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“Do you wanna, like, fuck or something?” Wade asks, totally out of the blue. He’d play it off like Logan was the one subconsciously making hints all along but, even so, Wade’s eyes rake over the man’s muscles. He was a partially recovering alcoholic, for fuck sake, it just wasn’t fair for him to be so toned. Come on. How could somebody whose diet consisted only of alcohol and expired food be in such good shape? Bulging muscles and taut abs, a chiselled jaw and a perfect face. He looked gorgeous. Honestly, even a beer belly couldn’t hide that fact. It was almost as if Hugh Jackman, no innuendo intended, had been preparing to take on the role of Wolverine again since before the movie was even publicly announced. Him and Ryan Reynolds, laughing sinisterly over scenes that’ll make people cry and meticulously designing custom popcorn buckets that are almost guaranteed to have been sold out within seconds on opening night.
Logan very nearly dropped the bottle that he was drinking from, glaring at Wade incredulously. He seems to want to say something, then falters, takes a final swig of alcohol, and throws the bottle against the wall with a resounding crash, never once looking away from his adversary. Once he’s gulped it down, he goes to speak again, but no sound quite comes out. He clears his throat, gesturing for Wade to wait. He’s all but too happy to. It’s almost another full bottle of alcohol later that Logan eventually does speak, but his words still sound convoluted, as though he’s having trouble saying them. “Sorry, Bub, I… don’t think I- Uh- quite heard you correctly,” He says, voice not laced with nearly as much spite and sarcasm as Wade had become accustomed to. Instead, it’s almost raspy, sounds almost embarrassed.
He wouldn’t say it was a completely adorable sight. Logan was still spattered with blood from their fight… And the blood of whoever else had come before Wade in that respect. Logan clearly didn’t bother washing his suit much, which was equal parts utterly disgusting and wonderfully fascinating. He was as messy and battle hungry as the wolf for which he was named. Wade wondered whether he was as ravenous and possessive too. What a delicious thought. Where was he, though? Fights. Blood. Oh, blood! So, yeah, no, being coated with blood isn’t quite the cutest thing ever, it was quite stomach-churning, actually, but it was absolutely passable when it came to Logan. Wade claps his hands together, chuckling, teasing, like he always does. “Naw. Look at you, Peanut. You’re a blushing mess. Awful shy upon hearing that word for someone who preaches it like gospel, aren’t you? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. Oh, there’s that blush again. Don’t tell me you’ve never fucked someone before, Wolvie. Come the fuck on. No way you’re a virgin.”
“Fucked somebody before? Of course I have,” Logan murmurs, shaking his head.
Wade lets out a low whistle, smirking, “Yeah, well. Your mouth is telling me one thing but that stinking, adorable blush is telling me another. It’s okay, I understand. Just be honest with me and I’ll help you out. Okay? Remember. Deep breaths. Honesty is the best policy. You’ve got the bodycount of a nun, really, don’t you, Peanut?”
“You wanna talk about body counts, Bub?” Logan growls, striding across the room and effortlessly pinning Wade to the nearest wall. Realistically, he could fight back. Hell, he could probably even reverse it altogether. But why would he? This would be a highlight in the wettest of his dreams for months. Wade was joking before… Partly… But having a slightly tipsy Logan pressed against him like this? Hot, faintly liquor-scented breath fanning his face? Hand wrapped around his throat while he’s literally being threatened? Oh, his body had to react now. Science says there are two hundred and six bones in the human body. Wade won’t argue with that. They’re scientists, after all. They dedicate their lives to studying boring shit, he couldn’t be bothered to dedicate more than a minute. However, he’s pretty sure there’s more like two hundred and seven bones when he’s watching gossip girl OR is pinned beneath who is arguably the hottest man alive. Holy shit. It was… SO. FUCKING. HOT!
“That’s not a denial,” Wade chimes. Logan glowers at him coldly. Those eyes. Oh, those beautiful, stormy eyes. If Wade didn’t know any better, which he did, of course, he’d say he was in love. Pshhh, yeah, right. Logan was just attractive, and would probably be nothing more than a quick fuck. But… Oh, where were his manners? Wade can’t just ignore Logan’s ridiculously attractively-worded question like that. Grinning, he shrugs, “As for the body counts? Depends whether you want to turn me on even more.”
