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Enraged

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“In the suit?”

“Yes.”

“During your entire rut?

“I’ve spent a lot longer in worse conditions inside this suit. Me and it have become one. We’re bonded. Inseparable. Two of a kind—”

“And soaked through with sweat, I imagine.” Peter couldn’t help crinkling his nose. Having sex with someone in full body leather for the entire night sounded like an awful idea. Frankly, he was baffled how any alpha as close to rut as Deadpool was could stand the heat such restrictive clothing choices had.

“I feel like you would be more comfortable naked,” Peter tried again.

Nobody is comfortable when I’m naked. Believe me.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my professional ethics?”

Deadpool placed a scandalized hand over his chest and gasped. “I would never!”

The smile was on Peter’s face before he could stop it. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be relaxing and joking around with an alpha, especially an alpha who was a client. Most importantly, not with a dangerous mercenary.

Mentally shaking himself, he switched over into work mode. He slid one hand up under his shirt to caress his skin. The artfully placed rips showed teasing glimpses of his fingers as they trailed around. Deadpool’s eyes were locked onto the movement as if entranced. Peter let a sultry smile spread across his face and dropped sex into his voice.

“Don’t you wish this was your hand? Don’t you wish you could feel me? I do. I want your hands on me as you pull these clothes off my body. I want to feel you, alpha.”

Deadpool swallowed audibly.

Peter stepped forward slowly, pulling at all the enhanced agility his body now had, in order to turn his movements liquid and silent. The white spots of Deadpool’s mask that looked, frankly, impossible to see out of, were riveted to Peter’s movements. Even through all that constrictive leather, a wave of alpha pheromones rushed into the room, making Peter’s spidey sense tingle.

“Alpha…” Peter breathed, letting his hands roam and his shirt hitch higher. His body undulated into the smooth press of his own palms, chasing after the sensation of it. “I need it, alpha. I need your skin on mine, pressing against me, covering me, claiming me.”

“And the Academy Award for Best Actor goes to…” Deadpool mumbled.

Annoyance flared through Peter, but he did his best to suppress it. He didn’t break his character, and instead reached out to run his hands over the leather of Deadpool’s suit. The larger man shivered and his breath hitched, but he didn’t move as Peter’s hands roamed, exploring the feeling of muscles underneath.

“You’re so big, alpha.”

“Ya know, nobody says ‘alpha’ that much in real life.” Deadpool tried to quip, but it came out distant and weak.

Not that Peter needed to be told that. The practice of calling people by their gender was something Hollywood and romance novels perpetuated, but that was exactly why sex workers said such things. They were selling a fantasy and that fantasy involved all the great tropes.

“Do you not like it?” Peter all but purred, and his hands trailed down one arm to capture Deadpool’s wrist.

“I… didn’t say… that…” Deadpool was losing coherency. That was good. It gave Peter more control.

Lifting the gloved hand to his face, Peter started mouthing at it while maintaining eye contact with the stupid blanked out white eyes of the mask. “You taste like leather,” Peter whispered. “What a surprise.”

Apparently, mild sarcasm was a kink of Deadpool’s, because he moaned at that, rather than it triggering his dominant alpha urges to put the sassy omega in their place. Peter made a mental note of that. He was a professional and collected all the data he could in order to keep control over a session.

Slim fingers hooked into the base of the glove and slid the fabric down, centimeter at a time, to expose the skin underneath. Peter kept a close eye on Deadpool’s reactions, prepared at any moment to jump away if he had to. The mercenary was rigid as Peter pulled off the fabric, seemingly prepared as well for Peter’s violent reaction.

Dragging the glove down so slowly gave Peter time to adjust to what he was seeing. By the time Deadpool’s hand was revealed, Peter was able to completely control his reaction. Sure, it wasn’t pretty, and Peter understood why Deadpool preferred to hide it. However, in Peter’s line of work, he had quickly come to trust the pretty ones far less than those who couldn’t live up to society’s standards.

The warped skin was something Peter could use to his advantage — something that could be turned into a tool for manipulation. And that was exactly what Peter needed. He had to strive for any upper hand he could get in the face of dangerous and entitled alphas.

Bringing those thick fingers up to his face, Peter tilted his head, stuck out his tongue, and started performing the most lewd acts he could upon them. Peter watched Deadpool as Deadpool watched his hand, and the teeth, tongue, and lips that danced over his skin. A violent tremor shook Deadpool’s frame and Peter suddenly felt lightheaded. The man must have been giving off massive amounts of pheromones at that point.

