Kevin & Wade | Tuesday Afternoon

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Kevin drops by with various movies to watch with Wade and they discuss, amongst other things, Marie-Ange.


It was that time of the week for Kevin to visit his loyal Overlord and try to distract him from being pathetic and miserable. The Southerner had long given up trying to feed the BO since half the time he only groaned at the idea of eating, thus Kevin mostly rambled, drew Wade pictures and brought movies that were dimly lit, which meant there were a lot of horror movies and old movies involved. Sometimes there were old horror movies.

Knocking lightly, Kevin waited a beat before entering the suite to locate His Overlordship.

“Minion Number One,” Wade hailed the younger man from the couch with one raised arm before letting said arm flop over his eyes. “What theatrical delights have you brought me today? Jurassic Park would be awesome.”

“Nope. Got The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari and Bordello of Blood because zombies or vampires or whatever they are plus a brothel always wins and the original Amityville Horror and Stigmata,” he relayed on his way over to an armchair which Kevin promptly collapsed into. “How’s life in the fast lane? Seducing women and leading grannies to lives of crime?”

“Grannies? What grannies? And my seduction of lady type people has been severely hampered by the whole ‘sick all the damn time’ thing.” Wade pointed a finger at his minion, then said, “I vote for Stigmata because the remake had that hot blonde chick in it whose name I can’t remember but her sister looks funny and so does her brother...”

“Superstitious Catholics for the win! Wait, it’s a remake? Huh. Didn’t know that.” Kevin fished the DVD out of his bag and got up to put the disc in. “Ah don’t think the sick thing is hamperin’ you that much. You got yourself a lady. Well, you got a date. And she’s sleeping with The Man.” Kevin shrugged. “Weirder things work out for people, though.”

“Wait, I thought you said ‘the original Amityville Horror and Stigmata,’ which would mean the newer ones were remakes - do I get to watch the hot blonde whose name I can’t remember?” He sounded almost hopeful. “Also, I’ve already had dates with the redheaded Frenchwoman. See the plural there? I didn’t know she was sleeping with the Mountie, though.”

“No, just like original Amityville Horror. Full stop. And Stigmata. Pretty sure there’s only one of those.” He flipped the case over and went scanning for the actress’ name. “Yeah, you get to watch...uh...Patricia Arquette.” It wasn’t until Kevin was lounging in the armchair again that he quirked an eyebrow up at Wade. “Uh, hold up. You didn’t know the chick you’re datin’ was sleeping with some other dude? That’s just wrong. And real disrespectful. People wonder why folk don’t like the French, they’re rude. That not tellin’ thing? Rude.”

“I don’t think it’s rude. It’s not like either of us have talked about making things official.” Wade had never even kissed her. It sounded like the Mountie had a pretty serious head start so far as all that was concerned. He wondered if he could call for a do-over. But really, he wouldn’t do much of anything different and it sounded like they’d had a thing going before, anyway. “So if things get official and she’s still sleeping with him, that’d be rude. Probably.”

Kevin looked thoroughly unimpressed with Wade. “What sorta manners were you raised with that don’t qualify finding out a girl you’ve gone on multiple dates with is sleeping with someone on the journals as rude? Ah’d be pissed. Jean-Paul found out ‘bout the hellcat the day after anything was decided. Him and Laura found out ‘bout Jan and Laurie’s pheromones the day after that happened, too. Laura knew ‘bout Jean-Paul before she agreed to anythin’ with me. Jan knew ‘bout them both while she was still busy with innuendo. Disclosure, it’s important. ‘Cause stuff can get real complicated in ways you don’t want it to be without disclosure.” Kevin shrugged. “‘Sides, if someone doesn’t disclose when there’s just the intent of a thing then Ah got no faith in them disclosing when you’ve got an actual thing. Guess Ah’m not real trustin’ that way,”

Wade looked at Kevin for a moment, then blinked slowly and said, “Wait. You just talked really fast and were still kinda quiet and you were being really Southern. I’ma need a minute to process. Delayed reaction, comin’ up.” He didn’t think he could fault Marie-Ange for essentially keeping her options open. That wasn’t the way he really rolled, personally, but then most people didn’t know how he rolled and he pretty much wanted to keep it that way. Things had gotten far too complicated with Vanessa after she found out how he rolled.

The mercenary maintained, though, that he’d make a damn fine kept man.

