions before landing on the one Nate had learned to recognize as pure, uncut evasion. "Well, obviously no one's lining up to give me a kid, but I don't care, I was ready to be a father before - all the other stuff. But hey, healing factor, you don't have to soothe my tender feelings - whereas you, obviously, are just a soft little marshmallow in a metal union suit, and you need someone to pet you while you sob tender tears of -"

Nate put a hand over his mouth. "You're forgiven. And I'm sorry. All you had to say."

He pulled his hand away. Instead of repeating after him, Wade stared at Nate's mouth and said, "Hey, wanna go down on me again?"

Nate had held the fantasy of Wade spreading him open in his mind - heart, sex drive, whatever - for awhile. He found himself thinking of it again now. He couldn't ever ask for that, but he could maybe have something similar. Maybe.

"I have a better idea," he told Wade. "Roll over."

It was kind of heartbreaking, the way he moved so quickly. Wade trusted him so much, and Nate was lying to him with every fucking word.

"Tell me if you don't like this," Nate said, and pressed one firm hand into the back of Wade's neck.

Wade let out a low, shaking breath, dropping his head into the cushions. "Is this the part I'm not supposed to like?" he asked the mattress.

"Nah," Nate said, and used his T-O hand to spread Wade's ass, licking him firmly.

"Oh. Oh, shit."

"Want me to stop?"

Wade thunked his head a couple times against the mattress. "Fuck. No."

"Suit yourself," Nate mumbled, and got back to work.

Not his favorite sex act, really, to be on the giving end of. But Wade made it worth it. He moaned when Nate traced his scars with his tongue, cursed when Nate pressed a finger inside and licked around it. He humped the bed when Nate tongued him, muscles tense and shaking. Nate ran a hand over his back time and again, addicted to the texture of his skin, his smell, his insane babbling. He wanted to bury himself in that eager ass, fuck him till they were both too exhausted to move, but he'd settle for this: Wade coming around his fingers, Wade reaching out for him, Wade falling asleep with his head on Nate's shoulder.

-

Panic-inducing card games aside, the campaign was going great. They had two months to whip up votes for the bill. The House was taken care of; the Senate inched closer every day. It wasn't an issue people were okay with being undecided on. Wade had gotten into the habit of greeting Charles Xavier by saying, "Are you sure you can't just mind control the entire Senate?", but in its own way even that was a good sign. It meant he cared about the issue at hand and wanted to fight for it.

He had discovered that here in the past, he hated politics. But worse things happened, too. He kept falling into bed with Wade. Or. Well. He kept getting Wade off. "Falling into bed" was romantic phrasing for a decidedly unromantic arrangement. Nearly every time, after Wade had come, he'd go get himself off alone. Wade never commented on it. He thought about ending it, a few times, but he was all too willing to be used if the person using him was Wade. He never got past, "Maybe," and silence that Wade filled with insane suggestions of his own.

He loved that part. Wade's brain ping-ponged around like nothing he'd ever seen. "Yeah, it's a symptom of the whole cancer/healing factor thing," Wade said once when Nate tried to compliment him.

It had felt like someone nailed his tongue to a door. "Well," he'd managed to say. "It's. Entertaining."

He didn't try that kind of compliment again.

Still: time passed. The bill passed the House, then a month later it passed the Senate. The day the President signed it into law, the X-Men threw a party at their mansion. Not, Wade told him, "a boring, political party. Absolutely no one's toes are getting sucked at this one. Well, not unless tequila's involved. Or Colossus." In other words, they'd won, and now was the time to celebrate, without the people who'd made them hurt for it.

Two hours in, Nate felt pleasantly drunk and at peace with this fucked-up world. Wade was absolutely hammered.

"How much do you have to drink to stay like that?" Nate asked.

"Oh, soooo much. A bottle of vodka every, hm, one-two-three - ten minutes. Ish." He slurred the ish, leaning into Nate's shoulder. "Worth it! We worked hard. Gotta take a load off. Ha, load. You know whose load I want to take?"

Nate looked around. Emma Frost stood in the corner, exchanging words with Colossus; Negasonic and her girlfriend were glued to each other's sides, playing some handheld games; Russell was telling Domino about something that involved a lot of lewd hand gestures. No one seemed to be paying much attention to Wade, certainly not with the sidelong glances that said they expected mayhem.

They were comfortable. They were all so fucking comfortable. If Nate hadn't had this disgusting mess of emotions sitting in his chest, he'd probably be comfortable too.

"Hey! Nate! Stop telling the audience about your pathos! You know whose load I wanna take?"

"Whose," Nate said, feeling the weight of inevitability.

"Yours," Wade said, and slumped against him.

