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cherry on the beat

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Everybody’s body fits a fetish.
— reddit user xtina321, 2015

The thing about being a horribly disfigured, industrial accident-looking, depressed bastard with a face like roadkill, a heart like a very sad bottomless pit, and the personality of an aspiring stand up comedian at his first college open mic night, was that you could still convince people to fuck you. You could convince a lot of people to fuck you. You could even convince them to pay for the privilege.

Funny old world.

It was slightly too cold in the bar where Wade sat, perched on the edge of his stool, one elbow on the counter, and one leg stretched out in a way that showed off the curve of his thigh in his very, very tight jeans. With his free hand, he was twirling the pink straw of a violently green drink that had half a fruit salad floating in it. It was a carefully calculated portrait of leisure and ease. Just the right mix of classy, trashy, approachable, and slutty. An image that said “apply here for a reasonably priced good time, if you’re into that weird stuff, you fucking freak.”

The mesh of Wade’s tank was itching against his skin, and he wished he had worn something with sleeves because, while it was warm outside, in here there was a vent blowing right on the top of his head.

But the skin needed to be on display. The skin was what people paid for—Wade himself was just peripheral. Like that crinkly paper thing cupcakes came in; what people wanted was the cake.

Wait, that didn’t make sense. The crinkly thing was on the outside, so Wade, Wade himself, would have to be the cake in this metaphor, but then also the crinkly paper would have to be what people actually wanted in this rapidly spiraling alternative universe Wade was creating.

Imagine, a world where people threw away the cupcake and ate the paper. That universe was real somewhere, according to string theory or something.

There was a headache crawling up Wade’s neck to nestle just behind his eyes, and his fucking client was late.

He hated it when his fucking clients were fucking late. He was a man about town, a highly sought-after professional, an expert in his field, and he had better things to do than sit in a freezing cold bar for hours with his titties half-way out. He could, for instance, be sitting somewhere warmer, with better booze, a wad of hundreds tucked in his pocket, and his titties all the way out.

Unfortunately, this particular client wasn’t one he could ditch. He was one of Wade’s oldest, and had stuck around through the price hikes as Wade clawed his way up from cheap novelty attraction, to obscure fetish model, to less obscure fetish model slash highly specialized gentleman of the evening. You had to reward customer loyalty like that. Which was why Wade was getting in touch with his roots, in the same shady bar he’d used to trawl for weirdos a lifetime ago.

The men’s bathroom, in particular, held a lot of memories.

Wade pulled a cigarette out of his back pocket, and Weasel, the owner and kinda-sorta Wade’s ex-pimp, manifested out of nowhere to offer him a lighter. Weasel’s pupils were blown wide, and he had the loose, open look of the very, very, very high.

“Think your date might have stood you up,” Weasel commented as Wade sucked the flame up into his cigarette.

“He would never,” Wade said through a cloud of smoke. “The very thought is inconceivable.” It wasn’t. Clients were flighty. Even the good ones. They never seemed to consider how much of your goddamn, motherfucking time they were wasting when they turned up an hour late. And “hey, can we hurry this up because I’ve got to go fuck someone else in twenty minutes” usually did not go over super great. Wade found that one out the hard way.

“Uh-huh,” Weasel said. “Hey, how come I haven’t seen you around? Did you forget all about your pal Weasel when you got all,” he gestured vaguely, “fancy, I guess. Is fancy the right word? Expensive. But still gross? Like really, really fancy wines. They’re disgusting, but people pay so much money for them. I’ve got this one bottle,” he leaned over the counter, into Wade’s space, lowering his voice, “in the back that’s like five hundred dollars, and it is the nastiest shit you’ve ever tasted. Obviously, I drank the whole thing and poured a nice 2010 vintage into the bottle, but God I hated it. That’s you. Expensive, gross wine that everyone’s inexplicably thirsty for.”

“Weasel, your talent for flattery remains unparalleled.”


In the mirror over the bar, Wade spied a familiar figure slip through the front door. It was Jefferson, the man of the hour, and he looked… not great. Even from the other side of the dim bar, Wade could see the dark circles under his eyes, and there was something twitchy and nervous about the way he moved.