Logan, looking vaguely disgusted, immediately pushes back off of Wade and turns around. His arms are folded and his voice is hard. “Ha. No. What are you, a fucking masochist? D’ya get Vanessa to spank you good and hard with a fucking paddle? Fucking… Jesus! Just when I was beginning to tolerate you, you have to go and remind me what a twisted bastard you are all over again. You’re…”
“Don’t fucking talk about Vanessa,” Wade warns, mood instantaneously souring and his smile dropping. His erection doesn’t soften, though, he can practically still feel the warmth of Logan’s hand around his neck. And, the arguing, the fighting? That’s what turned Wade on to the other man in the first place. No way would his body react any differently, even if his brain very much currently wants it to do so. Instead, his dick fucking throbs with want. It’s even worse when Logan glares daggers at him, looking about two seconds away from punishing Wade for interrupting, and he genuinely can’t hide the boner anymore. Punishment. Ooh, that would be nice. Wade could take it, he could take anything Logan throws his way. SO. HOT. AGAIN!!!
Alright, fine. Usually, Wade doesn’t mind their banter. It was hot. It was callous. It was exhilarating and… Fucking everything to him, if Wade’s being totally honest. Talking about her, though, so carelessly making fun of the relationship they had? Logan was hot, sarcastic, and unintentionally fucking hilarious, but he had no real right to even mention Vanessa, much less to mock her. It was crossing the line, somewhere along the way. Wade wouldn’t dream of talking about somebody important to Logan like that, especially when said person’s entire existence was in critical danger. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t a joke. It was just wrong. More than anything, it was a reminder to Wade that they weren’t quite as friendly as he wanted them to be. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Heading back to his pathetic alcohol corner, Logan grimaces, “Was a genuine question. Calm your tits, Bub. Just trying to get to know you.”
“Yeah, well it’s not a fucking good one,” Wade spits, hanging his head. Honestly, he wants to blow it off right now, save the headache. All this tedious fighting, so pointless. His dick throbs again, achingly. He also wants to blow something else right now, too, to save the stress instead. But he can’t really do either of those things, so he resorts to making empty threats like a power-tripped child. Just to fill the, no pun intended, void. A little bit of humour, Wade Wilson style. Logan looks at him questioningly. For fuck sake, kill Wade now and end his misery.
Sighing, Wade balls his fists, “I’ll fucking kill you if you speak about her again.”
Logan, slumping on the couch, rolls his eyes. He doesn’t mention Wade’s erection, which he’s sure to have noticed by now. Considering he’s crotch height and all. “I’d like to see you try,” Is all he says, voice even and unwavering.
There’s a beat of silence then. Neither man says anything, they just attempt to take in their surroundings. Something they should’ve done as soon as they woke up, honestly. The place was dingy, looking more like a cave than a home. In all fairness, it probably was. The Void, from what Wade’s seen, wasn’t exactly chock with real estate. Makes him wonder where all the Deadpools live. Did they have their own little apartment complex way off into the wilderness or something? Or did they just live in heaps of sand? Erection still throbbing, Wade realises that’s probably a question for another time. A good one, albeit, and one he’d ask if he ever saw the bald bitch again, but still. Wrong time. He didn’t really like the idea of thinking about his mirror selves while his little self was practically begging to be fucked. Someone out there probably loves the idea, little freak that they are, but it’s just not his thing. The author doesn’t want to write it either. Logan grows noticeably tired of the silence first, clearing his throat and frowning, “I’m sor…” He attempts, but that’s as far as he gets.
Wade shakes his head, “This isn’t as hot if you’re actually remorseful. Just, uh, don’t talk about her again and we’re good. Like nothing ever happened.
“You sick…” Logan hisses, only to be cut off by Wade yet again. This time, he doesn’t look as furious. Well, not obviously. However, his lip still curls and his eyebrows furrow.
“Mine was a genuine question too.”
Taken aback, Logan raises his eyebrows, “What?”