It was always so fucking good, being with Wade. But now - Wade was happy and it showed. He was sweet like this, gentle. Most people Nate had talked to didn't seem to think Wade was capable of being like that, but Nate knew better, Nate -

Loved him. And saw the best in him. Never even asked if this was how he'd been with his girlfriend, all-in and joyous and fucking loving.

He was so fucking pathetic. And he knew it, could picture Aliya ribbing him for it, even as he listened to Wade reminisce about gangsters he'd killed with poison lip gloss.

"- should fuck me in Colossus' bed."

Nate blinked. "No."

"Sure? It would be gooooood."

"You're drunk, Wade." And Nate was compromised by his own fucking feelings.

Wade normally would take that kind of thing with a shrug, but the booze must've changed more than Nate realized. Wade stared at him with a half-sad, half-appalled expression on his face, then said, "You're not my real dad."

"I. What?"

Wade hopped off his lap and ran off to talk to Negasonic. Right, then. Just Wade being Wade, and the party wasn't going to stop for that.

Hours later, Colossus stopped by. Nate had long since given up on being social and was sitting in one of the mansion's many window seats, a glass of juice - freshly pressed fruit juice, more precious than a barrel of the nicest whiskey - in one hand. "Cable. I have something for you." He lowered Wade carefully to the ground.

He wasn't - moving. "What happened?"

"He jumped off third story, careful to go head-first. Give it another few minutes." For a second, watching Colossus stand over Wade, Nate had the insane image of him in some old-school nanny getup, wringing his hands. "He tried to kiss me. He told me he thought I'd be generous lover, quote, unlike some bad-tempered metal Terminator dicksnacks, end quote."

Nate winced. "Christ."

"You want me to call the Professor instead? We can take care of him."

Nate didn't want to examine the irritation that popped up in him, thinking about that. "I got it. Don't worry about it."

"Hey...don't worry 'bout a thing," Wade mumble-sang. He cracked one eye open. "Oh. It's you."

Nate didn't glance over to where Colossus was edging away. Coward. "Yeah, it's me. How about we go home?"

"Home is where the heart is. And hearts..attack." Wade sat up. "Sure. Take me home, hot stuff."

"I'm going to ignore that you said that. I'm doing us both a favor." Nate stood and offered Wade a hand.

He took it, and then he held onto it, in a bone-crushing grip Nate couldn't bring himself to break. This wasn't what he'd planned, but then nothing with Wade ever was. He got them both home and wasn't even surprised when Wade jumped him immediately, hooking his dumb gangly legs around Nate's hips and forcing Nate to support them both.

"I just want you to know," Wade said, "I'm fine with you being short. I think it's much more interesting this way."

"Uh-huh." Nate backed Wade against a wall, using the leverage to get his teeth into Wade's neck.

Wade gasped and arched his back, pretty as a picture. "Please, please tell me you're gonna fuck me. I know you have hangups about being a gay sex virgin, but it's okay, I'll help you through it. I'll be your cock guide. Also, you can't even hurt me that much, I swear."

Every part of that was too ridiculous to dignify with a response. But. "I'm not a -"

"Gay sex virgin? More convincing if you can get the words out." Wade reached for him, his eyes on Nate's lips.

No. Nate ducked his head just in time, kissing Wade's neck. "I'm not." Bite. "A gay sex." Lick. "Virgin." A kiss, gentle, right on Wade's pulse point. To bring the idea home, he thrust against Wade, just hard enough to rub their cocks together.

"Then come in my ass, big boy, and prove it."

He was sober now. That much was obvious, looking at him. He was also nervous - because Nate hadn't let him touch, wouldn't fuck him. Nate'd tried to hide it. He knew how stupid it was, this idea that fucking Wade, or kissing him, somehow crossed a line all the other shit didn't.

It was stupid. It was a very stupid feeling, and it butted up against all Nate's other stupid, bad-idea feelings. But Christ, Nate didn't want Wade to look like that, like he expected to get hurt. Not because of Nate's dumb shit.

"Yeah, all right," he said, and watched the giant smile take over Wade's face.

"Take me to bed or lose me forever, stud," Wade said, humping Nate's leg with demented abandon.

Nate took them both to bed. He cheated a bit, using his TK to keep them both upright. Wade gasped, "Sexy psychic motherfucker," when Nate threw him on the bed, and -

Spread his legs. Put his hand on his cock. Arched his back, head thrown towards the ceiling. Nate had meant to climb right on top of him, but for a moment he felt rooted to the spot, cock throbbing as arousal rushed through him. Fuck, but he wanted this.

