Work Text:
Wade Wilson knows what to do when he's Depressed. When grief and despair loom. The black pit of Depression is familiar. If he were sad, he would lay around wishing to die for a while. Then, go to Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls and complain to Weasel about not being able to shuffle off his mortal coil. Followed by drinking enough alcohol to kill a normal person, only to barely feel a five minute buzz. The Usual.
And Wade knows what to do when he wakes up with the Mean Reds and he feels nothing but a blaze of Rage, like a nonhuman thing that needs to stab and slash until the fire goes out. He finds bad guys who need murdering and then he kills them with katanas. Easy peasy.
Wade knows what to do when he's Bored. Play skeeball. Bother Blind Al. Clean his guns. Shop for new Crocs on Amazon. Ride around the city in Dopinder's cab looking for trouble, singing along to the radio and talking about life with his favorite little guy.
But Happiness? What was Wade supposed to do when something was going well? On a night like tonight, when Wade got to punch the shit out of some really, REALLY Bad Guys, make them cry for their mommies and confess to all their despicable crimes, then duct tape them together and catapult them over the fence of police headquarters? A bunch of kiddie touchers are about to get shanked in prison. What the hell is Wade supposed to do with that kind of happy news? Without Vanessa to share his good days with, Wade has no idea how to celebrate.
That's probably why Deadpool finds himself scaling the side of the X-Mansion after midnight, jabbing his daggers into the mortar between bricks to climb up to Wolverine's window. Or Logan's window. He's Logan when he's out of the yellow spandex. And Wade is absolutely going to get Logan out of that outfit tonight. Or get stabbed by adamantium claws trying. Either way, there's a definite possibility of impaling himself on some aspect of Logan's person before sunrise. If Wade is grinning under his mask in anticipation of it, no one can see, it's fine.
At the open window, Wade listens. Logan snores. He sounds like a hibernating bear with sleep apnea. Wade should definitely not slip inside the room and jump on a sleeping mutant with severe PTSD. That's asking for trouble.
So of course, he does exactly that.
Logan, asleep on his back, comes awake with a roar. Claws shooting out of his fists before his eyes are fully open. Wade is straddling his hips and gripping his wrists, not letting Logan slash or buck him off. The way that he thrashes and snarls under Wade should not be the turn on it is. Wade giggles and at the sound of his demented titter, Logan stills.
The sigh from Logan upon realizing exactly who has interrupted his slumber, is a bone deep exhalation of existential surrender. He stops thrashing and retracts his claws.
Wade is tempted to lick the little slits of blood between each knuckle. Slightly disappointed that Logan isn't fighting him off, Wade kneels astride him and greets him with, "Sleeping Beauty, I presume?"
"Did you come here to kiss me awake and break the spell?" Logan growls. His hair even more ridiculously tossled than usual.
"Maybe," Wade answers. Wriggles on his lap just a bit, to see if Logan's interested. Not yet, he isn't. Wade doesn't actually know why he's here, except there was nowhere else he wanted to go.
"What the hell do you want, Wade?" Logan snarls, head falling back into his pillow with an exhausted thump.
"A long haul trucker from 1978 sent me, he wants his sideburns back," Wade whispers, pretending to be urgent and serious.
"Get off," Logan answers, with a moan of irritation.
"Yep. That's the idea," Wade tells him, peeling his mask off so he can waggle the part of his forehead that used to have eyebrows suggestively.
"I coulda cut you to ribbons before I knew it was you, dumbass," Logan snaps, but doesn't toss Wade across the room to punctuate his point, oddly.
"Still could, now that you know it's me," Wade blinks his lashless eyes, coquettishly.
"Something is very wrong with you," Logan tells him, pulling his wrists from Wade's grip and reaching out a hairy, muscled arm to turn his bedside lamp on.
"Mmm. Many things," Wade agrees gleefully.
Logan looks Wade over. He sits atop Logan's hips, grinning and hunched over him like a sleep paralysis demon.
Wade is looking over Logan, too. Logan's not wearing a shirt to sleep in and Wade's eyes greedily take in the exposed expanse of furred pecs and shoulders, bare above his sheets. Wade doesn't have any body hair since his mutation and he's become weirdly attracted to it. He'd like to pet Logan. He wonders if he has anything on under the covers.
"Wade," Logan asks, tired eyes blinking up him in the soft, gold lamplight, "what are you doing here?"
