He hadn't stayed for Wade. He hadn't. But this timeline was a hell of a lot less tolerable without him. Nate was going stir-crazy when he walked into Domino's kitchen, a week to the day since he'd fucked it all up, and saw Wade sitting at the kitchen island. Eating a stack of Pop-Tarts, in underwear and his mask, like nothing had even happened. Nate felt something twist low in his gut.
"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! If you makey some. Which I haven't," Wade said by way of greeting.
There was a signal there, a 'don't bring it up' signal that Nate frankly didn't need. He understood how to ignore and repress something better than anyone. "It's a wonder you haven't died of malnutrition," he said, and went to get coffee.
"I've never tried that one. Another time, maybe. We've got a job."
Of course. He probably wouldn't have come back, otherwise. "Weasel?"
"You'd think, but no. The X-Men sent us a dossier on Rod Lothbrok, a charmingly named man who, sadly, isn't a Viking farmer in upstate New York that I could run away with and fuck by a beautiful mountain stream, with our A-frame cabin in the background. Children frolicking in a copse of trees as we steal away for the day -"
"Wade." Where the fuck had he been? His mind seemed even more scrambled than usual. "Back to Rod. What's his deal?"
"Oh, right." Wade shoved two entire Pop-Tarts in his mouth and spoke around spraying crumbs. "Senator. Big advocate for DMC. He wants to fund mandatory DMC homes for mutant kids."
Ice crept down Nate's spine.
"Fucked up, right? Be cooler if it was the farm thing."
"Where's he live?"
"Okay, chillax, T3. The job isn't to kill him, it's to get enough people to vote against him. Here." He lobbed a USB stick at Nate. "There's more info in there."
Nate put his T-O finger against the port and let himself reach out, pulling the data in. This had to be Xavier's work: pages upon pages of intelligence, operational security information, financial records. Everything that could possibly be public on the guy, and quite a lot that wasn't.
"Thorough."
"Yeah, it's X-traordinary what you can accomplish if you stop wasting time on having a personality."
Nate decided to ignore that one. "Looks like our first step is the Mutant Benefit Gala tomorrow, at the mansion."
"Ugggghhhh. Can't you take Domino?"
"Now, why would I do that, when I could take my handsome new husband?"
He said it without thinking, instinctive needling that came with a sarcastic curl of his lip. Wade stared at him for a moment, mouth gaping open, half-chewed Pop-Tart dropping onto the plate below him.
He should've kept his fucking mouth shut. "Never mind. We can -"
"I'm going," Wade said quickly. He blinked and shook his head, looking away from Nate to cram the mushy Pop-Tart back into his mouth. "With you. Obviously. If we send you in with Domino, you'll both be elected senators before the week's out, and then where will we be? I'd have to train Dopinder in the ancient art of assassinating baddies. He's not ready for that rodeo just yet."
He kept going like that for awhile as Nate sifted through the data and made plans on who to target. He didn't bother sharing those plans with Wade, who'd forget them right away - or remember just enough to cause trouble by trying to proposition the wrong person at the gala. Equally likely.
God, Nate'd missed him.
"Take it easy today," he said when Wade wound down. "I'll pass this on to Domino."
"Oh, thanks, I was waiting on your permission." Wade hopped off his stool and breezed past Nate, kissing him on the cheek. "Missed you, pookie."
So they were back to normal, then. Mostly. Nate hoped.
-
He had anticipated a variety of problems at the gala: Wade rediscovering a penchant for rudeness, or an uninvited guest trying to kill Wade, or Wade kissing Colossus in full view of easily offended politicos. Really, most of his concerns centered on Wade. "I think that's fair," Domino had said when he'd run them by her. "I'm lucky, and you're boring, so Wade's the likeliest target."
He wasn't sure if he should've been offended by that.
The joke was on them both, though, because Wade was - well. Good might have been somewhat inaccurate. He was still Wade, which meant he ate an entire tray of canapés before he'd introduced himself to a single politician, and he grabbed Nate's ass twice in full view of every single member of the X-Men. But Wade was charming. It was one of the first things Nate'd noticed about him. A fucking mess, yeah, a pain in the ass, absolutely. But people liked him. They liked being around him. He could, and did, make them feel good, help them have fun.
He was, in other words, exactly the perfect trophy husband he'd bragged about being on the ride over.
"This is so weird," Domino said over the comm-link.
Nate watched Wade make the senior Senator from Pennsylvania, Betty Whitman, laugh. "You're telling me."
"I've bugged every pro-DMC rep I could find, which by the way? We're seriously outnumbered right now. Twenty-five to one."
"We'll get the vote count. This is just the first step."
Every other Senator was undeclared. A broad pool of possible outcomes, with terrifying potential consequences. Nate could feel uncertainty snaking through the room, sparks of disgust and hostility from the pro-DMC rep. He'd been confused that so many would be attending the benefit, but as Wade had explained: "The prof's still pals with all kinds of important people. He's the carrot, Magneto's the stick. Very phallic. And no one wants to be left out of the sex toy party, even if they think the kinks on offer are seriously messed up."
