Honey, Come Over

by OliverOX

Summary:

Logan tries to get sober for Wade - Wade thinks he's getting sober for the X-Men

Notes:

FINALLY posting this first chapter !! holy shit I've been kicking this fic idea around for fucking months

updates might be slow as all hell, fair warning - I have two other fics still ongoing in "Everyone Wants Him" that need finished & that series is kinda always priority BUT I do have this whole thing outlined out

this whole fic is based off of "Orange Juice" by Noah Kahan so if you wanna give that a listen for the vibes :)

Chapter 1: Orange Juice (pt. 1)

Logan stands in the kitchen in front of the open fridge, a deep frown on his handsome face. The party Wade planned to make up for his previous birthday drones on behind him. 

“What’s wrong, Wolvie? I get the wrong kind of shitty beer? – I admit, I took a gamble. Guy at the store said it tasted like an old gym sock and I figured, hey, that’s one step up from straight rubbing alcohol at least ,” Wade comes up behind him, slapping a warm hand on Logan’s shoulder. One thing Logan’s learned is that he’s never afraid to touch him. 

He doesn’t startle at his hand, had smelled and heard Wade approach, even over the din of the party going on the living area. Logan grunts in dissatisfaction, barely stopping himself from slamming the fridge door with all his weight. That’s the last thing he needs to do right now, break the apartment of the only person in the last three decades who could stand to look at Logan for longer than ten, disgust-filled seconds, let alone ask to take him home. 

“Logan?” 

Another thing about Wade; he doesn’t let things go without a conversation. Logan can growl and snarl all he wants, apparently. When it comes to him, Wade has the patience of a saint. He’ll wait until Logan uses his “big boy words”. There’s a pit in Logan’s stomach when he thinks about how much he already knows about the merc, just from a few days' journey together. A scary amount. 

“I don’t think I want that,” is all Logan manages to say, voice rough and ragged, carefully avoiding Wade’s eye as he turns to lean against the counter next to his hip. Implication sits heavy in his words and he begs the stupid multiverse, the one that’s apparently in charge of everything in Logan’s miserable life, that Wade picks up on what he’s saying-but-not-saying. 

He just knows, deep down in the part of himself that doesn’t lie, that if he really wants to do better, become a better man in this off the wall, completely unexpected second chance that Wade’s given him, he has to give up drinking. He has to break the cycle – hold himself accountable and refuse to slip into bad, old habits no matter how comfortable and familiar they are. 

“That’s okay, peanut, I’ll pawn it off on Peter or something. Ness brought something a little more expensive, do you wanna try that?” Wade flutters his hands, just waiting for Logan’s cue to start mixing him a drink, but it never comes. 

Logan’s face goes red, feet shuffling on the shitty tile. Oh . 

“Or—,” Wade pivots, desperate to salvage this small moment of honesty? Vulnerability? It’s something. Something big enough for Logan to clam up and get shy about. “Or, how about this?” He rifles in the fridge, shoving old take out and boxes of cans out of the way. He finds a carton of orange juice deep in the back, a little frosty ‘cause the fridge runs cold enough to nearly freeze things back there. Unexpired and sealed. Bingo. Yahtzee. Perfect. 

He brandishes the juice carton like a prize, showing it off to Logan triumphantly. “Think this could ‘wet your whistle’ well enough?” 

Logan growls, “Wade—”

“Or is it ‘tickle your pickle’?” 

“Wade!” 

“ Yes , honey badger?” Wade drawls, grabbing a cup and some ice before opening the little pull tab under the cap of the carton. Logan watches him, looking constipated and vaguely frightened. 

“Um, thanks,” he takes the glass from Wade’s hand, fingers brushing as it gets passed between them. Deliberately ignoring the little shiver that runs down his spine at the skin contact. God, it’s been so fucking long, and Wade has touched him so fucking much these last few days. Every time feels like Logan is going to internally combust. 

“No problem,” Wade whispers in the small space between their faces as Logan stepped in needlessly close to take his drink. 

Of course Logan wouldn’t want to start his first night here drinking. Wade gets it. He’s already seen the way Colossus was talking up the Mansion, the way Laura had looked all starry eyed with wonder at his words, leaning eagerly into Logan’s side already desperate for his approval. And Wade saw the way Logan beamed at her in answer — it was crystal clear that the X-Men would be gaining two new shiny Wolverines to add to their collection. 

Wade tries not to think about where that left him. 

—

It doesn’t happen that night, no matter how much Wade wanted to throw himself at Logan. Wade’s a gentleman, he doesn’t pounce on Logan that very first night in the apartment when he watches Logan slip into the shitty pullout couch in the living room. No, he just gives Logan a shy smile, before heading to his own room beside Al’s — a smile Logan returns , sparking pure delight in Wade’s chest. 

It’s a small win that Wade relishes that night. 

Until the withdrawal starts. 

Halfway through the night, Logan starts shaking, tremors that wrack the whole couch with his added weight and a small, whimpering noise passing his lips. At first, Wade thinks it’s just a nightmare when the noise in the living room wakes him up. He’s a light sleeper and the squeak of the poor couch is loud in the quiet apartment. Without thinking he heads out to check on him, murmuring soft encouragement to try and calm him down, (“easy, peanut, you’re alright. Nothing to hurt you here”) until Logan sits up with a bolt and practically trips over himself on the way to the bathroom. 

The door barely slams shut before Wade hears him hurling into what he hopes is the toilet and not the linoleum floor. 

Harsh, near violent sounds echo through the small apartment — retching heaves mixed with an occasional sob. Fuck . 

“Logan?” Wade calls hesitantly, coming over to hover outside the bathroom door. 

“Fucking— shit ,” Logan groans, heaving again and spitting with a gross, wet sound. “ Wade .” He sounds almost panicked, voice tight and pitchy. It’s enough to spur Wade into action. 

He books it to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and then carefully cracks the bathroom door to survey Logan. 

His houseguest makes a pathetic sight, kneeled over the toilet in the cramped space, soaked in sweat and holding on for dear life. He almost looks worse than how he did before his shower earlier, a bloody mess after the Void until he’d scrubbed down, emerging pink tinged and fluffy haired and perfect. There’s a sickly green pallor to his skin at the moment and a distant, fevered look in his eyes. 

Wordlessly, Wade hands over the water bottle, already without the lid — only to have to catch it when Logan’s shaky hands won’t steady enough to grip it properly. 

“Whoa, fuck, alright. Here, let me…” he grabs over Logan’s hand to help him, bringing the bottle up to his lips. And Logan fucking let’s him , moaning in relief at the cool water soothing the last remnants of his aching throat. 

“I didn’t,” Logan gasps when he pulls back to breath, “didn’t think this would happen.” In truth, Logan can’t remember the last day he hadn’t drank himself to oblivion at one point or another, never going so long without a drink that he’d begun to experience withdrawal at all. He had hoped his healing factor would mitigate it entirely, but hope has never been kind to him. 

“It’s alright, that it did.” 

Wade cleans him up, grabbing him a new change of clothes, shooing away Logan’s apology. 

Logan crawls miserably back into bed with Wade watching carefully from the chair next to the couch, shivering and shuddering. He huddles under the thin blanket and Wade thinks he’s fallen asleep until he hears a whispered, “thanks, Wade” breathed into the space between them. 

“Get some sleep, Wolvie.” 

—

There’s subtle moments over their early days that have Wade slowly losing his mind. You see, Wade’s not an easy man to live with, he knows this. Doubled with the fact that his favorite hobby is annoying the people he loves cares for lives with, it’s a perfect storm to get the Wolverine going. So when he purposefully riles Logan up, he’s looking for a fight. He gets an itch that only adamantium claws can scratch. But Logan never takes the bait. 

Wade watches as he puffs up at every needling, verbal blow Wade throws his way, only to break eye contact, turning away from the brewing fight without further comment. The fire burns in Logan’s eyes, bright as ever only to be snuffed as soon as he looks away, purposefully and deliberately evading confrontation. 

For the life of him, Wade can’t figure out why Logan’s acting so fucking tame. The most reaction Wade gets is a snarl and bared fangs at a particularly provocative statement before Logan breathes through the moment and stalks out of the apartment to cool off. Wade hasn’t seen his claws in weeks . 

Really, the only time Logan fights back is when he wants to drink. 

