*About half an hour later, Wheelie turns up with a bag that has pumpkin soup and potato and leek soup. He’s just in his hoodie and jeans. It knocks on the door with his free hand and waits a moment before knocking again.*
Stevieeeee! Wait actually I dunno who I was talking to. It was probably Steven though.
@wheelbarrowofstagefourcancer
The door opens with a muffled squeak and the man behind it gestures for Wheelie to come on in. "Shoes off, slippers on." He softly mutters. "Hope you don't mind the mess." By mess, he means the piles of egyptology books opened to random pages littered around his table, couch, and the floor, annotated and filled with sticky notes and scribbles. And there's also the mess that is himself. He looks as if he'd just gotten back from work. Black dress pants, a white shirt that's rolled up to his elbows and loosely unbuttoned by the collar (but the remaining buttons fighting for its life to contain his chest in), crew socks that have rolled down and squished the Starry Night print on it as it pools by his ankles, and his hair is a mess. He doesn't even know who he is right now. He's feeling out of it and fuck if he's not going to dissipate into a pile of molecules if he's not being held together by the seams of his clothes and the grip of his nails on his arms.
Wheelie slinks inside, closing the door behind him. He nods and slips his sneakers off, replacing them with the slippers.
When it looks up at Steven, he tilts his head and smiles softly. “Yeah, you look like shit.” He looks around the apartment, wondering what happened that made it get all messy. Even if Steven was working, it wouldn’t usually get this messy. “No offense.”
He glances at the man in front of him again and for a second, he thinks about how hot he is. He also notices his chest and it takes everything in him to not wolf whistle.
“Hey, how about you go get into something comfy and I’ll heat up some soup, yeah?” He says, trying to sound as casual as he can while his brain is yelling to see if kissing will work this time.
"I might be losing it again but it's nothing new," he dryly jokes. "I'm comfy enough in this. I can't take another textile change right now with whatever atrocious curse's been placed on me."
He toddles over to the sofa and sits on the ground, leaning against the couch. His knees are up against his chest and he grabs the facedown book to his side and props it up on his legs. The text on the book barely registers in his head as his eyes make its way across the page as if it were routine. And that was enough to ease his tenseness a bit.
Grab whatever you want from the fridge, his mind prepares to say out loud but his mouth won't budge. His body is too occupied trying to keep that terseness from snapping.
“Okie dokes. Sensory overload is no joke, my man, so yeah, do what makes you feel comfy,” he says with a smile as he walks into the kitchen.
He heats up some of the pumpkin soup, keeping an eye on Steven as he does. Well he thinks it’s Steven. Marc wouldn’t have mentioned feeling uncomfy with getting changed. Jake might have but not in the same way. He puts the now warm soup in a bowl and carries it over to probably Steven.
With a soft smile, he takes the book out of his hands and then hands him the soup and the spoon. “Eat. You’ll hopefully feel better.”
After a moment, Wheelie sits down behind him and starts running his fingers through his hair, trying to get any knots out. He wouldn’t say it but he’s got experience with helping out with this kinda thing. Lots of the guys he’s been friends with had bouts of ickiness and being so exhausted they couldn’t brush their own hair.
When Wheelie comes back, he places the book down again at its original spot and gives him a strained smile.
"Thank you," he says as he takes the bowl and spoon. Not a second goes by before he's devouring the soup like he hasn't eaten all week, ravenous to get something in him. It doesn't take more than a minute or two for him to finish the bowl and, surprisingly splatter none of it onto his white shirt.
He shivers. The bowl drops down onto the table, spoon clanking in it. His mouth and legs parts just barely and releases a wavering breath. He's thankful that he didn't drop his utensils onto the floor. His scalp is so damn sensitive.
"Everything feels like it's an 11."
“It isn’t a problem, bud,” Wheelie says with a smile. He’s a bit curious about what is up with maybe Steven because usually you don’t eat like a starved animal when sick.
When he drops the bowl onto the table, the clang makes Wheelie jump slightly. He stops unknotting his hair and instead his hands just rest on top of his head.
“Yeah? Do you want me to stop getting rid of these knots?”