Meaning, political policy would be formulated at a gala just like this one, and even bigots wanted to be in the room when that started happening. Of course. Democracy was endlessly complicated, and frequently seemed to consist of competitive cowardice on the part of representatives.
(When he'd said as much, Wade had hooted with laughter and said, "That's good, you should tell Xavier that one." Nate would never: Xavier wouldn't find it amusing, and anyway, he rarely felt the need to share his thoughts after he'd gotten Wade's reaction.)
"Keep an eye on Schaffer," Nate said. "Wade and I are going to go to work on Collins, from Iowa."
"Schaffer, right. Anything in particular I should be looking for?"
"His daughter's a mutant. Let's see when he remembers." He flicked his comm off and went to collect Wade. This part was easy: slide into the crowd, smile apologetically, put an arm around Wade's waist. Nothing he wouldn't do normally, if this marriage was real. "Wade, let the Senator circulate. Neither of us can help her achieve her mandates."
Whitman smiled warmly at them both. "Oh, but he can make the job so much more enjoyable. Great talking to you, Wade."
"Jealous?" Wade said as Nate steered them towards Collins.
"Of course not. We just need to circulate a little more."
"Too bad. Jealousy sex is hot. Oooh, speaking of. Who's the hottie?"
"That is Adam Collins, the junior senator from Iowa. His childhood best friend can spit fire."
"So he's our new BFF, is what you're saying."
"If we play our cards right." Nate brought them to a halt in front of the Senator in question. "Adam! Cable. We spoke on the phone."
Collins raised a speculative eyebrow, shaking his and then Wade's hands. "Your parents name you that?"
"They did, actually." Nate let a ghost of a smile lurk at his lips. "But I don't blame you for doubting me, surrounded as we are by -"
"Squares," Wade said. "If I could get my kid to go by one name, I would."
Nate caught himself before he reacted to the bitter note in Wade's voice. Collins didn't notice anything at all; he smiled, looking between them. "But Cable told me you two had just married. I assume you're not thinking of children just yet?"
"No bun in my oven." Wade patted his distractingly flat stomach. "But you never know, right?" He winked at Collins.
Yes, Nate had picked correctly. Collins wasn't offended, and in fact laughed. He seemed impressed by Wade, willing to believe the scarring was the result of his mutation. And he -
Well. He quietly kept a boyfriend at home, Nate knew, and neither of them was the exclusive type.
Eventually, after promising Nate he'd talk to his aides about the mutant child rights bill on his desk, he moved on. Wade muttered, "Jealousy is the last refuge of the weak."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing, sugar bear." Wade turned a too-bright smile on him. "Is his boyfriend a Daddy type too?"
Nate blinked.
"You know, thick in the chest, gray hair, gruff voice."
"What do you mean, 'too'?"
"He was ready to drag you off to a coat closet. I thought I'd have to challenge him to a rousing manly game of swordplay."
And that - was not what Nate had guessed. He understood the need for privacy, and Xavier forbade usage of powers on guests at these events, anyway. (Unless he was the one using them. Nate respected that bit of hypocrisy.) "He liked you. He thought you were charming."
"Sure he did. He also loooved you."
"That's ridiculous."
"Wow, you're serious." Wade stared at him, something unfathomable lurking in his eyes. "Cable Nathan Summers, a moron."
"Whatever you like," Nate said, too honestly. "Come on. We've got a list, and we're only halfway through."
Thank God: Wade let Nate pull him on to the next target.
-
They'd had plenty of champagne when they made it back to Domino's. It was just past two, and Domino said, "If you fuck loudly enough that I can hear it, I will kill you," before stumbling to her own room.
"She's so pretty," Wade said, leaning into Nate.
"You're prettier."
"You're full of it." Wade planted a big, messy kiss on Nate's cheek. "But that's why I married you."
Nate looked away, kept it all locked down as they got ready for bed. He hoped he wouldn't have insomnia tonight, for once, tipsy as he was. But he lay awake, and lay awake, as Wade tossed and turned next to him.
"I shouldn't have turned down Mark from Senator Stillman's staff, even if his boss is a monster. Going to the bathroom, don't wait up," he added, more loudly.
"Wait," Nate said, and put a hand on Wade's wrist to stop him from getting out of bed.
"Let go of me," Wade said. But he didn't move, didn't so much as twitch.
Nate willed himself to focus. "Where you goin'?"
"To the bathroom."
"To take care of..."
"Jesus bellydancing Christ, Cable, I know you know what the birds and the bees are. In this case, single bee, me, making life simpler for us both."
"Sure." And Nate - tugged.
His TK made it easy. Wade tumbled into bed and, fuck, he was hard. Nate hadn't let himself think of that fucked-up time when he'd pretended to be Vanessa, and so it hit him again like it was brand new: Wade was fucking hung, and had the most incredible habit of arching his back into the air, like he needed someone to touch him. Like he might die for real if he didn't get it.