Wade waved Weasel away as Jefferson slunk over, hugging the sides of the room. He gave Wade a hunted smile, which faltered under Wade’s unimpressed stare.

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry,” he said uncertainly. “I just had…”

“Had to save a bus full of orphans? Help a little old lady across the street? Rush to the bank withdraw your last hundred dollars to donate to a struggling Girl Scout troop?” Wade tossed back the watery last half of his drink and turned to face Jefferson, letting the corners of his lips curl like he was teasing, instead of pissed off. “Better not be that last one, because you’re paying for all the drinks I had to drink all by myself waiting for you.” It had been just that one, but Jefferson’s inconsiderate butt didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jefferson said. His shoulders relaxed, a little of the tension draining. His eyes settled on Wade’s skin like a physical weight, crawling down his face, neck, to the V of his shirt. Jefferson put his hand over Wade’s wrist, fingers rubbing just a little too hard into the flesh there.

That was the problem with catering to people with weird fetishes. Even the nice ones treated you like, well, a fetish.

“Let’s close your tab and get out of here,” Jefferson said, low and intimate. His thumbnail pressed into a sore on the underside of Wade’s wrist.

Jefferson’s tension returned as they walked through the dark city streets. His eyes flicked over the dark windows of closed stores, and he peered down every garbage-filled alley they passed. He looked like he was expecting the boogeyman to jump out of the nearest sewer grate and mug him. It was starting to put Wade on edge too.

Wade pulled him into the alley that led to the back entrance (heh) of his favorite motel, and pushed him up against the wall.

“Hey, relax,” Wade said into the side of the neck. “It’s just me. Everything’s cool.” He sucked a kiss into his skin, making him gasp, and kept nibbling and biting until he felt the nervous tension leech out of Jefferson, replaced with another kind of tension. Jefferson gripped him around the upper arms and turned them around so Wade was the one pressed up against the wall.

“Oh fuck,” he slurred into Wade’s cheek. His fingers slid up Wade’s arms to cup his face, thumbs stroking over Wade’s rough skin. “Oh Christ,” he pinched some of the scar tissue between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, “God, I never get tired of your face.”

Yeah, if you were the kind of weird person who looked up words like dysmorphophilia, you’d find a big, ol’ picture of Jefferson next to the definition.

Wade leaned in and caught Jefferson’s lip between his teeth, mostly to stop him from talking. Wade appreciated the business, the loyalty, and the fact that being the human embodiment of a highly specialized fetish meant he could charge enough to keep him in cocaine and guns forever, but the fever-light of Jefferson’s eyes always made him feel a little uncomfortable. A little, well, less human.

But Wade was a professional, and he’d never any self-respect to speak of, so on went the show.

Wade pulled out of the kiss and was just about to whisper something about getting inside and getting naked when suddenly Jefferson wasn’t in front of him anymore.

The was a flash of metal in the low light. Wade whipped his head around to follow it, and saw Jefferson being shoved up against a wall by a short guy with gray hair and a badass prosthetic arm. The guy was growling something right in Jefferson’s face, and Jefferson was babbling, the words indistinct, but obviously panicked.

Wade wondered if he should intervene or just book it, and had almost settled on trying to see if he could still fight in heels when Mysterious Cool Arm Guy pulled Jefferson’s head forward by the hair and slammed him back against the wall. Wade could hear the crack. He stepped back, letting Jefferson fall to his knees.

Mystery Guy pulled out a gun. Jefferson raised his head, eyes unfocused. He said something that might have been “wait”, but didn’t have time to say anything else before Mystery Guy shot him twice in the head. Execution style.

“Huh,” Wade said, as Jefferson’s limp corpse fell face-first into a puddle. Mr. Cool-arm, probably-a-contract-killer turned to look at Wade, frowning. He had a nice face. Scarred, lined, and weathered, but handsome. Total daddy. Also probably about to kill Wade to prevent him from skipping off and telling anyone about this little spot of cold-blooded murder.

He took a step toward Wade.

