He half expected Wade to just fuck off semi-permanently. They still had two months to go with this farcical marriage; Wade could have picked up enough work to keep himself busy in that time. Nate almost wouldn't have blamed him if he had.
Instead, he picked an option that was, if anything, worse. He did jobs, but he kept dropping by Domino's sticking his head in to say hi to Nate and bringing the kids from the X-Mansion by. He never stayed the night - never stayed long enough for Nate to even ask him to stay the night - but he was there just often enough to remind Nate of what he was missing, what he couldn't quite have.
Case in point: two weeks before they were due to get divorced, Wade had dragged pretty much everyone who was still speaking to him into a poker game.
Colossus had objected to teaching the kids poker: "It is game for adults with crass history, Wade!" Wade had given him a sly smile and said, "Then you'd better be around to make sure I don't teach them something crass, huh?" And so Wade had gotten his poker night with all his favorite people.
All his favorite people, and Nate, his devoted husband who he hadn't so much as glanced at in the last three hours.
"I fold," Domino said.
"No way!" Wade said.
"Good," Russell said. "It was unfair to let you play to begin with."
"Oh, I don't fold because I'm losing. I have a winning hand. I just also have a date I'm going to be late for."
"Domino," Wade whined. "The pizza's not even here yet!"
"I'll stay next time, don't worry."
Nate watched the complicated interplay: Wade's distraction, his pouting, then his perking up when Domino patted his shoulder; the way Negasonic rolled her eyes, but also scooted in to try to steal Domino's chips; the way Colossus jostled Wade's leg under the table in reassurance. This was a dumb, fucked-up family. But it was a family.
"Now I'm all alone," Wade said. "Abandoned. Woe is me."
Nate snored. "Everyone else is still here, you overdramatic dildo."
"Aw, snookums, I'm glad you care." Wade threw his cards down, shoulder hunching defensively. "Call. Throw. What's the word for when you're definitely going to lose?"
"It's, here you go Russell, all my money is yours."
"Not so fast, flame brain." Negasonic threw her cards down. "Full house."
"Not fair! You cheated!"
"Did not."
"Did too!"
Wade watched them bicker with a bemused smile. But he was sitting away from Nate, still visibly tense. He hadn't taken the mask off tonight. Nate should've recognized that as a warning sign, but -
Well, he was a dumbass. And maybe he'd hoped it didn't mean what it did.
Eventually they kicked the X-Men out, and then it was just Wade, flicking cards at the wall in that pissy way that meant he was convincing himself to do something stupid.
"Hey. Take the mask off."
"No, I don't think I will."
"Not even for a fuck?"
Normally, that was the kind of crassness that got Wade going. Now, though, Nate didn't even have to try to skim his mind to know it had the opposite effect. "Fuck off, Nathan," Wade said, and took the short way out of the apartment, hopping off the three-story balcony.
He heard a crack on the pavement that was almost certainly bone, muttered cursing - and then Wade was gone. Damn it.
Nate looked around. Cards lay on the floor; the kids had tracked mud in hours ago. Cheeto dust and pizza crumbs dotted the table. Domino would be pissed at him if he didn't clean up, and rightly so.
He didn't have the energy to. It was like Wade had taken the whole point of this place with him when he left, yet again. Domino could go ahead and be pissed; he was going to bed.
-
"God, you're pathetic," Domino said the next morning. "Here, wipe down the table, I'll put the empties in recycling."
He did what she told him, didn't bother arguing.
-
Two months turned into one month, and their time was up. Domino told Nate as much, then added, "Wade said he'd get the paperwork. I don't know if you want to try to get it too, or...?"
"If he said he'll get it then he'll get it," Nate said, much more harshly than the situation warranted. That was a total fucking lie and he knew it - and he knew Domino knew it, too, but she only shrugged and said, "Suit yourself."
So they were getting divorced. Fine. He'd already known it would happen. But because he was an idiot - because he was in love - he held out hope that maybe Wade would just forget to pick up the papers, maybe things could go back to being normal -
Maybe he could touch Wade again, kiss his shoulder and fuck him like an actual husband would -
Right up until the moment Wade, in his merc uniform, served him divorce papers in the hallway of their home.