"Let me take care of you," he said before he could think better of it.
He'd have understood Wade's reaction even without the telepathy. He shook with need, groaned at Nate's phrasing. "Fuck, you have no idea how good that sounds."
"I might." He knew how good it sounded to Wade, anyway. "Please."
"You can't be serious." Wade was staring at the ceiling now, gears whirring in that brain of his. "There's no way you can be, because you could go fuck anyone. Hot people. Supermodels. We were just hanging out with a bunch of politicians! If there's anyone who could get you some really hot, ethically dubious ass, it's -"
Nate almost kissed him. He just lost his fucking mind for a second. He managed to turn at the last minute, brush his lips against Wade's shoulder instead. "Promise I'll make it good," he murmured.
"Ah, fuck. You know I won't say no. What kind of idiot - moron -"
Wade spiraled off into a verbal jungle as Nate reached down and pressed a hand against his cock. Wade's sweatpants were doing their job admirably, trapping him there for Nate to touch. He was heavy, hot, the tip of his cock pressing against the fabric hard enough to let a little dampness through. How long had he been lying there, desperate for someone to touch him?
Long enough, anyway, that when Nate pulled his pants down, pressed two fingers into his hip, Wade hissed a breath and bucked up in an aborted thrust. "Don't be such a tease, I could be fucking a roll of toilet paper right now."
He made a mental note to pick up some toilet paper tomorrow. "A roll of toilet paper can't do this." He pressed his thumb against the head of Wade's cock, holding him firmly, letting Wade feel the drag of his palm. He'd lotioned himself up, so it was nice and slick, but Wade -
Wade didn't like things gentle. He thrust up into Nate's hand, once, twice, abortive little movements that made his desperation obvious. Nate didn't want this to end -
(God, he never wanted it to end.)
- too quickly, so he moved his hand away, ignoring the stream of filthy curses that fell from Wade's mouth as he reached further down to cup his balls.
"Feel good?" he said.
"Fuck you." Wade spread his legs wider, dropped his head back. Closed his eyes, which - fuck, finally.
Because when Wade's eyes were closed like this, Nate could look his fill.
Yeah, he was ugly. Fucking obvious. But there were pretty people all over the place, and mostly they looked the same. Wade's ugliness was like the Grand Canyon, hard to take in and impossible to memorize. Wherever Nate looked, there were more details, more texture.
"Having second thoughts?"
"Not in the slightest." Nate leaned forward and bit Wade's hip, getting a firm grip on his cock.
He smelled like sweat and spilled booze. He moved perfectly in time with Nate, tense and almost graceful. Nate let himself love it this time, the rough movements, the hungry noises and complete nonsense that spilled out of Wade's mouth.
He was perfect. So fucking perfect. And after he came all over Nate's hand, after he passed out and started snoring, Nate brought himself off, smelling Wade's spunk all around them, coming hard to the image of Wade fucking into him.
-
"The verdict is in, and the people love us."
Nate stopped mid-sip of coffee. "Excuse me?"
"Invitation from Collins to hang out in his garden, probably suck his toes." Wade tossed a card on the table. "Invitation from Rodriguez to check out an art museum - nudes, I'm sure." A letter. "Business card from Morrison, probably just so we can call and listen to him ramble about the existential threat posed by six-year-olds who can stick their hands through walls, but still means we made an impression." Flicked into the wet sink. "We're a success. You should've signed a prenup, Cable, we're gonna be famous and I'll take you for all you're worth."
Nate set aside anything he might have felt about Wade talking about 'taking' him. "Sure. Whatever you want."
Wade dropped the pile of invitations on the floor. "Big promises from a little man."
"Ha fucking ha. We should talk to Collins."
"Seriously? I'm not into feet."
"He was receptive to what we had to say last night - and more importantly," Nate said, raising a hand to keep Wade from cutting in, "he's already well-liked and known for his ability to collect votes to a cause. We'll need someone like that. Well. As many someones as we can get."
"I don't see why we're not just going after the mutants. The one from California, or the House representative from New York."
"They won't vote for an expansion of DMC."
"But we could confirm that. Don't you like easy wins?"
Nate thought of Wade offering to divorce him, of Domino's casual questioning of his motivations for staying. "I like permanent wins," he said finally.
"Spoilsport." Wade wandered over to the fridge and pulled out his jar of hard-boiled eggs, ignoring Nate in favor of swallowing them.
Whole. He'd smush them with his throat on the way down. It was fascinating, if disgusting, to watch. Nate wasted a morning following Wade around the apartment, telling himself the attention was, somehow, strategic.
At lunch, over peanut butter and banana sandwiches, Domino said, "The thing I don't understand is how DMC stays so clean."
"Heavy-handed metaphor for post-9/11 security theater says whaaat?"
"Eat your banana. Not a heavy-handed metaphor," Domino said. She turned back to Nate. "Everyone's got a scandal. Why don't they?"
It was an angle he'd considered once or twice, but - "Government agency, they've probably gotten good at cover-ups."