He is really not sure what’s going on now. Hopefully it’s not some really weird sickness or like another HYDRA thing.
He shrugs.
"It gets tangled no matter what."
He takes a few deep breaths hoping that, maybe, that wave of chill from that touch fades away instead of staying, frosting over his skin, burning him with its frostbite.
Wheelie hums in acknowledgment before running his fingers through maybe Steven’s hair again.
“So anything else going on besides feeling just general sickness?”
His breath catches in his throat. His legs rub together.
It clicks.
"I'm feeling real fuckin' randy right now, mate. I think that's what I got cursed with."
“Heh? Man, I don’t speak whatever you’re speaking.”
Wheelie tilts his head and moves his hands away from maybe actually Marc’s head.
“Is it a bad thing?”
"Horny. It means horny, you American."
He digs his nails into his forearms.
"I feel like I'm bloody well on the way to losing my mind completely so, yes. It. is. a. bad. thing."
Oh, it’s probably Steven actually. He’s the only Brit.
“Ohhhhhh, that makes sense. Soooooo what do we do now? Coz like if it’s a bad thing, I would think you don’t want to fix it like how you’re probably meant to.”
He groans.
"I have no fuckin' clue. The only thing keeping me sane right now is hearing my own voice to know I haven't lost control of my body entirely."
His hands snake its way up around his neck and he claws at the tender flesh at it.
"It'll pass," he mutters softly, not knowing who it was directed to anymore.
Wheelie tilts his head again and tentatively moves his hands back to the others scalp. He gently starts massaging it and keeps a close eye on his hands. If not Marc comes out, he’s pretty sure he’d get whacked.
“You sure? It might pass less painfully if you don’t ignore it.”
He fights a shiver.
"I've always been a bit of a masochist."
“Hmm, I don’t think so.”
He keeps massaging his scalp.
“Masochist is when you like pain. You don’t wanna burden others or get rid of the pain because you think you deserve it. That’s more like… stupidness.”
"I'm as intelligent as an amoeba then."
He can't just go off and wank it off, he thinks. It would be strange to leave his guest alone for a couple of minutes with both of them knowing what he might do just to try and appease the absolute delirium that has been setting into his orifices and slowly sweating out of his pores.
"It's too crass to do anything about right now."
“I don’t know what that is but sure.”
Wheelie keeps massaging at his scalp, taking his time. He considers asking if maybe Steven wants help with his problem but he’s not sure if that’s too forward. He takes a deep breath. Oh, fuck it. Despite all the being nice stuff, he’s still a Deadpool.
“Is it? You want some help maybe?”
"It's an organism. There's species of 'em that eats brains."
He tilts his head to rest it on his knees.
"I'm not someone like WW who announces his libido at any given moment. So, yeah, it's out of character for me to do so but I feel like I'm losing myself in this so I don't even know--" His jaw clenches. "Do you just normally offer to shag your friends?"
“Oh. That’s ick.”
He stops massaging his head and starts playing with his hair again. It nods along as he speaks, chuckling when he queries his offer.
“Not usually. Just sometimes… when it comes up.”
He smiles wryly.
"You know exactly what you're doing, Wheelie."
“Hmm, do I?”
He hums for a moment before tugging at a knot in the man beneath him’s hair.
“I’m just trying to help a friend out,” he says coyly.
He growls, eyes snapping to the side to look at Wheelie from his peripherals.
"I wasn't aware playing around with my head's considering 'helping a friend out'."
Wheelie raises his non-existent eyebrows.
“Oh, ain’t you feisty.”
He chuckles.
“Helping comes in many forms, sweets,” he leans in close to whoever’s ear and whispers, “and I think your body is fucking craving the touch.”
His breath quavers. Maybe he'll play along... just a bit.
He grabs the collar of Wheelie's top and pulls him down.
"You think you can satisfy that craving?" he says sultry, low and gravelly.
Ok, Wheelie wasn’t expecting that. It almost loses its balance so he grabs onto the couch so he doesn’t fall into a heap next to maybe Marc. It sounds more like Marc than Steven. He isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
“Yes? Well um I can try, I think. Anything’s better than nothing, right?” He chuckles nervously.