The withdrawal was over pretty much after the first day; Logan’s healing factor finally kicked in, flushing the toxins and symptoms from his system after just enough time to make him want to die over it. But the urges, the habits and pure need to drink is ever present. A mental battle that Logan can’t win — and it’s pissing him the fuck off. 

Wade elected himself Logan’s official sponsor after their first night, letting Logan know he could come to him whenever he felt the urge and they’d take care of it together. What Wade wanted to say was that Logan wouldn’t have to do anything alone anymore, but he thought that should be saved for their wedding vows or something. 

Surprisingly, Logan had agreed readily, giving Wade explicit permission to knock drinks out of his hand, or physically interfere if he looked like he was going to slip up. He wasn’t letting Wade just up and clear the apartment of all alcohol; no, he had to do things the hard way. Claiming he didn’t want to deprive Al or Wade of anything just because he “had a little problem”. 

It was also, Logan emphasized, only a problem between the two of them. No one else was supposed to know about his efforts, just in case he failed, at least he’d be spared the shame of anyone else but Wade finding out. And well, Wade had already seen him at his worst, hadn’t he? “Drug him right out of that bed he shit in” he said, to some effect, in the Void. 

So, unless he’s actively pining over a bottle, Logan either cools off as quickly as he burns, or he flees the apartment entirely until he can come back and not want to murder Wade. Avoiding a confrontation entirely in the least violent ways possible. It’s boring, in Wade’s opinion and wildly out of the character of the version of Logan he’d built up in his head. 

One particular night, about a month and a half into Logan’s arrival in this universe and Wade’s apartment, Wade isn’t even looking to cause a fight, but inevitably ends up starting one anyway. 

“I’m thinkin’ Chinese for dinner, Wolvie. Al’s craving lo mein and daddy wants some general tso’s chicken and probably a fuck ton of egg rolls and crab Rangoon. Oooh, maybe some wanton soup? What sounds good to you?” Plopping down on the couch next to Logan, Wade grins at his cringe at calling himself “daddy”. Ever since he’s acquired Mary Puppins, he’s really leaned into his fatherly role. 

Logan scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, up into his hair, pulling at it in the anxious way he does. Wade watches mesmerized, wishing it were his hands in those silky soft kitty ear cowlicks instead. 

“Um, dunno, bub. Whatever you get sounds good, can just get me some of that.” 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Wade demanded, not unkindly. 

“Doin’ what?” 

“Acting like you don’t have preferences or opinions on anything. I mean, I get that you’re old, but fuck, you’re not dead. And don’t old people get even more opinionated? Fucking look at Althea.” He means it. Logan’s always deferring to anyone else’s preference, taking up as little space both verbally and physically as possible. Anything from decisions for meals or tv shows to what brand of toilet paper to get, Logan will always say it doesn’t matter to him, or that Wade can just get double of whatever he likes and Logan will have that. 

Like he’s scared to show his hand for fear of ridicule. Or having the things he wants taken away from him. 

Logan’s face heats, pink tints his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I don’t— just fucking leave me alone, how about that?” 

“Logan—“ but the damage is done, and the door is already lightly slamming. Lightly, because even when he’s pissed, Logan is so, so disgustingly careful with everything around him. Fuck. 

“Nice going, jackass,” Al supplies helpfully from her chair.

“You really saved the day chiming in like that before he fucking bolted,” Wade snaps back sarcastically. “Why didn’t you fucking help me?” Not to box Logan into an intervention, but Wade knows Althea has picked up on Logan’s little habit of never ever having an opinion on anything ever. 

“Not my business what you assholes fight over. I’m just glad he’s not one of those bastards that yells about everything,” Al says grimly, chucking her phone at Wade a moment later for him to place their takeout order. 

He’d at least be talking to me if he was here yelling , Wade thinks to himself, dialing angrily, though his eyes soften when he glances again at Althea, knows why she appreciates that aspect of Logan’s odd behavior above all else. 

Her ex husband may have been one of Wade’s most grimly satisfying hits. 

—

Logan’s gone for a few hours. Each minute ticking by making Wade even more pissed at him, because his stupid fucking Chinese takeout had tasted like ash in his mouth despite how excited he’d been for it. All because Logan wasn’t there with him, wasn’t even in the apartment. 

Wade could’ve stomached it (probably) if Logan had stormed off to Wade’s room to cool off instead of leaving entirely. He feels a little bit bad, seeping through his anger at the reminder that Logan doesn’t even have his own space to retreat to by himself. He packs up leftovers and Logan’s own meal, snapping plastic containers together with a satisfying noise before placing them in the fridge. 

Right next to the orange juice he’s kept stocked since the party. He replaces it every time Logan runs low, wordlessly. Knows he’d get his face bit off if he made it a Thing. The only subject that makes Logan’s control slip. 

Wade groans pitifully, knocking his forehead on the freezer door before hauling himself into the bathroom to shower — he might as well be comfy if he’s going to just stew all fucking night. 

He doesn’t hear Logan sneak back in, but he finds him in the kitchen after he’s dry and changed into pajama pants, standing in front of the fridge where Wade had been less than twenty minutes prior looking equally as miserable. 

In his hands, Logan clutches an unopened beer can. 

“Thought we weren’t doing that anymore, honey badger.” Wade’s voice startles him, cuts through the fog in his brain and he growls squeezing the can until it nearly pops. “Stop that. Give it to me.” He’s being rude, rougher than he usually is about this thing but he’s pissed at Logan for running away from him so much. Just when he thinks things are smoothing over and they’re getting closer, Logan will bolt suddenly, reminding Wade that he’s not exactly here of his own free will. Wade essentially baby-trapped him with bestowing upon him anchor being status that he never fucking asked for. 

Logan growls louder, clutching the beer closer. 

“Yeah, yeah. You know you’re all fucking bark and no bite anymore, Wolvie. I’m not buying this tough guy act right now.” He holds his hand out like Logan’s a child, gesturing with his fingers in a ‘give it here’ motion. 

“Fuck you,” Logan snarls. 

“Maybe later, sweet cheeks. Though, I don’t think you really mean that. You haven’t taken me up on any of my innuendos since we met.” Shit, Wilson. Great fucking way to just ensure that Logan leaves and never fucking comes back. 

“ What ?” Logan’s taken aback enough to loosen his grip on the beer, giving Wade the opening to snatch it out of his hand. 

“Forget it.” He takes the dented can, snapping the top and dumping it down the sink. 

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Logan breathes. 

Of course not. Of course he’s not thinking Wade’s serious — why would anyone think about sleeping with Wade in a serious manner. 

“Let’s just go to bed. I said forget it, Logan.” 

“You’ve just been joking, those weren’t—,” Logan splutters, face going red. 

Wade can’t stop himself, doesn’t even really know why he’s doing this. Because Logan’s flighty? Because he won’t give in to Wade’s goading? He’s doing it again, he thinks distantly. Pushing the one person he wants to stay away. The thought isn’t enough to stop him, though. It never is. 

“Don’t blow a fucking gasket, Wolvie. You don’t need to have an aneurysm over the thought of fucking me, okay? I get it. You’re right, it’s just been jokes.” 

Logan grabs his upper arm, hard, nails digging in as he turns Wade from the sink to face him, breath fanning across Wade’s cheek, he’s so close. “Tell me the fucking truth.” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, big guy. Let’s just take a break before you lose all of your plausible deniability,” Wade says, low and dangerous. 

Logan just sneers at him. 

Come on , Wade thinks. Give me the fucking claws . Make it worth my while, honey badger . 

The quiet, answering snikt feels at once like vindication and punishment as Logan releases the claws of the hand not holding Wade’s arm. As if he’d read Wade’s mind. 

“Fucking try me, bub.” 

Chapter 2: Orange Juice pt. 2

Summary:

Wade and Logan's fight escalates

Notes:

<3 no real plot to this one, just establishing their initial dynamic really

next chap. will get more into the heart of the story but we had to lay some groundwork first

Wade Wilson can be thought of as a lot of things, but he knows good and well that no one would ever consider him a smart man. In fact, he agrees with that assessment, especially now, standing in his kitchen about two seconds away from goading the Wolverine into hate fucking him. The very same Wolverine who he is probably dangerously close to being hopelessly in love with. Yeah, that one. 

Not very smart at all. 

Logan snarls once more in his face, fangs on display and a low growl emanating alarmingly from his throat. His grip on Wade’s arm never falters even as he leans closer. If anything, he grips tighter like he’s worried Wade will run away from him. 