"Yeah? Maybe." She tapped the table. "But I went looking this morning, hoping to get lucky. Cable, I couldn't even find a parking ticket."
"Ooooooh," Wade said. "Oh, man, deus ex Domino. Nice."
It was a solid lead, maybe the most solid they'd found so far. "Sounds like something's going on there."
She nodded. "So while I'm looking into that, what will you two be doing?"
"Sucking Iowa toe cheese," Wade said solemnly, and got up from the table, wandering off.
Nate sighed. "Senator Collins is our best lead. We're going to work him over tonight."
"Wade's contagious, isn't he," Domino said.
"Only in the best of ways, sister!" Wade called from the living room.
"We need numbers," Nate said. "And I -" Have no idea what to do with a system of government not run by a dictator. Hate talking to people. Would prefer to crush this representative body and put myself in charge, instead. "- am still new to this," he finally said.
"Sure you don't want to switch? I can butter up some racist patriarchs, no problem."
He had thought of that. But.
As much as Domino ever looked eager to do anything, she'd looked eager to research DMC's freakish lack of a paper trail. Now, her shoulders were braced, and she watched him carefully. I was raised here. Well, I was tortured here.
Yeah, no. Nate wasn't going to ask her to bare her throat to guys who wanted to make sure every mutant kid had a childhood just like hers.
"I think we're good," he said. "Plus, I'm not the butter. That's Wade. I'm the -"
"Mature toast?" Domino suggested sweetly, and laughed when Nate scowled at her.
-
Despite Wade's conviction that Collins was into Nate, Wade was the one who ended up charming the pants off him.
It wasn't like Nate could blame him. Wade was taking this seriously, which mostly meant that his usually unbridled insanity was, well, slightly bridled. His jokes didn't have quite as many teeth, and he looked for things that actually made Collins laugh. He was charming. He was -
Flirting, Nate thought, and grimaced with the truth of it. Harmless flirting, sure, but it highlighted the difference between this and any of the many, many moods Wade had displayed when spending time with Nate.
But it was useful. The mission was what mattered. Wade got a promise out of Collins to be a guest of honor at the anti-DMC party that they were, apparently, hosting. "Don't sweat the details," Wade muttered to Nate, before tossing out a smile at Collins and heavily implying he'd pay him in 'cocktail wieners - or real ones, if you like.'
Collins laughed then, flushed at Wade's wink, and while it couldn't be serious - while it was almost certainly just casual flirting - Nate still found himself resentfully jealous. He was fucking pathetic.
"How do you throw a political party, anyway?" Wade said on the ride home. "We need ours to be more fun than Xavier's, but I don't even know where I'd find dancing boys for hire. Craigslist?"
"No dancing boys. We'll get some help."
Nate meant a professional party planner, but before he had a chance to clarify, Wade whipped his phone out and said, "X-Force assemble! I need help planning a classy party! Grapes and those little crackers with raw fish on them, not optional! Sexy alcoves to disappear into and cause a scandal, semi-optional! Oh, hi, Yukio, is Negasonic there? Tell her she's only invited if she's ready to be part of the chamber orchestra. That's right: your girlfriend's gonna play oboe."
Great. What could go wrong? Wade kept jabbering on the phone until they got home, at which point he set up three appointments for Yukio to come and tell them how to throw a party. This had to be overkill; for starters, a sixteen-year-old girl who loved bright colors and cartoon shows couldn't possibly know what should go into planning a serious political event, regardless of how handily she'd helped take down Juggernaut. But, on the other hand, Nate's sensibilities were firmly non-modern, and Wade was - well.
Nate didn't really want to know what 81-year-old Illinois Representative Marge Johnson would say if Wade gave a speech where he likened the party's chocolate fountain to his diarrhea after he'd been drugged in the Ice Box, or whatever lunatic thing he'd come up with. So Wade being distracted by Yukio was probably, overall, a pretty good thing.
Their first appointment was the very next day. "I have so many plans for you," Yukio said as they all sat down at Domino's kitchen table.
"Just make sure they're tasteful and appropriate for a conservative set of politicians," Nate said.
"Sweetie, you're so boring when you get into politics." Wade patted his knee. "Those storylines were my least favorite parts of our run together."
"Negasonic helped me get the train depot rented for your party," Yukio said, opening a sparkly pink unicorn binder. "She got you a 50% discount, too."
Nate blinked at the numbers on the page. "Don't these things normally take longer?"
"She's very persuasive. Now, given the Art Nouveau details of the restoration, it should be very easy to decorate. You don't really need to add a lot. But of course, there will be catering. How many guests are you estimating?"
Nate hadn't planned that far. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, frowning as he tried to get a mental count.
"Let's say a hundred and fifty for now," Wade said. "I love this train depot idea, very classic, but will there be -"
"Sexy alcoves?" Yukio beamed. "Of course!"