Wade was beautiful like this. Fine, Nate thought Wade was beautiful in general. He was a mix, as old books might say, of the sacred and the profane. He was so fucking ridiculous, uncouth and baffling, but to Nate he was special. Unique. Surprising, but not like finding the last of your canned goods supply had rotted through; more like the first days of spring, when the Earth herself proved that despite everything, she planned to continue with her schedule of life. Wade was the first sprigs of green pushing through mutilated muddy ground. A sign of hope, beautiful and arresting.

Time travel had turned him into a fucking romantic. And meanwhile there was Wade, jacking it on the bed, mouth running and sending a stream of filthy nonsense into the air.

He only really had one choice here. "Hey, gorgeous," he said, climbing onto the bed, knocking Wade's legs far apart. This was better: he lay sprawled beneath Nate, wide-eyed, tense and waiting. "Shut the fuck up for a second, okay?"

Then he leaned down and took Wade's cock in his mouth.

Only for a few minutes. Only long enough to get the taste, the feel, as Wade gasped above him and - didn't say a word. Because Nate had asked, told him, to shut up. Fuck.

He pulled back. Wade's cock popped out of his mouth, wet, so fucking hard. "Talk," Nate said, and pressed two fingers against Wade's ass, slowly making his way in.

Wade looked up, narrowed his eyes. Said, "What if I want to talk about how you make me feel like a virgin, touched for the very first time? I think I should add cone bras to my costume. I'd be a hit with the mid-40s female demographic, which is all I care about."

Nate couldn't stop the smile that rose at all that shit. "Sure. Keep going. Tell me about the cones."

"I can't. Fuck, I can't." Wade dropped his head and lifted his hips, pressing back into Nate's fingers. Fucking himself on Nate's fingers. "Harder, c'mon. I won't feel it tomorrow, but I want to feel like I might, you know? Give it to me. Hard."

It was an order Nate couldn't refuse. He slicked himself up and pressed into Wade, too much and too fast, but Wade didn't care. No. That wasn't quite right. He did care; he loved it.

"Harder," he said as Nate pressed into him. He was tight and hot, spread himself wide for Nate and then curled his legs around Nate's hips to press him in further. "More, c'mon, give it to me - I want -"

Nate thrust once, hard, jostling the bed.

"Yes," Wade hissed. "More. Just like that."

It felt like fighting together: effortless in an entirely unearned way, brand new and yet achingly familiar. He watched Wade writhe beneath him and thought of fireworks, the sunset over one of his timeline's ruined cities. Predictably gorgeous, but no less breathtaking for it. Wonderful. Memorable.

In Wade's case, memorably fucking filthy-mouthed.

"Fuck me, fuck me, come on, bottom out in me, make me beg for it," Wade said. His fingers were twisted in the sheets, his scarred face twisted and pressed into a pillow. "Make me take you, come on - ah, fuck yes." He moved against Nate as he snapped his hips, merciless. "I'm all yours, all here for you, make me feel it, make me know it, come on, Cable -"

He fucked Wade into the mattress, then he flipped him over and fucked him even harder, hands digging into his hips until the skin tore. Wade didn't want tenderness, that much was obvious, but Nate gave it to him anyway when he was too fucked out to object. When his ass and cock were raw, when he'd come twice on himself, messy and still desperate for more, Nate slowed down and fucked into him with gentle, rocking thrusts. He scored his fingers down Wade's spine, kissed him and bit him and obeyed every single little demand until Wade was sobbing beneath him, wrung out. Fucked out.

Only then did he allow himself to come. The wave rose over him, wiping him out with sensation. He blacked out a bit, for a second, hands on Wade's hips, babbling Wade's name.

"And they say marriage ruins your sex life," Wade mumbled into the mattress.

Nate came back to himself enough to make a few basic observations: he was soaked in sweat, his cock was softening rapidly but might actually be chafed, Wade's asshole was blown wide and puffy, Wade was absolutely covered in come. They were disgusting.

"If you leave," Wade said, "I'm going to hunt you down and kill you. Won't be hard if you're in your bedroom. Wouldn't be that hard if you were in Hong Kong, either."

Nate wanted to tell him that he heard the bitter edge of self-loathing in that declaration, that he didn't care. He wanted to remind Wade that he knew about his talents and his fucked-up-ness and he liked him anyway. Loved him. Fuck it: he loved him.

That was exactly and precisely why he couldn't say a fucking word. Instead, he lay down next to Wade, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself enough to sleep.

-

"Speaking of Hong Kong," Wade said in the morning. "Funny story. Gotta go."

He kissed Nate's cheek like he was off to work for the day - which, in a weird way, he was. Nate's tongue tripped over itself in his mouth. He didn't get out, 'Don't go, I love you.' He didn't even manage 'have a good trip'. Wade left and Nate didn't say a fucking thing at all.