Peter suckled on the end of Deadpool’s middle finger before pulling off with a pop. He let his bottom lip brush against the tip as he spoke. “And now you taste like danger,” he breathed.

“Fuck,” Deadpool cursed, his fingers twitching like they both did and didn’t want to jerk away. “How can you be sexy and cheesy at the same time? That’s so fuckin’ unfair. Fuck.”

Peter trailed his cheek down wet fingers and across the large scarred palm in order to kiss the inside of Deadpool’s wrist. “Do you prefer it when things are fair? Or do you prefer to be on top?”

“Admiral Ackbar!” Deadpool squeaked and yanked his hand back. He paced off a few steps, not looking at Peter and taking deep breaths.

For Peter’s part, he just blinked in shock. That had never happened to him before. Usually alphas loved it when you stroked their egos. And sure, Peter purposefully phrased things in such a way because the bitterness inside him just couldn’t be contained, but nobody had ever called him on it. Especially when said person was sporting a hard-on as raging as Deadpool’s was.

“Okay, look!” Deadpool spun around, and propped his hands on his hips. “I frequent these fine establishments ‘cause ain’t nobody gonna fuck this bod without a decent upfront payment. That doesn’t mean I ain’t got no respect for the workin’ class. I dated a prostitute once before the hamburger meat happened, ya know? Very fine gal. Careless whisper. Wham.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Look.” Deadpool chopped his hands to emphasize his statement. “The point is, I’m not here because of some power trip or crazed need to hurt anybody. I’m here because I can’t take suppressants and I can’t just walk around downtown in the middle of my rut like it ain’t no problem.”

A small tendril of guilt swam around in Peter’s gut, but he squashed it. He didn’t need an alpha mercenary making him feel guilty for a job he was forced to have. Nor for doing whatever he could to stay safe while doing said job. A frown line was starting to form between his eyebrows, but he valiantly fought against it.

He was a professional, damn it.

“Alpha,” Peter soothed. “I don’t know what I did to upset you—”

“You do, but I’m not upset.” Deadpool cut Peter off with a swipe of his hand. “I just wanted to make that very clear between us. You have all the power. I need to be here. Got it?”

Peter was still and quiet for a long moment as he considered that. “So… If I tell you to stop… you will?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he asked. It wasn’t even all that important. He wasn’t getting paid to argue or negotiate. He was getting paid to lay down and take it. Alphas in rut were rough and blinded by biological need. They didn’t need a helping hand, just a warm body to plow into.

A warm body that smelled like an omega who conveniently couldn’t get pregnant. Peter was a glorified sex doll, and he knew that. He had come to terms with that. He gave his clients the fantasy they wanted until they ripped Peter’s clothes off and went to town.

But for the life of him, Peter couldn’t tell what Deadpool wanted.

“If you tell me to stop and I can’t, I’ll chop off my dick.” Wade shrugged like that was no big deal. “Wouldn’t be the first time I did that to stave off a rut, and it always grows back. It’s fine.”

Now Peter really didn’t know what to think. “Why would you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re an alpha.”

“So?”

“So?!” Peter threw up his arms, anger exploding out of him suddenly, uncontrollably, and with force. “So alphas control everything! They shape the world! Everyone bends to their every whim! What do you have to gain by acting like you're different when you’re paying me to submit?”

Deadpool tilted his head in confusion. “Has anyone ever made you feel good in bed, Baby Boy?”

Thrown by such a response to his tirade, Peter blinked and tried to make sense of the question he had just been asked. “Why does that matt—”

“Why does it matter?! Of course it matters!” Deadpool looked overdramatically upset. “Heavens to Betsy, you haven’t had a single alpha satisfy you in bed! No wonder you hate your job.”

“I don’t hate—”

“No need to lie to me, Baby Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Peter mumbled, still confused as to where their conversation was going or how it started in the first place.

Deadpool scoffed. “And what do you want me to call you? Ceveo ? Spare me.”

“Why do you know what that means?” Peter’s voice was frustrated and annoyed, but he was having an unusually difficult time controlling his emotions.

“Latin is a standard course is Canada.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I like learning dirty words in every language.”

“That one I’ll believe.”

