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The gradual, slightly shifting tide of his relationship with Logan has been in constant ebb and flow since they met, but it’s on the night they’re celebrating his birthday that Wade notices the direction in which things have shifted.
“I’ll be right back,” Vanessa says into his ear. The bar is so loud Wade can hardly hear himself think, let alone hear whatever she had said before she shoved her face next to his. Her perfume wafts into his nose; it’s the kind he recognizes. Her favorite. His throat closes as she pushes past him. She trips over his legs, and Wade helps steady her. It’s entirely platonic. They’ve worked hard to reach this point.
“Thanks!” Vanessa says, still smiling. She recently cut her hair short again. She says something else that Wade can’t hear. Wade is wearing his mask, which doesn’t help his little hearing issue.
“I didn’t hear a word of that, but I’m going to pretend to avoid the inevitable awkward exchange! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he yells. Vanessa shakes her head and walks away.
A minute later, Logan slides in next to him with a fresh basket of fries. He’s had more to drink than Wade or Vanessa, but he’s only a little tipsy. He shoves his way into the seat, and his breath gushes hot over Wade’s cheek. Logan’s arm extends past Wade, his eyes dark and cheeks lightly flushed.
Logan watches himself, these days. He barely drinks anymore, even when they’re out with others.
“Hey,” he says. His head tilts, drifting a little in that way it does when he’s had a few drinks.
Logan’s other arm slides across the table. His fingers brush Wade’s.
Maybe more than a few.
“Hey,” Wade says, and a laugh slips out of his mouth when Logan’s fingers tickle the back of his neck. Wade looks at his phone to check the time.
Things have changed drastically since their time in the Void. They live together now—sans Althea, now that Logan has steady work—and they have sex and sleep in each other’s beds sometimes. They’re not dating, though. It’s just sex, no strings attached, yadda yadda.
“You smell really fucking good tonight,” Logan adds.
“Oh,” Wade says. He doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. “Do I?”
Record scratch. He tries again.
“Did you mean to say ‘smell’? Is this a wolverine thing? It’s the mask,” he says, finding his footing back in the conversation. “Really brings out my eyes. And my hair.” Wade’s hand presses into Logan’s chest, less than subtle in his attempt to push him back towards the edge of their booth. “Did you know I was a redhead?”
Logan’s eyes focus on him in a way that means sobriety is quickly making an approach. He squints at Wade, clearly trying to imagine it.
“Were you?”
Wade’s throat forms a laugh. He must have had something in his drink, because he can’t believe he’s almost offered something up about himself from the before times.
Maybe it’s the way Logan is looking at him. He doesn’t usually look at Wade like that. His warm brown eyes glimmer in the low light. He has his cheek propped on his fist, staring at Wade like he’s something he wants to study. His scruffy beard is even scruffier than usual.
Logan scoots closer, pushing Wade even further into the booth. Wade’s hip is in the process of crushing Vanessa’s purse. He bought it for her back when they were together—it was several hundred dollars past acceptable—and she will not appreciate creased leather.
“Did I know you were this pushy when tipsy?” Wade ponders aloud. “I am into it the same way I was into you stabbing me back in the Void: very. Extremely. But—”
“Don’t remind me of that place right now,” Logan says, half-serious. “I did mean to say you smelled nice. I was thinking.” He shifts further into the booth, full-on ignoring Wade’s attempts to hold him in place. “After all this. You and me, we get outta here.” He shakes his head, ridding himself of the last of his intoxication. “Er—tomorrow. We go on that job you’ve got. We go early. I’ve got my bike. We go and—"
Wade cuts him off only because Logan is acting differently than usual, leaning in all close and personal, and he doesn’t even seem to notice Wade’s valiant efforts to try and save Vanessa’s purse. Heroic, really. It’s a nice purse.
“Everyone has been staring at you tonight,” Wade blurts.
Logan’s brow furrows. He pulls away slightly.
“I can practically hear the thirsty little choruses in their minds. Unlike me, you keep refusing to wear the mask, so people know the Wolverine by face. You’re lucky I don’t get jealous, because I’m a Scorpio.”
Logan hasn’t moved his arm, but he watches Wade, eyes seeking an answer. He’s still so close, which keeps Wade talking.
“Do you have any idea what kind of power you have wearing this white shirt, peanut? It’s incredible. It’s too much power for one Wolverine.”
Now would be a great time for them to kiss.
“Not a bad idea,” Logan says, and it occurs to Wade he said that out loud.
Logan’s mouth brushes the surface of Wade’s mask. He pulls back, then goes in again. His palm slides up Wade’s face, the heat radiating like there’s nothing separating them at all.
“I’m gonna take that mask off you later, pretty boy,” Logan says against his lips through the fabric.
Wade opens his mouth, and nothing but a startled laugh comes out.
Flustered. He’s flustered. Logan hasn’t said that before. What the fuck.
“Wish I could rip it off you right now,” Logan says. His lips barely move to brush another kiss across the area where Wade’s mouth is.
Wade grips Logan’s shoulder, intent on taking control of the situation when Vanessa’s head pops into view.
“You took my spot,” she says from behind Logan.
Instinct takes over and Wade scoots back rapidly, fully crushing her purse under his ass in the process.
Vanessa doesn’t know they fucked. Wade may have considered panic texting her immediately after it happened months ago, but somehow restrained himself.
Besides, they’re not dating. They’re something that’s just sex and whatever Logan thinks he’s doing right this second.
“I think they call it a situationship now,” Wade says to no one.
Logan sits back, eyeing Wade, puzzled, and slides out of the booth to let in Vanessa. Despite the burgers and fries he inhaled three times over, Logan somehow hasn’t gotten a drop on his shirt.
“Did you change?” Wade asks when Logan slides into the seat opposite. Logan’s nose wrinkles in a way that is so fucking cute Wade can’t stand it. “Was the white shirt a deliberate choice? Is it your plan all along to distract me with your big naturals? I’m very distractable.”
“How much have you had to drink?” Vanessa asks. She grins and nudges Wade’s shoulder. “That’s the third time you’ve made that joke.”
“At least I have the view,” Wade says wistfully.
“This is just one of my shirts. It’s plain white,” Logan says. “Why’re you both looking at me like that?”
Vanessa opens her mouth. “Tell him and I’ll never forgive you,” Wade says to her. “ I have a question. Why are we here again? Peanut dragged me out of the house and didn’t even let me freshen up first. Not that I haven’t been having a good time, but this is a weird blind date.”
“Wade, we’ve been here for two hours,” Logan says. The look on his face, all adorably scrunched, is telling Wade that he’s surprised Wade either forgot or didn’t remember from the start.
“I’ve always wanted to ask, why do you call him peanut?” Vanessa asks.
Wade picks a peanut out of the bowl he stole from the bar and lifts it up for comparison.
“Fucking look at him. It’s uncanny. I don’t believe any further explanation is needed.”
Logan glances at the peanut, then Wade. “Haven’t been able to stop him from using it. Wade, I told you this morning what the plan was.”
Wade hums loudly, making a show of his genuine effort to remember.
“The funny thing about my brain is when there’s something not relevant to the interests of the hamster that runs the wheel, it gets ejected out into space. Remind me?”
“Christ.” Logan shakes his head. “It’s almost your birthday, idiot.”
“No, it’s not,” Wade says. He glances between the two of them. “My birthday was last year. It hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s November,” Vanessa says. “I’m heading out of town, so that’s why just the three of us are meeting up early.”
The exposition and set up is too convenient to question, even if Wade doesn’t remember.
“Speaking of,” Vanessa continues, “we haven’t gotten to the present portion of this evening. Can you hand me my purse?”
After he does, she pulls out a package from her purse, magnanimously ignoring the Wade-shaped crease.
“Ohh, a gift! Wow, I didn’t know we had reached this level of re-defining our friendship after the breakup. Though that was six years ago. Seven now, I guess.”
“Open it,” Vanessa says, nudging him.
“Please be a prostate massager, please be a prostate massager,” he mutters.
Tragically, it’s not a prostate massager. It is, however, expensive bath salts—the kind Wade used to get way back when they were together.
“You shelled out, girl, damn,” he says appreciatively.
Vanessa says, “Thought you could treat yourself to some you-time.”
It’s a nice gift. Vanessa knows he liked this brand, so it makes sense. It’s so nice it hurts a little. Less than it used to.
Logan’s eyes are on Vanessa’s gift as Wade reaches out towards him expectantly with both hands.
“It’s your turn. Gimme.” At Logan’s dismissive hand wave, Wade slaps both hands down flat on the table. “Oh, come on! You didn’t even make me one of those handmade coupon booklets that say things like ‘one prostate massage’ or ‘watching you pound meat for an hour’?”
“The fuck would you…I got you something,” Logan says defensively. “I just forgot it. I’ll get it later.”
They finish their drinks and then Logan reminds him that he also completely forgot that they were going to visit Althea for a late night movie night. Vanessa hugs him goodbye; afterwards, Logan and Wade walk to the space between the bar and the building next door to smoke. Logan does the smoking. Wade talks in circles and fills the silence.
It’s when he’s in the middle of regaling him with a near-death from failing a jump between two buildings that Logan taps the back of his shirt.
“Hey. I, uh.” Logan pauses to puff his cigar. “I did have your gift.”