"You can't be serious," Nate said, staring at the envelope.
"As a heart attack," Wade said. "You know, on someone who's not me. The first cut is the deepest. Hit me with your best shot. Here, I have a Bic." He pulled a pen out of his costume and shoved it at Nate.
Nate caught the pen, and Wade's hand, against his chest. His heart had started beating double-time, even as he thought - no. This could still be fixed. "Wade. We should talk."
"What's to talk about?" Fucking liar. "It's fine. I'm looking forward to being, legally, solo. Don't worry, though, even Beyoncé did a reunion set eventually."
"Wade." He sounded desperate even to his own ears, pathetically needy. "Just - can't we. Aren't things fine how they are?"
"I got begbugs in a German hostel a week ago, Nate. Some pigs are more equal than others."
And, yeah, Nate had noticed that Wade was making even less sense than usual, which meant he was upset, too. But he probably just hadn't expected to have to talk Nate into signing. Why would he care, otherwise? He just fucking wouldn't. Nate knew the truth, could feel the resentment and irritation coming off him. Maybe the real insanity had been the moments Nate had thought they really had something.
He grabbed the papers and used the wall to sign them. One, two, three initials, full signature at the end, and he and Wade were no longer legally responsible for each other. "Fine, asshole. Here."
Wade took the envelope and set it down carefully on the hallway table, tucked beneath a vase of lilies. He turned back to Nate, slamming one hand out just in time to keep Nate from closing the door on his face, and pulled his mask off.
Shit, he'd been crying.
But Nate only had a second to absorb it before Wade was shoving Nate backwards into their bedroom, pushing Nate against the wall and dropping to his knees. Nate could've thrown him across the room if he wanted - almost did, when Wade looked up at him and smiled in a way that was almost cruel.
"Hey, so, I know this is disgusting for you." He unzipped Nate's pants. "But, just like Jumbo Jack in eighth grade told me when he stole my lunch every day: suck it up, buttercup."
And then he took Nate's cock in his mouth.
Nate was still soft, mostly, thanks to the panic and misery. But the fact of Wade's mouth on him, the feel of his hands on Nate's thighs, the way he stared up at Nate like he was waiting for - fuck, he didn't know and it didn't even matter. Anything related to Wade was a turn-on, to a terrifying degree, but this was perfect: Wade on his knees, cock in his mouth, looking like he'd die before being anywhere else.
"Not disgusting," he finally managed to say. "Wade, you're not - you're never. You're just not."
Wade's mouth was too full, but he mumbled, "Shut up," anyway, pinching Nate's thigh.
They shouldn't be doing this. Fuck, Nate wanted it so much, but he knew it was a mistake even as he fucked his way into Wade's mouth, cock fully hard faster than he'd have thought possible. He felt Wade's tension like it was his own, knew he was walking the knife's edge and ruining his own life and, basically, behaving like the biggest fucking moron he'd always told himself he wouldn't be.
Didn't matter. What mattered was that he could catch Wade's hand in his own, tightening his grip to bone-crushing when Wade tried to pull away. What mattered was Wade bobbing his head, fucking his own mouth with Nate's cock, until Nate got the bright idea to touch him. Bumpy skin, weirdly soft ears, and he felt the moment Wade realized what Nate was doing, excitement shivering in both their minds like a live wire.
He fucked Wade's mouth. Slowly, carefully, but not really kindly, because Wade didn't want kindness and Nate didn't particularly want to give it. He pushed Wade where he wanted him, stared at his lips stretched around Nate's cock and tried to remember everything, the smell, the feel, the way Wade closed his eyes and gasped when Nate started to come.
He already knew he wasn't going to get this again. Wade waited down there, milking Nate until there was nothing left, then stood. He was hard in his costume and his eyes were wet again. When Nate reached for him, he shied away.
"See ya," Wade said. "Wouldn't want to be ya."