Wade answers, a quiet mumble, looking anywhere but at Logan's face.
"What? I'm a hundred and eighty, could you please speak the fuck up?" Logan bites out, trying not to be loud because it could bring Colossus or Negasonic running and he doesn't want to explain to them why Wade's here. Can't tell them about this thing that he and Wade do for each other sometimes. This thing where they ground each other and remind the other of the parts of them that are still human. This thing where they remember how to be a person instead of a weapon.
"I said, I'm lonely," Wade answers again, clearly this time, meeting Logan's eyes.
"Come 'ere then," Logan says gruffly, then spreads his arms wide and Wade collapses down onto his fuzzy chest. Logan wraps steely arms around him, careful to avoid the weaponry, and crushes the breath out of him. The soft little relieved whimper that comes out of Wade would embarrass the shit out of him if the sun was up, but it isn't. So here in the dark of night, Wade tucks his face into Logan's neck, comfortable in the cage of his strong arms, and he lets himself snuggle into the warmth of his body.
"I miss Vanessa," Wade tells the side of Logan's throat, after a while.
Logan misses Jean. It's the only pain he can't heal. He understands. He nods and grunts.
"Things went good today, and if she were here, we'd be celebrating right now," Wade's voice is a broken whisper.
If Jean were alive, they wouldn't be celebrating. She'd been locked in a secure facility for dangerous mutants, kept near catatonia on extremely heavy antipsychotics. If she'd lived, she'd never be free again. But still, Logan knows what Wade feels. If the longing ever stops, he hasn't found the end of it yet.
"Alright," Logan's voice is a smokey rasp, no other sound in the dim room but crickets out the open window,, "Do you want me to beat you up or to fuck you?"
"A little of both? Combo platter?" Wade asks, hopefully.
Logan hugs him tight against his chest, but Wade's hips and legs are free. He rocks his pelvis and grips Logan with his thighs, giving him a curious hump or two of speculation. He feels Logan starting to swell beneath him in response and he grins. Wade sits up and shrugs his harnesses and sheathes off. His gun in it's holster, gets set over on the nightstand. Katanas lean against the wall.
Anything could happen now. Once, years ago, Logan held a cheap motel pillow over Wade's face, hard and tight, and fucked him while he died, then let him breathe and come back to life, only to do it again. Another time, he'd found Wade after a mob job gone wrong, tied up to a chair and beaten, abandoned in a dockside warehouse. Upon arrival, Logan had pulled his mask up and used his mouth until Wade spit cum and blood in his face. Only then did he untie him and let him go. During what Wade still considers to be one of the greatest fucks of his life, after beating up some criminals in a seedy mutant bar, Logan had drowned him in a nasty toilet stall while slamming his cock into his ass. Wade still gets a boner when he smells that harsh, medicinal, pink liquid soap some bar bathrooms have. Hot tip, don't use that stuff for lube if you can't regenerate like Wade can.
Wade feels a cold little shiver go through him now, wondering what Logan might do to him tonight. There's no reason to hold back with each other, no way to cause lasting physical damage to either one of them. So they don't pull punches. They're vicious with the other, free to take without care. Sometimes Wade wishes they could leave scars, something to remember their nights by, but then, borderline romantic thoughts like that get shoved down deep and told to shut the fuck up.
What happens this time, and what ultimately fucks Wade up way worse than a thousand stabs to the chest with those steak knife fists of his- Logan decides to be tender. Tonight, Logan has the goddamn nerve to make sweet love to Wade and it breaks him open like nothing else could. The man is a sadistic animal.
Wade loves it. Too much.
He should know Logan is about to be really cruel, when he rolls Wade onto his back and kisses him. They never kiss. Bite each other on the face, sure. But kiss? Yuck.
"Ewww," Wade says into the warm, firm lips on his. But he opens his mouth to Logan's anyway, licks back and sucks at his tongue. Logan's stubble is scratchy and his teeth are sharp, but he kisses Wade gently, so gently. Wade can't remember how to swallow or breathe for a second. No one has kissed him lovingly like this, not in a long, long time. He despises it. And he can't get enough. Against his will, his hands fly up to cradle Logan's face while they kiss.