Deadpool laughed and walked back over to wrap his arms around Peter’s waist. “You’re feisty. I like that.”

“Because you want to make me submit to you anyways?”

“No, because I like a little fire in people. You don’t see that much in omegas these days.”

“For a reason.” Peter must be crazy. Why was his mouth getting away from him?

“I know…” Deadpool seemed a little sad about that, but the emotion was swept away in an instant, likely because his body was rebelling to the pause in sexual activity. The taller man leaned over and pressed his face against Peter’s ear. “Let me show you a good time.”

“Why would you worry about me?”

“Because I like to give in bed. It makes me happy. And I’m paying you to keep me happy, right?”

“Right…” Peter mumbled. But it sounded like Deadpool just said that in order to placate Peter, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Deadpool’s leather clad hand ran up the back of Peter’s shirt. It was rough and caught on his skin on odd ways, making it tingle in the leather’s wake. The other hand slid down to cup Peter’s ass, massaging over the tight spandex that covered it. Deadpool was specifically not groping, but massaging, trying to make Peter enjoy the firm pressure of it.

For reasons he couldn’t quite define, Peter felt nervous. No alpha had ever attempted to make him feel good, and those hands did feel good, and it just didn’t fit with his understanding of reality. Was Deadpool trying to manipulate Peter? And if so, to what gain? Everything Deadpool could possibly want could be accomplished whether Peter was enjoying himself or not.

Deadpool tugged the shirt up and Peter lifted his arms automatically so it could be taken off. The mercenary tossed the shirt over onto an overstuffed chair that sat in one corner of the room. He looked down at Peter’s body and growled appreciatively. In the meantime, Peter’s head was spinning.

The shirts were made the way they were for the purpose of being torn off. It’s what alphas did. They liked releasing their need for aggression and control when lost in the heady rush of their rut. Not only had Deadpool carefully removed the shirt, he hadn’t thrown it haphazardly on the floor somewhere. To add to that, the noise of pleasure that the alpha was making caused something deep inside of Peter to languidly preen in response.

Peter’s omega was was responding to Deadpool’s alpha. Even during his heats, Peter’s omega had never responded to an alpha before. Panic shot through him like a bolt and his body seized up. He wanted to fight Deadpool off and run, but the fear of what might happen to the others if Peter left kept him still. Deadpool was unstable. Angering the alpha could send him into a rampage.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Deadpool whispered in Peter’s ear. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Control. Peter needed his control back, because he wasn’t in control anymore. Peter’s hands shot out to grip the front of Deadpool’s costume. The alpha paused, trying to assess what was happening with the omega. Peter swallowed and forced a look of calm to cover his face. He looked up at Deadpool’s mask, eyebrow quirked in a challenge.

“I want you naked.”

It was a demand, and omegas didn’t give demands, they followed them. However, pushing Deadpool’s buttons would at least bring them back to some kind of normalcy. Peter could handle overbearing alphas. He couldn’t handle whatever it was Deadpool was trying to do.

There was a long moment of silence as they stared each other down, and then abruptly, Deadpool ripped off his mask. The sight wasn’t pretty, but it calmed Peter like nothing else so far had. It was a reminder that Peter could manipulate the situation to his favor. Deadpool had a complex about his appearance, and Peter could use that.

“Wanna change your mind?” Deadpool asked.

In response, Peter lifted up onto his toes and mouthed along the line of Deadpool’s jaw, his tongue traveling along all the bumps and dents the skin created. Deadpool’s breathing went irregular and harsh. Some of the tension Peter had been holding melted away. He was back on top of this situation, like he should be.

“More,” Peter breathed into Deadpool’s ear, causing the man to shudder.

Deadpool pulled off his other glove and sent it flying across the room with a muttered complaint about pushy omegas. His belt was next, the heavy pouches causing it to hit the floor with a loud thunk. When it came to his shirt, however, he paused like it was somehow too much of a hurdle.

So Peter set to work. He ran his hands up underneath the edge of the leather, feeling his way along the bumpy skin underneath, slowly lifting the shirt as he went. Deadpool made odd noises, like what Peter was doing was painful and scary. It calmed Peter to hear it.

“Do you like my hands?” Peter asked.

“They’re the best hands…” Deadpool wistfully replied.