Wade looked at Jefferson’s body, sprawled awkwardly, face half submerged in oil and mud, one hazel eye open and staring, already starting to fog over, and did some fast thinking. He had a limited number of options. He could try and make a break for it, and get shot in the back. He could charge the guy, and hope that superior reach, rusty training, and the element of surprise would carry the day.

He could go to his knees, and save the guy the trouble of making him. Dead in an alley was how he was going to end up someday, and that day might as well be today. Overdose, knife to the guts, shot by a very attractive mercenary for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, what difference did it really make?

Or, he could do something dumb and impulsive.

“So, that was about two-thousand bucks worth of my money you just murderized,” he said, leaning back against the cold brick of the alley.

The mercenary paused. He looked Wade up and down. “You’re a hooker?” Oh, nice voice. Gravely, matched his face.

“I prefer gentleman of the evening,” Wade said, tilting his chin up and to the side in that way he knew showed off both the ruin of his face and his still-pretty-decent jawline to full effect. “So, let’s talk about this money you owe me.”

The guy blinked at him, looking like a mix of nonplussed, annoyed, and constipated. (It was a facial expression Wade was familiar with—it tended to happen to anyone who talked to him for too long). He walked closer and Wade realized, delighted, that he actually had about four inches on him.

The little guy in question was still squinting up at Wade’s face like he was trying to remember where he’d seen him before, so Wade took it upon himself to keep the conversation going.

“Well, hey there,” Wade said, giving the man his most flirtatious grin. “What’s a nice guy like you doing down a dark alley like this?”

The guy looked, if possible, even more confused and annoyed. “Completing a contract,” he said gruffly.

“Oh hey, me too! Funny how that works out. Also super funny how you, again, killed my customer, and now I’ve wasted a whole day for zero money.”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Wade,” Wade said, “what’s your call sign, baby?”

He thought the guy wasn’t going to answer, but then he could see him think fuck it, and he said, “Cable.”

“Larry the Cable Guy?”

“Just Cable.” He holstered his gun, which didn‘t necessarily mean he wasn’t going to kill Wade, but his chances were looking a little better. So long as Wade didn’t do anything to piss him off.

“Little bland for a mercenary name, but okay,” Wade said. Cable opened his mouth, but Wade cut him off before he could say anything. “So, Cable, Cable, my little cable package, how, precisely, do you plan on making this up to me? How are you going to unruin my night? Because I had a hot date and a hot paycheck, but thanks to your cute, trigger happy, little butt, I’m down both.” Wade pushed off the wall, meaning to step into Cable’s personal bubble. He stopped short, though, because there was suddenly a knife to his throat, and a pissed off dwarf hissing “what the fuck” at him.

“Easy,” Wade said. “You might hurt somebody with that.”

“What in the fuck are you doing?”

”Uh, trying to pick you up. Thought that was obvious.”


Wade wasn’t sure himself. Or if he was trying to talk Cable into or out of killing him. Into fucking him first, maybe, whichever it was. Wade took a step closer, feeling the knife dig into his skin, but not cut, not yet. Slowly, he brought one arm up and rested it on Cable’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb along Cable’s rugged jawline. He half-expected to feel the cold metal of the knife sinking into his neck, but Cable’s eyes just narrowed, his free hand coming up to grip Wade’s wrist, tight enough to grind the bones together. “If you’re not going to shoot me,” Wade smiled lazily, ignoring the pain, “why not be my date for the night?”

Cable shoved him back—Wade managed to catch himself before he stumbled. “Who says I’m not going to fucking shoot you,” Cable growled, but, Wade noted, did not pull his gun back out.

Wade’s laugh tasted like acid-reflux and irony inside his own mouth—or maybe that was blood. Had he bit his tongue when Cable pushed him? “Is it the face?” Wade said. “Because it wouldn’t be the first time someone asked me to wear a bag over my head. I don’t even cry about it anymore.”

“No, it’s not your—” Cable cut himself off, making a jerky movement toward Wade’s face. “It’s fine. That’s not the issue. I’m sorry about killing your client, john, whatever, but it’s not my fucking problem.” He pointed towards the mouth of the alley. “I’m not going to kill you—”

“Ha! I knew it—”

If you fuck off right now and forget you saw me.”