Wade cocks- Ha. Cocks- his head to the side, beaming from ear to ear. “Do you wanna, like, fuck or something? Just to pass the time, you know. I figure we’ll be stuck here a while.”
“You went from threatening my life to proposing sex? Just like that?” Logan asks, evidently amused but also looking terribly concerned. Wade doesn’t really have the heart to tell him that his life was never threatened. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do that, not with everything that Logan had been through.
“Just like that,” Wade winks.
Then Logan’s expression falters and he just looks angry, “I’m not your lover, Bub,” He announces, as if it was a huge revelation. Of course they weren’t. They weren’t anything. They were barely even acquaintances. “I’m not that desperate, either. Rather restore my timeline and fuck somebody worthwhile.”
Mocking scorn, Wade places a hand over his heart and pouts, “Okay. One- Harsh. Two- No, you’re not my lover. You’re something even better. Even hotter.”
“What’s that then?” Logan wonders.
Licking his lips, Wade presses a finger to the corner of his mouth, keenly tracing his own smile lines. Wade had been told he had a nice smile, he wonders whether Logan likes it too. Well, all things considered, what with the zealous proposition, and the fact he never shuts up, it was safe to say that Logan probably didn’t like anything about Wade. Especially his smile. Which is why this particular thought was so delicious, and would be a treat for it to go off without a hitch. Just keep up with the smooth-talking, Wade, you got this. You got this. It’s Logan. You have an erection. Logan’s the cause. You’re fine. Just keep smiling, as if the inevitable rejection has no effect on you at all. “You’re my biggest hater, Peanut,” He settles on, making some vague, flirtatious gesture.
“Hate sex?” Logan considers. He’s not as furious as Wade anticipated, and he’s not exactly attempting to murder him for even having such salacious thoughts in the first place. Which was, absolutely, and not completely unwillingly, on the menu in Wade’s mind. Then again, Logan’s not eagerly jumping at the chance to take Wade to pound town, either. He just looks eerily calm. “You are a fucking masochist. Aren’t you, Bub?”
“Pot calls the kettle black. Let’s see, I distinctly remember a bulge forming in your pants the second I punched you in the car and made you bleed. Could actually feel it pressing against my crotch when you stabbed me. Got even bigger, too, somehow, when you tied me up and beat me senseless. Was fucking erotic, Wolvie, but I couldn’t stand to just jump you then and there. Consent is very important to me.”
“Touché,” Logan smirks, not even denying it. Oh, that was somehow hotter. He was fucking proud of it. He was proud of shaming Wade for the very same thing he feels, he was proud of shaming Wade for feeling the very same emotion that they share viscerally down to their core.
Fuck consent, openly looking that sexy was basically the same thing. But, just to be sure, because he’s not a totally bad guy. Wade raises his eyebrows, repeating his prior question for what is, hopefully, the last time, “Do you, like, wanna fuck or something, Peanut?”
Logan snaps his head up, something almost animalistic dances around in his eyes this time. His nose is scrunched. His face had retained its healthy blush from earlier, too, which was always a bonus. He gnaws his lip, biting down so hard on it that it begins to bleed. Wade has absolutely no problem licking it up. Unfortunately, it’ll have regenerated by then, and the blood will have probably dried in record time. But a guy can dream, can’t he? “You’re gonna regret fucking asking that, Bub,” Logan spits, downing the last of his drink and smashing it against the wall. He keeps the neck of the bottle handy, just briefly, toying with it, musing, before snapping a final shard of glass and pocketing it. He lets the remainder shatter on the floor.
“I don’t think I will,” Wade sings. He believes that wholeheartedly, he won’t regret it. He’s regretted very few things in his life and being fucked by such a stud won’t be one of them, he’s sure. Well, depending on how big he shapes up to be. Because, honestly, regeneration might be more of a curse in that department, and it’s likely to get more than a little sore.
Logan pounces at him, and before either realises it they’re plummeting to the floor. It’s a short distance, albeit, but Wade hits his head on the way down, and Logan isn’t exactly light as a feather. He’s actually stiff as a board, if anything. Ha. Boner joke. But, fuck, did it feel incredible pressing against Wade’s own erection. To his credit, Logan appears to be minorly remorseful. Then, probably recalling Wade’s prior warning that remorse wasn’t exactly the sexiest thing ever, he cracks his neck and smirks, “Floor sex. That’s a new one for me.”
