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Pressure Points

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“He’s doing what?” Domino chokes out, spraying beer into Wade’s eyes.

“You heard me,” Wade says, licking her beer off of his mouth. “Great choice by the way, love a good Guinness, although I’m more of a Naughty Nurse gal myself.” He winks, throwing in a saucy shoulder shimmy for good measure, and Domino rolls her eyes, handing him a stack of crusty napkins lying conveniently on the table next to them. A little too conveniently. Funny how things always seemed to work out for her, Wade muses, eyeing Domino suspiciously, taking the napkins from her and dabbing at his scarred cheeks. Although luck is certainly not a power, no matter what anyone says or the sheer amount of anecdotal evidence staring him in the face.

“It is a power. We’ve been over this,” Domino sighs exasperatedly, and fuck, had he been thinking out loud again? Whatever. There were more important things to think about. Like the matter presently at hand. More specifically, Cable’s hand. On the back of Wade’s neck.

Domino drags her finger through the condensation collecting on her pint glass, sweating in the thick humidity of Sister Margaret’s dark interior. Wade scoffs. Weasel ought to invest in a decent air conditioning system, the cheapskate. No one should have to live through the horror that is the lack of sweet, sweet central air. Even Wade has some sort of standards, and central air was one of them. Especially since the whole planet was currently on the fritz, with global warming and plastic-filled oceans and all. Nevermind the fact that central air probably wasn’t great for the environment either, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do to stay sane in this day and age. Or as sane as possible, in Wade’s case, what with his swiss-cheese brain and intermittent psychosis at the most inconvenient of times.

“So you’re saying,” Domino says, jerking Wade out of a rage-filled reverie of blistering summers spent writhing in the damp agony of shitty apartments outfitted with an obscene amount of fans that could rival a Bed Bath and Beyond. “Cable keeps…touching you?”

“Yes!” Wade exclaims, throwing his hands—which simultaneously launches his drink—into the air in frustration. “And it’s incredibly confusing, especially for Little Wade, if you know what I mean,” Wade smirks, hand straying to the back of his neck to rub absently at the skin there at the memory of Cable’s thick fingers pressing over the same spot.

“God, I did not need to know that,” Domino groans, looking vaguely revolted, and yet intrigued at the same time.

“Oh come on, you can’t deny that future-boy is one distracting hunk of metal daddy material. He practically wrote the definition for big dick energy and mmm isn’t that an interesting thought? Hey Dom, how big do you think Cable’s dick is? You think he’s packing a monster cock or is it of the regular garden hose variety?” Wade’s eyes cross as he drifts into an unfocused haze, mentally comparing the thickness of coke bottles to beer cans, superimposing each one onto an image of Cable’s crotch that’s been burned into his retinas since the first time he burst into Wade’s life and tried to kill him. Aw, how romantic. Domino, ignoring the pure shit spewing out of the open sewer Wade calls a mouth, presses on to the original topic of discussion.

“So Cable keeps touching you and it’s giving you a stiffy. I don’t see what’s so confusing about that. Obviously he’s into you. You two should just bone already.”

Wade goggles at her, mind still half-cottoned on to a vision of Cable with a schlong the size of a four loko. “What do you mean, he’s into me?” Wade squeaks. “Have you seen him? And have you seen me?!” Wade exclaims, gesturing to his everywhere. “He’s a certified whiplash-inducing, assjacked wet dream from the eighth circle of hell while I’m, I’m—” Wade splutters, waving his hands around wildly. Domino sits there calmly, blinking as his swinging appendages narrowly miss her face. If he hadn’t already chucked his drink halfway across the bar, it would’ve been swept onto the floor during this public display of idiocy.

Domino sighs. This was getting boring, and Domino didn’t have all day to pander to Wade’s insecurities. “Look, Wade,” she says, grabbing his wrists and stopping him mid-rant before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. “For some reason no one at all can understand, it’s pretty clear that Cable has a weird thing for you, so do us all a favor and get on the same page so you can fuck and put us out of our collective misery. Watching you two screw around until you start trying to sexually kill each other is driving us bonkers. So please,” Domino hisses, eyes glinting threateningly, “get your shit together and fuck him.” She sits back in her chair, releasing his wrists, her menacing air instantly evaporating. “Also I have $500 riding on you and Cable fucking by the end of the month so my bank account and I would appreciate it if you two would get on with it,” Domino finishes, smiling sweetly as Wade openly gapes at her. Domino knocks back the rest of her beer and gathers up her stuff, throwing a few bills down on their table. “Anyways, I gotta run, I have a meeting I can’t miss,” she says. “Keep me posted!” She pauses. “Actually, on second thought, don’t,” she grimaces, disappearing out the front door and leaving Wade sitting there hyperventilating like a goldfish flopping around in the shattered remains of his tank.

“Well that was incredibly encouraging,” Weasel deadpans from the bar, wiping it down with a mildewy rag. “I’m embarrassed for you. I’d be surprised if your balls haven’t shriveled up inside of your body by now.”

Wade closes his mouth with a snap, turning towards the direction of Weasel’s voice. “You really need to invest in a quality air conditioning system,” he sneers, jabbing an accusatory finger at Weasel and storming out of Sister Margaret’s, leaving a confused Weasel staring after him.