“Gasp! You sneaky motherfucker. You wanted me all to yourself. I knew my suspicions about our understated telepathic connection would pay off. Tell me it’s a—”
“It’s not a fucking prostate massager. First off, can’t believe that just came from my mouth. Second, it’s no bath spa set either. It’s this.”
Logan holds up a set of keychains. When Wade takes them out of his hand, he realizes it’s not just any keychains.
The keychains couldn’t have been expensive—they’re small acrylics—but Logan would have had to find them. Maybe he waded through drop-shipped Etsy listings until he found what he was looking for, or scoured Mercari for what looks like an official Demon Slayer keychain hanging from his pinky. God, Wade would have paid to see him learn how to use a proxy.
“My blorbos…” Wade trails off. “Applejack and Fluttershy? Elf Rengoku?” Wade lifts it into view. “That’s the worst merch they’ve sold for him. You shouldn’t have.” He points to the My Little Pony keychains. “No, but you actually shouldn’t have. In this house it’s RariJack or bust.”
“You’re always talking about those cartoons, so I thought…” Logan shakes his head. “You know what, just give ‘em back. It was a stupid fucking idea.”
“What? No!” Wade rips his hand away and out of reach. “Oh, no. No, no, no, this is amazing.” Logan lunges for him, and Wade takes another step back. “Nope. They’re mine. They’re perfect. I am hanging these on the fridge.”
“Fuck off. Give them back.”
“Nope.”
Logan swipes at them again, reaching past Wade. He stumbles into him and ends up pushing him against the wall.
Logan smells like beer and smoke and his cologne. His big, warm hand settles on Wade’s lower back, and Wade is so distracted by Logan’s nose brushing his that the keychains slide right out of his hand and into Logan’s.
Tangling their fingers around the keychains, Logan kisses him. Wade already took his mask off earlier now that no one is around to see him in the dimly lit space.
“Give those back,” Wade says. “That’s my birthday gift. I’ll fight you for it. I’ll even fuck you.”
“No can do, handsome.” Wade reads it as sarcastic, but there’s enough of an undercurrent of sincerity there to piss off Wade, because Logan has been acting weird all night, and Wade is starting to think maybe he’s doing it on purpose. Like he wants to—to actually schmooze with Wade.
Logan kisses him again, and Wade snaps into motion, kissing him back for all he’s worth, because that’s what they do. They fight angry, and fuck angrier.
Only rather than take it hard and fast, Logan slows the kiss from frantic to leisurely. He shifts his cigar from one hand to the other to avoid harming the plastic of Wade’s gift.
The keychains bite into Wade’s hand the whole time they stand there kissing, until Logan’s cigar is just the scorched cherry burning the space between his fingers.
Wade expected more anger.
Logan used to snap and snarl at him whenever he and Wade so much as opened their mouths near each other. He was pleasant with Althea, but the contentious nature of their budding relationship didn’t abate, especially with Wade’s ability to piss Logan off without even trying. Which was often.
Logan is still angry. Wade can see how he still loses himself to that anger, letting it wash over him when the world needs him to. And when it doesn’t.
Now, though, now…well, currently Wade is lying in his bed, wondering how he got there but unable to leave.
Logan is having a nightmare.
Wade watches his body twitch and writhe in a display of unease and discomfort known all too well to him. The muscles in Logan’s face ripple, and low groans erupt from his throat in a helplessly unsettling way. Touching him would be a mistake—he’s learned that the hard way—but it’s been fifteen minutes, and Wade doesn’t know what else to do.
He didn’t plan to end up here. Over time they just started drifting into each other’s beds. Logan did it first, then Wade made it a point to end up under Logan’s duvet, and now sometimes he wakes up and Logan is just there, or it’s Wade who goes bed surfing.
It’s awful to watch him struggle, though, so eventually Wade decides he’s going to try waking him up as subtly as possible.
He’s just picked up the pillow and is about to chuck it at Logan’s face when Logan shoots up in bed. His claws don’t pop out, but his fist is raised, and when he sees Wade, he does something very unexpected: he doesn’t get angry.
“Jesus—fuck. The fuck are you doing here?” he asks, sounding, of all things, worried. Logan reaches out and touches Wade’s face, only to quickly jerk away. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were in here. Christ.”
“Your bed and I are besties now, so I thought I’d pay her a visit. You just happened to be here, too. You gucci?”
“I’m—" Logan heaves himself to the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Fuck. That one was fucking vivid. Jesus.”
“Care to share? You see any old friends?” Wade hazards. “I keep dreaming about Cable lately. They’re so vivid, I’m starting to wonder if he actually needs my help in another country.”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure, old friends is one way to put it,” Logan says. He huffs. “Usually, it’s always…memories. Things that happened or never happened or...I don’t fucking know. Head just likes to fuck with me.”
Logan faces away from him, still swearing softly. This is the first time he’s opened up about a nightmare.
“I’m surprised you’re not getting snippy—literally and figuratively—at me for being here. Or waking you up. Or not waking you up,” Wade adds. “Usually it’s one of those.”
“Yeah, well. Trying not to be. I don’t want to be fucking mad all the time,” Logan says slowly. “Fuck.” He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Shit. Can you…”
Logan waves him over. Wade scoots over just to see what he wants, and Logan adds another to the pile of growing surprises. He leans over and wraps his arms around Wade, encouraging him even closer, his wiry beard brushing Wade’s cheek. He rubs his face against Wade’s, breathing him in. Wade finds himself matching his breathing to Logan’s.
“Thanks,” Logan says, and then pulls back to look at Wade. His hair is disheveled from sleep, and the piece of fabric he calls a shirt does nothing to hide the sweat coating his collar. He looks like something out of a magazine made precisely for Wade’s tastes.
“You’re looking at me like you’re a cross between horny and angry. I could help you with both,” Wade teases, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Logan is never in the mood after a nightmare, but then Logan touches his thigh with one hand and Wade becomes very aware of how he’s only wearing one of his softer crop tops and these tiny sleepshorts that basically leave nothing to the imagination.
“That an offer, princess?”
It hits like liquid down his back.
“You don’t have to butter me up, Loganberry,” Wade says. He lays a hand on Logan’s muscled thigh. “This slip ‘n slide’s already wet and ready. Also, I’m literally in your bed. You don’t need to say these—these cute little phrases and pet names. You’ve got your hooks in me. Those very, incredibly sharp hooks. I’m easy.”
“You’re not easy,” Logan says. “Nothing about you is easy.” He shrugs. “Guess that’s what I like about you.”
“Oh you like that about me? I can be very difficult. It’s an art that I’m still aiming to perfect.” He doesn’t mean to keep going, but Logan is just watching him, so his mouth yaps on. “I don’t even try. Messes just happen, and then people get mad. Rinse. Repeat.” He pauses. “I’m lying. Like a liar. I’ve made a lot of nasty, sometimes bloody messes I did mean to make. Alexa, play ‘Bodies.’”
They don’t have an Alexa.
“You’re not wrong. Sometimes you drive me up the wall.” Logan’s fingers trail up his thigh and dip under his cotton shorts. “That’s a cute outfit you’re wearing. I’ll help you out of it. Let me—”
“Breakfast,” Wade blurts. He’s got a hand to Logan’s chest, and then he’s up and at the doorway. “You asked me the other day to prove I can cook. I am about to prove you so fucking wrong you’ll owe me ten blowjobs.”
“It was three,” Logan says tiredly. He rubs his chest, unsure.
“Fifty blowjobs,” Wade calls as he walks out of the room. He feels the weight of Logan’s gaze long after he’s out of view.
“Morning, beautiful,” Logan says one morning when he walks into the kitchen.
Wade stands there in the kitchen in his cow onesie and his neon green crocs and just stares.
He’s been trying to rationalize it away. A fluke. A brief moment of insanity. A figment of his imagination. Unreality.
Logan kicked Wade out of his room the night before when he wouldn’t stop trying to convince Logan to watch Trolls 3, but it doesn’t look like he slept anyway. He looks as tired as he sounds.
“What smells good?” Logan asks.
“Pancakes?” Wade hazards. The hazarding isn’t necessary; he made the batter himself and has a dozen misshapen pancakes already cooling on a plate. Logan moves past him—or rather, he tries to. Wade is fully in his way, hands on his hips, so Logan just moves Wade out of the way. He leaves a hand on Wade’s back.
Wade keeps standing there. Eventually Logan moves him out of the way again. The hand moves to Wade’s hip. A second later, Logan grabs something above Wade and Wade puts both hands on his chest.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Wade asks.
“Making coffee?” Logan keeps shuffling around the top shelf. “Why did you put all the coffee shit up here?”
Wade’s hands slide down to Logan’s abs. He feels the muscle flex under his hands.
“I thought if I put it out of your way and as high as possible, you might feel closer to your comics-accurate self.”
Logan’s eyes shift to Wade. Those gorgeous brown eyes sink into Wade’s, who’s powerless to resist moving his palms over Logan’s bare shoulders. Logan sets down the coffee pod and wraps both arms around Wade. One hand smooths up and down his back while the other grabs his ass.
“Logan?” Wade says. His voice comes funny. Logan slowly starts pressing him into the counter, crotch aligned with Wade’s.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got pancakes cooking,” Wade says, pretending his heart isn’t doing pirouettes. It’s another one of these moments that just isn’t making any sense, because it’s occurring to Wade that Logan actually means the things he’s doing. Logan stares back at him, his gaze intense. Always so fucking intense. “And I’m starving for more than just your hips on mine. So back away and let me get to it.”