Wade licks his lips nervously, he’ll admit it; it’s been a long while since anyone’s looked at him like this and Wolvie’s been doing it pretty much since they met. Like he wants to tear Wade apart or eat him alive. “What’re you gonna do about it, peanut? If I tell you the truth? Huh? That it’s all been real, every time. Just been fucking begging you to take me and you haven’t caught onto it — or, or , you just haven’t wanted to.” 

He hears Logan’s breath catch in his throat, and he loosens his hold on Wade by a fraction. His eyes dart to his mouth, lips pink and chapped from the way Wade gnaws them constantly. 

Now, Wade’s never been mauled, not genuinely by a real wild animal (yet), but he thinks what happens next in the kitchen comes pretty damn close. Logan’s pupils dilate, grow wide like an honest to Christ cat’s eyes right before he pounces, backing Wade into the nearest countertop. Green-gold swallowed up by black. 

His massive hands find Wade’s waist with a solid shove and it’s not just losing his balance that makes Wade’s stomach swoop. Logan’s breath fans his face as he crowds closer after him, noses practically touching. 

Wade yelps when his ass hits the edge of the counter uncomfortably. “Jesus Christ , fucking say something, Logan, or I swear to god—” his cock throbs in his pajama pants, achingly hard since Logan started grabbing at him, wishing the bruising grip on his bicep had been on his dick. He has to tilt his face upward when Logan steps impossibly closer, forcing a higher angle as he presses their chests together; far more gently than his previous move. 

“I wanted,” Logan starts, like it’s painful for him, every word grit out of his throat with a ragged edge. Sandpaper on cement. “I wanted you to be serious. I want this.” 

And well, what more could Wade ask for? He wanted words and he got them. It’s not Logan’s fault he can’t exactly process them since as soon as he’s finished talking, Logan claims his mouth in a rough kiss. 

His kiss is like an attack in its own way, too sharp teeth and too much tongue for any respectable first kiss, but Wade moans into it all the same. A muffled “mmhff,” against Logan’s lips as he kisses back, reaching up to twine his fingers in Logan’s cowlicks. Tugging on them earns a low growl and a stinging nip to his mouth that makes Wade’s head spin, heady and pleased. 

Logan paws at the bare skin of his torso, across his stomach and up his sides, his palms skate over scar patterns and patches of perpetually semi-healed wounds. Wade’s never been more happy to not be wearing a shirt in his entire life. He squirms under the attention, pressing into Logan’s warm hands with a gasp. 

Rumbling louder, Logan mouths across his jaw, pinning Wade in place with their hips pressed flush together. He’s only half hard, Wade can tell, and already big enough that he feels his hole clench around nothing in anticipation. 

Wade grinds against him shamelessly, rubbing off on Logan’s insane abs through his shirt. “Come on, Wolvie— fuck , what do you need, huh? Let me give it t’you.” 

A groan forces its way out of Logan’s mouth at the friction, jaw dropping softly to pant against Wade’s ear, “ Wade .” He sounds — and looks — completely wrecked already, just from Wade’s proximity. 

“Yeah, angel baby? Going all stupid already and you haven’t even gotten your cock out, yet?” If this is the only chance he gets, Wade’s going to make it fucking count, reaching between their bodies to cup over Logan’s bulge, squeezing him teasingly before undoing his button and zipper. Logan bucks into his hand, filling out the rest of the way under his scarred palm, hot and heavy.  

“Need to— let me—,” Logan stutters, closing his eyes and essentially rutting against Wade’s hand in an endearingly mindless way. If he hadn’t been obsessed with him before, this would have sealed the deal completely. The hazy look in his eyes and the achingly sweet pout on his pretty lips as he pushes his hips forward again and again. 

If this was a guaranteed thing, sure of a repeat performance, Wade would get him off just like this, stroke him off all slick and nice while Logan fell apart for him, taking the weight of him against his chest when it all became too much. But since this might be it — his only shot, Wade wants everything and more. 

“What d’you need, big guy? Need to fuck me? C’mon and do it.” 

Logan growls, nose scrunching but he nods, grabbing Wade’s hips again to turn him around and bend him over the countertop. Straight to business apparently, he dips his fingertips below the waistband of Wade’s pajama pants and tugs them down over the swell of his ass. 

“ Fuck .” Logan mumbles like he can’t help it and gropes him openly, taking greedy fistfuls of Wade’s ass before dropping to his knees. “Just showered, didn’t you?” He asks and before Wade can really give an affirmative answer, Logan’s burying his face between his cheeks, laving his tongue over Wade’s fluttering hole. 

“Jesus— fucking shit , Logan,” he reaches back to cup Logan’s hair, wind his fingers in his kitty ears to keep him in place. “Warn a guy.” 

Logan just growls louder, a deep, constant rumbling as he licks Wade open. And no one’s ever eaten Wade out like they were angry at him, like they maybe kind of hated him, but he’s not going to complain when Logan’s beard scratches pleasantly against his rim. 

Wade moans loudly, echoing off the counter beneath him and he’s so glad Al left earlier or she’d come out here and find a way to kill them both. Pressing into Logan’s hands on his hips, he loses himself to the pleasure of his mouth. 

It’s been an embarrassingly long amount of time for Wade since he’s been with anyone else, but he thinks the same must be true for Logan, too with the way he’s huffing and moaning into him right now. A while passes with Logan taking him apart like this before he presses two fingers into him alongside his tongue, the glide easy with Wade being so thoroughly loosened for him. 

“Come on, Wolvie, just put it in already,” Wade half begs, a keening sound ripping from his throat as Logan adds a third finger and curls them all up against his sweet spot relentlessly. His cock leaks a steady stream of precome where it hangs neglected between his legs. 

With a low snarl, Logan stands back up, pulling his cock out and lining up with Wade’s hole in obedience. He rubs his tip teasingly in between Wade’s cheeks a few times before finally catching on his rim and sinking the first few inches inside. He goes slowly, so much more gentle and soft than Wade was expecting, waiting it out while Wade accommodates the stretch of him, only going further when Wade nods. He’s big enough that Wade’s mind damn near blanks completely, blissfully and utterly silent; focusing relentlessly on the fullness, the pleasure of having Logan so fucking close and deep. 

They both moan when he bottoms out, hips flush to Wade’s ass as he relishes the tight heat of him, plastering himself across Wade’s back to nip at the nape of his neck. He starts up a shaky rhythm before he finds the perfect pace for both of them, wide hands splayed across Wade’s waist to help angle just right. 

It’s over almost as soon as it began, both of them pent up and overwhelmed with the turn of tonight’s events. And, in all honesty, it’s been a long time coming for them to end up here. May have saved them a few fights to try this earlier. 

All it really takes is Logan snaking an arm around Wade’s hip, taking his cock in hand to tug on it in time with his thrusts. Wade cries out, spilling over his fist and tightening around his cock, hard enough to drive Logan over the edge with him. He fucks him through it, driving in harshly through the aftershocks until he stills completely, barely grinding his hips as he shudders out the last of his release. 

Logan pulls out gently, holding Wade’s hips to steady him and sort of just hovering near, a wall of heat behind Wade’s back. Panting softly, but rumbling still in his chest — that low sound that’s barely audible, that Wade’s got himself half convinced really is a purr. For him . 

He’s never claimed to be smart. Nor non-delusional. 

Turning within the circle of his arms, Wade rests his forehead against Logan’s collarbone, desperate to calm his rapid heartbeat. He wants to say so fucking much. Demand to know where Logan ran off to tonight before their fight and what came after. Tell him to at least leave a fucking note next fucking time. But a small part of Wade knows ( hopes ) there might not be a next time. That he can entice Logan to stay in new ways. Ways like this. 

All of his thoughts scatter when he feels Logan brush his lips against the side of his face. Beard scratchy and rough, but addictive nonetheless. 

“That was, uh…” Logan mumbles against his temple. “Good.” 

That’s a very small word for some of the best sex of Wade’s life, but he’ll let Logan off the hook for tonight. 

“Yeah,” he snorts. “It was good, peanut. Real good.” 

It’s less awkward when they part than Wade imagined it could’ve been; Logan’s flushed a gorgeous pink, kitty ears ruffled, but otherwise looks pretty put together. And it makes Wade feel steadier somehow. 

