alternatedoom: (xavier sad w jean)
[personal profile] alternatedoom
Written anonymously for the Marvel Kink Meme here

Prompt was Bullseye imagines fucking Deadpool.... to death.

Can be him wanking alone, can be him with a prostitute to help out the fantasy, can just be where his mind is going while they're fighting, however you wanna do it.


Rating: NC-17, cause did you read the prompt?




From behind the wheel, Lester leans into the passenger side of one of Normie's large nondescript cars, towards a trio of young men on a street corner. He chooses the one with the softest, breathiest voice.

He's come to terms with it. Thinking about murdering Deadpool is better than actually killing him could ever be. The realization was a hard one to accept, because Lester's a dedicated fan of destroying things. He breaks shit on principle and kills because it makes him slightly high. His favorite scene in Fight Club was when the main character ruined the blond guy's pretty face.

Lester wants to kill so many people, starting with Daredevil and the Punisher and Songbird and going from there. The list is long, and with 99% of them he wouldn't hesitate a second. But he can't bring himself to destroy the possibilities for ending 'Pool. Not by any conventional means, anyway. For one thing, and this is genuinely a creepy thought, he likes Deadpool... a lot.

The meat suit sealed it. Deadpool's one of his favorite people.

The more comfortable thread of reasoning is that if he killed Deadpool, for real, for good, Lester's not sure what he'd think about to cheer himself up on a bad day. He's not sure what he'd fantasize about when he jerks. No way could the memory be as good as imagining it, in that looking-forward-to-it-maybe-someday kind of way. Lester's memory isn't that good. Plus it'd be over too damn fast, and he wouldn't remember every detail the way he'd want to. He'd have to tape that shit from every angle and settle for rewatching the footage, and still, no matter how he did the deed, it'd be over. The movie would get boring. It'd mean lost opportunities to do the same thing a thousand different ways. Lester's an artist, Deadpool a canvas, and he can't paint just a single death there.

So no, he doesn't want to kill Deadpool. Except that he does. He really, really does.

Lester thinks about it when he's alone at night, when he's listening to the sounds of Moonstone hooking up with the flavor of the evening in the next room. He thinks about fucking Deadpool to death.

This is Lester's favorite fantasy, well-visited like an old friend, and it's only gotten more intense, become more of a fixation, since he missed 'Pool with the RPG, then paid him to put the chainsaw down and go away. Lester's always held Deadpool in a certain esteem, but his obsession with 'Pool's grown in proportion to his respect for the guy.

True to his word, oddly enough, Deadpool's been laying low. No word or sight of him in weeks.

Eddie's wearing jeans with tears in the knees and a wifebeater. Good looking, but doesn't appear to be too much of a fag, none of that midriff-baring shit. They go to a motel and Lester removes his hat. "Take off your clothes."

Eddie looks startled at the sight of his forehead, but he follows directions. Eddie's looking at him like maybe he's thinking better of taking him on as a client, but it's a little late for that. Lester pushes him down on the bed.

Sure, Deadpool's fugly, but that's not the point. Lester runs a hand over his cock, thoughtfully. He's seen pictures of Deadpool with the mask all ripped up. The man's hideousness ain't no joke, but Lester's certain Deadpool's screams would be beautiful. Making him hurt would translate into something musical and perfect. A song to Lester's ears.

Lester'd tie him down naked, spread-eagled, with adamantium manacles, maybe, at wrists and ankles. Lester's not actually gay, but again, not the principle of the thing. He's flexible when it comes to certain contemporaries and opponents, and he could hit that every day, multiple times. He'd make Deadpool suffer more than any other human could withstand.

And maybe... just maybe...

...

he'd make Deadpool like it.

Okay, he knows in reality you can't fuck someone with a healing factor to death, but Lester wants to try. Isn't that what fantasy's all about?

He'd start by asphyxiating Deadpool with a rope around his neck. Then he'd bite him, cover him in bites. Break his fingers, bruise him everywhere. Spit bullets into him.

He sinks into Eddie. Whore boy's already slicked up. The kid makes a pleasing little noise in his throat.

You never know, it could work. He'd help the death-by-fucking process along with a little creative torture-sex. With a knife...

no, not original enough

With a sharpened melon baller

much better

he would hollow out an orifice in Wade's stomach and stick his cock into the viscera. He wouldn't feed Deadpool, just to see if starvation meant anything for a guy with a healing ability. He'd gouge out Wade's eyes and press a thumb into one socket while skull-fucking him in the other. No real harm done. Lester isn't sure if he'd have long enough to have a killer orgasm before they grew back, or if a foreign object shoved in the socket would keep 'Pool's eyes from successfully restoring themselves. If a thumb continually pressed into Deadpool's eye socket would prevent regeneration, how about a cock slipping in and out?