Logan’s mouth lands on Wade’s jaw, and Wade feels the warmth spread like fire on his face. Logan kisses mouth, and then his forehead. The forehead kiss is what shoots a bolt of anger through Wade. He doesn’t understand why it pisses him off; only that it does.
“Are there any there for me?” Logan asks.
“I am patently selfish, so my immediate response is no,” Wade replies. He scoots out from around Logan and Logan casually chases him around the kitchen. He pins Wade to the opposite countertop.
“Do you take bribes?”
“Nope!” Wade pops the ‘P’ in a way he knows grates on Logan. He pushes Logan hard enough to force him to take a few steps back, falling to the middle of the kitchen. A frown graces Logan’s beautifully aged face.
“All right. Sorry,” he says gruffly. “Jeez, you don’t have to push me. What’d I do to piss you off?”
That is the question, isn’t it?
“You said you’d watch Drag Race with me, but you find a way to bail every time.”
“You always want to watch first thing in the morning when I’ve got work.”
“And yet, my point stands.” Wade smooths his hands down his front. “I think I’ve been feeling a little out of it. And I got batter on my onesie. You get that, right?”
“Yeah, I get it. You don’t want me doing shit, you can say so. Just don’t fucking push me,” Logan says gruffly. He kisses the side of Wade’s head, grabs his own plate, and tosses half the pancakes on it without asking. Wade lets it go because he’s still reeling from the kiss and Logan flashes him with one of those annoyingly adorable toothy smiles.
To be fair, when Wade asked Logan to move in with him—roomies to roomies and everything that entailed—he hadn’t thought they’d actually fuck.
On his list of predicted outcomes, Logan following through with the shit that spewed from his mouth was so far on the list of likely outcomes he hadn’t considered the ramifications of his own actions until it was too late.
Said actions involved bloodshed. A lot of bloodshed. More than Wade usually tried to endorse, but he’d been having such a good time doing a little side hustle with Logan, and Logan kept looking at him with a sharky, pleased grin that he wore whenever he was enjoying tearing someone apart, and Wade might have stalled a little on finding the target.
The heels and maid outfit had been a particularly inspired choice. Any excuse to flash his enemies in every possible way was a win in his book. Plus, he just liked how it felt.
Logan had miraculously not even bothered to question his drip until they were surrounded by bodies and Logan had that beautifully murderous glaze over his eyes.
“Why the fuck are you wearing that?” he asked, blood on his claws and his neck and even on his jaw.
“Do you see this mess? Somebody has to be responsible for it.” Wade shimmied past Logan in the tight hallway they’d ended up in and stopped in front of him. “I have laid claim to these bodies, but I will graciously allow S.H.I.E.L.D or whatever entity we’re working with today to take care of this, because my wrists hurt from all the shooting.”
“Wouldn’t your wrist hurt more from the fucking katanas?” Logan shot back.
“Facts and logic don’t apply to me,” Wade said. He looked Logan up and down, then, because they were in a tight space and he hadn’t rage-baited him in at least a week, he struck a coquettish pose and flipped the back of his dress over his lower back.
“That was the wind,” he cooed. When Logan didn’t say anything, Wade snapped back into position and tried something else. At the very least he wanted to goad Logan into stabbing him. He barely did that anymore.
“Look at us stuck here together. Oh no, my leg!” He clutched it and hopped until he was almost touching Logan. “I’ve got a cramp.”
“The hell are you doing.”
“I’m cramping. Come on, keep up.” Wade threw an arm back. “My god, you could kiss me, and I couldn’t even stop you!”
Wade hopped again to really exemplify the cramp that had taken over his leg. He slammed into Logan, who grabbed him hard by the shoulders. Only then something very weird happened.
He steadied Wade instead of tossing him aside, and pushed him against the wall, on purpose.
“Ohh,” Wade cooed again. “You really could just do anything right now and I’d be powerless to stop you.”
Logan didn’t say anything. He licked his lips.
“I’d be powerless to stop you,” Wade repeated, assuming he mustn’t have heard. At Logan’s continued silence, he said again, raising his voice, “ I’d be— ”
“You’ve got three guns on your hip, idiot,” Logan finally said. Wade hadn’t expected his eyes would darken. He hadn’t thought Logan would roll up his mask with care in a way that startled Wade so badly he just sat there and did nothing while it happened.
“You got nothin’ to say now, mouth?” Logan said. “Good thing, ‘cause I’m gonna kiss you.”
He hadn’t thought Logan would kiss him. Actually kiss him, lips fully on Wade’s, his fingers sliding hot along Wade’s jaw. A sound left Logan’s throat that was thoughtful and warm and wanting.
The voices in his head finally got through and Wade kissed him back.
Of course he did! He wasn’t a fucking nun, and it was the Wolverine. Come on! Plus, Logan kissed with all the experience and skill of someone who could, in theory, be the world’s oldest sugar daddy.
After that impromptu makeout session, Wade said, “Don’t lift up my dress.”
Logan did him one better and slid his hand up his thigh under it.
“I’m ripping the dress offa you, bub.”
Fast forward to now, and Wade had to admit that was not enough exposition to encapsulate everything struggling to find footing in Wade’s brain about this whole situationship. But that was what the rest of the chapter was for.
The problem is that Logan keeps doing shit like that. He keeps saying sweet things and touching him softly and acting like Wade is—
“Wade!”
The snap of Logan’s voice cuts across the apartment. The shouting is probably because of the music.
A few days ago, Wade came back from a job. Nothing unusual there, only it was a long job. Long couple of weeks that went sour fast, but he pulled it back.
The moment he came home, he immediately settled on the couch and has barely moved since.
The job was fine.
Wade lies there and thinks about how fine it was. He’s been there for about three days, pouring junk food and takeout down his throat. He hasn’t eaten yet today, so he’s starving. Between him and Logan they go through so much fucking food, but he doesn’t want to get up.
“Wade!”
Logan’s voice turns angry. Angrier? Wade ignores it. The job was fine. He used to never even think about work when he came home in the past; there were other things on his mind. The stability that his relationship with Vanessa offered has gone down the drain, sure, but everything is just fine.
It's not that he wants to be with Vanessa—he's 99.99% over it—but recently Logan has been reminding him what that kind of relationship used to look like.
“Wade.”
Logan leans over the back of the couch.
“You’ve been blasting ABBA the entire fucking day,” he says. “Turn the music off or I will cut through that fucking speaker. ”
“I’ve been trying to connect with Thor—they put the last song in the recent movie,” Wade says. Mary is in between Wade’s legs; she doesn’t seem to mind the music. Though if she’s voiced an opinion, he hasn’t heard it. Hearing either of them over the banging sound from underneath their floor is a challenge: he can’t tell if it’s the neighbors trying to follow along to the beat of Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! or a desperate attempt to get him to stop playing it for the twelfth time in a row. It could really be either.
Logan stalks over to his speaker and slams his finger over the power button. It doesn’t break, miraculously. Wade sits up.
“And get over here and do these fucking dishes,” Logan says viciously, one clawed fist raised. Maybe the music had annoyed him more than Wade thought (and hoped and prayed).
“It’s not like I forced you to listen,” he says sweetly. “You could have asked me to turn it off. I’d like to point out that you never did until now.”
“I did. You just didn’t fucking hear me,” Logan growls.
Wade stands up and walks over to Logan. He’s only wearing one of his favorite pairs of underwear, a crop top, and his mask.
“Try harder next time. To come between me and ABBA, you have to try very hard,” Wade says, poking Logan’s side. Logan’s pissed off, so it’s a safe bet that he’ll react with all that sexy anger, only Logan just breathes through his nose through several breaths and shifts to face Wade fully. The claws snict back in his arms, and Logan’s eyes flick down. They do a long, vertical sweep back up that Wade can almost feel.
“I asked you to do the dishes yesterday,” Logan says. His hand lands on Wade’s hip. He steps closer, putting the other hand—rough and weighty—on Wade’s other side. His fingers dip under his waistband.
“No, you didn’t,” Wade says, because he can, and he can’t focus due to the fingers inching into his underwear.
“Yes, I fucking did. It’s mostly your crap in the sink. So walk this tight ass over there and do them.” He reaches behind Wade and squeezes, hands moving with greedy confidence. “What’s your shirt say? ‘Got milk’?” he reads off Wade’s croptop, fingering the hem. “What’s with you and cows?”
“The joke writes itself,” Wade says, and forces his voice to remain steady. “Suck my cock and I’ll consider it.”
Logan takes a step closer, bringing their hips into contact. “You keep offering, I might take you up on it. With you, I won't have to try that hard. I know what gets you going.”
“Offer’s always on the table. It’s huge,” Wade sidesteps around Logan, keeping his back towards the kitchen, and leans against the edge of the doorway. “Naked and aroused.”
After having music pounding in his head for the last few days, the silence feels especially strange. Logan leans his arm beside Wade’s head.
“Dishes,” he says, still a little angry but fading. His palm slid up the back of Wade’s thigh. “Then I’ll suck your dick, princess." He leans in and kisses the exact spot on Wade's neck that does get him going. His finger taps the side of Wade’s mask "Maybe then you’ll tell me what’s going on in there.”