“Generous,” Wade said, “but I’m gonna have to pass.”

Cable blinked at him. “On living?”

“On going home. I’m not done for the night. I want company! And money. More the second one, but I don’t want to understate how incredibly lonely I am.” Wade planted his feet. “Come on, you wouldn’t make a pretty lady walk at night all alone in the cold—”

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“I have sensitive skin,” Wade said lightly, and he saw Cable’s eyes actually focus on him for the first time. He couldn’t read Cable’s expression, but it wasn’t disgust or pity, which is what he got from most people who weren’t paying to look at him, and it wasn’t the hungry look his clients gave him either.

Wade leaned in closer. “I’ve also got a prepaid motel room, an unexpected free evening, half a bottle of cheap tequila in my purse, and no one to share any of them with. What do you say?”


“Aw, come on,” Wade pouted. “I’ll knock a couple hundred dollars off if you wanna rough me up. I’m feeling self,” Wade let the f-sound stretch out long until it was almost a hiss, “destructive.”

Cable frowned. “Are you trying to annoy me into paying you for sex?”

“That’s my signature move, baby.”

He barked out a startled laugh. “Jesus Christ, you’re serious, aren’t you.”

“Oh, as a heart-attack. Serious as global warming. Serious as that heat I’m sure you’re packing.” Wade flicked his eyes downward significantly.

Cable shook his head, huffing through his nose. He placed a hand in the center of Wade’s chest and shoved him back hard enough that Wade stumbled into the wall.

The two of them studied each other in silence for a long moment, Cable’s face blankly inscrutable. Wade wondered if it was too late to if try and get the jump on Cable. He was small, but strong looking, and he moved like someone who was comfortable in a fight.

Thing was, Wade wasn’t helpless. Before he’d started turning sexy tricks for the general public, he’s spent a good long while turning different, more point-and-shooty tricks for the government. Ten-ish years in special forces had made violence a third language (English and Spanish were the first two, plus enough French to not get murdered if he ever had to set foot in Montreal).

Wade shifted his weight, letting his hands hand loose by his sides. Ready.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Cable snorted and said, “Fine.” He jerked his head toward the faintly glowing sign of the motel.

“Hey,” Wade said, stopping him before he could walk away, “money up front.”

Cable paused, and Wade wondered if here was where things took a turn for the nasty, but then he reached into the fanny pack Wade was only just now noticing and pulled out a wallet. He counted out five hundred dollars in fifties and twenties, because he apparently wasn’t worried about carrying around that kind of cash in New York City, and handed it to Wade.

“Good?” he asked. “That’s all I'm carrying, and I’m not going to a fucking ATM for your crazy ass.”

Fair enough.” Wade tucked the cash into his front pocket and stepped back into Cable’s space. He reached out, cautiously, and stroked his thumbs over Cable’s cheekbones, feeling the slight ridges of his scars. Wade leaned down, slowly, and pressed his lips against Cable’s, half-expecting to end up on his ass. But Cable didn’t shove him back. His lips were surprisingly soft, and he sighed into Wade’s mouth, letting his lips fall open. It Wade who was out of breath when he broke away.

Wade didn’t really remember getting them past the front desk and into the room, although he did remember that it was his favorite girl manning the counter tonight, the one with the pink hair. She waved cheerfully at him as he barreled past, sexy, one-armed assassin in tow.

He thought Cable would be on him the second he kicked the door shut, but no, he left Wade standing by the door. He did a circuit of the room instead, taking note of all the potential exit and entrance points (door, window, maybe the air vent in the bathroom if you didn’t mind wriggling on your tummy like worm). It was a habit Wade recognized, although he didn’t bother with it much these days.

Wade leaned against the wall, watching while Cable reassured himself that no one was about to jump out of the closet, or through the window, or whatever.

“It’s not a trap,” Wade commented as Cable shook out the pillowcases, either looking for bed bugs or hidden cameras. Maybe both. To be fair, this looked like the kind of room that would have both.

“If you say so,” Cable said, not looking up, now combing through the drawers on either side of the bed.