Kevin just waved a hand dismissively and grabbed the DVD remote. “Alright, you sit over there and be delayed. Ah’ma put on the hot blonde chick and you can think and then get distracted from thinkin’ and then try to figure out where your brain was before it gets distracted another time.” Kevin skipped through the previews, mostly because he’d seen them about a million times before from watching the DVD, and hit play on the menu while Wade processed or whatever he was doing.

Flopping his arm over his eyes for a bit while the previews flashed by, Wade considered the concept of disclosure. “I don’t think I’m at the point with Marie-Ange where disclosure is really necessary. It’s not like I’ve made my intentions known to her or anything. I wasn’t even all the way sure of my intentions, myself. It’s not really fair for me to try and say she’s being rude when I’ve gone about and done things like make out with her coworker - Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous. Or openly flirted with the Paranoid Hot Chick. Or actually have sex with Flyboy McFeathers. I mean, that’s hypocritical. I don’t plan to tell her about McFeathers.”

“Hey, if you’re a non-disclosure sorta guy then that’s your thing. Ah don’t like non-disclosure. My life’s complicated enough with that stuff to go that route and then have someone mad at me or somethin’. Ah don’t like the risk of losin’ someone or hurtin’ them somehow because Ah didn’t think something mattered and it did to them.” Kevin pulled his hood up over his head and slouched down in the chair. Kevin had no idea who any of those nicknames belonged to, but one caught his attention above the others. “Uh, McFeathers? He fast food?”

“Grey’s Anatomy reference,” Wade said, pointing at the younger man with his free hand. Then he let his arm slide down, off his face, and shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m a non-disclosure kind of guy, necessarily. It’s just not the sort of thing that needs to be disclosed. It’d be different if she and I were in an open relationship like you and your people. But we’re not. We’re not technically in any kind of relationship. We’re just feeling one another out. Metaphorically.” Because God knew his manners made sure his hands stayed in only appropriate places and it wasn’t like there was much opportunity for groping, anyway, when he was in a pizzeria or something.

“Technically Ah’m not in any relationship with anyone,” Kevin corrected. “It’s just...a thing. With people. It makes sense to me but probably not to other people. Me? Ah’d be wary if Ah found out on journals that someone Ah was sorta datin’ was sleeping with someone else. It’s just...” he trailed off, not sure what word he was looking for. “Rude. Rude’s all Ah got. It ain’t right for someone to find that out like that s’all. ‘Cause you never know how someone will take something like that and public forum? All bad. But, y’know, you don’t care who she’s gettin’ naked with so it don’t matter anyway.”

“That... is not strictly true,” Wade said, frowning a little. He squinted over at the television for a moment, but the lights were flashing on the screen so he turned his eyes ceilingward and said, “Ideally, she’d be getting naked with me. Eventually. But since I haven’t told her that’s my plan, I can’t really blame her for getting naked with somebody else.” He continued to frown. “I guess this means I should probably tell her I’d like her to be getting naked with me, only not in those words.”

By time Wade had finished speaking Kevin was wearing a very amused smile. “Ah dunno, those words could get her naked with you pretty quickly if that’s your objective. Nubile redheads are a thing for some people, after all,” he told Wade, laughing as he did. Marie-Ange was hot, but sorta...off in a way he couldn’t really place. Maybe it was just the way she tended to speak since English wasn’t her first language. She just struck Kevin as sort of odd. Plus, she was only a couple years older than him. Literally.

“Should Ah be questioning how sexually perverse you are? ‘Cause, y’know, you were pretty darn determined that Ah was like twelve for a while.” And Wade probably still had that in his head.

“I’m not sexually perverse,” Wade said. “In fact, her interest in handcuffs sort of worries me. That’s just not my scene.” Smoothing the frown from his face, he shrugged. There was really nothing he could do about her probable interests where fetishes and kinks were concerned. That was, he guessed, a bridge he’d have to cross should they actually ever get naked together. “Besides, she’s a spy. That adds like eight years to her age in my head.”

“She’s like two years older than me,” Kevin pointed out. “But shady and possibly has killed people gets her more years? Is it the shady part or the killed people part? You’ve got no idea how high my body count is. I could be like fifty in your head if only you knew my secret history, which I’m not disclosing obviously since it wouldn’t be a secret anymore and thus my fun spoiled.” Weren’t spies prone to premature death? Kevin didn’t point that out. He figured telling the guy with cancer that his girlfriend’s line of work could kill her at any time would be sort of poorly timed. Though, on the one hand, he supposed it made Marie-Ange a good person for Wade to date. Short lifespans all around! Hey, people needed to connect however they could these days.