Wade makes a sound and shoves Logan away from him. He wanders over to the sink, ripping off his mask along the way because he hates how the heat makes his face warm underneath, suddenly furious at Logan for making him do this and for—for doing. Existing.
Logan follows him. “Wade—"
“How am I supposed to do dishes in these enormous gloves?” Wade says, holding them up. “These are the kind of gloves I’d use clean up a body, not daily dish duty.”
“Those won’t tear a fucking hole every three weeks,” Logan says. “They don’t make shit like they used to, so it’s still half-shit, but it’s better than nothing.”
Logan opens his mouth. Closes it. Scratches his neck, then crosses his arms. He still hasn’t left.
“Don’t you have better things to do than stand here all day, hovering around me?” Wade says. It comes out nastier than he means it to, but Logan doesn’t rise to the bait.
“You wanna…that job…” Logan exhales through his nose. “How was it?”
“Went super great. Dragged on a longer than I wanted it to, but unlike you, I can swim.”
Weasel had warned him, and Wade ignored it. He should have known better than to ignore a bad vibe check.
“I can swim,” Logan says. “I just fucking sink is all.”
“We should get you some floaties. The inflatable kind that can double as a fashion choice.” He flicks water at Logan. “You already dress so poorly, no one will question it.”
“I’m not the one wearing cow print.” He pauses. “That show you were watching the other night,” Logan says, changing gears, leaning against the counter next to him while Wade does dishes. Wade doesn’t use the gloves. It’s a sensory nightmare, but it’s something to focus on.
“Show? You’ll have to specify. I consume an incredible amount of media at a rate that would terrify you. Mental health Tiktok would have a field day with me. Recently I’ve been re-watching all of Project Runway. I was almost a contestant, you know.”
“Uh huh.”
Wade keeps talking, and Logan just stands there listening. It takes another ten minutes and for Wade to start his usual rant on how Disney princess movies fundamentally changed after the success of Frozen when he realizes something.
“It just didn’t feel like the princess movies used to feel, you know?” He glances at the empty sink. “Hold up. I finished the dishes. What kind of fucking spell did you put on me, Logan?”
“I just sat here and didn’t say a word,” Logan drawls. The edge of his shirt is wet from where Wade splashed water. “I haven’t seen a lot of princess movies. But the other show,” Logan adds, reminding him. Wade flicks water in his face again. “Fuck— stop doing that. Murders in the building or something. The show you were watching. It was interesting.”
“You want to watch with me?” Wade moves away from the sink and Logan inserts himself into the space. His hand comes around Wade. “The show is fine, but I’m really here to support Selena. She never fully made it out of the Disney vortex.” He grabs Logan’s hand on his hip. “If we do, I’ll talk the entire time. Seriously, I don’t quit. Daddy didn’t raise no quitter.”
“I know,” Logan says. “You’re like my own personal DVD commentary.”
Wade rears back. “Was that almost a joke? And you know what a DVD commentary is?”
“I’m two hundred years old, not an idiot. Of course I fucking know.”
“Would you like to tell that to your flip phone?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. Instead of punching Wade in the shoulder, strangling him, or following up with any other popular option after a nearly 24-hour music marathon, he kisses Wade. His hand slides up and down Wade’s back, following the curve of skin under his shirt. His lips are soft and warm and dry. Mary comes running in from the living room and barks at their feet.
The feeling of discomfort that’s been roiling in Wade for days rises higher, burning a hole in his chest.
“You’re mad at me,” Wade says, pulling away.
“I’m not mad at you,” is Logan’s immediate reply.
“You were mad at me. You’re supposed to be mad at me.”
Logan runs a hand over the back of his head. “Look. The music was fucking loud. Figured you had a reason though, I don’t fucking know. You came back and you looked…that job you mentioned—did it go bad?”
“It was fine,” Wade says. He bends down to pet Mary Puppins. “I already said it went great.”
Logan eyes flick over Wade’s face, and Wade really wishes he’d put his mask back on. Logan keeps catching him off guard by not caring about his face, and he just wears it less, and he’s only realizing that now.
“Tell me about it,” Logan says.
“Nope. Unless you’ve got a hankering for gory details, I’d suggest you stop fucking asking.”
Logan glances towards the living room. His eyes flick back to Wade.
“Must have been crazy to let you blast the music for that long. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” Wade says, and has no idea what expression was on his face. “The show is called Only Murders in the Building. It’s about murder. In a building.”
“Let’s watch it,” Logan says.
They watch the show. On the couch, Logan eventually throws his arm behind Wade. He shifts closer to him, occasionally looking away from the screen to Wade, his intense, brown eyes especially brown and intense.
The heartburn that is Wade’s anger hasn’t gone away. He’s been angry for days, he’s realizing. The anger in him has nowhere to go—he was kind of hoping Logan would stoke the flames and they could work it out the only way he knows how.
“It sucked,” Wade says eventually. “Sucked balls. Massive ones like you wouldn’t believe. Hairy, too.”
“I thought her art was pretty good.”
Logan lazily points to the screen. Wade grabs his hand and points it at himself, taking a moment to run his fingers over the hair on Logan’s knuckles.
“The job I took. It was a bad tip. I made bad choices, and I spent way too long fixing them.” Wade lets his hand go and brings his legs up to his chest.
Logan is quiet while Selena destroys a precious piece of artwork on screen in a fit of rage. “It happens. Jobs don’t always go right. You’ll bounce back, give it some time.”
“I hope you give your daughter better pep-talks than this.”
“Hey.” Logan’s voice is a snap. “Knock it off.” He nudges Wade hard. “I’m trying to comfort you here when you haven’t exactly given me much. Don’t bring her up out of nowhere.”
“Then I’ll give you a pity A+ for effort, peanut,” Wade says, deciding to hell with it, and leans his head on Logan’s shoulder. Logan is stiff, probably because Wade brought up his daughter who is on barely-speaking terms with him, and his angry jaw vein is visible. “Sorry. There’s not much to give. I made mistakes. I’m always making them.”
“Everybody makes mistakes,” Logan says.
“Everybody has those days,” Wade replies. “In the wise words of Hannah Montana.”
Logan snorts, and they go quiet. Eventually Wade starts getting distracted by the show, and Logan’s arm comes around him again. Wade’s hands start to wander all over Logan on their own. It’s not like he can help it; Logan’s abs are basically magnetic, but Logan apparently doesn’t mind, eventually just grabbing onto one of Wade’s hands and rubbing it under his jaw.
“Are you trying to get me to turn this off and turn you on?” Wade says. “I’ve got sensitive fingers and your beard is very scratchy.”
“You turn me on all the time, so that won’t be hard, pretty boy,” Logan replies, shifting towards him. Heat washes over Wade’s face. A kiss hits the corner of Wade’s mouth, then his lips. Logan’s mouth slots over his, and Wade sighs into it. Kissing turns into making out, and he’s got his hands in Logan’s shirt, and Logan’s palms run up under his, digging into his shoulder blades.
The distraction is welcome. They make it to Logan’s bed, surrounded by Wade’s clothes he hasn’t put away—because his bedroom is closest to the washer and it’s a little bigger, which makes it the better spot to do folding that he never does—and Logan kisses his face, moaning every time their mouths meet like he’s been after it all night. Logan is so noisy during sex; he moans into kisses; sighs with relief whenever Wade touches just about any part of him, and when he comes, he gets louder than Wade.
“Wade,” Logan breathes into his mouth. He grunts when Wade slides into him, the hard plane of his abdominal muscles clenching tight. “Oh, fuck, yes. Been wantin’ you for weeks. You’ve been such a fucking tease. Always slipping right out of my fingers.”
“Should have left you wanting,” Wade says. “Emotional edging. That’s a thing, right?”
Logan reacts by cupping his face with both hands and laughing against Wade’s mouth in a way that feels rare and, fuck him, precious.
“Sure. Soon as I’m done with you, gorgeous,” he says. “Not letting you get away again. Now you’re all mine.”
That’s when it finally clicks.
“The problem is, I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do about this,” Wade says. “I realized too late that I have completely lost my touch. No strings? Who the fuck am I kidding! I have so many strings attached to Logan I can’t even count them all, and he keeps piling on more by playing Wolverine boyfriend of the year.”
Wade paces up and down the stairs, gesturing wildly.
“This thing we’ve got?” he continues. “It’s got an expiration date. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s long-term. I’ve never been good at long-term. I lost his keys three times the other week, and he only forgave me for one of them, because I only told him about one of them. Eventually he’s going to figure his shit out, and where does that leave me?”
He hasn’t felt like this since Vanessa. And that’s a problem. A big fucking problem.
“Spider-Man might not even be in this universe,” Wade adds. “So what am I supposed to do if I can’t visit the X-Mansion anymore, huh? Logan and the X-Men are a package deal. One day he’s going to run off with them, and then I’ll be here. You’ve seen the way he looks at me, the things he’s said. That’s not…”
It’s not meant for him. It was never meant for someone like him.
“I mean, what would the readers think?”
Vanessa’s door doesn’t offer him a response. It hasn’t opened—yet. Wade has already knocked twenty times in a row, and anything over nineteen is an emergency, so all he can do is wait and unload onto it.
In his pocket his phone rings. Wade ignores it.
Vanessa isn’t his first choice, mostly because their friendship doesn’t need a Logan-shaped problem in it, but Colossus and the X-Crew are too busy to pay him any attention, and if shit hits the fan with any of the X-people, word could get around. This is one word he doesn’t want to deal with, so it’s time for his last—and most capable—resort.