“Not me.”
“You’re a fucking animal.”
“Least I’m not named after one, Wolvie.”
“Touché.”
“You like that word, don’t you, Wolvie?”
“Like it more than I like you, that’s for sure.”
“And yet your dick is practically begging to fuck me.”
“Hate sex, remember?”
“You hate sex? Should we reconsider?”
“Make me reconsider and you’ve lost your only chance, Bub,” Logan cautions.
Wade reaches up, wraps his gloved hands gently around Logan’s neck and pulls him into a tender kiss. The man, momentarily alarmed, eventually softens into Wade’s embrace and kisses him back. It’s tantalising. Purely stupendous and entirely debauched. This moment was something Wade could never have possibly dreamed of. Primarily because the Wolverine of his timeline was dead, and ridiculously fucking old. Secondly, because this brand spanking new Wolverine would willingly surrender Wade to a death camp if given the choice between that and a six pack of beer. He’d be fine with that, though. Living off this moment would bring Wade enough joy to transcend lifetimes. Not like a death camp could seriously harm him, either. Totally harmless. Typical Logan. Typical…
Eventually, Logan pulls away and the short-lived affection was just that. Short-lived. He straightens up again and looks away, hand covering his mouth, apologetically, “Too intimate. Sorry. Or, not sorry. I don’t fucking know what you want from me. You’re confusing.”
“In a good way?” Wade asks hopefully, trying not to seem too offended by the bad reception. It was nothing. Just a kiss. Just a bit of foreplay. Think nothing of it. It’s nothing. The kiss was nothing. And it was bad, anyway, Logan’s breath reeked of alcohol. Reeked. Like, literally gag. Honestly, he could totally vomit at the first hint of it but Wade was nothing if not a trooper. Getting dicked down by Wolverine was definitely something worth fighting for.
“In the worst way,” Logan shrugs, thumbing the shard of glass that rested inside his pocket. Wade wondered what he planned to use it for, if at all, or if it was just a fucked up testament to his alcoholism.
Wade jolts his hips upwards, just to test the waters, and is pleasantly surprised when Logan, by force of habit if nothing else, rocks hungrily against him. So, regardless of the kiss, nothing had really changed. They still very clearly wanted to fuck. As debauched and hateful as it may be, hate sex was still sex. And, oh, now that they’re this far, they’re absolutely going all the way. Logan’s in agreement, if the way he hungrily nips at Wade’s neck is any indication. So regular kissing is a step too far but throat kissing, which is arguably much more tender, isn’t? Not to mention the literal penetration that was sure to come. Cum. No, come. Yeah, come. Yes, they’d ideally be coming. Or, is it spelt cumming? Due to lack of sexual knowledge, the author can neither confirm nor deny this. They're pushing themselves enough already by writing this filth, alright?
Almost instantly, as if reading Wade’s mind and being determined to prove him wrong, Logan bites his neck hard enough to draw blood. Wade shrieks. He can handle lacerations to the stomach, arm, head, leg, literally anywhere, but not the neck. And, more importantly, though not entirely relevant, he can’t handle his dick being attacked. He doesn’t even need to test it to easily prove that theory. Logan licks it up, softly, tenderly, a perfect juxtaposition to his previous aggression, “I thought you wanted hate, Bub. What’s wrong? Can’t handle it?”
“Oh, I can handle it,” Wade whines, rocking up against Logan again. Pleading him to continue. It was shaping up to be a painful experience, but it was sure to be worth it. And, truly, Wade would rather be condemned to the hells for all of eternity than let a second of this go to waste. Logan is nothing if not an indulgent partner because he instantly returns to gnawing and licking Wade’s neck. Only this time, he reaches a hand up and damn near effortlessly tears off Wade’s entire suit. Oh, god, it was completely unsalvageable but, oh, god, that was an absolutely insignificant worry to Wade right now. He was SO about to get it. He’d prefer it if his nipples didn’t fucking harden upon contact with the cool air, though. That was more than slightly embarrassing and Logan seemed to revel in it, smirking. He makes a comment under his breath that he’ll get to them later and, if, unlikely as it was, Wade had grown soft by then, that little comment was sure to excite him all over again.