“Right, so that puts her at like fourteen, but add the eight years for being shady - which you cannot manage, Minion Number One, but don’t worry, we’ll work on it - and that puts her at like twenty-two. Which is datable.” Mostly. He hadn’t realized she was quite that young. Kevin claimed he was twenty-two, or would be soon, which meant Marie-Ange was what? Twenty-four or twenty-five? That wasn’t necessarily bad... but Wade was still turning fifty-one this year. Maybe he should reevaluate. But damn, he didn’t want to.

“Ah think that still makes her twelve since you’re all crotchety old man ‘bout anyone under like twenty-five. But, hey, some older men just really like younger women. And she is legal.” Wow, this just sounded worse the longer he talked about it. Kevin obviously wasn’t one to discourage anyone based on an age gap but Wade had seemed to have hang ups about age, what with his insistence that Kevin’s twelve and all.

Averting his eyes to the television, Kevin caught the main character getting the nails driven through her at the club. “Oh, look, blood! And don’t underestimate my ability to be shady. Wither-by-touch negates most of any real need to be shady.”

“But stealth wither-by-touch would be even shadier,” Wade said. “You can’t rely on your natural shadiness, Minion Number One. You have to cultivate it and stuff. It’s like a little flower. If you don’t pay enough attention to it, forget to water it... it’ll be useless when you really need it.” Like when you needed to really shadily sneak up behind someone to slit their throat so they didn’t sound the alarm while you went about your business and killed the people you’d been contracted to kill. Not that the minion would ever have to do that, of course. Wade redirected his thoughts. “Anyway, I’m not a dirty old man. You’re waif-like. She... is not waif-like.”

“Ah’m not waif-like,” Kevin argued, eyes narrowing a bit as they darted back to Wade. “She’s the one who is all half-crazy and French and more likely to wander the streets all lost and confused. Me? Ah’m post-waifness over here, My days in the junkyard are behind me, hers are still in her future.” He may have resented being called a waif just a little bit. Kevin wasn’t even sure what a waif was but it conjured images of dirty little kids with grubby clothes. Marie-Ange worked for Snow Valley and therefore was more likely to end up crazy and destitute on the streets so far as he was concerned. “And Ah don’t wanna cultivate my shady.”

“Okay, we won’t cultivate your shadiness,” Wade said. If he had his way, his minions would never have any real need of their theoretically shady sides, anyway. “And I meant waif as in the adjective, not the noun,” he clarified. “You’re all... not thin, but not like. Shapely, either. I kind of want to feed you a sandwich half the time.” Marie-Ange was shapely. And shady. “I’m not so sure about the crazy part...” Though she’d mentioned she had to come have MRIs regularly, so maybe that was more of a factor than he’d initially thought. And she could see the future, sometimes, which would probably be enough to drive anybody a little crazy, at least. “Anyway, point being. You are not a waif. I think it’s the hoodie that makes you look vaguely waif-like sometimes, though.” Or emo, but Wade wasn’t going to go there.

Kevin looked down with a frown and poked at his stomach. “Ah’m not starvin’. Ah eat. Seriously, Ah don’t need to be fed. Ah just wear a lotta clothes.” He poked at his stomach a few more times. It was basically all muscle. “Don’t hate just ‘cause Ah’m not flabby and Ah’ve got twenty-year-old metabolism or whatever. We can’t all be fat. ‘Cause some of us get bored and lift giant pieces of metal all day and stuff. For the record, Ah’m pretty sure guys ain’t supposed to be ‘shapely’ unless you’re into men with lady parts. Just sayin’.”

Keeping his face straight, Wade said simply, “I don’t discriminate.” Then he grinned despite the fact that his head hurt and the nausea was still lingering a bit. “Anyway, you don’t wanna get in a contest with me over who’s got a better metabolism. Gimpy healing factor versus regular metabolism will always, always win. And I’m not fat. I defy you to find someone who’s in better shape than me once I’m not dealing with immunotherapy holdover.” At least they weren’t talking about the likelihood of the girl he wanted to be his particular lady friend being too young and crazy. Wow, his minion really had a way of making things look gloomy when he said it like that.

“Way to take the comment ‘bout the twenty-year-old metabolism personally, Overlord. Feelin’ insecure with all your couch surfin’? Pretty sure someone like Garrison’s got you beat for better shape. He’s got the superhuman reflexes and speed and probably the metabolism to go with them.” After he’d said it Kevin realize Garrison was the guy Marie-Ange was sleeping with so bringing him up was maybe not a great idea. “Or Jean-Paul. Maybe Piotr. There are options ‘round here. And you can’t compare you to me ‘cause you’ve got an unfair, augmented advantage. And my only point? Ah don’t need a sandwich. But if Ah see any attractive people of questionable gender Ah’ll send ‘em your way.”