A minute later, the door opens. Wade perks up.
“Oh, Wade. Hey!” Vanessa’s mouth stretches into an uncertain, but warm smile. “I thought I heard you knocking.”
She opens her door wide, and Wade takes that as an invitation to walk inside. He’s full-suited, the mission so fresh even she can probably smell the gun smoke.
“You’re lucky I hadn’t left yet,” she says. “I was about to head to work. Where have you been? Logan has been looking for you.”
So between the last scene and this one, Wade might have taken a job that he didn’t tell a single soul about, including Logan. And maybe the mission went on for a little longer than Wade expected. It’s also possible that he allowed its conclusion to stretch past its end.
Wade takes in Vanessa’s apartment, noting the flowers sitting by the couch. Fresh. Wade tamps down the urge to ask who sent them.
“Is that blood on your shoes?” Vanessa asks.
“I’ve been busy. I just got back.” He turns to Vanessa, scuffing the floor in more dirt and possibly a little blood. “I need your advice, ‘Nessa.”
“My advice? Wh—oookay, let’s back this up.” She holds out both hands and skirts around him, grabbing a rag from the closet near the door. “You just walked in here in your suit, after being gone for weeks, covered in blood. I don’t need to worry someone’s going to burst through that door to come after you, do I?”
“It was overseas. It’s done. This is an entirely unrelated issue that I need your help on. Weeks doing murder haven’t helped like I thought.”
She motions to his boots. “All right, first, take those off. You are not tracking any more blood in here.”
Wade bends down to do just that when his phone starts ringing again. He ignores the call and instantly forgets about the blood a la shoe situation, because he knows who keeps calling.
“There’s…a pit in the ground,” Wade says. He picks a spot on the floor and points to it. “Right there.”
Vanessa blinks at him, crossing her arms. “Okay,” she says slowly.
Metaphors have never been his strong suit, but he trusts Vanessa has known him long enough to recognize he’s trying to make a point. She glances between him and his metaphorical hole.
“Pit or hole,” he adds.
“There’s a hole. Got it.”
“Everything I’ve fantasized about but never thought I’d get even the tiniest shred of a chance at having is in that hole. It’s life-altering. Possibly. That’s putting a lot of pressure on the hole—oh my god I just said that and meant it unironically.” He slaps both hands over his cheeks. “Fuck. Focusing. Anyway. Hole. Everything I could want.”
“Okay,” Vanessa continues, even slower. She moves to sit down in the living room chair. “So there’s a hole with a bunch of stuff that you want—”
“Possibly hopes and dreams, too.”
“But…”
Wade looks at Vanessa and thinks back to the last six years of his life.
“It could kill me.”
“Metaphorically or physically?”
“I don’t know!” He groans. “Maybe both. Maybe—and I cannot fucking believe we’re talking about holes and neither of us have made a single sex joke. Fuckhole, gloryhole, I’ll-stick-it-in-any-hole-you-want-just-name-a-time-and-place. Fuck.” With that out of the way, Wade takes a breath. “Okay. I’m fucking Logan and I might be in danger of falling in love with him.”
It just slips out, and it’s not what Wade meant to say at all. His vision blurs with how intensely adrenaline courses through his body.
Vanessa’s only reaction is to wander over to her couch, sit down, and sip on the drink she’d left on the side table.
“Yeah.” She shrugs and leans her arm on the edge of the couch. “You kind of told me that already.”
Wade tries to think back, temporarily pushing aside the fear and panic battling for dominance inside him. Like tongues, but feelings.
“I kissed and told? That’s not very ladylike of me.”
“When we had dinner here a couple months ago.” Vanessa shrugs again. “You said it without saying.”
Wade takes a step back. “I have no memory of this place…”
She shoots Wade a sharp, teasing smile. “You spent fifteen minutes describing the shape of Logan’s abs under your fingers. You started by calling it—"
“—if a six-pack had sex with a ten-pack and they had a baby,” Wade says as he remembers. “Shit.”
“Kind of clued me in,” Vanessa says, still smiling. She wrangles it in and then pats her knees. “And Wade, I know you. You didn’t have to tell me, because I know you. But I appreciate that you did anyway.”
“Yeah, you do know me.” Wade swallows. “So you’ll know that I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing here, Vanessa. And that scares the shit out of me.”
Vanessa stands and walks over to him. Her hands settle on his shoulders, and for a moment Wade has no idea what she’s going to do. She pushes him until he stumbles over the spot he pointed to earlier.
“Wade, whatever’s going on in your head,” Vanessa says, “if there’s anything else I know about you, it’s that you have never been afraid of a hole.”
Wade does feel bad about leaving Mary Puppins without a father for weeks. Logan isn’t home when he returns to their apartment, but Mary Puppins is, and she is so excited to see him.
“Yes, baby girl, daddy’s home! I’m sorry I left you, but I had to leave rather than confront my feelings to avoid getting them smashed into tiny pieces,” he coos. She wriggles in his arms, wildly licking his masked face until he sets her down, and then she dives for his bloodied shoes.
“Oh, no, not those. Wait—hold on, Mary, honey—”
The front door opens. Wade’s head snaps upward. His presence should be no surprise, but Wade thought Logan worked late, and he also planned on surprising him with some mouth-wateringly delicious take-out—his favorite from the ramen place a few doors down, number 6 on the spice scale because Logan likes having his mouth taste like hate—but instinct kicks in and Wade goes through the window.
Literally.
“Well that’s broken.”
He scales his way up to the roof. He has no idea if Logan has already walked inside and noticed the broken window—their AC was broken, so maybe it doesn’t really matter?—but Wade has only made it across maybe four rooftops when he hears footsteps from behind. Angry Wolverine-y foosteps.
“Wade!”
Instinct urges him to run and leap across three more before Logan tackles him from behind.
“Tackling me? Really? Haven’t we already done this before?” Wade groans, slamming his head against concrete. “Fuck, you went full on footballer. I think you cracked a few ribs.”
“Wade fucking Wilson.” Logan brackets Wade’s arms with his, hovering above him. “Look who decides to show the fuck up.”
Wade’s heart lurches. It lurches higher when Logan moves away from him, then lifts Wade and tosses him over his shoulder.
“Whoa, whoa, wolvie, this is not what I had in mind the last time we discussed you manhandling me.”
Logan adjusts Wade over his shoulder and starts walking. The view of his ass is absolutely riveting.
“Couldn’t find you,” Logan says. “Looked all over; eventually talked to Cable. He suggested paying your friend Weasel a visit. Learned you took a job, so. I waited. Finally caught your scent this morning.”
Logan’s sentences are clipped and to the point: in other words, daddy’s angry.
“I don’t recall asking how you knew I’d be home,” Wade says. He’d been looking for him? Was he not at work because he was waiting for Wade to show up?
“Where the fuck did you go?” Logan asks.
“Look, this is a level of humiliation we have to discuss before its execution,” Wade continues. “You have your hand on my ass. You know I can’t concentrate when you put it there.”
He hears Logan’s huff. Because Wade has been tossed over his shoulder, and he’s decided he’s going to just let this happen, he crosses his arms and stares at Logan’s ass. What Logan’s detractors don’t understand is that Logan did hit the ass lottery; with all the padding in his suit, its voluptuous shape is disguised as a suggestion in need of exploration.
“Wade, stop touching my ass.”
“Get your fat ass out of my face,” Wade says.
Logan is quiet for a moment—there’s also the rooftop that he leaps across—before he says, “Do you even—you left for weeks and didn’t say a fucking word to me about it.”
Was it really that long? “Well, consider that I don’t owe you anything.”
They cross another rooftop. Wade’s stomach keeps swooping in an awful way that’s not because of all the blood slowly rushing to his head.
“Sure, you don’t ‘owe’ me. But you missed rent,” Logan says. “I know you had your phone. It went to voicemail after ringing every fucking time.”
“I’ll pay you back,” Wade says. “The job was easy money. I only died twice.”
“You could have said something to me.”
“You didn’t care before,” Wade says. “For months you couldn’t look anyone in the eye. I disappeared all the time. So did you. Neither of us told each other anything. You didn’t care before, so why now, buttercup?”
“I didn’t think I had to fucking tell you to give me a call at this point before disappearing for a month! You didn’t even fucking text me!”
Usually Wade spams Logan on the daily with emojis, memes, or other pieces he’s pulled from the viral cesspool. Sometimes Logan will try to decipher a gif or a jpeg, but usually he gives up and stops replying. Wade had done none of that this time.
“Is a month accurate? How many days are we talking? Genuinely not remembering here.”
Logan stops moving. His ass flexes. Wade tries not to find it hot. Logan’s shoulder pad is pinching his suit which is pinching his stomach, which already feels bad from all the guilt.
“Just tell me one thing. What is this about, really?”
“Did you put in a maintenance request to fix the broken AC?” Wade asks. “I noticed it was broken but left before I could be bothered to do anything about it.”
Logan inhales, and then exhales.
“You know, when you do shit like this, it makes me so fuckin’ mad, and I keep asking myself: ‘why do I even fucking bother’?”
Wade is silent for long enough that Logan starts moving again.
“Why do you bother?” Wade finally says quietly.
Logan swears, a soft fuck that makes Wade’s stomach lurch.