His own pants are only halfway back up his hips, haphazardly tugged on by Logan after they’d finished, and he’s in desperate need of a second shower, but the butterflies in his stomach and the look in Logan’s eyes as he smirks at him softly make it all worth it. 

There’s a tension that’s disappeared from Logan’s entire being, smoothed some of the harsher lines of his face, loosened up the set of his shoulders. He bumps his nose with Wade’s before moving away, taking his warmth with him to rifle through the refrigerator and snag the carton of orange juice from the back of the fridge — frosty and sloshily half-frozen, just the way he likes it. 

Wade can’t let him go like this, looking like that. He grabs Logan’s face when he passes him on the way back to the living room, pulling him in for a kiss. Just a simple, soft press of his lips against Logan’s cheek, tongue peeking out to say goodnight, taste the salt of his skin. 

“See you in the morning, honey badger.” 

—

After that night, things change. Because of course they do; you don’t fuck a guys brains out over the kitchen counter and kiss him goodnight after without a certain level of your relationship changing. Wade would say it’s all for the better as the weeks pass. 

For all intents and purposes, Logan is the perfect boyfriend. He cooks and cleans and fixes things around the shitty apartment without having to be asked. The regular sex has seemed to calm him the fuck down enough that they only really argue about dumb shit anymore in the fun way; the what to watch on tv for the night kind of way. Wade has more than he could’ve ever hoped for with him, a steady presence, a reliable constant. A soft place to land after rougher hits. There’s just two tiny issues with Wade’s perfect life right now. 

Logan isn’t actually his boyfriend officially. Avoids the topic of a label almost as much as he actively avoids alcohol now. And he never, ever spends the night in his bed. No matter how much Wade would die for him to. 

He thinks about this more than he has any right to; knows he’s being unreasonably greedy. It should be enough that Logan fucks him in the first place, right? 

A month after their first time together passes and Wade’s still thinking about more. 

He’s thinking about it even now, in what should be a truly stunning post-sex haze, he can’t help but crave more. Sprawled out on his back in his bed while Logan went to get a washcloth like the good top he is, Wade lets himself pretend for a moment that he’s going to come back and spend the night. Crawl under Wade’s cheap covers and let Wade spoon him the whole night — because Wade just has a feeling that Logan likes being the little spoon. 

“Here, bub, let me help,” Logan’s voice breaks his reverie, snapping his eyes open. The Wolverine kneels next to him on the bed, silhouetted in soft yellow light from Wade’s Pikachu lamp. Parting Wade’s legs gently, he cleans him up with a warm, damp cloth. He’s always gentle anymore, and the water is always warm enough to be comforting. Wiping down Wade’s stomach and the slick mess between his thighs. 

Wade kind of hates him for it in an actually loves him kind of way. 

“Wade? You okay? Sorry I was gone a bit longer, grabbed you something to drink and the leftovers from yesterday. Didn’t see you eat after you came home earlier,” Logan admits sheepishly, running a nervous hand over the back of his hair like he does, ducking his head. He’s dressed again, a pair of Wade’s shorts hugging his hips and a worn T-shirt. 

A sideways glance at the nightstand reveals his words to be true, a bottle of Wade’s favorite Gatorade color and a cold plate lay haphazardly piled amid the ammo and knives covering the table. “We kinda got busy as soon as you walked in.” 

And that’s true, too. Logan was all over him almost the minute Wade’s boot hit their welcome mat, kissing his face and helping him remove his katanas. Nuzzling into Wade’s neck where his mask had been tucked up. 

A boyfriend-ly greeting. Like he’d missed Wade over the three day job. 

“S’fine, Lo. M’alright,” Wade mutters, crushing the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard his vision swims with colors and shapes. “Thanks for the food.” 

An awkward beat passes as Wade braces, bolsters his courage. 

“Well, I should, um—,” Logan says at the same time Wade opens his mouth again. 

“Why don’t you stay this ti—?” 

Foolish. Knowing the rejection is coming never lessens the sting of it. 

“Goodnight, Wade.” 

“Right,” Wade says, rolling over to fiddle with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah. Goodnight, honey badger.” 

—

Logan knows he’s taking more than he’s owed, allowing himself little indulgences that are both ruinous and just plain stupid. Treating Wade like his boyfriend when he knows, knows that all he’s doing for Wade is warming his bed until Vanessa comes back into the picture. He knows Wade’s still wanting her; knows they talk on the phone for hours sometimes and he stops by her place before jobs occasionally. He makes sure to never listen in, doesn’t want to begin to guess about what he’d hear. Always making himself scarce or scrambling for a pair of Wade’s headphones – yes, he’ll even wear the cat ear ones if it means he can’t hear the sounds of Wade and Vanessa potentially getting back together. 

It’s nothing new to Logan, he’s been a stand-in before. A placeholder until the next best thing showed up, the right guy or girl. The good guy that Logan could never be. It’s just never felt so bad before, being in this situation. Hurts in that ever-present sting behind his eyes and twinge in his gut when he takes more from Wade than he should. 

When he gives in to his instincts to take care of him, bringing him food, cleaning him up for longer than necessary to let his touch linger and relish his warmth. Missing him while he’s gone on his jobs and meeting him at the door like the perfect embodiment of the lovesick puppy he is. Christ. 

It would hurt less if Wade wasn’t so good, so kind. Asking Logan to stay the night in his bed like a pitied stray. What Wade doesn’t know, though, is that Logan can’t do that one time without wanting to never leave. He’d be Wade’s completely after that, sleeping in his scent and in his arms. No take-backs. Logan would be his. It would kill him after, to give that up when their time is over. 

So he always tells him no, drags his metal ass back to the cold pullout in the living room and pretends he’s capable of sleep; that he doesn’t lie awake dreaming of the perfect opportunity for him to prove to Wade that he can be good to him right back. Permanently. 

He wouldn’t need to wait for Vanessa, not with Logan so wholly his. 

Fuck , he needs a fucking drink. Selfish and stupid. 

He thinks about going back to Wade’s room — potentially waking him up, at the very least interrupting his meal — and begging him to wait up with him until the cravings pass. Until he can trust himself again. 

His claws twitch in his forearms as he crosses them tightly over his chest, tucking his hands under. Can’t reach for a bottle if they’re trapped. 

He doesn’t see Wade until the next morning. And he falls asleep sitting up on the stupid couch with an ache in his chest. 

Wade passes him the orange juice over breakfast, shaking the carton with a confused frown — noting how it’s much lighter than he thought it should be, but shrugging it off easily. Resolving to get more that afternoon.

Chapter 3: No One Will Tempt You

Summary:

When the X-Men start snooping around their business, Logan feels settled enough that he can actually meet with them.

Notes:

hi y'all !! I finished my master's program this week :)) celebrating that with this angsty ass chapter and hopefully more updates to my other WIPs

AND a potential new part to Everyone Wants Him that I think y'all will like !!

enjoy :))

Despite Wade’s best efforts, word of Logan’s return travels quickly. And by best efforts, he means he was bragging almost 24/7 about being roomies with the Wolverine to all of his X-Men friends. But that was not an open invitation to come knocking. And certainly not one to touch; no, sir. Wade Wilson operates on a looking-only basis about his things. 

The greedy bastards won’t take “no” for an answer, though, and the nagging becomes fervent around three months since Logan’s arrival. 

“Hey, Peanut?” Wade calls to him from the kitchen after the third day in a row Colossus has texted him about offering to allow Logan to meet the X-Men of this universe. His questioning tone earns a growl followed by a grunt to soften the blow from Logan in the living room, barely turning his head from the tv to acknowledge the merc. Wade knows that grunt, though, knows it means Logan’s going to listen to his next words despite his grumpiness and apparent inattention. 

Gnawing on the end of an unlit cigar — because Puppins got a cough the last time he smoked in the house — watching reruns of Storage Wars like they’re brand new, Logan looks the most content he ever gets. It’s a shame Wade’s about to ruin it. 

Firing off an angry “you fucking owe me” text to Colossus in response, Wade sighs and braces himself, “look, I know your answer’s already gonna be ‘no’, but I have to ask if I wanna keep the X-Trainee crop top that makes my waist look snatched, so— would you be interested in meeting with the X-Men anytime soon?” 