Wade considered the fact that there were plenty of people here who could theoretically take him for a long moment, then shrugged. “Oh look, more blood,” he said. He didn’t actually have anything to make a sandwich with, anyway, otherwise he’d have levered himself up and made one. He still wasn’t hungry, though. “Patricia Arquette does confused really well. Who’s Piotr? Not somebody you think’s attractive and of questionable gender, right?”

“Huh? Oh, Piotr? Nah. He’s the big Russian guy who turns to steele. Warren used to date him. He’s a painter. Nice enough guy. He helped me with my paintin’ technique a lot when Ah was out at the West Coast Annex or a while. Kinda miss it there, actually. It’s quiet, fewer people, warmer. Came back here ‘cause Yvette got hurt and it was gonna be sorta mentally complicated since they had to give her a powers suppressor thing. Then Ah just...” Kevin shrugged. “Never left. Anyway, yeah, Piotr’s the Russian dude. Far as Ah know he’s the only one we got ‘round here.”

“Hm... haven’t met a Russian dude,” Wade said. Then he shrugged and shifted over onto his side. “I have a date with Marie-Ange next week. We’ll see how things go. Haven’t really been all that successful with the ladies recently.” Or ever, but again. More information than the minion needed to have. “So I’m going to go into this optimistically but realistically.”

“Just don’t get crushed like a bird egg in the jaws of a hungry snake. ‘Cause that sort of look would be real unattractive on a guy like you. And you’d lose all your street cred.” Wade was possibly a bit too white to have street cred, per se, but Kevin figured it worked well enough really. “If it don’t work out Ah suggest sane women. Harder to find but not as likely to feed you to snakes. Ah think. Could be wrong there, actually, so don’t quote me on that.”

“You have an amazing way with similes,” Wade said, snorting softly. “Crushed like a bird egg in the jaws of a hungry snake - hey, what kind of look wouldn’t be unattractive on me? Mauled by wild dogs? Gnawed on by rabid jungle cats? Dissolved in the digestive juices in a whale’s stomach?”

“Ah think you’d be mighty fetching dissolved in whale digestive juices, personally,” Kevin told him very thoughtfully. “Also, polar bear mauling. It’d really highlight your cheekbones and your eyes, Ah think. Nothin’ says ‘baby, you want this,’ like bear claws tearin’ trenches through your flesh. As a man who occasionally likes men, Ah feel more’n qualified to tell you that you’d be pretty damn hot from that. Also? Shark attack. Just think ‘bout it. The curve of the jaws and the gushing blood? Very Dali.”

Wade grinned despite himself. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Something else Kevin had said stuck in his mind, though, and he pushed himself up, off the couch and then stood. “Hey - I just got this sudden craving for bear claws from Dunkin Donuts. Me driving right now? Probably not the best idea. Wanna drive and I’ll pay and you can have whatever you want?”

“You sure your eyes are gonna survive the sun? Or you gonna play blind man and grab my shoulder to be led to the car and then hide under a hat and some sunglasses until we get back? ‘Cause, y’know, Ah could always just go and bring you back stuff.” It seemed sorta stupid for Wade, master of ow ow the light! to hop in a car and go out even if it was totally cloudy out there. Sometimes cloudy light was still bright enough to sting. Or so Kevin had surmised from watching hungover people.

“I can totally rock the hat and sunglasses,” Wade said, something very like determination in his voice. “C’mon, minion. We have fried dough and sugar glaze to conquer and then a series of awesome movies to watch.” He paused, then said, “And I’ve found if I don’t take advantage of my food cravings when they hit, they go away, so waiting for you to get back with the bear claws probably just means I won’t actually eat them, which would be sad.”

“Yes, sir.” Kevin hit pause on the movie, gave Wade a small salute and popped up from his chair. “One daring excursion to the outside world for the procurement of sugar-coated dough is a go!” He grinned and waited for Wade to acquire said hat and sunglasses. The guy probably hadn’t left much in the past month and a half or so. Kevin was hardly going to stop Wade from trying to make a brief break for freedom.

Wade was wearing sweat pants and a ratty old t-shirt, an original from the first Metallica concert he’d ever gone to, but all he did was find himself a baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses, and some shoes to slip on over his socks. “Tally-ho, minion! To the sugar-coated dough!”