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A Little Frantic	By : Sundersylph Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Deadpool Views: 2885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or Deadpool. I make no money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Little Frantic
- 2-Long Road Home
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Deadpool - Masturbation - nc-17 - Pairing - ?
The expanse of the open road did nothing for his determination to get home and shower. He was covered in blood, sweat and thicker things he would rather not dwell on.
At first he was convinced it was just the heat of battle, the heady rush of combat that put him in this particular predicament; but that thought was quickly fading.
He succeeded in the requested mission, but the men he faced were not just shooting bullets his way, some had tranq guns; whatever they were filled with was certainly not knocking him out. He felt hyped up, his head rushing from thought to thought, all mixed up in a stimulating charge of urges.
Every time his eyes closed all he sensed was the brush of clothing across his skin, every inch responding and sending shivers across his body. With every breath out, the hot air danced at his lips making them plead for something more. His hands clenched the wheel of the car and he struggled to resist shifting in his seat. The head of his cock pressed painfully against his belt buckle.
He had three more hours of driving to go. Two down, not much longer and he would be home, or at least in a safe spot to tackle his situation. He shifted his weight a bit at the thought and let out a pensive groan as cloth, leather and metal all shifted across his skin. It was unnerving the way the sensations from his upper harness sent his chest shivering, making the mid-strap press and slide across his stomach and finally the movement of his belt growing uncomfortably tight.
He flexed his thigh a bit to try and stop some of the tension he was holding; bad move, he felt every centimeter of the cloth of his pants slide against his cock.
His hands tightened on the wheel as his neck bowed slightly and he let out a struggled and frustrated growl.
Focus flashed between the road, the speed, the gas and his body.
Road. Speed. Gas.
Road. Speed. Gas. Focus.
Road. Skin. Speed. Breath. Gas. Belt Buckle.
“Fuck. Fuck Weasel for fucking my teleporter up. Fuck this mission. Fuck stupid little darts. Fuck the road. Fuck the car. Ugh, and fuck me. Dammit!”
He gripped the steering wheel tight with his left hand and dropped his right to his belt. He fiddled with the clasp until it finally came undone.
“Both hands on the steering wheel. Now!” he shouted in the emptiness of the car. He reluctantly placed both hands back on the wheel.
Road. Speed. Gas. Clock.
Road. Speed. Gas. Cock- Clock! Clock, looking at the clock.
He could hear himself audibly swallow hard as he kept his eyes to the road.
He glanced at the radio and popped the button.
“Head like a hole, black as your~” He punched it off and slammed his hand back to the wheel, taking a shallow breath hoping to just ignore all the alarms going off around his body. No such luck.
His balls felt tight, he just needed a quick chance to readjust. He stared at his hand on the wheel. “Readjust. That’s it.” He paused a moment more before taking his hand off the wheel.
His hand pressed against the base of his shaft and he shifted his legs open a little wider letting his balls ease down slightly. He could feel the seams of the glove through the fabric. He let his fingers linger and rest against his balls, the heat of his hand quickly building against his skin.
A strangled groan worked its way up his throat and again the moist air danced across his lips leaving them begging for something greater. He kept his eyes on the horizon and pressed his hand along the front of his pants, his length hard and aching. His fingers curled along his cock, pressing the fabric tight and the feeling of warmth spread along his skin.
His foot pressed harder on the gas and the speed jumped. He glanced to the clock and time had barely passed. The next three hours were going to be agony…
The road was clear. No cars and it was nearly one in the morning.
…
He hesitantly pulled the waist of his pants out and the cool air brushed against his skin as he adjusted his cock to sit upright against his stomach. He glanced down and saw a slip of precum seeping in against the fabric of his uniform and felt heat rise in his shoulders and chest. His hips arched up slightly letting the head of his cock slide against the fabric on his stomach, feeling every weave of fabric against the velvet skin was a rush and fire burned across his face.
The band of his pants pressed against his cock and when his eyes returned to the road he shifted his hips letting the band shift skin. It wasn’t a big gesture but it made him ache, crave and demand so much more. His thumb slipped between his abdomen and his cock, the texture of the glove keeping contact smooth between skin and hair. His fingers grasped at his length, his fore finger rubbing across the rim; his other fingers grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants.
There was something to be said for the texture of clothing on the most sensitive spots; nothing beat the feeling of a tongue or skin but fabric came pretty damn close.
His left hand gripped tighter onto the steering wheel as he rubbed his other hand along his cock. He let his hand roll up his shaft and pressed the head of his cock against the palm of his glove. It was a rougher texture; he could still feel a damp heat pressing against his skin. His hips desperately wanted to stretch and his teeth bit down on his lip as he stifled a groan.
His shoulders caved a bit and he hunched against the steering wheel as the weight of his hand pressed down along his cock again. His forearm dug into his thigh a bit and the pressure was a surprising distraction from the task ‘at hand.’
His breath was hot and heavy, almost suffocating with the mask on. He eyes gazed down the open road before he brought his right hand up and lifted his mask to rest above his mouth.
His tongue licked against his lips. He ran his tongue along his teeth and back along the roof of his mouth before bringing his fingers to his mouth and dragging his gloved hand along his slick tongue, stealing saliva to drop down along the head of his cock. A thin beaded line of saliva strung between his hand and his lips before snapping and leaving a cold line across his chin. ‘Tch…”
The hot saliva slid across the top of his cock and he fought a shiver trying to burn its way through his body. ‘Nnngh…’
Crouched against the steering wheel and looking along the road he watched the center lines zip by faster and faster. His grip on the wheel tightened until it felt like either the wheel or his fingers were going to break as his other hand stroked harder and faster at his shaft. Being boxed in by the driver’s seat was infuriating, his muscles screamed to stretch out and feel the burn of his body but he wanted to get home faster so that meant to keep driving. The tension of being confined like this actually helped him hit the edge faster than he anticipated.
He felt it hit and jerked his body back against the seat; both feet clinging back to hug against the seat of the car. He kept his eyes to the road and felt the fuzzy glow creep around the edges of his vision. The car was slowing down but at this point he didn’t much care. Several discontented shudders ran over his body and he could feel the cooling cum sinking into the front of his uniform and his glove.
‘Didn’t really think this through…’
He let himself grab a deep breath and glanced down to check the damage; he put his foot back on the accelerator. Cum dribbled in spots across his chest and stomach and some pooled around his gloved hand.
‘Not any worse than what else got on me during the fight earlier I suppose…’ he muttered to himself as he wiped his glove against his stomach before opening the glove box to find it empty. He used his pinky to pop the button on the center console and grinned to find a small stack of fast food napkins. ‘Jackpot.’
He wiped himself down as best he could, shirking a bit at the feel of the hard napkin against his sensitive head. He wadded up the napkins and hit the window button before tossing them out into the cool air. The wind bit at his face and he again felt the trail of saliva that had fallen to his chin. He wiped his forearm across his chin and then set to fixing his pants and belt back in place.
One hunger met, another arose.
The napkins advertised ‘Tough Tacos’ and he was dying for something to eat. Between travel and missions, food usually took a back seat. He left the window down, letting the biting cold and whipping wind cool his body down as he continued down the empty road.
Two hours thirty-five minutes to go.
He ached to get home faster.
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A Little Frantic