“Because I know you’re not doing it on purpose,” Logan says. “I mean, you do. But I know something’s up, and I’m shit at getting out of you whatever’s going on, so for once I’m gonna keep you here until you just fucking tell me.”
“That’s a tall order. Even I don’t know most of the time,” Wade says. He’s only half-joking.
There’s a long, pointed pause. A pregnant one, even. Wade doesn’t want it to give birth, but Logan stands there, his anger like a cloud that Wade is choking on. It fills his chest until the words burst out.
“Look, I—you—you fucking ruined it, okay?” Wade says, when he can’t take it anymore. “You broke it, Logan. You fucked it all up.”
“Broke what?”
“I left because…it’s not fucking fair. You…you just...fuck, Logan, you cracked my fucking heart open. Don’t you see that?”
Logan sets him down. He doesn’t toss Wade; doesn’t throw him. There’s not even any stabbing. He sets him down carefully and looks him in the eye.
“Why’d you fucking leave?” Logan asks.
“Because you keep doing it,” Wade says. “Making me think…look, I thought time away would maybe make me remember how easy it is to be alone, but it’s not easy anymore. You’re there and I’m there and now—” Wade spreads his hands helplessly “—now I don’t know how to close it back up.”
“Wade—”
“And even now—I mean, come on! You didn’t throw me off the roof; you didn’t shove your shiny, sharp knives into me; you didn’t even leave and decide I wasn’t worth it. Which you probably should have done.”
“Wade, we’re in a relationship,” Logan says. This is news to Wade.
“We are?”
“I was in a bad fuckin’ way and did a lot of shit I’m not proud of, including the way I treated you, but I wouldn’t just gut you for the hell of it anymore.” Logan pauses and raises a hand. “And did you seriously just say ‘we are’ like you don’t even know?”
There’s not enough brainpower to process that, so Wade ignores it.
“That’s not—but—we’re—we weren’t supposed to be like this!” Wade insists. “This isn’t us! You’re angry, and I’m a mess, and you weren’t supposed to treat me like—like—"
Logan steps forward. “Like you matter to me?”
“Yes! It took me six. Fucking. Years to close it all back up after Vanessa. I can’t—” Wade hands glide up to the sides of his head. “I can’t do it again. It’s happening and I can’t do it again.”
Logan’s eyes scan Wade’s face. “Then don’t close it back up.”
“Oh fuck off, don’t give me that!” Wade snaps. “I’m not the one. I know I’m not the one. I’m just a stepping stone on the path of your recovery, be honest.”
Logan walks up to Wade, all determination and confidence, and Wade shoves his fist into Logan’s gut. Logan doesn’t react.
“You are not a fucking stone,” Logan says. “I like you for you, Wade. Nobody else. Stop punching me.”
“I’m not punching you.” Wade shoves his fist into Logan’s gut again. “If I was really punching you, you’d actually feel it. You probably don’t even feel this through your suit.”
“I feel it. Stop—stop it.” Logan grabs his left hand, which is doing the punching. Wade pulls out Baby Knife with his right hand, and Logan grabs that one, too.
“You’re seeing someone else,” Wade says. “You’re not seeing me.”
“I am seeing you, Wade. Who the fuck else would I be looking at?”
“Literally anyone else worth your time? I know about Jean—who doesn’t, at this point in the multiverse—and all your other former lovers who were probably—”
“You’re nothing like her,” Logan says, point blank. It stings. “Nothing like any of them. And that’s a good thing, trust me. You’re not them. You’re you.”
“Then you should know that I’m not all these—these fucking things. I’m not sweet or nice or cute and I’m not fucking beautiful.” Wade rips his hands away. He points Baby Knife at Logan. “Do you have any idea how you’ve been making me feel? You keep fucking with my head, Logan, and that ain’t right. I fuck with my own head enough that I don’t need you doing it, too.”
“You’re not sweet,” Logan says. He catches Wade’s wrist when Baby Knife tries her best to gut Logan. “Most of the time. You make a living offa bein’ an asspain. You’re hurting. All the fucking time.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, peanut. When everything hurts, nothing hurts.”
“Yeah,” Logan says. “Yeah, I know. I know, because I see you. Every fucking day.”
Wade is glad for his mask, because that gets him in a way he doesn’t anticipate. Baby Knife falls to his side. And like Logan is out to prove he’s out to strike down all his defenses, he steps closer to Wade and reaches for the velcro at the back of his neck. Wade’s hands land on Logan’s.
“Why are you doing this?” Wade asks.
“I do see you, Wade.” Logan’s fingers tighten over his. “Nobody else, no other version of you. Just you.”
“That’s why I’m fucking terrified,” Wade admits. Logan keeps gently tugging, and Wade’s fingers are starting to slip. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Really sure? How sure are you?”
“Pretty sure,” Logan says. He moves his hands over Wade’s and keeps gently pulling.
“I’ve forgotten rent at least four times now,” Wade says. “My laundry has not left your bed in three months. I just keep moving the pile around and replenishing it.”
“The clothes smell like you,” Logan says, like that’s an appropriate answer; like it doesn’t shove that crack wide open. “I’m just trying to be with you, Wade. Nobody else. You. I don’t need you to be fucking perfect. You think I am?”
“It’s not the first word that comes to mine. The first one is sl—”
“When we went to the X-Mansion,” Logan interrupts, “I lost my shit before we got within a mile.”
“Ghosts of all your dead friends. Not so easy to go say hi,” Wade says weakly.
X-23—Laura—goes to school there. Logan hasn’t seen her much. She’s come by, once. Logan has said they meet for coffee or brunch sometimes.
That day had been a bad one for Logan. He’d tossed his lunch, lashed out, and then started walking home without a word. He spent the rest of the week in a bad fucking mood.
“You didn’t try to pry it out of me,” Logan says. “Didn’t ask questions like you always do. you didn’t—you just let me be. We didn’t even see anybody, but you didn’t say a word. And you cooked. You’re a great cook but you pretend you’re not. I wish I knew why, because you make a mean vodka sauce.”
“The act of putting food on the table requires regularly buying groceries. You think I can afford to jiggle around the marbles in my brain for something like that? In this economy?”
“I buy the groceries. Don’t know the last time you set foot in a store with me.”
“It was sixth months ago,” Wade says immediately, the answer coming out of nowhere. “We had an entire conversation about garlic covered in plastic. I remember because…”
Logan had been irritated all night, complaining and grumbling while Wade rambled on. Then Wade started ranting about the waste created via individually plastic-wrapped garlic bulbs. Logan had told him to shut it, but then threw a bunch of junk food that Wade liked in the cart, which stuck with Wade, because he couldn’t remember telling Logan he liked them.
“They don’t have jalapeño ones. You like ranch?” Logan had asked.
“How’d you know I like jalapeño pretzels?” Wade asks. Logan blinks at him and takes the non-sequitur in stride.
“You eat a bag of those a week, at minimum, bub. Don’t know how they get them to smell like that, but it makes the apartment stink something fierce. Hard not to notice.” He pauses, watching Wade through careful eyes. “Let me ask you something.”
“I don’t see how I can stop you at this point.”
“I thought maybe I was…I don’t know, didn’t realize you were feeling the way you felt. You hate the stuff I called you? The, uh, pet names? You never said anything to me.”
“Because I don’t hate them.” It’s another admission, one that finally makes Wade’s hands drop. Logan pulls his mask away from his face and Wade counts to five. “It’s not about the things you call me.”
“They make you feel bad?” Logan asks.
“They make me feel good,” Wade admits.
“You tell me to stop, I’ll stop. But until then, I’m gonna keep tellin’ it like I see it. You are beautiful, Wade. I think you’re pretty, honestly speaking.”
“But I’m not worth it,” Wade says.
“Yeah, you are,” Logan replies.
Wade’s chest heaves. He doesn’t say anything. Logan cups his cheeks and kisses him full on the mouth, his lips rough from the wind cutting into them.
“AC’s still broken,” Logan says when they break away. “Haven’t been home much to bother with it. Give me some time and I could probably fix it myself.”
Wade rears back. “You want to give a landlord free help? That’s like if you told me you pay taxes.” He pauses. “Do you pay taxes?”
Logan just laughs; it’s a deep, bellied laugh. Wade’s heard it only a handful of times, and what he said wasn’t even remotely funny.
Logan does not confirm whether his taxes are paid. Instead, he steals another kiss from Wade.
“Let’s go home,” Logan says. “C’mon.”
Wade cleans up the remains of their window once they get inside. It’s cool outside, so the broken AC isn’t so bad. A little stuffy.
“What kind of relationship did you think we were in?” Wade asks.
“Guess I just figured…” Logan shrugs. “Boyfriends makes it sound like we’re kids, but it’s what I’ve been using.”
“What you’ve been using,” Wade repeats. He runs both hands over his head, mouthing what the fuck.
“Vanessa was right,” Logan mutters. “I’m so fucking bad at this.”
“You don’t say,” Wade wheezes. He’s been talking with Vanessa?
“A lot of my relationships just happened or…they weren’t defined. I thought—” Logan chuckles “—fuck, don’t know what I thought.”
“We’ll talk about that, and I’ll freak out about it later. Makeup sex now, please.”
Since Wade’s bed is now covered in glass shards, they end up in Logan’s room. Wade’s pile of laundry is still on Logan’s bed. He recently washed most of it (he’s almost certain nothing dirty is mixed in), so it takes up a good portion of the bed.