He pats it on the head. Slow and almost a bit teasing, or patronizing.
"Where'd all that confidence go, sweetie?" she purrs, slow and relaxed.
He’s slightly confused now. He thought they weren’t at all interested even with whatever some anon probably did. Being patted feels nice until it doesn’t and then he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them.
“You tugged me. I almost fell,” he says quietly, almost like a whine.
"You tugged me. I'm returning the favor."
He lets go of Wheelie's collar and grabs its chin instead, gently guiding it closer to his view.
He smiles sweetly. Only the edges of his mouth gave the slightest bit of hint that there was any danger behind it.
"What's on your mind, Wheelie?"
The touch feels gentle but his back starts to ache. He climbs off the couch so he stops twisting his back weirdly and awkwardly kneels next to whoever he’s talking to.
The smile coming from the other makes him feel calm for a second but then it just starts to feel unsettling. He’s not really sure what’s going on, especially with the fact that he’s not really sure who they are.
“Um, on my mind? I can hardly ever tell what’s on my mind. I’m confused though.”
He lowers his hand, resting it on the floor, and tilts his head.
"What are you confused about?"
“Um, this. I thought you’d push back more instead of like actually wanting something even if just to feel better,” he says quietly.
"It is very hard to fuckin' think right now aside from needing something to devour me," he states plainly, automatically, a hint of urgency from his lack of reservations to share his true thoughts.
“Oh. Oh, ok. Yeah.”
It smiles sweetly and clambers onto the other’s lap, pushing his legs down so they’re flat.
“This okay?”
He doesn’t give him a moment to answer before his mouth is on his neck and he’s sucking a hickey into it like it’s his last day on earth. Look, the man said he wanted to be devoured and Wheelie’s pretty sure this is the closest he can get without actually biting.
His breath picks up and his mouth parts ever so slightly. It wasn't enough. It's not enough. He needs
"More."
His hips start to move on its own, trying to grind against something to maybe get some much needed friction down below. It's going to drive him crazy if he doesn't. The twist in his stomach is getting worse by the second and he needs something to unlock it.
He keeps sucking a hickey onto his neck, only stopping for a moment so he could have a look at his handiwork. He was then right back at it a second later, the skin already starting to change hues.
Wheelie feels him grinding and so he clumsily moves so he can get closer and grind against him. Based on the fact that maybe Marc or maybe Steven has boobs, he’s not really sure what they’d have down there at the moment but eh, it’ll probably still feel good for whichever one it is.
"Fuck," he breathes out.
It's still not enough. He needs to be bitten, to have blood drawn, to have his flesh consumed and his body taken whole or else he'll cease to exist.
He opens his legs wider, trying to find that spot that could rub against anything right now. This shit used to be easier when he had a dick but, well, he doesn't have one right now and it's clawing down at his mind how frustrating this shit was and how he needs to feel something press against him right now, feel something inside him.
He growls-- trying to find the right positioning to get pressure that he needs, the friction.
Wheelie presses against him fully, as close as they could be while both still fully clothed, and he grinds as well as he can. His head feels light and he closes his eyes for a moment before letting go of his neck.
It’s like he can feel the heat coming off the other and he knows just what he needs. He tilts his head so he’s able to fully bite down on the fleshy part between his neck and shoulder. He’s like 90% sure he isn’t gonna hit anything super important but his head’s fuzzy so he could be wrong. He bites down, drawing blood, the taste of it making his stomach turn and his brain scream yes.
A groan was pulled from Jake at the sensation of teeth breaking into his flesh, infecting his blood with a saliva that thickened the heat spread all over his body.
Jake’s hands came to rest on Wheelie's hips, moving up beneath the fabric of his hoodie, fingers stretching over his sweat-slick skin. Jake moaned out unabashedly at the feeling, falling forward to press properly against Wheelie, chest to chest as his face was tucked in the juncture of Wheelie's neck and his shoulder, panted breaths against his skin.
His hands fell to waistband of Wheelie's jeans, fumbling with the zipper in an attempt to make his body cooperate where it seemed almost incapable of coordination. Body rutting in desperation as one thing overtook his mind.