"Wade," Nate said, a little harsher than he meant to. But, Christ, she was a kid. A kid who was apparently really good at both fighting supervillains and event planning, but -
"Much as I would like to drag my husband, who's madly in love with me, into a party alcove, for some The Duke who Desired Me action, that's not why I want alcoves. This is a party to chat up the powerful. To do that, you need to be able to take them somewhere that isn't covered by the watchful eyes of fifty of their most bigoted peers."
"Also, I would like somewhere to go when I get bored," Yukio said.
Fucking - "I'm going to go to the gym," Nate said. "Don't wait up."
"We weren't planning to!" Wade called after him.
-
It just rankled that Wade might be better than him at this, that was all.
Nate had been bred to be a warrior. He'd never known anything else. Warriors fighting to make the world right had to be trained in a near-endless variety of arts and crafts -
('Glitter puff paint?' he could almost hear Wade ask. The guy was hilarious even in Nate's rambling imagination.)
- and were expected to be able to pick up new skills with little to no training.
All that work, all that fighting, hadn't left him a whole man. Of course not. Aliya would - had - mocked him many times over it. "I swear," she'd say, "you could talk a rebel faction into surrendering arms and swearing loyalty to you, but put you at the head of a table for a state dinner and suddenly you're tongue-tied. It's a good thing you have me."
It had been a good thing. And it followed that it was a good thing he had Wade, now. He had, after all, resolved to stop this world from sliding into the shithole. He needed allies for that.
Marriage was the ultimate partnership, the cementing of an alliance that could never, would never, be broken. Nate had known that when he'd proposed to Aliya. He'd known that when he'd suggested to Wade that they sunder their relationship after a short few months.
He thought of what he might do alone, fighting to retain enough support to block pro-DMC legislature, struggling against Xavier's own more conservative strategy. What would he do? Very little, he suspected, none of it as effective as Wade's own plan: babble at politicians until they voted the way Wade asked them to, because he was amusing and enlivening to be around.
Six more months, and he'd find out for sure.
-
It all came to a head a mere four hours before the party.
Domino and Nate were both getting ready in the living room. Domino, fastening her earrings, said, "Is there a betting pool on who Wade offends first, and I just don't know about it? I wouldn't cheat. Swearsies."
"You couldn't help yourself," Nate said, adjusting his ankle holster. "But no. He's the grease in this set of wheels."
Domino laughed. "Good one."
"I wasn't joking."
"Um. Are you serious?"
"Butter, remember?"
"I thought that was a joke! Okay, well. Your faith is touching, it really is."
Ice curled in the pit of his stomach. "Excuse me?"
"Nothing." But she was clearly lying. "I mean, Wade's nice. I like him."
"You joined his team despite it being objectively the insane thing to do."
"That was just me acting on instinct."
"I'm still here, too."
"Different kind of instinct - still valid, not hating. It's just." She cocked an eyebrow. "You really think, if you weren't here to impress, Wade would be doing this?"
It felt a bit like being knocked off a speeder back in his own timeline. For a moment there was nothing under, above, or around him, not even gravity itself. "What?"
"Oh, wow." Domino just stared at him. "Wow. Just. Okay. You know what, forget I said anything. Not important at all."
He had never been more desperate for answers than he felt just then, nor had he been more certain that he wouldn't receive them. He could rummage around in her thoughts, if he wanted - but that would be a breach of trust she wouldn't forgive, nor should she.
Instead, he forced a smile. "He's going to do great."
"That part was never in doubt."
"Guys! Guys! Check this out: hidden mic pasties!"
Nate turned to greet Wade with a smile, constitutionally incapable of doing anything else.
But - "Oh my God," Domino said when presented with Wade's decorated nipples. "Googly eyes, really?"
Yeah, Wade was still Wade, even when ambition got the better of him. In a sense, that was a relief, but it ratcheted up Nate's concern related to the event space, right up until he entered the room with Wade on his arm.
Domino, two paces behind them let out a low whistle. "Nice work."
"Thank you," Wade said with comical dignity. "Yukio? Hit it!"
Incredible tasteful orchestral music began to waft around the room. The train depot had been outfitted with tall tables, all the better for drunk politicians to put their finger foods and empty champagne glasses. Caterers hovered at the edges of the room, finishing their setup. And there were, as promised, cozy alcoves: benches and potted plants strategically placed throughout the room, to provide the illusion of privacy. The overhead lighting had been dimmed, and candles burned on the tables and on the windowsills that lined each of the two longer walls. The overall effect was perfect: classy and cozy, but fun. Enticing, if Nate had to pick a single word.
"Well done," he said finally as Wade beamed. "It looks wonderful."
"Yukio's very talented. Negasonic doesn't deserve her."
Cable thought of the looks he'd exchanged with Negasonic every now and then, when Wade went on one of his objectively nuts tangents while Yukio beamed at him. He felt the tips of his ears heat. "Yes, well. Congratulations: you picked the right person for this job."
"First guest is coming up the drive," Domino said over the comm.
Nate held out his arm to Wade. "Shall we?"