Peter smirked as he forced the shirt up higher, revealing the rippling and defined muscle to be found under the warped skin. He bent down and mouthed at it, feeling better with each wounded noise Deadpool made. By the time Peter had the shirt off and tossed to the side, Deadpool was a quivering mess.

“I want to get you off before I fuck you,” Deadpool abruptly announced.

“You… What?” Peter blinked up at the surprisingly blue eyes above him.

“I want to suck you off.”

“Oh…” That was something Peter had never experienced outside of high school. “Why?”

“Because I’m paying you for what I want, remember?”

“Right…”

Deadpool didn’t give Peter any more time to think on it. Shuffling forward, Deadpool maneuvered Peter until the back of his knees hit the bed. Large hands gripped the tight spandex of Peter’s shorts, pulling them down before pushing Peter back onto the bed. The shorts soon went sailing across the room to surprisingly land right alongside Peter’s shirt without even a backwards glance from Deadpool.

“Get comfy,” Deadpool instructed, crawling up after Peter.

Comfortable. It was almost laughable. Peter had never been comfortable since the day he started this job. Now a dangerous mercancy was telling him to relax in order to be the first one pleasured. Was this a trick? Was Deadpool secretly a cannibal with very specific tastes in body parts eaten?

“What a fuckin’ perfect cock,” Deadpool said, though it sounded mostly to himself.

Once more, something deep inside of Peter responded to the comment with pleasure. He shuffled around, disconcerted with the feeling of it, thrown that his cock was thickening at the awed sound in Deadpool’s voice.

Hands ran over Peter’s body, caressing and worshiping. Mouth and tongue and teeth made trails along Peter’s hips and thighs, searching for any spots that made him twitch or gasp. He was being mapped out and learned, and that information was being used against him, making pleasure spike through him and his mind buzz with arousal.

Just when it felt like too much for Peter’s reality to handle, warm and wet surrounded his half hard dick and suckled on it. Peter just about bucked up off the bed, and it took every last inch of self control he could muster to stop himself from gripping the bed or Deadpool with superhuman strength. Needless to say, Peter was fully hard in no time flat.

“Fucking hell,” Peter growled, his body writhing under the onslaught of sensation. It felt so damn good. Why was Deadpool so good at this? It was like he had practice at it. But that couldn’t possibly be true. That would imply…

Peter moaned, his thoughts derailing. Deadpool’s tongue was practically dancing along Peter’s member, showering it in attention. Anything and everything Peter could have imagined he wanted from a blow job, he was receiving, and then some. His body trembled under the assault.

The half formed glands in Peter’s ass started leaking. They didn’t produce near the amount of slick that female omegas could, but it was enough to be noticeable. It caused a throbbing and pulsating warmth to build in his abdomen. Only during his own masturbation sessions did his slick ever try to produce naturally. It was one more thing Deadpool was doing that blew Peter’s mind.

Pleasure spiked high and fast, pressing hard against Peter’s self control. Part of him didn’t want to orgasm, out of defiance and spite, to prove that an alpha couldn’t give an omega such pleasure. However, Deadpool was surprisingly patient and unrelenting. It was as if he knew Peter was trying to hold back, and refused to back off until Peter lost the battle.

Irrationally, Peter wanted to shove Deadpool away and soak his dick in ice water until his hard-on went away. That was easier said than done. Deadpool’s skillful tongue kept Peter in his place, stealing the strength of will needed to back away from the attack of bone melting pleasure.

His orgasm hit him sudden and hard, stealing his breath and locking up his muscles. Deadpool didn’t even slow down. He carried Peter through oversensitivity until he was a trembling mess, making the most embarrassing mewling noises. He was half blind from it by the time Deadpool pulled back with a smack, having drank down everything Peter’s dick had to offer.

“You’re delicious, too,” Deadpool mused, and Peter could only find it in himself to lay there bonelessly, staring at the ceiling in shock. “As much as I’d love you give you time to recover, looking at you like that…”

Peter’s mind suddenly felt all the more fuzzy, and his hole ached with the need to be touched. Shit, Deadpool must have been pouring out pheromones in response to his delayed rut. An involuntary whine found its way out of Peter’s throat in response to it. His skin flushed and his breathing picked up.

“Shhh,” Deadpool dropped down close, nuzzling his face against the scent gland on Peter’s neck. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Empty promises, Peter tried to remind himself, but his body wasn’t paying attention anymore. His back arched, seeking skin to skin contact, desperate to feel what Deadpool’s body was hinting so strongly at.