“No, really,” Wade said, pushing off the wall, but keeping his distance. “All I want is your money, and your dick. I promise, nothing up my sleeves.”

“You’re wearing a tank top.”


Cable fished a tiny mic on a wire out of the bedside lamp. He turned it over in his hands, before crushing it between the thumb and forefinger of his prosthetic. He dropped the pieces to the floor, and looked up at Wade. Really looked right at him. It made Wade’s skin prickle.

“Come here,” Cable beckoned to him. Wade went. He still wasn’t 100% sure he was going to make it out alive tonight. Plenty of bodies showed up in this neighborhood. Hell, plenty of bodies showed up in this specific hotel.

Cable reached up and Wade was so busy trying not to flinch that when Cable very gently cupped his face in one hand, he was genuinely surprised.

He held still as Cable tilted his face from side to side, studying it. This, he was used to. People only has two reactions to Wade’s face—either disgust or sick fascination.

Cable’s expression was completely unreadable, but his hands were gentle as he rubbed the backs of his knuckles just under Wade’s cheekbone, ran his thumb along his jaw.

“Hey,” Wade said, low, “what are you doing?” Which was unprofessional, but something about the night’s events had him feeling off his game. Strange and vulnerable.

“I paid to touch, right?” Cable said gruffly. “I’m touching. Take this off.” He plucked at the collar of Wade’s mesh shirt. Wade pulled it over his head and let it fall to the side, not bothering to be sexy. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans, giving Cable a questioning look.

Cable nodded and Wade toed off his shoes and pushed his jeans down over his hips, hopping a little because there was actually no dignified way to take off pants. That left him in nothing but the bunny rabbit and baby chicken print socks that Weasel had given him last Easter, and a pair of red lace panties, which were doing nothing to conceal the fact that Wade’s dick wasn’t feeling off its game at all.

“Nice,” Cable commented, rubbing his thumb along the lace over Wade’s hipbone.

“Thanks. Everyone always says red’s my color.”

“I meant the socks.” Cable took a step back, fingers hooked in Wade’s panties so that he had to follow or risk stretching the delicate fabric. The corners of Cable’s eyes were all crinkled up in amusement, and Wade realized for the first time that despite being in great shape, Cable was pushing sixty. He also realized that he might, for realsies, live through the night.

“You’re military,” Cable commented, sitting on the bed, shaking Wade out of his reverie. “I saw you thinking about attacking me in that alley. Why didn’t you? You might have had a chance.”

Ex-military, sugarbutt,” Wade corrected. He let his hands trace down Cable’s neck to his chest; he began undoing the buckles of his overcomplicated vest.

“We’re all fucking ex-military,” Cable said, letting Wade coax him out of his vest, then the t-shirt underneath. Wade expected to see dog tags, but there was nothing on Cable’s chest but scars. “But a soldier’s still a soldier. Once that shit’s in your blood, you can’t get rid of it.”

“Uh-huh,” Wade said, unbuckling Cable’s belt. “Look, are we gonna fuck or are we going to have an in depth discussion about the military industrial complex and the questionable ethics of brainwashing a bunch of teens and twenty-somethings to become killers? Because I’m a professional, and I’ll talk politics if that’s what gets you going, but I thought we were heading in a more your cock inside of me, minimal foreplay, kind of direction. Y’know?”

Cable rolled his eyes, and tugged his belt out of his belt loops himself. Wade kissed him.

His mouth was hot and slick, and he bit Wade’s bottom lip. Wade let himself be maneuvered around and down onto the bed, Cable pressing him into the mattress. His panties ended up tossed across the room somewhere between Cable's teeth catching his tongue and Cable drawing back just far enough to whisper, “What do you want?” into Wade’s mouth.

Wade meant to say something along the lines of whatever you want, baby cakes, but what came out was, “I want bruises.”

“Bruises, huh?” Cable pulled back, and pinned Wade’s shoulder to the mattress when he tried to follow. “Won’t your other customers mind?”

“They won’t be able to tell,” Wade said, trying to sit up again, then freezing when the hand on his shoulder moved to his neck.

“Hold still,” Cable said.

“Okay?” Wade said. He inhaled experimentally, but the hand around his throat wasn’t tight. Yet.