Lester wants to know these things. Lester needs to know these things.

Lester's got a long list of similar ideas, some more creative than others. Some are downright excessive. He likes to pull each one out and slowly examine it, considering, picturing, turning each thought around in his mind. He'd cut off 'Pool's fingers, all of them, and use duct tape to make something to shove up 'Pool's ass. Lester knows about Deadpool's love of duct tape. It'd be poetic. Four or five should do it. Five of 'Pool's slender fingers, duct-taped together like a mini-bouquet of flowers, would make a lovely placeholder for Lester's cock, worthy of Martha Stewart. For when he's busy assassinating people.

Cause you can't fuck ALL day long, and Lester does love his job, even if he hates Norman's guts.

He doesn't think about anybody else this way, not even Daken. He wants to kill Daken every bit as much as he wants to kill Deadpool. Difference is, he bloody well will kill Daken, and after he shoots Daken full of arrows one of these days, cutting that fucker's head off and setting it on fire is gonna be every bit as sweet as thinking about it.

Lester thrusts harder and holds his breath in an extra couple seconds, enough to bring him nearer to the edge. Fuck, he's already close just from thinking about the eye thing. The sounds Deadpool would make... 'Pool might talk through the whole thing, when he wasn't screaming, but Lester would make sure he was screaming most of the time. Lester badly wants to hear what 'Pool's soft voice sounds like when he's crying out, begging, screaming for Lester to stop.

He'd have to put 'Pool in a world of pain. He's never heard the guy say more than "ow." But Lester's prepared to give it his best shot (and he never misses) again and again. No matter what it takes, he'd keep at it til he got the job done. Yes. He'd get it done. Fucking kill Deadpool with his cock. That's how it is when you love your work.

"Scream," he says to the young man.

The boy glances behind him with fear in his eyes.

"Now. Or I'll give you a reason to scream."

The boy obeys, weakly at first but escalating to a satisfyingly high pitch. Screams like a little girl, like a heroine in a teen slasher flick. Lester likes those movies.

Oooh, and his newest pet idea: with a chainsaw, he'd cut off Deadpool's limbs. Be fun to fuck him while he's a quadruple amputee. He'd have to figure out some additional means of holding Deadpool down, though. Be kinda dangerous when his arms and legs grew back.

Lester grins. He likes danger.

He flips Eddie over. "Now beg."

Eddie looks suitably terrified. Lester isn't sure exactly why, cause he hasn't actually done anything, but lately he seems to have a gift for intimidating whores without really trying. "Please, don't hurt me. Please, I'm begging you. I ... please. I got a family..."

He goes on, but Lester stops listening to the individual words, cause he doesn't care. He just takes in the light noise of the voice. He likes to hear a voice like this one when he fucks. Usually he has to do a female hooker to get a voice so similar to Deadpool's. Picking up a whore to better imagine the experience generally means a choice between a man for a lean masculine feel or a woman for the right sound.

He guesses he could put a knife through Deadpool's brain, for the amputee idea. But the meat and potatoes of screwing Deadpool to death would be forcing himself inside so hard he'd tear things. Yes. He'd bleed 'Pool to death, fuck him with his cock drenched in dripping blood. Oh fuck yes.

'Pool would survive it. Who knows, 'Pool might even like it.

He pulls out, jerks off the condom and comes hard all over Eddie's scared face.

* * *

Lester decides to leave the car in the lot and walk home.

As he gets dressed, he contemplates killing Eddie with the motel key. Pondering whether or not to kill the hooker is almost an automatic reflex at this point. But the kid wasn't too bad. He has a nice breathy voice, and he babbles well when he's afraid. Besides, Lester's been trying to restrain himself in this area lately. if there's any part of his reputation Lester cares about - aside from getting credit for his kills - it's avoiding being known for driving off with whores who are never to be seen again. That would not bode well for his getting laid.

In the end, he lets Eddie live, primarily so he can do him again sometime. Walking down the street, he has an "oh fuck" moment when he realizes he just spared someone else's life, who is not Deadpool, so he can fuck them again in the future, and he almost turns on his heel to go back and end the boy, possibly with one of those cheap motel pens. But hey, Lester doesn't need to kill everyone with whom he crosses paths. He's got nothing to prove. To prove it, he shoots a random lady through the forehead with a penny on his way back to the Avengers Tower.

Lester goes home cheerful.

The best part about imagining trying to fuck Deadpool to death is that he could never do it. Deadpool would always be there, fastened down, healing up, rambling to himself and with nothing to do but wait for Lester to come back and start his lurid artwork fresh. Lester could keep trying forever.

He'd have his canvas and paint it too.
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