Logan snaps his head in the direction of the kitchen, blinking at Wade as he processes. The cigar dangles delicately from his lips, perfect pink and shiny with spit. Wade wants to take his words back instantly at the way they clearly cut Logan, crumpling his brow as a little hurt sound punches from his throat. 

If they were dating, if Wade had any security in his place in Logan’s life, he’d already be all over the other man, holding his face and kissing the harsh crease between his eyebrows. Smoothing Logan’s hurt as best he could with soft touches and gentle words. But as it stands, as they stand, very firmly in fuck buddy territory, all Wade can do is wait and watch as Logan struggles to catch his breath and form a sentence. 

The cigar nearly falls from his mouth, but he catches it dumbly, opening and closing his lips like a fish before speaking roughly, “You’ll come with? Right? You— can you come, too?” 

An excuse fizzles and dies behind Wade’s teeth, despite how much he wants to say ‘no’, thinking it’s best if Wade stays far away from the Mansion while Logan realizes he can have everything he lost back. But the wide eyed fear, vulnerable and raw on Logan’s face stops him. Wade’s heart clenches. 

“Yeah, Lo, I’ll be there. We’ll go together, I promise.” 

Logan nods, stuffing the cigar back into his mouth to chew methodically on it. Satisfied with Wade’s answer. 

Wade texts Colossus a thumbs up, receiving a date and time in return. A few days from today, just enough time for Wade to wallow about the inevitability of losing Logan to the Mansion. Fuck. 

—

They’re anxious messes on the way to the Mansion; feeding off each other in an endless cycle of sour looks and grunted “stop fucking doing that”s when one of them won’t quit bouncing their leg in the back of Dopinder’s cab. 

Logan rumbles steadily, not his mid- and post-sex rumble that’s more like a purr, but a distinctly upset growl that builds lower in his chest and rattles his metal ribs and Wade’s whole left side where they’re pressed together in the backseat. He seems unaware that he’s even doing it, completely oblivious to the startled and scared looks Dopinder keeps throwing at him in the rearview mirror. 

“You gotta calm the fuck down, honey badger,” Wade grits out, “they’re gonna think I’m abusing you if you show up all agitated.” 

Snarling, Logan bares his teeth, wanting more than anything to rip Wade’s throat out and take all his unease out on the merc. Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve used each other for stress relief. Wade’s wearing his full suit and mask, a fact that Logan loathes right now, unable to read his face or see any of his skin. 

They’ve gotten comfortable with each other in the few months Logan’s lived there — Wade’s taken to leaving his mask off more often than not, even going so far as to take it off in the hallway coming home from work so Logan can see his face first thing. 

It’s become vital to Logan, being able to look over and discern Wade’s every thought and feeling about something and to be bereft of it now, when he needs it arguably the most is terrifying. 

But he can’t ask, won’t ask, Wade to remove it in front of anyone else. Christ knows Logan’s wearing his own version of a mask right now, bundled in his protective layers of flannel and leather. 

He doesn’t quite know what he’s getting into here. He and Wade had played a quiz game about universal differences that had devolved into fist fighting and then fucking, but Logan understood the basics. 

This universe’s school was co-run by Jean and Ororo — Ororo also co-leading the X-Men team with Scott as their numbers had grown and everyone decided it was best to have as much support as possible on all fronts after Charles and the original Logan’s passing. 

How exactly Wade knew all of this, Logan isn’t quite sure, though he suspects he overheard Ellie and Yukio explaining the gist to Laura during one of their hangouts at the apartment, despite Logan growling at him to leave the girls alone. 

His stomach flips at the thought of Laura. He’d texted her that he was coming today and she’d been ecstatic, wanting to show him her room and go a few rounds in the training simulation. 

“Logan? Lo? We’re here.” 

Fuck. 

Logan flits his eyes to Wade, watching as he texts Vanessa. She sent him a good luck message with a string of kissy face and heart emojis. The reminder doesn’t help Logan’s mood. Vanessa’s name and face pop up constantly anymore on Wade’s phone; they talk all the time, it seems. Even when Logan is in the same room, occupying the same couch. He wishes Wade would just tell him to leave already and thinks maybe this is the start of it. Pawning him off. 

He always knew Vanessa would come to her senses about Wade. Anyone would. 

His claws eject without permission, snapping with his resolve. 

“Shit, fuck. You okay?” Wade stuffs his phone into one of his pouches, reaching for Logan’s forearm gently turning it over. He knows the spot on the soft inside of his arm that releases them, and has found that sometimes massaging the channels will coax them back inside in reverse order. “Here, can I— let me help?” 

Wade’s gloved hands work over his arm, digging into the divot of his elbow over his layers. He rubs his thumbs along where Logan’s claws usually rest, trying to get him to relax. 

The claws obey, snikt -ing back into Logan’s wrists. 

He looks up at the merc through his lashes, green eyes meeting the white of his mask, faces close. The urge to kiss him in thanks is nearly overwhelming — but they don’t do that, not unless their clothes are off. 

Instead, Logan just grits his teeth and nods, practically bolting out of Dopinder’s cab. 

The Mansion looms ahead of him, daunting and flickering with phantom flames. The scent of blood and fire fills Logan’s nose until Wade steps closer to his side again, replacing the memory scents with familiarity and home. Leather and gunpowder and Wade . 

“Hey? All good?” 

Before Logan can answer, the doors burst open and a blur of brown hair and green eyes comes barreling toward them — Laura in all her spitfire glory, slamming into Logan excitedly. 

“You actually came! I didn’t think you would, but then I smelled you and Wade pull up! I missed you last week, how was game night? Did Puppins eat any more pieces?” She babbles excitedly at the two of them, tucking under Logan’s arm and beaming at him and Wade. Nearly completely emerged from her shell, thriving under the security and structure the Mansion provides. 

Wade grins back at her under the mask, eyepiece squinting in that improbable, magic way it does that makes Logan stare, “hey little peanut, we missed you, too.” 

Nodding along, Logan lets her pull him into the mansion, knowing he’s close to crushing her tiny hand in his but he can’t quite loosen his grip, afraid she’ll disappear or get hurt if he does. 

The plan is to meet with the regulars first. Colossus, Ellie, and Yukio taking him on a tour of the grounds with Laura in tow so he can see how he reacts to just the visuals of the place before introducing any ghosts. 

The tour goes as well as anything, Logan only stops at one moment in an empty hallway, ducking behind a corner as he gags, overtaken with the smells of the flowers Ororo tends to, sitting in vases at little tables — remembering their scent mixed with ash and blood and regret on that night. 

Since Logan hasn’t dissolved into an outright panic attack, they mark the tour as a success, leading him and Wade into one of the lesser used drawing rooms to meet with the others.  

Laura worries over him, bringing him water and a snack and frowning in that way he hates to see on her face. Pinched and furrowed and looking much too like him. 

“M’fine,” he protests weakly, nudging her chin with his knuckle, “Laura, I’m doing alright.” He’d be doing better if Wade hadn’t gone deadly silent across the room from him, typing away on his phone. It makes Logan almost want to cause a scene, demand his attention. 

When the door knob clicks, Logan hears it like a gunshot, spinning to face the door like they’ve come to execute him. But it opens softly, with a breeze and the calm scent of rain. Ororo first with Jean on her heels. 

They decide to trickle in, coming near but never too close, like he’s a stray animal they don’t want to startle. The reminder sits heavy in his gut. He knows the other Logan didn’t look like him, didn’t act like him. 

Was it because of them? Was he the reason Laura does act like that, now? Did they learn from their mistakes with the first Wolverine? 

Logan ducks his head toward Laura, heart pounding when she flashes him a fangy, encouraging smile. They’ve grown longer, sharper than he’s ever seen them. She didn’t even know she had them when they first met. 

—

The meeting, in Wade’s opinion, goes disgustingly well. Not that he wanted Logan to get upset, not at all. But it didn’t have to go so well that he can practically see Logan slotting himself into the X-Men like he never lost them. 

They say all the right things, every right greeting. Telling Logan it’s nice to meet him . Treating him brand new, like his own person. He watches each greeting crumble Logan’s walls more and more until he’s left with a calm, almost serene look. 

Wade fires desperate message after message to Vanessa, lamenting that he’s going to fucking lose Logan before he even gets him. 

She keeps leaving him on read, but he tries anyway. Sulking in the corner. Ellie and Yukio give him odd looks as they leave, but he ignores them. The rest of the X-Men are arriving. 