Move, you idiot, Nate thought at himself. He didn't move. He stood there, palms braced against the wall, and watched Wade leave him for good.
-
"I'm fine."
"Sure, buddy." Russell patted his shoulder. "It's not like you lost the hottest piece of ass this side of Justin Timberlake, or anything."
"Who? Never mind. Jesus, it's none of your business. You're a kid."
"Just 'cause I'm still a trainee! Pssh. I could drink if I was still in New Zealand, you know."
Nate took another long drink of his - he didn't remember what it was called. Fruity alcohol. "Well, you're not, so cheers."
Russell scowled at him. Nate bit back another sarcastic remark. Wade would never forgive him if he was mean to his - Wade would -
Wade. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"It's okay to cry," Russell said. "I totally won't take pictures or spread gossip."
"You're lying," Nate said heavily. Worst part was he didn't even really care. He'd lost his wife because he couldn't stand the thought of losing Wade, and now he'd lost Wade because he was a fucking coward. Maybe he'd always been a coward. Maybe he hadn't gone back to his own fucking time to begin with because he was scared of Aliya, of what she'd think of the man he'd become since her death.
"You know, it's weird though." Russell bit his lip and stared into space. "'cause I'd have said Wade loved you, you know? Like, Golden Girls loved you. He talks about you all the time."
"Wade talks a lot of shit."
"Yeah, but most of that doesn't make any sense. When he talks about you, it's boring shit like, oh, Cable made me pancakes, or oh, don't you think his hair is cute? It's not, by the way. Makes you look like one of those America First guys. Or a lesbian."
"I miss him," Nate said, and downed his drink in one go.
"Wild. Let's get hammered." Russell tossed down his Shirley Temple and grinned at Nate hopefully.
He wanted to tell the kid to go away so he could marinate in misery, but - damn it, Wade wouldn't kick Russell out. So Nate wound up having a ridiculous sleepover instead, waking up to Domino staring at him with the most judgmental look he'd ever seen, on anyone.
"You should talk to someone. Not me; I almost flunked psych. But, you know, someone."
"Thank you for the commentary. In my time, we'd simply process our grief in solitude. Until we died."
"See, to me, that sounds like an excuse to be a coward, which would be embarrassing just generally, but is mega, uber-embarrassing when it's about Wade. Get it together, man. I'm going to start charging you rent." And with that, she left.
It was an excuse to be a coward, of course. Nate let Weasel give him jobs, menial work of dispatching a corrupt city worker or ensuring a mafia enforcer made his court date. It was boring, soul-killing stuff, but in that sense he fit right in with the rest of the mercs. Wade had always been an outlier, a lunatic splash of brightness against the leather-and-no-personality backdrop of mercenary life. Without Wade there with him, Nate found himself fading into the background, another hired gun who showed up, took assignments, and fucked off till the next one.
Domino ignored him after that, which suited him just fine. He started sending her checks for fair market rent and spent as much of his time working as possible. Two months passed like that, with him punching numbers and doing his best to forget he'd ever hoped for anything else.
He didn't forget, of course. But hey: he tried.
Two months in and he'd started to think about letting himself get a beer gut and just give up. In the spirit of that, he was sitting in front of the TV, watching the babbling morons this decade called 'news'. They were talking about a hurricane - one of many, Nate knew from history, of increasing intensity and deadliness. Hurricane Charlotte was leaving devastation in the Carolinas, the newscaster said -
(She didn't hide how pleased she was about the ratings this disaster would generate, Nate thought, taking another swig of beer.)
- and casualties were mounting. Volunteers were already heading down from further north.
There was no point to it, Nate thought. This hurricane would be topped by the next one, and the next, and the next. The whole swathe of land that was colored red on their little weather map would be lost to the sea before the century was out.
"My pops went back for his sister," a teenage girl on the television said. "She - she lived down by the beach. I don't think they're coming back."
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Nate grabbed his go bag and went downstairs, hotwiring the first car he came across.
-
He called the rest of the team - the X-Force, whatever - on his way down. Domino was apparently already there; she'd been rerouted to Raleigh-Durham International Airport just before the storm hit. Dopinder started driving immediately. Well, almost immediately.