 

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Wade stomps out into the street, finally letting the blush he’d been holding back creep up his neck and flood his cheeks. Damn it. What Domino had said—it’s not like that, with them. God. His ears burn as he remembers the aftermath of a run-in they had a couple days ago with the newest baddies on the block—some rich assholes with too much time and not enough morals, the usual shtick. Wade’s nerves’d been all jangled up and tweaky after being given the ole runaround by these self-righteous douchebags, a tad too clever for his liking, making him brush death just a little too closely for him to handle these days. Cable had come up beside him and pressed his palm flush against Wade’s nape, hot and heavy, heat seeping through his suit down his spine, pooling in the small of his back. His fingertips had brushed the sensitive skin behind Wade’s ears, fluttering over his pulse points, sending shockwaves of pleasure up his scalp, Cable’s strong grip grounding him, making him feel safe and protected, Wade’s eyes rolling back in his head, shivering and panting, nearly boneless in Cable’s secure hold—

Wade sucks in a ragged breath and chokes, jolting himself out of his memories. Fuck. He’s half-hard in his pants, skin tingling from the sense memory of Cable’s fucking hand on his goddamn neck, calming the shit out of him and making him pop one while out on a job, covered in other people’s intestines. Shit, he can’t go home like this, especially since the guy’s crashing on his couch for the foreseeable future. He exhales shakily, leaning his forehead on the wall of a nearby building, trying to will his boner out of existence. He shivers and scrubs his hands over his face to wipe away the lingering arousal simmering under his skin. He’s still so fucking embarrassed he’d reacted like that, practically coming in his pants at a simple touch to his neck through his goddamn suit. There wasn’t even any skin-on-skin contact for God’s sake! How pathetic can he get? Wade pushes down the hot, angry flush threatening to bloom on his cheeks and bites his lip clean through, using the pain to center himself before he gets home and has to face the dude himself.

Wade pauses outside their door and takes a deep breath, schooling his features into something hopefully less flustered than he feels, before pushing into their his apartment. Cable’s sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, rolling a beer against his lips. Wade’s eyes immediately lock onto Cable’s mouth, the wet rim of the bottle leaving a slick trail as it rocks back and forth over his plush bottom lip in a hypnotic rhythm. Wade can’t look away, pulse thundering in his ears, his dry throat working helplessly around words that won’t come out. Cable turns towards him, typical annoyed expression twisting his face. His lips are moving, forming words and looking increasingly more pissed off, but Wade can’t hear a single thing he’s saying through the rush of blood in his ears, everything muffled and hazy around him.

“WADE!” Cable finally shouts, jerking Wade out of his stupor. All at once, sound rushes back into existence, almost knocking him over with the force of it.

What,” he chokes, dissolving into a coughing fit in their fucking living room. Jesus, this is pathetic. Cable slams his beer down on the table and storms over to where Wade is bent double, hands braced on his knees and sounding like he’s hacking up half a lung. Cable gets his fingers around Wade’s jaw, yanking his face up towards him, and Wade gasps, chest still heaving, looking up at him through watering eyes. Cable stares down at Wade, poorly masked fury simmering in his expression.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, asswipe?” Cable growls, grip tight around Wade’s chin. He searches Wade’s face, his gaze zeroing in on the healing split in Wade’s lip. “What happened here?” Cable mutters half under his breath, brushing his thumb over Wade’s swollen lip. Wade stutters out a breath, gut going white hot. He tilts his head back to look up at Cable through heavy lidded eyes, breath coming in harsh pants, each one edging too close to a whine for his comfort. His lips part, mouth on fire under Cable’s thumb. God, he wants to swipe his tongue over the pad of Cable’s thumb, suck the tip right into his mouth, scrape his teeth across his fingerprints. Wade lets his tongue loll forwards in his mouth, peeking over the swell of his bottom lip just millimeters from Cable’s thumb. It’s so close, his thumb is right there, if he moved his tongue just a little he could lick a wet path down to the first knuckle, taste the salt and musk of Cable’s skin, feel the heavy weight of Cable’s thumb pressing down on his tongue, and god, he can’t, it’s right there, so thick and warm and fuck, he’s shaking with the effort of holding back, trembling in Cable’s grip, and he can’t, he really can’t do this much longer, he wants it so bad he could cry, Cable’s fingers deep in his throat, choking him, claiming him—

Abruptly, Cable shoves Wade’s head back and it snaps around towards his shoulder, cracking his neck in the process. Wade falls back on his ass, the pain enough to cut his frantic arousal and snap him out of his stupor.

“What the fuck, dude!” Wade exclaims, wincing and rubbing at his sore neck, glaring up at Cable from the floor. Wade sees a flicker of something in Cable’s eyes before his normally stormy expression clouds his features.

“What the fuck, nothing,” Cable grunts, striding over to the couch. He sits back down and picks up his beer, turning his attention back to the TV. “It’ll heal,” he says without turning around.

It’ll heal?!” Wade parrots back to him, incredulous. Cable twitches, but says nothing, effectively dismissing Wade where he’s sprawled out on the carpet. Wade gapes at the back of his head, burning with anger and embarrassment, before climbing to his feet and stalking to his room, slamming the door. He leans back against the door, exhaling shakily. It’ll heal, he thinks, ignoring the pain that blooms in his chest at the words.

It’ll heal.