—

By the third person to filter in and take a seat around the room — Scott — Logan’s checked out mentally. Unable to really handle seeing them all like this. The dissociative feeling only grows as Kurt and Marie stumble in after Scott, much less subtle and respectful. He doesn’t exactly care, though, just wanting to get this over with to go back home with Wade. 

Only one thought really clashes through his head, like a mantra or a plea. 

I need a fucking drink. I need a fucking drink. I need a fucking drink. But I can’t. 

He must be projecting, he thinks, because Jean’s eyes snap to his. She tilts her head in that curious way she always used to. But she’s not the same, not even close. 

“You’re sober?” She blurts out, drawing a scandalized hand to her mouth, distraught at her own overstep. “I mean— Logan, that’s wonderful. I’m sorry I pried. You were just very loudly…” 

Scott snorts, “huh. Maybe our liquor budget can go toward new uniforms now.” 

Logan opens his mouth once, twice, but no sound escapes until in a desperate bid for something from the merc, he squeaks, “Wade?” He’s not ready for this conversation, not now, probably not ever. Because it’s not for them, not for this. It was for one stupid person who’s probably counting down the days until Logan’s out of his fucking metaphorical hair forever now. 

You’d think Logan’s voice was a whip the way it snaps Wade into action. All at once he’s back at Logan’s side defensively, angling Logan behind his shoulder. 

This is the real test, Logan thinks. If these people sneer or mistreat Wade in front of him then that’s it. They’d leave and he wouldn’t ever come back. 

“Okay, let’s get this dog and pony show on the road,” Wade widens his stance, hands set firmly on his hips. “Is that all of you or is another one of you gonna try to sneak in here and give him a heart attack?” 

“This is all of us at the moment,” Ororo answers smoothly, soft smile on her face directed at Wade. It’s genuine, Logan can tell. He relaxes a fraction. 

“Wait, where’s Beast?” Logan asks, he’s been the most anxious about seeing him. “Is he around?” 

Ororo’s soft expression wilts, mouth thinning into a firm line. Jean and Scott share a look. 

“Hank is uh, occupied in his laboratory,” Kurt supplies meekly when it’s clear no one else wants to chime in, accent thick. He flinches a little when Logan rounds on him, only looking for more of an explanation. Marie swears under her breath, shaking her head and crossing her arms. 

“I’m sorry to say he won’t be joining us today, Logan.” 

Wade scoffs, “Whatever that means.” 

They hammer out logistics after that, the real reason they asked Logan over. To offer him a place on the team and an open invitation at the Mansion. They talk about programs and training schedules, for both students and X-Men members, which Laura gleefully corroborates. Launching into a story about spending hours on the trails in the forest surrounding the Mansion with “Professor Kurt” guiding them through meditative nature walks. 

Kurt blushes bright blue, ducking his head bashfully when Logan looks at him in wonder. 

If anything, the visit proves that Laura is well taken care of with them, at least. 

Logan only agrees to part-time status, almost on-call. And only under the stipulation that Wade joins in every time. “It’s both of us or neither of us. Package deal,” he grunts. 

The others exchange looks, but none of them are unpleasant. Colossus speaks up on Wade’s behalf, “Wade is a good person. Seems to be back on track as a hero. I see no reason to object to this condition.” 

The relief that courses through Logan nearly makes him stumble and fall over. He and Laura and Wade escape to her room quickly after that, not wanting anyone to second guess anything. 

It’s a cozy space, smelling like her all over and a little like Wade’s apartment as Logan spies a hoodie he thought he lost around the last time she was over there. He lets her and Wade chatter about the cartoon they both like, content to sit back and watch them, forgetting entirely that they’re both not exactly his to admire. 

The reality of his longing will jolt him awake that night, sprawled uncomfortably on the pullout couch when all he really wants is to crawl into Wade’s bed. When he wants both of them near him 24/7.   

— — 

Two months after the Mansion visit, Wade’s settled into somewhat of a working routine with Logan surrounding his balancing merc jobs. He’s still doing solo stuff after Logan convinced the X-Geeks they were being unreasonable, asking Wade to quit his day job for less than full time X-Men status. 

Life went on, they never really spoke about that first meeting. Logan had come home with shaky hands and an itch under his skin, only quelled when Wade led him to the couch and turned on their Tuesday show, sinking into their natural routine like it was just another day for them. Something Logan was immensely grateful for, creature of habit that he tends to be. 

The older man’s rubbed off on Wade. Literally and metaphorically. Causing the two of them to fall into ritualistic behaviors like an old married couple. 

He worries about Wade in a stupidly sweet, endearing way and likes to make sure he’ll have everything he needs for his hits. They’ve started packing Wade’s bags together, with Logan inspecting each and every weapon so it’s up to his own personal standard, holding them up and testing grips and mechanisms before placing each of them in their spot with a satisfied sniff. 

If the jobs are longer than a day, he’ll transfer some of Wade’s skincare into travel sized bottles for him, claiming it’s to stop Wade from “bitching like a motherfucker as soon as you come home ‘cause you’re all chapped”. 

It makes Wade’s chest hurt, watching him carefully pack the lotions and serums. It’s beyond anything Wade ever could’ve hoped for in a partner — beyond boyfriend status, Logan’s showcasing genuine husband behavior and they’re not anything more than friends that sleep with each other. 

Well, not anymore, if Wade has anything to say about it. 

Scott Summers, of all fucking people, may have unknowingly given Wade the perfect opportunity to finally ask Logan to become something more. Something serious. Labelled. 

After their last successful mission with the X-Men, he’d taken Wade aside and offered him and Logan a shared, isolated suite at the Mansion. Operating under the impression that they were together , a package deal just like Logan had said. And who the fuck was Wade to correct him? Scott also figured it might be an easier offer to hear coming from Wade than him, wanting Logan to know they accepted both of them equally. 

Their own rooms would be nice and if it meant Wade kept Logan around, let him exist in the Mansion while still giving Wade some of his time? Maybe his love? Yeah. Wade’s going to try like hell for it. A swanky place outside of the shithole apartment they shared with Al currently would be the perfect opportunity to romance Logan. 

As with most things involving Wade and important information, though, he reveals his hand at the absolute most inopportune moment possible, right at the end of him and Logan’s second pre-hit ritual — fucking on the couch the night before. 

—

Helping Wade pack for jobs always eased Logan’s anxiety about letting the merc leave without him. But he knows he wouldn’t be able to restrain his instincts while on a hit, he’s proven that during gigs with the X-Men enough. The incessant need to protect Wade and keep him close would only hinder his work and Logan wouldn’t risk pissing him off like that when he knows he skirts on thin ice anyway. 

Wade always yells at him after going overboard during a mission, tugging Wade out of the lines of fire or taking hits meant for him with his own body. Logan gets it, he does. Knows he’s pushing for too much, things he doesn’t deserve. 

Tonight, he tries not to push, just taking what Wade will give him at first. But like anything else in his life, Logan is starving for any scraps of affection Wade’s willing to throw his way. 

Sticking to the routine is nice, comforting and familiar. Heat building low in Logan’s gut as he knows where the night’s headed. Wade never leaves for multiple day jobs without the two of them spending the night together. It started by accident and quickly became habit every time Al ended up being out on coinciding days, sharing little glances and lingering touches as they packed and scoured the apartment for Wade’s assorted weapons that he insists on stashing everywhere. 

He doesn’t flinch when Wade suddenly, bodily bumps into him, fully expecting it when he presses a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth — he just slots their lips together easily, hands automatically drifting to Wade’s waist to tug him closer. 

They manage to tumble toward the couch, tangled up with no plans to separate any time soon. Wade’s bed is overcrowded with his duffle and rejected weaponry that didn’t pass Logan’s inspection. 

It’s so easy anymore, having learned each other’s bodies so well by now, months into this thing that was never supposed to be more than a fling, a placeholder. 

Logan’s got Wade stripped and in his lap, prepped and loose around a few of his fingers before long, coaxing the merc to relax as he slicks him up with the lube they keep in the end table. 

“That’s it, bub, taking it so well already for me,” Logan groans in his ear, nipping his lobe sharply just to hear Wade gasp, arching his back into his fingers. He withdraws his hand soon after, replacing his fingers with the leaking, blunt head of his cock, swiping it teasingly across Wade’s entrance. 