Logan is also touching him. He normally doesn't do that. Might grab his throat or his dick but doesn't explore the rest of his body. Tonight, warm hands are everywhere. Unzipping and peeling his suit away. Gripping and caressing him in turns. Wade's scarred skin is lighting up, coming alive where strong, warm hands roam.
Wade swoons under his touch and then bristles, tries to hide the effect Logan is having on him, cover it with snark, "Why are you touching me so much? Who are you, my creepy stepdad?"
"Could be," Logan laughs at him while taking Wade's hard cock in hand at the same time, and that hardly seems fair game. "I've fucked your mom enough. Ought to make an honest woman out of her."
He angles his body over Wade's so that he can hold their dicks together in one hand, pumping them at the same time, while licking Wade's throat.
"I hate you," Wade tells Logan, who is now laying, perfect ass up, between Wade's spread legs and making merciless eye contact as he sucks Wade's scarred cock like he's in love with it. Wade glares daggers at him, unable to look away from that unblinking hazel gaze and pink lapping tongue. Logan's mouth is hot and wet and perfect, responding to Wade's every twitch and gasp. Wade hopes he chokes.
"I said, I hate you," Wade tries telling Logan again, but he's face down in the mattress at this point and it's pretty muffled. If Logan hears, he doesn't answer, too busy with his tongue as far up Wade's ass as it can go. It feels so good, Wade could cum like this.
Then, in a very weird moment of mixed grief and lust, Wade suddenly wishes Vanessa were here to see Logan facedown in his ass, that dead pervert that he misses so much would have thought this was super hot. He doesn't let himself cry about how much Nessa would have gotten off on this but he feels unshed tears burn in his throat. Instead of letting them fall, he lets Logan roll him over onto his back again and shove a couple pillows under his hips.
Logan sees sorrow on Wade's face and kisses it away, wanting him to forget about everything.
"I really fucking hate you right now," Wade says as Logan's long fingers prep his hole with lots of lubricant. Logan is kissing his nipple while working him open. So careful, like Wade can be hurt. Like he's precious and worth something. Wade burns with loathing and a treacherous amount of want.
"Good," Logan answers, kneeling between his thighs and breathing out as he slowly pushes the head of his dick into Wade's slippery and ready asshole. "I hate you, too."
"Oh god," Wade whines as Logan pulls out again, "just fucking fuck me already, you Aussie tease."
"Shut up," Logan says softly, and pushes in again, only slightly deeper, pulling back and then sliding in again, still shallow. He holds Wade's hips tight and doesn't let him buck up to deepen the penetration. Logan just barely dips in and out, letting the first tight elastic ring open for him, adjust to the girth of him. He only gives Wade the first two or three inches and then slides back out. Wade lets out a desperate little gasp of "please" each time that he pulls out, and it sounds so good, Logan idly thinks about recording it and turning it into his phone's ringtone later. He's older than Alexander Graham Bell, so of course Logan doesn't actually know how to do tech stuff like that, but Negasonic Teenage Warhead sure does, and she would be only too happy to set it up for him. Hearing Deadpool beg for his cock every time he gets a phone call would be funny as hell. Logan doesn't actually do it because he'd have to stop fucking Wade to go get his phone and even he's not that heartless.
Trapping his hips in the vise of Logan's strong hands, he won't let Wade control anything, not the depth nor the pace. Wanting to thrust up, instead Wade bears down internally and opens as fully as he can. He moans at the unsatisfying penetration, too horny and angry to be ashamed of how Logan makes him want this. And still Logan makes him wait. As Wade feels a building urgency, Logan has the audacity to pause and add more lube. Wade squawks angrily. He's greedy to take him in, to have Logan rub against the deep, aching place inside of him that longs for his cock. After an eternity of teasing, shallow thrusts, he plunges deeper at last. Relenting with a smirk, Logan works himself deeper with each pump, stroking smoothly inside and dragging slowly out again. Logan finally releases Wade's hips to let Wade rock up to meet him. Which he does, with enthusiasm.
Wade immediately bends his knees and brings them up, changing the angle of his pelvis so that yes! Logan can hit him right there in the prostate with each agonizingly delicious thrust. Wade considers this particular part of his anatomy proof that God wants everyone to be bisexual. If he wasn't supposed to take it in the ass, why put that magic buzzer in there? In taking forever with his stupid foreplay, Logan's made him so sensitive, Wade can feel every single millimeter of Logan's thick shaft as it slides in and out. The needy, happy sounds Wade makes during this torture are none of his business and he plans to forget them as soon as he cums.