"I could have driven both of us, Cable," he said. "You have crushed my warrior spirit. I hope to see the bodies of at least two or three people."
"Just get there, will you?" Nate said, and hung up.
Colossus, Negasonic, and Yukio took the jet: that was the team. Wade's number went straight to voicemail and had for weeks now. He left a message, of course, but he knew Wade wasn't gonna listen to it.
Still: they had a few people, which was better than the dungaree-wearing optimists out there with their motorboats and complete lack of tactical experience. In Nate's timeline, storms like this lashed the middle of the continent with ever-increasing regularity. He knew how to deal with this kind of shit. He'd deal with it again, and maybe it would be enough of a distraction to make him forget about Wade for awhile.
It didn't take him long to find out how wrong he was. "Oh my God, we're surrounded by idiots," Negasonic said.
They'd gone to a small town on the North Carolina coast. Floods had rendered the roads impassable, but that wasn't stopping the people with their Earth-killing trucks and SUVs. "There's a whole dock of boats!" she added, sonically powering away water as Colossus grabbed stranded cars and threw them up in the air. Yukio and Nate were working as a team to settle them on higher ground, but half of them were populated by jackasses who'd run away the second they were safe, before Nate could even offer them passage.
"Just keep going," Nate said. "Eye's going to pass over in an hour, we need to finish this."
"How can you tell?"
"Just can." And he'd picked up a radio report a few minutes ago. "Come on, let's get that bus. The one stuck on a branch." He'd learned quickly that these bulkier vehicles were almost impossible to stop once they'd begun moving in water.
It happened too quickly to make any other decision. One moment, he was lifting the bus with Yukio, aiming for a hill several yards off. The bus was full of kids a little younger than Russell, who stared down at the team with wide eyes. The next moment, the massive steel gas station sign Nate was standing next to began to crumble.
Only Nate stood in its path. Yukio couldn't hold the bus up on her own, and if they didn't get those kids to high ground, they'd die. So Nate ignored the creaking.
"Cable!" Colossus yelled. "Get clear of sign! You will die!"
No. The bus. He pushed his TK further, felt the ready-to-snap tension of balancing this effort with holding back the virus. He had no space, no time, to do anything about the sign. He began to lower the bus on top of the hill, concentrating to hold it steady.
"Nate!" someone yelled, voice thick with panic.
Steel snapped. The sign came down. A massive weight hit him, and pain shot through him. He lost his hold on the bus at the last moment: it fell the last three feet.
Children screamed; so did Russell. Nate's face was pressed into mud. Distantly, he thought he should do something about that. He should -
Aliya, here I come.
He passed out.
-
"Like that scene from the first Superman. Yes. Hit him, then kiss him. Who turns down Lois Lane? No one. It's fine."
Wade. He tried to make himself pass out again just then, cowardice overwhelming him. But of course, Wade was too observant to miss the moment he woke up. "You motherfucker! Don't you dare pretend you're passed out again! If you get much more brain damage I'll have to sell you to the X-Men!"
"Doesn't work that way," Nate said, opening his eyes.
He was lying in a field. The ground beneath him felt wet and cold. Based on the clouds overhead, they hadn't left hurricane country, but it wasn't raining. "What happened?"
"Storm showed up and made the real storm pick a different path. Show-off. Also, you almost fucking died, because you're a goddamn dipshit who thinks a bus full of Insane Clown Posse fans is more important than your own life."
"Didn't have time. Had to save them."
"Fuck you."
He realized belatedly that Wade was holding a machete, not quite pointed at Nate's own chest. "Why are you here? And why do you have that?"
"Stole it off a hog farmer."
"Not an answer, Wade."
"Not my boss, Nate."
Nate closed his eyes again, briefly, searching for patience or forbearance or - something. Anything.
"You're a fucking jackass," Wade muttered.
"One of us has a machete and is threatening the other."
"I'm not threatening you! I'm protecting you! I thought I'd have to cut your arm off because you were pinned under a fucking light pole, you dumb fake Terminator moron!"