Logan licks at the last droplets of blood that pool somewhere around Wade’s collarbone, before sitting upright and frowning. “Well, let’s just hope they’ve got a spare suit around here somewhere. I don’t exactly fancy exhibiting my handiwork. No offence, Darling, it’s not you, you look gorgeous,” He whispers, licking Wade’s cheek as if to prove his point, “I’m a private lover.”
“Think you mean hater,” Wade says pointedly.
“I’m a private hater,” Logan corrects, though even he doesn’t seem completely convinced at his own words. For whatever reason. Wade won’t allow himself to think too deeply on it, he doesn’t want to give himself any false hope. Besides, he doesn’t care either. It’s just sex. Eventually. When they actually get there. Pick up the fucking pace, Author. If the readers wanted this much exposition then they’d read a fucking book. Clearing his throat, not giving Wade a chance to respond, or even pick up on his own hesitation, Logan takes one of Wade’s nipples and toys with it between his two fingers. As if that wasn’t delirium-inducing enough, the man has the smart idea to take Wade’s other nipple between his teeth. This time, though, he doesn’t bite. He doesn’t lick. He just keeps it there, tauntingly, daring Wade to move underneath him, thereby scraping his own nipple against Logan’s pointed teeth. What happens then? Well, maybe the biting would endure again.
Wade, despite every bone in his body aching for a certain pleasure that only Logan can give, refuses to move. As much as he wants to, as much as he’d delight in Logan biting and licking his nipple, he refuses to satisfy the man this quickly. Things would end a lot faster then, he’s sure, and Wade absolutely, again, just to be sure, does NOT want that. For clarification, again, in case you’d missed it, he’d rather die than let a moment of this go to waste. It’s only when Logan smirks, a genuinely wolf-like smirk, that Wade realises his refusal was somehow exactly what the other man desired. Logan bites down on his nipple anyway, much harder than Wade could’ve ever imagined. It makes his heart skip a beat, but it also makes his chest hurt a whole fucking lot. If that wasn’t enough, Logan kisses the other nipple softly, so sweetly that it was almost romantic, that it was tormenting, and bites down on it just as hard. This time, Wade genuinely fucking screams. It hurts way too much, to the point that it’s bordering unpleasant. “You wanted hate,” Logan chastises, grazing Logan’s nipple a final time before apparently growing bored of that anatomical aspect, “You’re going to get pure hate, Bub. I’m not playing nice. Not when you asked for this, not when putting you in your place is all I’ve wanted for fucking weeks.”
“Putting me in my place? Oh, you naughty boy,” Wade rasps, spluttering incoherently when Logan tugs at his dick. Oh, god. Thank god he has some restraint, despite having not been laid in almost a year, because he easily could’ve come right then and there. It was so delicious. So. Fucking. Delicious. Fucking heavenly. Wade hadn’t even noticed Logan take his glove off, but he’s so fucking glad that he did. The warmth of his bare hand. The calloused texture of Logan’s hand, stroking him, playing with his tip, wiping up the beads of precum that form there. The moment somehow grows even more sensual when Logan licks his fingers, slicking them, prepping them. For what exactly? Oh, Wade knew, he absolutely knew what was coming next, but he’d pretend that he didn’t for the sake of it. For the thrill. For the excitement and surprise.
Before Logan dares do anything else, he looks reassuringly at Wade. “I know that I said… I’d put you in your place and I’m not going to play nice and all. But, uh. Do you really want this, Bub? There’s no going back and it’ll definitely be a one time thing,” Somewhere in that ridiculously affirmative, little speech, something of it sounded like a lie. Wade couldn’t afford to nitpick exactly what of it was a lie, not right now, but he would later. If he remembered.
As for his response. If you hadn’t figured by now, somehow, despite all of the author’s awkward exposition, Wade absolutely wanted Logan to take him. He needed Logan to absolutely fucking ravage and destroy him, it was absolutely integral to the continued quality of his life. However, something wasn’t exactly fair about this. “Why am I the only one naked?”