“Fucking— don’t tease me, come on, Lo. Please.” Wade squirms in his hold, trying to fuck himself down onto his length, but Logan’s not letting him. He circles his hips enticingly, moaning high and sweet until Logan snarls a harsh breath, chest rumbling and finally guides his cock inside Wade’s tight heat. “Fuck, that feels so fucking good.” 

Logan purrs in agreement, pumping his hips up immediately, setting an achingly satisfying pace for both of them. Angled just right to have Wade seeing stars near instantly, perfect pressure on that sweet spot inside him. 

Clawing at Logan’s shirt, Wade tugs it over his head, needing the contact he runs his palms over Logan’s heaving chest, tracing the curves of his muscles and trailing through the hair. He tweaks his nipples to make him growl, snapping his hips harder in punishment. Wade rides him through it, dropping his hips to meet Logan’s on every desperate thrust. 

Logan never lasts long like this, not with Wade so responsive and eager in his lap, all sweet noises and slick, kiss bitten lips. Surging up to meet him, Logan closes the distance between their mouths, needing to taste the blooming red off Wade’s lips. Clumsy and terribly uncoordinated, all Logan’s really doing is licking and panting into Wade’s mouth, overwhelmed until the merc cups his face, slowing him down. 

He rocks his hips in slow circles, driving Logan closer and closer to the edge as Wade guides the kiss, swallowing up Logan’s whimper with a grin, “That’s it, baby. Feels so good, doesn’t it?” 

Logan nods desperately, clutching Wade’s back, drawing his claw tips down scarred skin pricking thin lines of beading blood. 

“Fuck yeah, there it is. Getting close, aren’t you? Gonna fill me up?” He is close, embarrassingly so, but he wants Wade to come first, always. Bringing a hand between them, he grabs Wade’s cock in a tight, slick grip, stroking him off in time with his thrusts. 

“You first,” he pants. “Come on, bub, make a mess of me. Wanna be yours.” 

Wade gasps brokenly in answer, reeling a bit at the butterflies Logan’s words put in his stomach. Tries to remind himself it’s just words in the heat of the moment. He picks up his pace, rocking into Logan’s fist and down on his cock so fast his thighs burn with the effort. 

They find their peak at the same moment, sharing a shaky, all consuming orgasm between them. Logan spills first, filling Wade up in hot spurts, tipping him over the edge seconds after. He covers Logan’s chest in his own release, stroked through it with a loose fist, claw tips nicking his stomach and making every sensation heighten tenfold. 

In the afterglow, Logan stills beneath him, cupping Wade’s waist with gentle hands, careful to keep his claw tips angled safely away now. The way they pop out sometimes when he comes, is a fact that Wade finds ridiculously hot, but embarrasses Logan to no end. He skims his hands along Wade’s ribs, cock already stirring again where he’s still buried in Wade’s warmth. 

How could he not be ready to go again when Wade looks so gorgeous like that above him? Flushed a pretty pink with the most satisfied look on his face. Damn near the most beautiful thing Logan’s ever been privileged to see in a long fucking time. 

Mouthing at Wade’s neck, Logan mumbles against heated skin, “round two?” Greedy. Hungry. He wants to swallow Wade whole. There’s a rumble in his chest that’s getting harder and harder to deny. 

Wade hums, tipping his head to give Logan more access, wondering if Logan’s stressed or tense about something. Just needing the release. It's tempting. He always wants to help Logan out, but if he doesn’t talk to him about the offer now, he’ll chicken out. “You stressed, Lo? Somethin’ on your mind?” And besides, when they’re living together just the two of them, they can have all kinds of fun stress relief without having to worry about roommates again. 

His question takes Logan off guard, stills his wandering lips, fangs dragging to a stop at the pulse point of Wade’s throat. “Huh? No. Not particularly.” He can’t parse if Wade wants to go again so he shifts his focus, grabbing Wade gently by his ass to help him off his cock. Pulling the merc up and off slowly, settling him back onto Logan’s lap though so they can talk. 

Head spinning a little at the casual manhandling, Wade’s fingers tighten on Logan’s shoulders, eyes focusing on the mess he made on his chest. Marked and claimed as Wade’s if anyone else had Logan’s sense of smell. 

If only. 

“Logan, I’ve been thinking…” 

Half listening, Logan absently grabs for a tissue from the end table, dabbing Wade’s come off his chest with one hand, the other arm still firmly wrapped around the merc’s waist. “”Bout what, bub?” When he’s finished he draws Wade closer for a cuddle, nosing at his cheek. 

Please , Wade prays, to whom he doesn’t yet know, please let it be like this always . 

“Summers was telling me about a suite, honey badger. You know, at the Mansion? Nice big rooms, forest view in the back, not one of the front facing ones.” 

Logan feels like he’s been doused in ice water. “What?”

A little desperate, Wade tries to soothe him, running his fingers through his hair in the way he knows Logan likes, “I just— I just thought you’d want to know about it, Lo. That there’s space available.” He swallows the for us that threatens to crest his lips. 

Space available. Outside their — no, Wade’s — apartment, there’s space for Logan. He’s not an idiot, he can take a hint. Knows when he’s being kicked out of someplace. He’d just hoped Wade would do it when he didn’t have his dick out still. 

Growling when really all he wants to do is sob, Logan shoves Wade away from him, off his lap and into the empty cushion of the couch next to them, tucking himself back into his jeans hastily. 

Wade squeaks, indignant, scrambling into some semblance of a sitting position, “Lo? Logan? What the fuck ?” But Logan isn’t looking at him, can’t make eye contact as he stalks to the door, shoving his feet into his boots and hoodie on the peg over his head. Slamming the door so hard it shudders and almost buckles on the way out. 

Stunned, Wade stays naked on the couch until dawn just barely remembering to clean himself up before he has to leave for his job. Logan never reappears.

He jots a note down for him, apologizing, telling him he’s so sorry, and leaves it on the table before he goes. 

—

Logan goes to the one place he can think of, though it's the one place he’d rather not go. If Wade wants him to leave and stay at the Mansion, that’s what he’ll fucking do. And besides, he needs Laura like air right now. 

He calls her as he hails a cab, “ Hey , I’m sorry, are you trying to sleep? Can I… Can I come see you? Stay with you?” Maybe it's wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t ask. It’s definitely pathetic, but he’s well past that. Something in his heart unclenches when she says yes, meeting him on the dark Mansion steps when he arrives. 

“What did he do?” She asks immediately, reaching for Logan like their roles are reversed, like he’s the kid in need of comfort. “I’ll kill that hijo de puta , just give me the word.” 

He can’t explain, not yet. Not to her, though he knows she deserves an answer.

He makes a bed on her floor that night, thanks the fucking multiverse that the Mansion’s been dry since their first meeting two months ago. Nothing to tempt him in sight. Not like at the apartment, where Al still keeps her whiskey and Wade walks around like, well, Wade . Too sweet and good for someone like Logan. As forbidden as the alcohol he’s sworn off. 

This is better, he tries to convince himself that night and the next morning when they sneak into Wade’s empty apartment to gather up his meager possessions. A few clothes and books; his reading glasses and his toiletries. Everything else is Wade’s or Althea’s that he’s just been borrowing. 

He finds the note almost immediately, crumbling it in his fast as he reads it through tears.

Lo,

I’m sorry I picked the wrong time to bring that up. I’ll explain everything when I get home, if you’ll hear me out. There’s OJ in the fridge – enough to last you while I’m gone. 

Congrats on 5 months of that thing we don’t talk about. I’m proud of you, peanut.

Home soon, 

Wade

Laura doesn’t comment on the tears, just helps him gather his things and leave, bunting her forehead against his shoulder consolingly. 

—

When Wade comes home three days later, he knows Logan’s gone before he even steps into the threshold. Feels it in his bones that he’s opening the door to an empty, bereft apartment. 

He can’t even cry when it’s revealed he’s right, staring numbly at every space where something of Logan’s once was. 

Gone. Just like he knew would happen eventually.

Notes:

thank you for reading !! please don't be afraid to let me know what ya think :)) I love all comments

Chapter 4: I've Been Ready for You to Come Home (for so long)

Summary:

Cards on the table, Logan still can't make himself stay

Notes:

y'all I'm SO sorry for the longer break from this one !! I had a good chunk of it written and then life kinda happened and some scenes were fighting me really hard because this was one of those chapters that I didn't fully have mapped out beforehand

I appreciate y'all so much though for reading and all the amazing comments <3 I hope you guys like this chapter, feel free to let me know of course

Living at the Mansion is a hell like no other. Three months pass in agonizingly slow motion. 