"Could've just left me there."
"Uh-uh, nope, in this marriage only one of us is allowed to be the suicidal angst-muffin, and I landed the role way before you came along. Deal with it."
"Angst-muffin."
"You heard me."
Yeah. He had. And now it was cowardice that kept him from opening his eyes. The same old fucking fear, rising in his chest and choking him - though part of that had to be the bruising, too. Now that he was awake he noticed that he hurt like hell.
Finally, he managed to say, "We're not."
"Staying in this shithole? I know."
"Married, Wade."
The silence that wrapped around them felt more deadly than being in the eye of a hurricane had. For a moment Wade said nothing, didn't even breathe. His mind felt like a swarm of furious flies. Nate couldn't think of anything to do, so he just lay there, hoping Wade would go away.
"You're a fuckstick," Wade said finally. The tip of the machete pressed against Nate's chest, lifting and -
Slicing his shirt off?
"Wade."
"Shut up. I want to - oh, good, your ribs are still on the inside. Colossus wasn't sure."
The tattered fabric that had been Nate's shirt only moments ago fluttered in the wind. "We're not married," he said again. He probably had a concussion; it felt like he did. But he needed to make that point very clear.
"Fuck you."
"Fine." Nate would welcome it. He'd always welcome it. "But we're not married. You served me divorce papers, you fucking - impossible - you served me divorce papers."
"You sound brain damaged. Who's the president?"
"We're not married anymore, Wade! You shouldn't even be here! Endangering yourself, interfering with my - "
"A of all, I never sent the papers back to my lawyer, so fuck you and joke's on you because we still are. B of all, this is what marriage means! Standing by your man! Like Beyoncé before me! Keeping him from stealing my glory by doing some stupid, suicidal stunt!"
"It wasn't suicidal."
"Bullshit. I saw the sign fall. You didn't even try to move away."
"I was concentrating."
"You're forgetting I know how powerful you are." The flat of the machete tapped against Nate's chest. "You could've moved. You didn't. Now's a really bad time to have time traveler survival guilt, you know."
Ah. "That's not it."
"Well, great, tell a therapist, then. My point is, I saved you because you're an idiot. Tell me thank you and let me go."
Why did everyone keep telling him to get a therapist? "No one's stopping you from going anywhere."
"You are, because you still look pathetic and broken."
"The ribs'll take a few days." Or weeks, but there was no fucking way Nate was giving Wade that much ammunition.
"Fine, you twisted my arm. I'll nurse you back to health with the uniform and everything, but if you call me 'wifey' the deal is off." A pause. "Unless you do it while you're blowing me, I guess."
He forced himself to say it again, the only thing that mattered in this current fucked-up reality. "We're not married. Not really."
"Fuck you."
"Deliver the papers. I don't want - I can't do this." He couldn't keep pretending, couldn't endure another fucking series of letdowns and reminders that they weren't on the same page as far as emotions went.
"And here I thought you'd be up for one last pity fuck for the crossover event."
Nate blinked. "What?"
"X-Force assembled, Nate - thank you for that, by the way. And Storm's here, so it counts as a crossover. It totally counts."
Nate picked through the details of Wade's babble, bit by bit, looking for what had made him feel like he'd just fallen on his ass. "Pity fuck?"
"A man who's been doing it for six months shouldn't need it defined. Do they not have sex ed in the future?"
"I know what a pity fuck is."
"Well." The machete moved away from his chest; Nate tried to repress the shit-stupid part of him that missed the pressure. "My mistake. Later."
But he'd thought it through, and his conclusion made hope race through him, sending his heart pounding. He opened his eyes then, feeling like he was jumping out of a no-grav plane. "Pity fuck. Wade, wait, stop." Wade had his back to Nate and looked ready to walk away. His shoulders were stiff and straight in that way that Nate knew meant he was upset. His costume was spattered with mud and blood, cut up in six different places, and Nate loved him so much he could barely breathe from it.
"What," Wade said flatly.