“Because you didn’t bother to strip me, Bub,” Logan shrugs, immediately reaching out to lower Wade’s arm as he attempts to do just that. So desperate. So… “Easy. Be more careful. I’m sure there’s a lot of Deadpool suits laying around here but, you heard the bald bitch, Wolverines are a dime a dozen. All spare suits, if any, are likely to be either too small or completely obliterated. Don’t give me that look. You best be careful, is all I’m saying, I doubt I’ll be able to save your universe without the added comfort of my suit.”
Wade rolls his eyes, fiddling, rather unsexily, for a zipper. He’s glad when he finds it, a tiny little thing, and wastes no time pulling the suit off of Logan. Glistening muscles. A taut abdomen. That damned, cursed, blessed happy trail. Wade could get used to this. Absolutely. One hundred percent. If only for the fact it wasn't temporary, and he wasn’t continually reminded of that fact by the very man he’s fucking. Logan tuts, helping Wade pull the suit off. He discards it somewhere to the side, breathing shallowly. “No going back,” He reiterates.
Wade grins, mimicking him, “No going back.”
And that’s all it takes. That one, final confirmation. The consent. Logan forces Wade’s jaw open, damn near breaking it, musing for a fleeting moment, before grinning and shoving two of his fingers down his adversaries throat with no warning. Wade has no gag reflex, thankfully. Don't ask how he knows that. He just knows that he doesn’t. And that’s a damn good thing, otherwise he would’ve chucked up all over Logan’s ridiculously shiny, naked torso. “Feel free to bite,” Logan grunts, running his other hand over Wade’s torso. He goes lower and lower, until finally…
Wade gasps, biting down on Logan’s fingers upon instinct, slicking them with a delicious merging of blood and saliva, when the man tugs again, less experimentally, at Wade’s cock. Then again, and again, and again, and eventually Logan’s fingers must be fucking broken but neither seem to really care. Instead, they each derive an innate pleasure from the debauched act. Both masochists, one with the bonus of receiving a handjob at the same time. It’s with a breathy moan that Wade orgasms, body writhing on the floor, eyes rolling to the very back of his head. Oh, how fucking perfect. Apparently, Logan agrees, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on Wade’s cheek. He sure has a rough grasp on intimacy, doesn’t he? Like, there’s zero fucking way he thinks that’s less personal than a heat-of-the-moment make out session. Well, whatever. No way he’s going to call Logan out and potentially ruin things between them. Ruin the moment. Miss out on the fucking incredible sex. No way, nuh uh. Because… Well, you get it by now, don’t you? Not. A. Moment. Wasted. Please. Please get it. Author is writing this at two in the morning and is exhausted.
Voice husky and low, Logan removes his fingers from Wade’s mouth and carefully lines them up with his asshole, “You ready? I’m not going to be gentle.”
“Yeah, you’ve said. Get on with it, or I might start thinking you actually care about me,” Wade yawns, sarcastically glancing at his wrist and sighing, “Tick tock. I’m getting softer by the second, Peanut. You’re kind of disappointing me. Like, come on. Don’t prove their point, don’t prove that you’re The Worst Wolverine in bed to- Oh! Fuck. Yeah, okay.”
Logan’s fingers are knuckle-fucking-deep-fucking-him. In spite of the vigour, Wade can only feel himself tightening again with every thrust. Fuck the regeneration. No amount of lubricant would make this less painful and, well- Honestly, wasn’t that just the most intoxicating thought? He was practically soaking wet and ready. All the while, they had subconsciously begun to jerk eachother off. The room had filled, so, so quickly with lewd slapping and slurping sounds, without either really noticing. Or caring. Why would they? They were, if Wade was to be mutually assured, which he hoped he was, because he’d honestly die if Logan’s pleasure was even slightly exaggerated, in heaven. This was heaven. Them fucking was heaven. Hate-filled or not. It just made sense. They made sense. Deadpool and Wolverine. Arguably, both the worst of their names. Well, actually, Nicepool existed. Unfortunately. Disturbing. Stop thinking about your fucking clone while you’re fucking fucking, Wade.