Logan shoves the pile to the floor.
“Doesn’t smell much like you anymore,” he says in defense. He turns and grabs Wade, pulling him into a series of searing kisses.
“I need to—to shower,” Wade says in between kisses. “You would not believe the wedgy I have been enduring for the last four hours.”
“I’ll shower, too,” Logan says. He plants a kiss under Wade’s ear and stays there, his nose puffing against his skin. Wade remembers he took a gunshot just below his ear and didn’t bother cleaning the blood away. “Or we could skip it. Haven’t gotten to fuck you in weeks.”
“It’s completely possible I haven’t showered the entire time I’ve been gone as a form of self-punishment. Ew,” Wade adds, as Logan licks the blood away from his ear, like it hasn’t made his cock hard almost immediately. A low chuckle bursts out of him when Logan nips at a ticklish spot just under his ear.
His laughter fades as Logan claims his mouth. Wade pushes Logan onto the bed, and as he crawls on top of him—probably smearing flakes of dried blood from Wade’s suit on the sheets—Logan’s lips curve, lopsided and sweet, his nose scrunching a little. It’s uncomfortable. Wade could be happy if they never moved.
“You could fuck me like this,” Wade offers. He pauses. “I was going to surprise you, you know. Get take-out and give it to you as my metaphorical bouquet of flowers. I had big plans. You came early and spooked me.”
“You don’t get spooked,” Logan points out.
“Maybe I do when it’s you.” Wade cups Logan’s face with both hands. “I really like you, Logan.”
Logan’s lip quirks. “Well, I like you, too.” He runs his fingers down Wade’s front. “I kept worrying that I’d fucked up. That I kept fucking up. You always joke around and tease the shit out of me, but every time I tried to make it happen, it seemed like the wrong move. Guess I know why.”
Wade hears himself say, “Maybe I’m still having some trouble believing you want me for…me.” He squishes Logan’s face with his hands. “Vanessa didn’t even want me, and she was—I thought she was the one. Who else was going to put up with this ugly mug? My killer personality only goes so far.”
“I’m not Vanessa,” Logan says, “and sometimes shit happens. I’m trying…I’m trying to be a better man. The kind that doesn’t go around hurting the people he likes.”
“But I like the stabbing. When it’s time for stabbing. We haven’t sparred literally at all since we started living together, and my skills are getting rusty.” Wade shoves Logan backwards. “ Rusty, Logan! I mean, it’s a complete lie, but the point stands.”
“Tomorrow,” Logan says. At Wade’s look of surprise, he shrugs. “I’m off, so we’ll see just how rusty you are.”
“Loser gets fucked,” Wade says, bouncing excitedly on the bed. “Speaking of—"
Wade scoots to the edge of the bed. After he sheds his suit, Logan follows him into the bathroom. Stepping up behind Wade, he slides his hands up Wade’s abdomen and holds him in front of the mirror.
“Are you trying to get me to shatter this one?” Wade asks, only half-joking. Logan kisses the side of his neck, mouth gliding along his skin.
“Wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” Logan says. “Took me a while to notice, but because of your healing, your skin’s always changing. It’s like—like lace. Or, uh, waves.”
Wade snorts. “Waves?”
“Like the…ocean.” Logan’s cheeks flush. “It sounded better in my head.”
“Never thought of it like that,” Wade says. “Huh.”
It’s…fuck him, it’s so fucking stupid and adorable. Wade tries to see what Logan does, staring at himself with attempted objectivity. Logan’s eyes in the mirror are heavy, plastered against Wade hard enough that he can feel his dick pushing into Wade half-mast.
Logan’s palm drifts down. “Come on, pretty boy, let’s clean up before I make a mess of you.”
They make it to the shower, and Logan can’t keep his hands away. He ‘helps’ by hindering Wade at every available opportunity and distracting Wade into doing the same. When they’re cleaned up and ready for a fuck, Logan has another surprise for him.
Wade gasps dramatically as Logan lifts the toy from its box.
“Prostate massager,” Wade whispers. “Fuck, yes! Are we using this on me? On you? I’m good with anything.”
“Tried this once a long time ago and it didn’t really do much for me.” Logan runs his thumb along the silicone. The toy is a beautifully bright teal. “Figured since you were so excited about it, I’d help you out. See what all the fuss is about first. I can give it a go another time.”
Wade pulls it out of his hands to inspect it. “I’ve got a few of these lying around somewhere, but I haven’t seen this one before.”
“Bought it recently.” Logan crowds him against the bedsheets, peppering his face in kisses. Wade picks up the lube he stashed under the pillow, and Logan takes it from him.
“You could do anything to me right now and I’d be powerless to stop you,” Wade says, throwing his leg over Logan’s hip. When Logan doesn’t recognize his reference right away, Wade says again, “I’d be—”
“I don’t like you powerless,” Logan says, moving his hand between Wade’s thighs. He pauses to pour some lube on his fingers before he slips them between Wade’s cheeks, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his hole. He watches Wade’s face when he buries one inside.
“This is cute, but we are not wasting our day like this,” Wade says. He grabs the massager and shoves it at Logan’s hand until he takes it. “Swap those fingers out for this little baby, and while you’re at it, stop staring at my face. Or at least turn the light off.”
“I can see in the dark,” Logan reminds him. “And it’s daytime.”
Logan pushes Wade flat on his back and scoots in between his legs.
“You sure?” Logan asks, though he’s already inserting the lubed toy by the time Wade is ready to threaten him. The cool, unyielding silicone presses at his hole, and then gradually slides inside. With his eyes still glued to Wade’s face, Logan’s hand shifts out of view.
The toy starts vibrating. Wade clenches automatically, which succeeds only in pulling it more snugly inside him.
“This one’s bigger than the ones I usually use,” he tries to say, but all that leaves his mouth is a low groan. Logan moves to kiss him, running his nails down the length of Wade’s side. He twitches, jerking his head out of the way, and Logan latches onto his throat. Wade wraps his arms around his shoulders, dragging his nails down Logan’s back. Logan hisses, the kind that means he did something right, so Wade does it again, harder. He drags his nails down Logan’s arm. Logan’s eyes flash.
He abruptly scoots back, head dropping down, and Logan suddenly goes down on Wade hard, sucking Wade’s dick in his mouth like he’s given head a thousand times before. Maybe he has; Wade cannot possibly remember in that moment.
“I was gonna—Jesus, Logan—”
The vibrations intensify while Logan’s head bobs, swallowing down more of Wade’s dick. Wade really wishes his eyes weren’t rolling back so he could watch.
“Fuck. Peanut, your mouth.” Wade gasps—audibly gasps—when the wet heat of Logan’s mouth slides off his cock only seconds later. Wade’s hips rise to chase it, but Logan has moved on to his balls while his hands replaces where his mouth was. He jerks Wade’s cock a little harder than Wade usually does, but he’s not complaining.
“So not complaining,” he says out loud, his hips unable to decide which direction to take, “but I don’t know if it’s just you, the massager, the never-ending cancer, or the magic of Macy’s, but I’m—I’m going to come, peanut, and I don’t want to come yet. If you don’t stop, I’ll only last another five seconds.”
Logan’s layers his balls in attention, licking and sucking on both until Wade’s hand shoots out and he fists Logan’s hair. His mouth envelops Wade’s cockhead again.
“Thank you Madonna,” Wade says to the ceiling. “Thank you, me, AKA Marvel Jesus AKA the savior of Marvel. I have never felt closer to happiness than when the Wolverine’s sucking me like I’m a boba ball stuck in a tiny straw.”
“Wade,” Logan says over his cock, “shut the fuck up and come.”
The toy is still pulsing directly over Wade’s prostate and his taint, and even on one of the lowest settings it’s relentless in its pursuit to pull an orgasm out of Wade. He’s battling both sides and losing fast. Faster, when Logan swallows him down into his throat.
“Fuck.” Wade’s hips buck up into his mouth. “Fuck fuck, fivefourthreetwo—"
When Wade comes, Logan pulls his head away and strokes his cock until Wade’s voice cracks. His hips keep working up into Logan’s palm until the pleasure crests into an uncomfortable place and he shoves Logan’s hands away, curling in on himself. Almost immediately he arches the other way, because Logan hasn’t switched off the toy.
Wade squirms, moaning, “Fucking fetal was a mistake.”
He reaches back behind himself, fully intent on getting to the main course, but then Logan stops him at the wrist and rolls Wade onto his side, settling behind him.
“Peanut? You know I love you manhandling me, but watcha doin’ there?”
Logan inserts his leg between Wade’s, using it to part Wade’s thighs while he prods at the toy.
“You think you could come on your own with this?” Logan asks, his voice low and smoky with arousal.
Wade’s throat makes sounds he doesn’t sign off on. It doesn’t help that Logan strokes his softened cock with one hand, the other exploring his chest and stomach. He grabs a handful of one pec and gingerly massages his fingers around where Wade’s areola used to be before he became part Ken doll. His fingers draw a circle, and Wade’s hand twitches over Logan’s.
“Daddy doesn’t have much feeling there, sweetie,” Wade says, which Logan clocks immediately.
“Daddy’s a fat fucking liar.”
Super cancer may have wiped away his nipples, but somehow it made the whole area more sensitive. Logan’s fingers rub over his chest while his hand keeps stroking Wade’s still soft cock. The position isn’t the best for the toy to hammer on his prostate, but then Logan does Wade a favor by pulling Wade’s free leg closer to his chest.