"It wasn't a pity fuck." His throat tightened; he forced himself to keep talking. "I didn't - want to take advantage of what was on offer. I'm in love with you, it wasn't fair to you to hide it. If you'd fucked me thinking it was just some casual thing for me, I couldn't -"
Wade's lips were dry and scratchy. His cheeks were wet. His weight in Nate's lap almost made him topple over, but he reached out with his arms and his TK, and he made it work.
"Jesus fucking Christ with a double-ended dildo," Wade breathed when they broke apart.
Nate couldn't have this conversation with half of Wade's face still covered by the mask. He hooked his fingers under it and pulled it off. "There you are."
Wade had been crying for awhile, based on the red eyes. Even as Nate watched, another tear welled up. "Fuck you," he said, and sniffled.
"Yeah," Nate said. "That's what I'm getting at."
"Fuck," Wade said. His eyes dropped to Nate's lips again. "I can't fucking believe you."
"How's it feel to have the tables turned?"
Nate couldn't hold back the smile at Wade's indignant glare, his furious sniffle. He kissed Wade through a mumbled comeback.
It was a two-hour flight, courtesy of the X-Men, back to Domino's apartment. Nate felt the whole time like he might crawl out of his own skin. He and Wade sat next to each other, and he could feel Wade's arousal, his excitement, his confusion, his fear. Fuck, his fear. He wanted to - had to - fix that. He needed to make Wade understand.
They got home and he pressed Wade against their bedroom door, kissing him as deeply as he knew how. It had been so fucking long since he'd done this with his whole heart, with honesty. It thrilled him down to his bones when Wade shivered, moaned, reached out to Nate with newly weak hands.
"Dreamed about this," he said, touching Wade's collarbone.
Wade pulled him towards the bed, sat down so his face was eye level with Nate's cock. "Bullshit," he said, and pulled Nate's pants down.
Nice try, Nate thought, and used his TK to toss Wade further up the bed. "No bullshit. I'm serious. Dreamed about this, too." He kicked Wade's legs apart and settled between them, Wade's cock nestled into his ass, kissing Wade again.
The shock was wearing off, replaced by the kind of impossible hunger that could rise up and consume a person. Nate didn't understand how he'd waited this long, couldn't imagine what the fuck he'd been thinking. Kissing Wade felt like voluntarily hopping into a river full of man-eating sharks, and he did it over and over, joy bubbling up in his chest. This was what he'd wanted, Wade's ridiculously distractable kisses, his hands on Nate, not having to worry about what he might give away or accidentally promise. Wade wanted this. This: the emotion in Nate's eyes, on his lips, the feelings he'd never been fully capable of concealing.
"Should've told me," Wade muttered. He arched his back, his cock dragging against Nate's skin.
Nate didn't hide his shiver. "Couldn't. I'm a coward."
"Nah," Wade said. "You're just...damaged. Like a Ken doll on a hot burner."
"Jesus." Nate shook his head, but he didn't stop kissing Wade, didn't pull away from him. His costume was blessedly easy to get off, and after that it was just Wade: dirty, fucked up, eminently fuckable. Nate kissed his chest, his hip, moving everywhere at once, weirdly scared Wade would change his mind.
No. He was really fucking tired of being scared. He took a deep breath, pressed his face against Wade's bumpy stomach, and said, "Wanna fuck me?"
Wade let out a choked-sounding noise and rolled his hips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, Nate, please."
He cupped a hand behind Wade's head and kissed him, gentle and then not so gentle, urging Wade's tongue into his mouth. Wade was so good at this, obsessively so; he fucked Nate's mouth exactly as dirty as he wanted, pulling himself up and rolling them without breaking the kiss.
"How rough do you want it?" he said, rubbing a hand up and down Nate's side. He was preoccupied with the point where the T-O began mangling his flesh, kept touching it with feather-light but persistent brushes of his fingers. Nate had always had a thing for that, rarely found people who didn't shy away from it; now, he couldn't hold back a moan as Wade's fingers played with the seam of flesh and metal.
"Whatever you want," he managed to say. "Wade. Anything."