Cable stroked his free hand down Wade’s chest, and wrapped it around his cock. Very no-nonsense.

Wade swallowed down a groan, and concentrated on not bucking his hips as Cable gave him a couple slow, experimental strokes, blunt fingers curling at the tip before twisting all the way back down.

“Can you—“ Wade swallowed. “Okay, obviously you’re a paying customer and this is your show, but—could you use your metal hand? It’s so fucking sexy. Please.”

Cable huffed—or maybe he chuffed, it was something between a laugh and a snort—and let go of Wade’s neck. He wrapped his metal hand around Wade’s cock, the cold making Wade gasp, as the fingers of his normal hand trailed back over Wade’s balls to press against his hole. “Got lube?” he asked.

“All out of WD-40,” Wade said, strained, “but I’ve got some people lubrication in my bag. Condoms too.” He jerked his head to where his bag lay on the floor. A couple of receipts and a tube of lipgloss had spilled out.

Wade whined when Cable let go of his cock, but didn’t move. Cable shed his pants and underwear as he walked across the room, somehow managing to make it look casual and sexy. Wade got an amazing eye full of his bare ass as he bent over. Cable smirked as he stood up and noticed Wade looking. Wade had only known him for about an hour now, but he was startling to suspect that Cable was secretly a smug bastard.

The condoms and lube ended up on the bed next to Wade’s head, and Cable ended up three (prosthetic) fingers deep in Wade’s asshole fast enough that Wade’s head was spinning, even as his hole was clenching around the unyielding metal. Cable twisted his wrist, pressing in deeper, and Wade made an undignified little yelping sound.

Cable gave him a considering look, and Wade had a sudden vision of that metal hand slipping all the way inside him. The overwhelming fullness, the complete lack of give, the way it would be almost impossible not to thrash as Cable slipped his thumb in and pushed until Wade’s muscles gave in.

But Cable wasn’t the kind of guy who tried to fist you on the first date, apparently. Which was a good thing, no matter what Wade’s overeager libido was saying. Sometimes, his eyes were bigger than his butthole.

While Wade was daydreaming, Cable had slipped his fingers out of Wade’s now expertly stretched and slick hole, and rolled on a condom.

“Oh, good boy, you don’t even need to be told,” said Wade, feeling a little loopy. “A+ for you. I kinda expected to regret that discount I gave you, but I’m really not.”

“Wasn’t the other half off your payment me not killing you?” Cable asked, pressing the head of his cock inside. Wade’s vision went fuzzy for a second, but he recovered in time to process what Cable had said.

“Ah,” he said, “so you saw through my little ruse, did you.” Wade wriggled, trying to take more, but Cable’s hand clamped back around his neck. Tight this time. A threat.

“Be fucking patient,” Cable snapped at him.

He kept up the grip around Wade’s neck as he slowly pushed all the way in, keeping him pinned. Wade sucked in little sips of air through his mouth, trying to relax into the sensation.

Finally, Cable was as far inside Wade as he could go. Wade braced himself, prepared to get the everloving shit fucked out of him, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, Cable tightened his hand, completely cutting off Wade’s air.

He drew back out, just as slowly, as black spots began to dance in the corners of Wade’s vision. Wade heard him groan, muffled under the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

Cable loosened his hand, so Wade sucked in a harsh breath as he slid back in. Wade only got in a single gasp before Cable clamped his hand tight again. Then he just kept doing that. Fucking Wade agonizingly slow, keeping him pinned and dizzy so he couldn’t fucking do anything about it.

Wade’s hand twitched toward his cock, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch.

“Go on,” Cable growled, the sound muffled in Wade’s ears, “get yourself off.”

Wade obeyed, helplessly, stripping his own cock fast. Five for every one of Cable’s strokes.

Wade’s orgasm caught him by surprise. His head spun as come striped his hand, his stomach and chest. A bit landed on Cable’s collarbone.

“Nice,” Wade said, the words coming out as a hoarse whisper. “Pearl necklace. Just the one pearl, really, but I always say quality over quan—fuck—quantity. Gimme ten minutes and I can try again.”