For a moment Wade stared at him, eyes wide, and Nate felt - aware. Of the heat emanating from Wade's body, of how defensively his shoulders were set, of his fucked-up face all soft and vulnerable in the candlelight. The whole package.
Wade stepped forward. Nate, ready for Wade to take his arm, didn't know to move until it was too late, until Wade was hugging him.
Soft, warm, firm. A promise of sorts. A lie, entirely.
They stepped apart. Wade stared at him, licked his lips. "Now I am," he said in a low voice, and tugged Nate towards the doorway.
The invitations had been sent by Domino, whose mojo seemed to be holding for now; they had fifty people in the room before the first trays of champagne began circulating, and a hundred-plus before Wade gave his first of many speeches. It was like watching a high-wire act, Nate thought, only significantly more concerning, because the danger wasn't really that Wade might fumble his words. The danger was that he'd decide this wasn't worth doing anymore - or, still worse, forget why he'd been doing it to begin with.
Also, he was horny. And he wouldn't stop reminding Nate of that fact.
He didn't do much of anything anyone else might notice. But he kept himself basically plastered to Nate's side, and he'd stroke a finger over Nate's forearm, or sneak a quick ass-grab, and Nate -
Could feel him burning up with it. Desire, impossible to ignore, images of them kissing, fucking. Tender shit that Wade should've realized he wasn't going to get from him.
He didn't deserve it, mired in his feelings as he was. They might be stuck in this marriage, but Nate wasn't going to lie to Wade more than he absolutely had to. He couldn't kiss Wade or let Wade fuck him without him figuring out the truth, and that...
Was not going to happen. Period. Shut the door on even the loosest concept.
"Well," Wade said hours later, after they'd said goodbye to the last few guests, "this was obnoxiously expensive and our democracy is definitely in a shambles. But I think it went well."
Domino had already gone home, claiming exhaustion. Nate thought he was fine, right until he sat down and his entire body reminded him that politics until four AM didn't mix with chronic insomnia. "Fuck."
"Cable?" Sudden tension in Wade's voice. "Are you -"
"Just tired." Nate waved a hand. "Yeah, it went well."
Wade flopped down next to him, pressing their shoulders together. "At least I have Sex Yoga tomorrow."
"Sex..."
"Yoga. It's online, you wouldn't understand. Or maybe you would? Do they have sex yoga in the future? Jane Fonda hologram, lots of nice, smooth yoga -"
"No."
"Dildos - well, that's depressing."
Nate clenched his hands against his thighs and told himself not to reach out, not to kiss Wade just because his babbling about yoga dildos was unbearably endearing and twistedly hot. "We have other things. Dances underground, where the bombs haven't caved the shelters in. Radiation sunsets are truly beautiful."
"...wow," Wade said. "Can't imagine why you didn't go back."
There was something odd there. Nate's brain snagged on it. An implication, maybe, or a bit of passive aggressiveness. If he had time to think about it, he'd get it.
He didn't have time to think about it. The door of the station blew open, propelled by an immense concussive force. "Get down," Nate snapped, moving on instinct.
But Wade had instincts too. He was on his feet in seconds, two guns out, pointed at the squad of twenty DMC thugs who entered the building.
Not just thugs, Nate realized with a shock of icy terror. Mutants.
The one at the front, a white guy with frosted tips and a nasty smile, said, "Hi there, little bitch." Knives appeared in the air, forming as if from nothing, and threw themselves at Wade.
Nate tried to intervene - but the eyes of the mutant next to Knife-Thrower glowed, and he found himself forced to his knees. His hold on the T-O slipped long enough for it to creep up a vein. "What are you?" he gritted out.
No one, the mutant said. Peacekeepers.
As if from a very great distance, he heard Wade say, "Man, fuck this." And then the shooting started.
When he killed, Wade was beautiful to watch. He moved with single-minded fury. For a couple seconds Nate was terrified for him, but no matter how many shots he took, he didn't falter, not until the last DMC body fell to the floor with a thud.
Even I can't kill me.
As Wade turned to him, breathing hard, Nate felt the dawning horror of what he'd just sat and watched. "Wade."
"Nate, buddy. Trust you to just sit back while I do all the hard work. Wiping the floor with bad guys get less fun as old age sets in?"
"They had someone holding me."
Wade's scarred-up face twisted in a hideous imitation of a grin. "So what you're saying is, I just saved you."
"In a manner of speaking. You might've doomed our political efforts."
"But nobly. Like Mario saves Princess Peach."
"There are twenty bodies around you. We should probably deal with them."
"Call the cops, who cares? I'll bet you anything their buddies come do the cleanup before anyone shows up. They don't like loose ends and they hate a mess." Wade tilted his head back and laughed. His throat was speckled with blood. "Kind of like you, if you'd gone all old-man fascist instead of old-man Jesus."
Nate hated that he had a point. DMC had chosen to try to assassinate them; that was, from Nate's point of view, a clear declaration of war. But of course DMC wouldn't be calling up CNN to complain. They simply couldn't afford to. "I...you have a point. Not about my personality. About DMC's goals."