"You're the worst, such a bastard, oh god, don't stop," Wade whines, a knee in each hand, and Logan finally plunges in to the hilt and then finds a rhythm that takes them both to a place without words. Even Wade stops talking.
As Logan pounds into him, Wade's brain starts to blank out and begin it's yummy slide into submission. But then, something self protective in Wade's mind wakes. He has made a horrible tactical error in coming here tonight. They've never fucked fully naked before, not in a real bed, nor face to face. Now Logan's got him like this, looking at him, all adoring and kind and what the actual fuck. This is not fair at all. They've never done it this way, where Logan kisses him while he's inside of him, furry belly rubbing Wade's leaking cock, and Wade running his hands over the rippling muscles of Logan's back, then reaching down to squeeze his bare, pumping ass. They should be in a dark alley, behind a rancid dumpster or something. The sudden, sharp pain in his chest makes Wade realize, this could be what ends up killing him, murdered by Logan's tender lovemaking. Surely his heart is going to cease beating any second now. He can't feel like this and be expected to go on afterwards.
Good way to go, Wade supposes and carries on.
Wade cums with Logan's name in his mouth. A first. And Logan, hips smacking against his spread thighs, cums right behind him, silent but for his hot, panting breaths against Wade's neck. The pulsing cock in his ass makes Wade go off again, feeling a smaller, second rush, pushing out a little more seed from his spent balls.
Wade Wilson sees nothing, feels nothing, wants nothing for a second. It's heaven.
Then Logan slides out, but he doesn't dismount. He's heavy and hot. He lays atop Wade's limp body, and Wade lays beneath him, arms locked around his back, feeling his heartbeat and breath. The weight of Logan, and the skin contact, anchors Wade in the here and now, giving him reasons to stay alive.
"I hate you even more now," Wade whispers, planting a kiss on Logan's sweaty, grey temple.
"I'm glad," Logan answers, kisses his cheek once, and then ducks his head to lightly gnaw on Wade's clavicle, making him laugh and let go of his death grip on him. He rolls off with a groan.
"I thought you were going to be mean to me," Wade rolls on his side and pouts at Logan.
"Not being mean was the meanest thing I could think of to do to you," Logan answers, eyes wicked. Smugly proud of himself.
"Well played," Wade smiles and tries not to be all mushy about it.
Logan gets up, feeling ancient, as he pulls himself up to standing. Adamantium joints popping and clicking. He gets a kink in his hip when he tops these days. That never used to happen a century ago. It cracks as he straightens. He shuffles to the bathroom, grumbling. Wade watches him go, sexiest old curmudgeon he's ever seen.
Wade hears the shower come on, which is his cue to leave, so he sits up and looks around for his suit. Oh gross, he'd forgotten it was so blood soaked and smelly. He did get thrown down a storm drain at one point this evening. He briefly thinks about borrowing something to wear from Logan, but that feels so domestic and boyfriend-ish that he actually throws up in his mouth a little bit at the horror of it. He decides he'll text Dopinder to bring him some clothes and a ride home. Wouldn't be the first time he got picked up naked. Wade searches his utility belt for his phone but before he can text Dopinder, Logan is back and pulling him by the wrist.
Logan pushes him into the bathroom and towards the spray, then climbs into the tub after him, closing the frosted glass shower door behind them. Apparently not finished with his diabolical plans, now Logan has to go and be a total asshole by washing Wade, carefully soaping him down with a wash cloth and gently scrubbing over all his steamed pink, crinkled flesh. Making Wade feel all helpless and cherished or some shit. And then, like a total son of a bitch, he lets Wade wash him in return. Then, Logan kisses him, brutally sweet, for twenty long minutes, pressing him up against the cold, white tile wall, running his hands over him, under the warm, rushing water, until they're both sleepy and sated and the mansion's hot water is running out.
Most horrible of all, Logan brings Wade back to his bed, pushes him down and then tucks himself in beside him. Pulls up the heavy, blankets and the smooth, cool sheets, and turns out the lamp. Then, Logan, settling with a soft growl, cruelly curls up around Wade like he'd never let anything bad happen to him. Finally, he has the nerve to sleep, holding Wade all night like a dragon hoarding a golden treasure.
Wade has never hated anyone quite like this man.