“Are you already lubed up?” Deadpool asked.

Peter nodded. He was always lubed and ready at work, long ago learning to ignore the odd feeling of being so slippery all the time. With how much his glands had responded to the earlier proceedings, Peter was more than ready to go. And holy shit, did his body yearn for it.

In an abrupt movement, Peter was flipped onto his stomach. Strong hands yanked at his hips, pulling him up into a presenting position. A leg kicked his knees further apart, while one hand pressed on the back of his neck, keeping his chest and cheek flat against the sheets. He trembled and whined, a nervousness he thought long forgotten settling into his gut.

“It’s alright,” Deadpool shushed as he ran his free hand up and down Peter’s spine. “You can take what I give you. I know you can.”

Deadpool’s hard cock pressed up against Peter’s now dripping hole, and slid in without effort. That was another omega trick. Even as a male, he didn’t need to be stretched. Elasticity was something his body came equiped with, which was necessary if an omega hoped to accommodate an alpha’s knot.

His muscles being pulled open, his hole being filled, the weight of the alpha’s body pressing against his own… it felt… good. Usually it felt oppressive or disgusting, to the point that Peter either had to imagine someone else or disassociate. He didn’t appreciate what Deadpool was doing to Peter’s body — to his mind.

Then, in true alpha-in-rut fashion, Deadpool started pounding into Peter with force. The heel of Deadpool’s hand pressed just below the base of Peter’s neck, those strong fingers wrapped possessively around the area where a bonding mark would go. The other hand had a bruising grip on Peter’s hip, keeping him in place under the driving force.

It was familiar, the brutal slamming of hips, the need for the alpha to take and take without concern. It helped ground Peter, helped his reality come back into focus. This was something he was used to. All he had to do was brace his hips and take it.

Still, the lingering buzz of satisfaction ran through Peter’s system, twisting the mindless rut he was taking into something that prolonged that hum of pleasure in him. He was enjoying how rough and frantic it was, his body clenching in desire for more pressure and friction. It wasn’t enough to bring him to climax again, far from it, but it was definitely more pleasurable than normal.

Damn him, Peter thought to himself, his hands balling up the sheets below him into his fists. Why did Deadpool have to be so… contrary?

Deadpool grunted and hissed, slamming hard into Peter, and forcing the half inflated knot inside. Peter whined. Not all alphas that came to see him were in rut, and even if they were, the feeling of a rapidly inflating knot growing inside of him wouldn’t be something he could get used to feeling. He did his best not to squirm, knowing that it wouldn’t help anything.

There were a few more grinds of Deadpool’s hips, swirling the bulge of all that was in him against his now sensitive walls. Peter did his best to breathe through it, willing his body to relax around the too tight invasion. His muscles contracted randomly, squeezing and milking the cock inside of him. Deadpool moaned at the feel of it.

“I probably should have mentioned…” Deadpool’s voice was strained. “My healing factor makes this part really long.”

Long? It was long enough at it was. How much longer could it get? Annoyance flared through him in an instant. Being locked together was always dangerous, with the alpha addled by endorphins, pheromones thick enough to make both parties drunk, and the omega trapped so close to life altering teeth. Peter took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.

“Work with me here,” Deadpool encouraged as he pulled Peter tight against that broad chest and started shuffling them around. After a lot of cursing and painful noises, they were settled on their sides, Deadpool wrapped around Peter like shrink wrap.

Peter lay there in uncomfortable silence, not sure how to handle how clingy Deadpool had suddenly become. He kept nuzzling the side of Peter’s neck, and it took a lot of self control to keep himself from flinching every time it happened. Being wrapped in those arms with a indeterminately long knot left Peter tense and awkward.

“Don’t worry your pretty little face about it,” Deadpool murmured into Peter’s skin. “I won’t bite you.”

Sure, that’s what they all say.

“Mmm…” Deadpool took a deep breath of Peter’s gland. “How long do I have you?”

“As long as you need, alpha,” Peter appropriately purred.

“You sure you can take that?”

What do you take me for? Peter groused. “Of course. I’m here to please you.”

Deadpool seemed to find that awfully amusing. “Ohhh, this is a challenge. I’ll make you tap out first.”

Though Peter couldn’t say why he said it out loud instead of in his head like he should, he responded with simply, “You wish.”

It was a long night.