"Fuck- I need-"
He sucks in his breath as if he were inhaling the overwhelming thirst that sweat from his skin.
"Fuck me."
The groan was like music to Wheelie’s ears. It licks over where he’d bitten and hums contentedly to himself. It was gonna leave a pretty good bite mark, it thinks.
When the other’s hands reached under his hoodie, he halts for a moment, the feeling of smooth palms against his rough cratered skin making his stomach turn again. But when he fell forward, Wheelie wraps his arms around him, holding him gently. Having a moon boy tucked against him was something he’d been dreaming of for a bit so he takes a moment to savor it.
But the hands on his zipper pulls him out of his daze and he looks down. It almost coos at the other, at how uncoordinated he is. He knows it’s a byproduct of whatever is going on but it’s like the guys a baby deer.
He hears him speak and it clicks in his mind that it’s Jake. He smiles and leans against him, the gentleness in his eyes overtaken by lust.
“Baby, I cannot do this on the floor so you’re gonna have to wait a few seconds.”
He scrambles to stand up, picking up Jake as he does.
Jake licks his canines as exposed air hits the bite on the crook of his neck, making it sting as sharp as his teeth.
A growl escapes his lips. He's had it with waiting— with behaving. He's tried to be on his best fucking behavior and pretended like the slick that stuck to every inch of his skin wasn't burning with a need that grew as wild as fire in a dry forest because he knew how smudged was the line between him and the him who was made to have never known suffering.
He grabs the collar of Wheelie's hoodie. Roughly. Words no longer making it into his mind nor his throat but what he could not speak, his nails can spell the frustration that strung him tight and terse. Another growl, louder bubbles from his throat.
"Hurry it up."
“I am moving as fast as I can, grumpy baby,” Wheelie says sternly as he carries Jake to their bedroom.
He ignores how he’s being choked out by the man’s grip on his hoodies collar until they’re in the bedroom and he holds onto Jake with one hand and pulls his hand off him with the other. Once they’re pretty much separate, he dumps him on the bed and then crawls on top.
“Hi again. I keep bumping into you,” he says with a flirty smile before chuckling. “Sorry, sorry. I will get right to the fucking you.”
As quickly as he can, he undoes Jake’s pants and slides them down to about his knees and then undoes his one handedly. He kicks his pants off and then slides his boxers off, revealing his pretty well sized dick that’s hardening up.
“You got lube, pretty? Or do you think there’s enough slick, omega?”
Yeah, he’s figured it out.
Jake fully kicks off his own pants and slides out of his boxers, revealing a full bush. The clothes fall to the floor with a thud weighed by the leather belt.
"¿Cómo te llamabas, guapo?" He grins with an animalistic smile. "Si no me follas ahora mismo te viy a follar yo misma."
His mouth salivates with a dangerous hunger at the sight of Wheelie's dick. Jake could almost feel what it'd be like to have it in his mouth and in his pussy.
"Why don't you go ahead and feel if there's enough slick, walito?"
Wheelie’s eyes go as wide as saucers at the sight of Jake’s bush. Whatt??? He has not fucked someone without a dick in like a whileeeee.
He has like almost no idea what Jake is saying in Spanish so he just nods and starts pumping his dick with one hand as he keeps staring at Jake. Oh, he’s fucking amazing. If he didn’t have a mission, he’d be all over him with kisses and light caresses but he has a job to do.
“Mhmm, yeah. I will see,” he says with a small flirty smile.
Using his free hand, he dips a finger into Jake’s pussy and feels the insane amount of slick. “How the fuck are you that wet? Omega stuff is crazyyyyyyy.”
He takes his finger out and stops pumping his dick. With a cheeky smile, he lines it up with Jake’s pussy. “You ready, Jakey?”
At the touch of another entering him, his body is overtaken with a wave of heat that scorched so badly it felt cold. His eyes watch Wheelie with anticipation, from the finger placed inside him to the dick that was being pumped and to the face of the man who was about to fuck him.
"I can barely feel that shit, walito. Fuckin'- Hurry it up and put it in already."