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” Cable said, one corner of his mouth curling up. He let Wade breath as he proceeded to fuck Wade slowly and thoroughly for a very long time. Wade let himself drift, rocked back and forth on waves of pleasure. He was most of the way back to hard when Cable finally ducked his head down and shuddered, buried deep inside Wade.

Wade made a disappointed noise as Cable pulled out, but felt much too lazy to do anything about it.

Cable rolled him over onto his stomach. Wade pillowed his head on his arms as Cable pulled his cheeks apart, fitting both his thumbs into Wade’s loose hole and prying it open. Wade gasped softly at the stretch, but didn’t move, except for the involuntary twitching of his thighs.

“Gonna try something,” Cable said. “Just tell me if you want me to stop.”

Wade gave him a lazy thumbs up over his shoulder, then immediately choked on spit as Cable pushed four fingers into him at once.

“Oh fuck, oh buddy, oh no, no, don’t stop,” Wade said when Cable paused. Wade waved his hand vaguely in a “go on” gesture. “I can’t believe you’re seriously going to fist me on the first date—I just said don’t fucking stop,God. Learn to take direction.”

He heard Cable mutter “Jesus fucking Christ” under his breath, but he pressed his thumb against Wade’s stretched out rim, and whatever clever response Wade was going to make flew right out of his head. Replaced by a kind of anticipatory stillness as the pressure of Cable’s thumb increased until, finally, it popped past Wade’s sphincter.

Cable paused, letting Wade get used to the feeling. Which was good, because Wade needed a second. Things had gone from not-fisting to fisting very fast. Wade was a pro who could roll with the punches, but he needed... he needed a minute.

He couldn’t seem to stop his muscles from fluttering, trying to clench around the intrusion. He became aware of a high, keening noise coming from somewhere, and realized it was coming from his own mouth.

Cable stroked his free hand down Wade’s flank, giving his once again very hard cock a quick squeeze before moving to Wade’s ass, rubbing his finger pads over the stretched muscle of Wade’s rim.

“Can you take more?” Cable asked. “It’s okay if you wanna tap out now.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Wade said, bravado making up for how hot and flushed and dizzy he felt, and how hard his heart was beating. “Are you bringing into question my world-fucking-class professional credentials? I’ll have you know I once shoved an eggplant up my butt on camera. The fanboys really went wild for that.”

“No cameras here,” Cable said, slowly twisting his hand, dragging a garbled groan out of Wade. “Not anymore. It’s just you and me, sweetheart. Nothing to prove.” The angle of Cable’s hand changed as he leaned in, his breath hot on the back of Wade’s neck. “No one but me to hear all that noise you're making; no one to impress but me.”

“Maybe I’m trying to earn that tip.”

“I think we’re well past the tip at this point.”

“Ha! Nice double—fuck—entendre,” Wade swore as Cable twisted his wrist again, pushing in just a little bit deeper. “Oh fuck, I can take more. Please.”

“Okay, then,” Cable said and Wade sighed in relief, “this next bit’s gonna happen fast.”

Cable pushed, not letting up the pressure at all even as Wade’s muscles strained and screamed, trying to accommodate the thick row of his knuckles. Wade’s chant of “oh fuck” got steadily higher in pitch as Cable’s hand slipped in millimeter by millimeter until finally—the widest part was inside him, and Wade’s body sucked the rest of Cable’s hand in greedily. Right up to the wrist.

Wade shuddered all over. He wanted to writhe, but every single movement made the pressure inside him more intense.

“Holy fuckballs, that is so much,” Wade said, and Cable snorted, the vibrations running down his arm and into Wade.

“Get ready,” Cable said.

“Wait, ready for what—“

Cable, slowly, clenched his first, and Wade legitimately screamed. He wasn’t quiet at the best of times, but oh, in the name of Taco Bell and everything else holy, he had never felt any sensation, pain or otherwise, this intense in his life. And he’d been on fire a couple times. The pointy bit of what felt like Cable’s thumb was pressed directly into his prostate, and even inhaling too hard was making Wade see stars.