Wade looked a bit like he'd been hit on the head with a length of steel pipe. "Careful what you promise, I might think you're serious."
Nate marshaled his senses long enough to glare at Wade and say, "Good."
Wade let out a breath. "Fuck. Okay. Just -" He moved down Nate's body. "Lube. Do you have -"
Nate passed him the little tub of lubricant and touched Wade's head, resting at his hip. "You don't actually have to."
"If you take this from me right now, I will throw a complete, Willow-from-Buffy style tantrum. World-ending evilness and all." He petted Nate's hip, weirdly delicately, before pushing a pillow under his hips. "You're just - "
"Intimidating?"
"Small." Wade cocked an eyebrow. "The last time I even thought about doing this was with Colossus."
It was bait with absolutely no reality behind it, but Nate's temper didn't care about that. He scowled at the ceiling. "Fuck's sake."
Wade's laugh eased something deep within him. He kissed Nate's thigh and spread Nate's cheeks, pressing his fingers inside.
He wasn't gentle or particularly smooth about it. It hurt a little at the beginning, the same way the first mile of a run felt like it might blow your lungs out. But it was Wade watching him, Wade's huge fingers trying to coax their way inside, and fuck, Nate had wanted this so fucking long.
"Have you learned what a DILF is yet?"
Nate made a terrible sound, halfway between a laugh and a moan. "Shut up and fuck me, Wade."
For once, Wade did what he was told. He loosened Nate up and then filled him up again, his cock making Nate feel like he was split in half. Wade fucked him deep and slow, snapping his hips to jostle him, laughing sweetly when Nate snarled at him. He was tall enough that he could easily kiss Nate while balls-deep inside him, trapping Nate's cock between them. He surrounded Nate, pinned him absolutely still and just fucking used him, and Nate couldn't get enough of it.
"Enough with the fucking missionary," he said. His cock was weeping, harder than he'd been in recent memory, but it wasn't enough. He hauled his own legs up, folding them over Wade's shoulders. Wade blinked down at him, mouth falling open. "Holy fucking shit." He looked up at the ceiling. "Thank you, gay sex Jesus."
"Just fuck me." Nate angled his hips up to emphasize the point. "Give it all you've got."
And oh, Wade gave.
Every drag of his freakish, bumpy cock hit Nate's prostate. He was fucking living for it, fucking Nate with abandon, babbling praise and weird shit in equal parts. All Nate had to do was hang on - literally; he braced his hands against the headboard for leverage and did his best to give as good as he got.
When he came, it was with Wade's hand jacking him hard, and he was fucking gone. Checked out, off the fucking planet, barely hanging on to his powers. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he felt his own spunk on his chest, his neck. Wade said, "Holy fucking shit, Nate, holy -" and came in him, head dropping down to Nate's shoulder, arms holding him so tight he almost dislocated a shoulder.
"God," Wade whispered in his ear. He was still holding himself up, but barely, arms trembling. He slipped his softening cock out of Nate's ass and said, "What if we just 69'd for Round 2?"
"You think I'll be up for another round any time soon? Young people, so optimistic."
"Shut the fuck up." Wade kicked him half-heartedly, then kissed his shoulder - quickly, like he thought Nate might shove him away. "I can't believe we could've been doing this for eight months. Everywhere! The couch -"
"Domino's couch."
"The kitchen -"
"Hygiene, Wade."
"The floor -"
"I am actually old enough for that to bother me."
"And I love that about you. Daddy," Wade said with diabolical, wide-eyed fake innocence. He cackled when Nate made a face at him.
"You know, it's not too late for divorce papers," Wade said after he finally managed to stop laughing.
Nate thought about putting an elbow in Wade's ribs, or just calling him a fuckhead. Instead of doing either, he rolled until Wade was pinned under him and kissed him again, slowly and sweetly. It felt like being in a fighter jet, like the first time he'd traveled through time. Stomach-churning. Something he wouldn't have missed for the world.
"Yeah, it is," he told Wade.
Wade's answering smile could've lit a whole fucking city.