"I told you, I'm like an ugly Syd Bristow." Wade put his guns back in their holsters. "C'mon, let's go home before Domino uses up all the hot water."
Domino was almost certainly asleep by now. Still, Nate let himself be led out of the depot. He felt - was this shock? It might be. It reminded him a bit of when he'd drunk all those beers in the hotel room, polishing his guns -
Not a euphemism, he told the part of his brain that was determined to imitate Wade -
and plotting his revenge. Except this time, the anger was centered on two targets instead of one: the DMC thugs, who were dead, and Wade, who blessedly wasn't. But not for lack of trying. Hence the anger.
They got back to Domino's and into their bedroom before Nate decided what he was going to do about it. He accessed the TK he'd had stolen from him back at the depot and used it to pin Wade to the wall.
"Before I've even gotten a chance to shower? Tsk tsk, Nate. That's not very hygienic of you at all. Who knows what kinds of cooties traitor-mutie blood has? Not to mention the potential for cross-contamination! You'll give me herpes."
"Who said I'm gonna touch your dick?"
Wade's smile had edges. "You always touch my dick when we're like this, pookums."
'Always' was an exaggeration, but - yeah, it was starting to feel that way. He couldn't help himself. Or he didn't want to. "Is this your way of telling me you don't want it?"
Wade thunked his head back against the wall and spread his legs wide. "No. Of course I want this. Pretty sure I could be ripped in half again and I'd still get a stiffy if you were planning on -"
Nate fell to he knees and Wade stopped talking, clicked his teeth together so hard it had to hurt.
Don't be an asshole, Nate told himself. But he couldn't hold back a little smirk at that. "Something going on up there? Bite your own tongue off?"
"Not as easy as it sounds, and I could still scream."
Wade was being macabre, trying to freak him out. Succeeding, too, though Nate didn't want him to know it. It wasn't the thought of a blood-filled mouth or whatever the fuck that was terrifying. It was the thought of Wade - alone, in pain. Screaming. Doing it to himself or letting someone else do it because he didn't give enough of a fuck to stop them.
Damn it. He leaned in and put his mouth on Wade's cock.
He wasn't good at this. He didn't think he was, anyway. It'd been a long time and it was always easy to get distracted. People talked about sex like it was relaxing, but to Nate it was a different kind of workout. Even with most of his power permanently focused on keeping himself alive, he couldn't hold his mind separate from a sex partner's. The better he was, the more sensation he engendered, the more distracting it would be.
But Wade didn't seem to mind the little inconsistencies produced by Nate's psychic overload, nor was he particularly stressful in the brain department. The shit Nate was getting from him was a lot like normal. It would've been heightened for most people. For Wade, it was just a different flavor of always-on.
And -
"Fuck, fuck, you're good at this." Wade'd been babbling for going on five minutes, as Nate worked his cock slowly and thoroughly. "Jesus, where the fuck did you learn - don't tell me, I wanna be able to look Cyclops in the eye at the next X-Thanksgiving. Ah, fuck, oh." Scarred fingers twisted in Nate's hair, then frantically petted, like he'd meant to be gentler all along. "Can I fuck your mouth? I don't have to. But I need, oh, God, I need something, let me fuck your mouth, please please please -"
In retrospect, this was the wrong fucking activity to pick if he wanted Wade to shut up. And it was also the wrong activity if he wanted Wade to understand why he was doing this.
Twenty-eight bullets in Wade's chest. Blood flying everywhere. Stupid, stupid motherfucker. Nate pulled away, sat back on his heels.
"Just let me - what the fuck, Cable."
Nate looked up at Wade, at the ugly, pissy face he was suddenly pulling, and found he didn't know what to say.
"Are you just - burning hot and cold for the fun of it? Larping Katy Perry? Trying to drive me crazy? The Canadian government got there before you did, let me tell you."
"You took unnecessary risks today."
"I - you - oh, okay. Thanks, Professor X. What the fuck?"
"You took thirty bullets in the space of a minute."
"And I'm fine now. Well, minus a really fucking expensive specialty seamstress bill. What's your point?"
He was aware - painfully so - that he didn't really have one. "I could have helped. Shielded you earlier, or -"
"You didn't move fast enough, Ace."
"I couldn't." He dug his fingers into Wade's thigh. "They had something - I couldn't move. They didn't think you were a threat. They managed to restrain me."
"Sexy," Wade said. "Well, don't worry, I'll always save your half-metal ass."
Nate shook his head. That wasn't his point, had never been. He was still pissed off, almost beyond belief; every time he thought he might be over it, he remembered seeing blood spray from Wade. Wade's own blood. Christ, he knew he couldn't die, but he just - he just -
"You said you wanted to fuck my mouth," Nate said. "So. What are you waiting on?"
"You're moodier than Edward Cullen, you know." With that nonsensical rebuke, Wade wrapped his hands around Nate's head, cradling him almost gently. He looked down at Nate with - confusion, Nate thought; he didn't like not understanding why Nate was pissed. Well, tough shit. He wouldn't get it as long as he kept seeing his own fucking body as a tool to beat other people with.