“Oh fuck,” Wade said, “don’t move, don’t move, let me—“ he shifted his hips, ever so slightly, and yeah, that was enough. He could feel his brains dribbling out of his ears. Just a couple more tiny bucks of his hips, and he was coming so hard it felt like he’d been shot in the spine. Wade yowled his way through it, then collapsed, half-unconscious.

There was no sound for a time, except both their heavy breathing.

Cable very carefully pulled his hand free, leaving Wade loose, tender, and oddly vulnerable-feeling. Wade moaned quietly as Cable flopped down on the bed, jostling him.

They lay, panting, for a long time afterwards. Then, Cable started laughing. A deep, throaty chuckle. He dragged his dry hand down his face. “Fuck,” he said, “this was not how I fucking expected my night to go.”

Wade rolled on his side, lazily. “What were you expecting? Some quick murder, then home in time for dinner?”

“More or less.”

“Somebody wondering where you are?” Wade said casually, but Cable gave him a hard, searching look anyway. Wade raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, no need to tell me. I was just wondering if you needed to get home before someone glanced at the clock and realized it was two a.m. and they didn’t know where their daddy was. For whatever value of daddy. Oh, wait, I should have called you Daddy at least once while we were fucking. I can’t believe I missed that prime opportunity.”

The corner of Cable’s mouth twitched just the tiniest bit. “My daughter hasn’t called me daddy since she was ten.”

“Oh, kids grow up fast, huh? Never had any myself. These days, that ship’s kinda sailed.”

Cable gave him a puzzled look, and Wade felt compelled to explain.

“Even if I could find someone with a uterus who didn’t mind the face, I’m pretty sure I’m sterile these days. Had a tad too much prostate and testicular cancer to really rely on the old plumbing these days.”

“Don’t you fuck people for a living?”

“What’s your point.”

“My point,” Cable waved a hand at him, encompassing his face and chest, “is the scars obviously aren’t as much of a barrier as you seem to think.” He snorted through his nose. “I’d be more concerned about your train wreck of personality scaring people off, but obviously, that isn’t an issue either.”

Wade smiled at him helplessly. “Don’t think flattery will get you a discount next time, buster.”

“Uh-huh.” Cable sat up with a grunt, and went to go retrieve his pants from where they were still crumpled on the floor. Wade watched his butt, feeling a little… something. Melancholy. He pushed himself up, feeling the soreness start to set in in multiple, overstretched muscles. He made a low sound of contentment in his throat, and wondered how many days he could reasonably take off. Because old faithful needed a break after getting fucked by the Terminator, then fingered half to death by the same aforementioned Terminator.

“Eat your heart out, Arnold,” Wade muttered under his breath and rolled off the bed to retrieve his own clothes.

“Hey,” Wade caught Cable before he slipped out the door, and handed him the business card he’d grabbed from his bag.

It read Wade Wilson: Professional ;) in tasteful red and black impact font and had his business phone on the back. Cable tilted it in the light, one eyebrow climbing up his forehead as he noticed the subtle pattern of erect cocks that was pressed into the card stock.

“Classy,” he commented, and tucked it into his fanny pack.

“I’m a real classy gal,” Wade said. “Promise you’ll call? I’m available all hours, except when Golden Girls is on.”

“Yeah, sure, why not.” Cable shook his head, looking amused and exasperated at the same time. “Thanks for an interesting night. I already gave you what I was carrying, so you’re not getting a tip.” And with that, he hooked Wade around the back of the neck, and pulled him down into a hard, wet kiss, before walking out the door with a casual wave.

Wade licked his lips, come cooling on his stomach and thighs, ass not sore yet, but promising tenderness by morning, bruises coming up on his throat.

“I think I’m taking a personal day tomorrow,” Wade commented to the empty room. “Definitely not an excuse to wait by the phone like a girl from an old, black-and-white, kinda sexist romantic comedy from the forties or anything. Don’t give me that look,” he said to the overturned table lamp.

He sat very gingerly on the edge of the bed, dragged his pants over with his toes. He pulled the wad of bills out of his pocket, and set to closing out the night. And if the thought of Cable’s cold, steel fingers closing around his cock made him lose count a couple times, that was no one’s business but his.