For a few seconds, all Wade can do is moan at the intensity of the sensations pulverizing him from all sides.
“To answer your earlier inquiry, t-trick question: is there a way I don’t know how to come from assplay?” Wade manages, at length. “Do not underestimate the amount of time I’ve wasted away masturbating in bed. You ever had the kind of prostate orgasms that make you never want to come any other way?”
Logan’s silence tells Wade all he needs to know.
“Oh, sweetie. Pumpkin. You have no idea how good tickling the prostate can get. I’ve got—” he tries not to squirm as Logan’s hand keeps running over his chest “—got prostate orgasms down to a science. It can be tricky for me, though.”
Logan’s beard brushes the side of Wade’s head. He tilts Wade’s face towards him and starts kissing him, shoving his tongue into Wade’s mouth. He tastes like cigars and something sweet he must have had for lunch. Logan has a surprising sweet tooth. Wade licks around his teeth, and Logan pulls his head away, his signature nose-wrinkle in place.
“How tricky?”
“Well, you made me come, so that was mistake number one.”
“Good thing you’ve got a few more in you,” Logan purrs. He may not fully understand what he’s missing out on, but the erection prodding at his ass tells Wade he gets it enough to want to see it happen.
“With you looming at my back, I can make it work. It’s already working.”
Logan’s rough palm strokes the length of Wade’s throat, lingering at the base of his neck. His other hand starts lightly stroking him, but he’s not trying to make Wade come.
“You should see the look on your face,” he says. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. You want it bad enough I can taste it.”
Wade hand slaps Logan’s thigh, gripping his muscled hip. Logan’s fingers send shockwaves down his spine every time they draw a circle on his chest.
“Little—little slower,” Wade breathes. He means the toy, but Logan slows down everywhere. His hand slows in its glide down to Wade’s thigh, gradually massaging his skin while Wade’s hips twitch rhythmically, each pulse of the toy driving him closer to his destination. He feels fingers touch his rim. Logan makes an appreciative, rumbly sound in his throat.
“Can I keep touching you? Want to see you come, Wade. C’mon, pretty boy, what d’you need me to do?”
Guh. “Not—not sure it’s gonna happen,” Wade admits, with a low giggle of something akin to embarrassment. “Also, granting you blanket permission to use pet names was a mistake.”
“Guess I’ll have to keep you here until we make it happen. We’ve got all day.”
Logan goes back to running his hands up and down Wade’s chest and stomach. He ruts against Wade’s thigh, sighing into his shoulder, impatient but clearly unwilling to move on.
Wade starts to think he might never make it to orgasm-land, that all he’s going to get is a hot serving of overstimulation until he ultimately gives up on the attempt, and then Logan licks a long stripe up his throat, and the toy shifts a little inside him again and finally something clicks.
“Don’t move,” Wade barks. He gently works his hips, clenching against the toy as the feeling builds. Soft expletives burst from his mouth. The heat inside him burns molten.
“Fuck,” he breathes, arching into Logan’s hand over his chest. “Fucking prostate orgasms, oh, fuck yes.”
Shoving his nose into Wade’s neck, Logan says, “fuck, you smell nice when you come.”
“I smell when I come?”
“Yeah,” is all Logan says. It’s either that or the teeth digging into his throat that does it, but Wade rolls into another that then rolls into another, and he’s tapped into whatever magic was missing before. The hot waves build, and Wade stops being aware of the sounds he’s making, only that Logan is breathing hard in his ear, hips rolling slowly into Wade as they keep growing in intensity.
“You’re leaking like a fucking faucet. Jesus. So fuckin’ wet. Sweetheart, we’ll need to change the sheets if you keep squirting.”
Wade’s face burns hot. “Don’t even need—need my healing factor for this,” he says. The toy pounding his prostate means he really is constantly leaking. Logan’s fingers wrap around his cock and Wade grabs his wrist. “Ohmyfuckinggod don’t fucking touch me or I’ll come.”
Ignoring him, Logan’s hand strokes him slowly, collecting the excessive precome drooling out of his slit and working it over his cock. The thing about hitting the prostate-well is that the orgasms go on and on—as long as he can keep himself there. The pleasure keeps cresting, wave after unbreaking wave. Wade only realizes how loud he’s being when his voice breaks.
“Wade,” Logan breathes into his neck. “Bet I could keep you here all night, and you'd thank me for it. You talk a lotta big shit. Teasing me. Baiting me. But end of the day, you like it when I’ve got you right where I fuckin’ want you.”
Logan’s claws snick out across his abdomen, barely nicking his skin. The shock of that combined with the massager ramping up—courtesy of a couple taps on the remote from Logan—makes Wade moan so hard it feels like all the air collapses out of him at once.
“I’mfgh— Logan.” His entire body trembles at the end of a wave. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, only that eventually after it ends, he gasps, “Logan, if you don’t get inside me and fuck me right fucking now, I’ll take Baby Knife and I’ll shove her up your ass.”
“I’m shocked you lasted this long,” Logan says. “You’re usually a bigger cockslut than this.”
Logan lifts Wade’s leg and tugs at the toy, so Wade abandons all pretense of being anything but a cockslut. “Fuck, yes, please. I am so ready to come. Please. From your dick. And my dick. Get inside me.”
Logan pulls the toy out slowly, letting Wade feel every vibrating inch before he turns it off and sets it to the side. Wade shifts onto his hands and knees, and Logan is much faster to lube up and move into place with his cock in hand. Wade is still very much worked up from the prostate pounding, so when Logan starts lazily fucking him, the remaining wave crashes over him.
“You motherfucker and your stupid fucking dick,” Wade says, slurring his words in pleasure. “Your sloppy insertion shouldn’t feel this good.”
“Yeah?” Logan asks. Wade’s grunt melts into a moan when he kisses the back of his neck. “Don’t act like you weren’t gagging for a second ago. Sheets are soaked. I think you like it just fine.”
Logan doesn’t wait for his answer. He drops a hand to Wade’s hip and shoves his cock in Wade hard. Wade’s already close.
“Finally gone quiet? Where’s that mouth gone, Wade?”
“It all leaked out of me with my come. Harder.” Wade grabs Logan’s flexing hip and shifts onto one elbows, trying to match Logan’s pace. Logan’s mouth edges over his shoulder, but he doesn’t kiss or even bite. He hovers, inhaling.
Wade has barely stroked himself twice before his orgasm hits him so hard he whites out. After all the buildup, it feels incredible. He’s vaguely aware of how wet the bed is under his knees from how much come bursts out of him. It would be embarrassing if he gave a single fuck, and if Logan wasn’t moaning in his ear like it’s the sexiest thing he’s seen all night as he starts fucking Wade in sharp, vicious strokes.
Wade coasts on the idea of getting hard again for a few seconds when Logan groans loudly, shoving his cock into Wade with hard rolls of his hips. “You were so fuckin’ sexy. Could smell what it did to you.”
Logan finishes coming inside him, hips surging hard against his ass until he finally pulls out. Afterwards, Logan sits back and runs both hands over his hair.
“We need to do this again,” Wade says. “I mean it. Full-on, 24-hour sex marathon.”
Wade scoots to the side of the bed that isn’t covered in fluids and spreads eagle. Logan sits there silently for a beat, and then evidently decides to lie on top of him.
“You are so heavy,” Wade wheezes, but Logan doesn’t move, and Wade doesn’t ask him to. “How am I supposed to run away when you treat me like this?”
“Maybe I’ve been trying to keep you around,” Logan says. He shuffles downward until his head is pillowed by Wade’s chest. As far as weighted blankets go, it’s not bad, only Logan’s feet have to be hanging off the bed. Wade strokes his hair while Logan continues, “And I’m not letting you bail out on rent anymore. I can’t keep covering for us both.”
“Do I get an extra month’s pardon if I say I love that you covered for me?”
Logan just nuzzles into Wade and pats his hip. “Don’t fucking count on it.”
“I feel like I should be saying something else to end this whole thing. Like that I’m sorry for…” He sighs. “For being me these last few months, I guess. The hamster in my brain’s gotten tired, and it’s all up to me to think now, and we both know that all roads lead to disaster.”
“I only want you to be you,” Logan says. “You’re not an idiot.” A beat goes by. “All right, sometimes you’re an idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot?” Wade says, fluttering his lashes.
“Yeah.” Logan lifts his head and smiles. “And sometimes I’m the idiot. I feel stupid as fuck about all this.”
“I could have told you how I felt, but I didn’t think there was anything to tell. And where would the story be then?” Logan shifts back up to Wade’s face, and Wade raises his hands to the sides of Logan’s. He has about thirty seconds until Logan’s elbow crushes his ribs. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve already got my social media lineup ready to announce the Wolverine and Deadpool are officially going steady.”
Logan snorts. “Don’t know what you see in me.” He scratches his chin, looking shy suddenly. “I’m not…not him. I’m no hero. Don’t put me on a pedestal.”
“We’re past pedestals. I know what you sound like when you snore and shit,” Wade says. He strokes Logan’s cheeks. “You don’t have to be a hero. Just be Logan.”
Logan turns his face into Wade’s palm, inhaling. “All right. Long as you’ll have me.”
“Don’t say those words to an immortal, because I am capable of so much time.”