But he had no way to say that, wouldn't have known where to start if someone held a gun to his head. So instead he leaned into Wade's touch, opening his mouth so Wade could feed him his cock.
The anger didn't die down as Wade fucked him. Wade's hands were gentle, his babbling toned down to more normal sex talk: "So good, so good," and "Fuck, Nate, you look amazing." He probably did, but he was still pissed off, even as he closed his eyes and sucked Wade for all he was worth.
It was better, a bit, down here. He was surrounded by Wade, and by proof he was alive. He could feel Wade's thighs flex and listen to the stuttering of his breath when Nate dragged his tongue along the tip of his cock. He didn't have room to relive the moments when automatic rounds had stuck Wade's chest.
When Wade came on his tongue, when he let Nate bundle him into bed without reaching for him - maybe he'd learned that Nate didn't want this the way Wade did. Maybe he'd sensed some of the stupid fucking feelings and was now tactfully backing off so that Nate could deal with them.
Funny. Right. No, Wade had no fucking clue. He was just a dumbass whose desire for orgasms overrode his frustration with Nate, that was all.
Nate already knew he wouldn't be sleeping for awhile. He let himself out of the bedroom and sat on the couch, disassembling and cleaning each of his eight guns, trying to get his mind to calm the fuck down.
He'd fucked up his first command, kind of like this. He hadn't been fucking anyone in his squad, but he'd been frightened for them and had been angry when they'd put themselves at risk. With the perspective of thirty years, it seemed ridiculous; putting yourself at risk was the point of being a soldier. But back then -
He'd been so fucking scared.
He'd tried it with Aliya, too. If he'd been a big gun, Aliya had been a lock-pick. She'd worked in black ops for years before they met, and while she scaled her work back a little after Hope was born - they both did - she till disappeared for days at a time, taking who the fuck knew what risks all on her own. So, yes, he'd tried to stop her.
She'd laughed in his face. Told him she'd stop when he gave up the whole fighting-Apocalypse thing. He couldn't, and she knew it. They'd come to an uneasy truce, eventually. There could be no truces with Wade, Nate knew. He wasn't even sure if it was possible for Wade to compromise. Could he change at all? Would he even remember the promises he'd made?
No; that was ridiculous. Of course he'd remember. He did, after all, remember Vanessa. He'd made promises to her that he'd tried to keep even in death. Maybe there just wasn't room for other promises, other people.
("Maybe you're being a self-pitying jerkoff," he could picture Wade saying. "You know, boy has a point," Aliya would say.
God, they'd love each other. Maybe that was the worst part of all of this.)
He finished up with his last gun and sat back on the couch, taking a few deep breaths. Wade was fine. Nate had rinsed the proof out of his mouth an hour ago. If Nate couldn't force Wade to behave, he could at least remind him of reasons to stay alive. And he'd married Wade; that was as strong a promise as either of them could make.
He'd fucking married Wade. Accidentally, but still. How had he married two separate people he had no hope of controlling? But then - he didn't want to control Wade, not really. Gag him and leave him tied up for a few hours, sure, but that would only keep him from doing something crazy for a few days, if that. He could never control Wade, not really.
But tying him up held appeal.
He started stroking his cock before he really realized what he was doing. It was the idea of tying Wade up, he thought, of being able to say where he went and when. The thought of being able to stop him from doing anything too fucked-up and self destructive.
No. That wasn't what had him reaching under his robe, pulling his cock out, tugging it to full hardness. The thought of caring for Wade in a "hog-tied and stowed away safe" kind of way was nice enough, sure. But thinking of Wade killing a bunch of DMC motherfuckers, unstoppable even by Nate's lofty standards, did it for him like nothing else.
Even I can't kill me.
If he was insane, then he'd earned it; Nate couldn't deny that. He thought of Wade beating down the DMC psychic who'd held Nate prisoner, of the pressure that had eased even as Wade had almost decapitated her. He tugged his cock and thought of Wade fucking him after, still clearly high on adrenalin, shaking with need and babbling about the softness of Nate's mouth.
He had wanted to reach out so badly, right then. He'd wanted to pull Wade down on top of him, to have Wade eat his ass, fuck him into the mattress until his unfounded concerns about Wade's fragility disappeared. He'd wanted all that solidity, that grace, the sheer chaotic unkillable fact of him, for himself.
And he couldn't have it. This, he could have: the image of Wade burying three fingers in Nate and biting him as he came like that. But the reality -
Wade was still in love with Vanessa. He didn't want to fuck an old asshole from the future who was inexorably, horribly in love with him. It would be more than a disservice to both of them if Nate had Wade fuck him under false pretenses.
So Nate grabbed a tissue and came into it, sitting bare-assed on Domino's couch. With the ease of long practice, he forced his mind away from the twin topics of Wade and mortality.
He didn't come to bed that night. As far as he could tell, Wade didn't even notice.