Logan’s moans were nothing short of breathtaking, they were somehow so deep and gravelly, but simultaneously managed to sound equal parts vulnerable and loving. Wade could get used to that, if only. On the other hand, Wade’s own moans were, in actual fact, nothing short of slutty and whore-ish. There was no depth to Wade’s moans, no real glints of emotion, they were purely horny and that was that. That was him. Somewhat. Logan didn’t seem to mind, though, or so he hoped.
No time to dwell, because Logan was in a rush. At the exact same time he finally penetrates Wade, he unsheathes his claws and drags them along Wade’s exposed stomach. Indenting him. Marking him. Making him fucking bleed, and it feels so shockingly nice. Warmth just oozes out of him, and strangely so does his consciousness. Probably unrelated, though, right? Briefly, for the umpteenth time, Logan looks concerned, and then he just rolls his eyes and thrusts that much harder, digs his claws in that much harder. Hell, he even bites Wade’s neck again, creating such a pretty array of hickeys, bruises, and tooth marks that even a hardcore BDSM lover would quake in their boots at the sight of it. Jesus, he was that hardcore BDSM lover, wasn’t he?
“Should’ve worn a condom,” Wade pants, breathless. He’s not really concerned about the hazards of unprotected sex, he’ll fight them off easily enough and, besides, Logan absolutely doesn’t get any. If you catch Wade’s drift. Wink, wink. Gross. I hate myself. For writing this. For that line in particular. I doubt it’s even anatomically accurate. But I won’t give up. It’s what the people want. Anyway! Back to the regularly scheduled programming.
“Kind of in short supply right now, don’t you think, Bub?” Logan moans, voice catching in his throat. Not once does he stop thrusting however, and after regaining his stamina he’s confident to continue, “I can always stop if you’d prefer, though.”
Wade shakes his head, “Fuck you.”
“Aren’t you already?”
“Exactly. Keep going.”
Logan continues thrusting, he’d never stopped, but he puts a lot more force into it from then on. All the while, Wade is a moaning, over-stimulated mess underneath him. Eventually, unable to hold back any longer, Logan slows down, pulls out, and comes all over Wade’s face. At that, Wade grins and begins to wipe it off, licking every delicious, sultry, sweet, salty drop of cum that he can possibly manage to scoop up from his fingers. He’s kind of disappointed that Logan didn’t ejaculate inside him. But, for safety’s sake, and for hygiene sake, it makes a hell of a lot of sense. Still, kind of sad.
Wade’s content to stop there, even though he hasn’t had his release, but Logan, sweet, sweet lover boy Logan, continues to jerk him off. “I’m fine,” Wade mutters, asshole fucking aching, chest hurting even more, and neck somehow in a hundred times worse pain. Yeah, he could stop. He could live with this memory. Logan just tuts at Wade, glances at him longingly, and uses his other hand to pull Wade’s chin towards his own. It’s only then that the pair allow themselves to genuinely kiss. Be it the haze. The afterglow. Whatever you wanna call it. They do it anyway, regardless of whether they’d regret it. Embarrassingly, Wade’s cock throbs and he finally cums all over his own chest when Logan bites his lip.
“Fucking desperate, aren’t you, Bub?”
“Yup, pretty much. Now, clean me up,” Wade groans, gesturing to his… Everything. The blood. The cum. The sweat. Oh, Logan was nothing but delighted to indulge. Hell, he even hardens again at the taste of it. But, uh, it was a one time thing, wasn’t it? They’re not going to do this again. Not even as a chain-link type of thing.
Wade sighs, rooting through Logan’s pockets for a paper towel. Or, like, literally anything. Even a receipt would do, just to clean up a little. It’s then that he pricks his finger on something sharp. The glass from earlier. He holds it up, examining it, then turns to Logan, “You didn’t end up using this, Peanut?”
“Eh,” Logan grunts, running a hand through his hair and shrugging, “Save it for next time, Bub. I’m way too fucking tired to ‘hate-fuck’ you again, right now. Just wanna sleep. Come join me.”
“Next time? Join you?”
“Next time,” Logan repeats firmly, “Join me.”
Well, it was Wade’s lucky day after all.