Wade stops calling every day after two of them. 

He still joins the X-Men on the larger threat missions, appearing exactly when they need him completely suited up and ready to go. It makes Logan’s stomach hurt every time to see him, careless and humorous as always. 

The others like Wade, of course they do. He grows on people after enough time (like moss or cancer Wade always joked). And since he saved Scott’s ass three missions ago, they’ve been increasingly warm and welcoming. 

Logan stifles a flinch every time one of them makes small talk with Wade and he overhears his weekend plans with Vanessa, or the latest adorable adventure of Mary Puppins. He keeps tabs on Al’s health through eavesdropped tidbits given to the others. Feels every new piece of information like a stab to the gut. 

He tries to convince himself he’s happy Wade’s re-building his life. A life without Logan; something he should be more than used to by now. 

Logan finds himself falling back into old patterns — not sleeping, not eating — but this time there’s one tiny , infinitely important detail. 

He’s still not drinking. For whatever fucked up and sentimental reasons he can come up with, he stops himself every damn time he wants to go out and grab a drink. He promised Wade and even if Wade doesn’t want him anymore, well he can still try to be the man Wade thought he was for a while longer, can’t he? And maybe he’ll see the same things he used to in Logan. 

After a rougher, but low level mission without Wade’s help, Logan starts to slink back to his room sullenly, dodging Ororo and Laura who both try vying for his attention only to run directly into Scott in the hallway a few feet from freedom. 

“Whoa, Logan, hey,” Scott steadies him, warm hands on his shoulders that don’t linger. Just a firm, guiding touch that borders on professional. “You feeling alright? Saw you take that hit earlier, it looked pretty bad. Do you need any help or a first aid kit? I’d love it if you’d let Hank take a look at you.” 

Fighting the urge to shove him, Logan swallows hard. It’s a sickening feeling, being spoken to like this from Scott. Like he accepts Logan for who and what he is. Wants him to know he could be cared for here, but Logan can’t accept that. Can’t let that happen. 

To grow comfortable here would be to admit defeat. Admit that he’s not Wade’s Wolverine anymore; he’s just some shitty replacement for the better version of himself. 

He’s trapped. Stuck in the same position he was in back home decades ago. He won’t let them in, can’t get close because he can’t make himself tell them all the horrible things he’s done. 

He’s no more a part of this universe's X-men family than he was in his. 

They try, though. Try to get close. They’ll catch him slipping up sometimes and greet him with soft looks and gentle voices like a dear old friend. He’ll zone out only to come to with a hand on his shoulder that he’s fully convinced, for one harrowing moment, is that of a corpse. 

But, no. His eyesight will refocus and oh, that’s right. Scott was never old enough for those laugh lines by his mouth to appear. Or Jean’s eye color hadn’t yet faded to that lighter blue. 

He’ll remember where he is. What he’s losing all over again. Because he can’t fucking tell them what happened. Can’t get comfortable with himself like he could in Wade’s apartment. And he isn’t wanted there anymore. 

They shy from him sometimes, when he forgets himself, forgets to keep in check. When he gets too loud, too excited. Voice rumbling and carrying like he used to with Wade. Or if he moves too fast, talking with his hands, though his claws are safely tucked inside his forearms, sometimes their eyes tighten and he feels sick, though he knows it’s not wholly his fault. They’re just not used to seeing a Wolverine like this. 

The other Logan never let them in completely either it seems. Every time Logan yawns hugely and they startle at his fangs or when he growls and chuffs to communicate with Laura in front of the others. He hasn’t purred since Wade, but he isn’t keen on witnessing their reactions to that . 

It feels like punishment, knowing there’s a part of them that can’t relax around him and his tendencies. Knowing that it's different with Laura; this is the only way they've ever known her, feral and wild and strong. It's only for Logan that they disapprove of his ways. 

Hank’s reactions to him are the worst — he won’t even look Logan in the eye, talks right through him or over him like he isn’t there. Barely registers his presence even when he looks him over in the lab after a particularly brutal injury. 

Logan’s least proud of how he handles that. 

Today, he lets Scott coax him down to Hank’s lab with the instruction that he gets examined after his last fuck up. His reaction times on missions have slowed to a crawl, losing all of his finesse to become a barreling, bumbling mass of metal and desperation. 

“Will you fucking look at me,” he snarls as Hank checks him over with all the familiarity and warmth of someone removing a slug from their tomato plant. He doesn’t see Hank often, the blue mutant too old and tired to do field work anymore, confining himself to the lab at all hours. 

And oh, that comment was a fucking mistake, because Hank does look at him, then, and there’s nothing behind his blue eyes — none of the humor, none of the care that Logan was longing for. That he’s used to from his Hank. 

This Hank’s stare is icy and cruel, sharply biting into Logan’s soul. “Well? I’m looking at you. And what exactly do you require that necessitated that?” 

All the breath leaves Logan’s lungs in a pathetic woosh, “What the fuck did the other guy do to you, Blue?” 

Logan expects a fight — a growl at the very least, but Hank deems him less than worth it. He leaves Logan there at the examination table with a cold, clipped, “we’re done here.” And the swish of his lab coat as he exits through the door. 

The rubbing alcohol Hank uses for disinfectant looks more and more appealing by the second. 

— 

Logan trudges back to his room with his metaphorical tail between his legs, dejected and miserable and hoping to crawl into bed and beg the universe with a small part of himself that he just doesn’t wake up. 

Laura sitting on his bed changes those plans. 

“Will you get the hell out of here? I’m not in the mood,” he sighs instead of snapping because it’s her — anyone else would have gotten the claws and a bigger attitude. He even adds a small ‘please’ tacked onto the end. 

In defiance, Laura lays down, sprawling across the comforter like a starfish and settles in, putting all of her weight into staying exactly where she is, “nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ in an obnoxious manner that reminds Logan so much of Wade. 

The desperate feeling in his chest grows. 

“ Laura .” 

“ Dad .” 

He balks; it’s her secret weapon. They both know he’s helpless to deny her anything when she calls him that. He growls and strips his flannel off angrily, overheated from his exchange with Hank, leaving him in his white undershirt. Next, he toes off his boots and kicks them toward the door, fully aware that he’s pitching a fit like a toddler. It’s his room, he may as well be comfortable in it despite his unwanted ( liar ) visitor. 

Laura snorts amusedly at him. “Sooo…” she starts, staring at the ceiling above his bed. “There’s a party at Wade’s tonight.” 

“So? I know you’re not asking for permission, you’re eighteen, you know I don’t give a fuck what you do,” his lip curls when he answers, fangs glinting in the slanted sunlight through his shuttered blinds. The comment gets a pillow thrown at his head that he doesn’t bother ducking from. It hits him square in the face and then falls to his feet. 

“That’s a motherfucking lie and you know it, you overprotective asshole,” Laura counters, “you texted me three times an hour the last time I went to the mall unsupervised just to check in.” She sits up and scoots toward the edge of the bed, leveling him with a look that could turn a lesser man to stone. Sometimes, he thinks, he’s one more bad day away from being that lesser man. 

Sometimes she has to stay in here with him, when things get too tempting, when he needs to be reminded that someone needs him. He remembers the way she looked at him fresh from the Void, tucked into his side listening to Colossus in Wade’s apartment tell tales from the Mansion and he chases that starry eyed, proud look of hers like his North Star on dark nights. 

“It’s been months , and you told me he didn’t do anything wrong. And you’ve been interacting on missions fine enough, I think you should try going tonight. Storm, Kurt, and Marie were thinking of tagging along, too, with Ellie and Yukio.” 

He couldn’t tell her — or anyone, really — exactly what happened with Wade. Had made up some bullshit excuse about Wade not wanting to leave Althea alone at the apartment, swallowing down the grief at the fact that Wade had simply wanted him gone. No one knew they were sleeping together, anyway, Logan doesn’t think. 

“I know you never answered any of his calls.” 

Logan snaps his head up from where he’d been studying the pillow on the floor, breath catching in a worked up snarl, “It’s not really your business.” 

“ You are my business, dad.” 

He glowers at her and she glowers right back with his eyes, and his nose, and his whole face. She tries to bare her fangs like he does, but they don’t poke out as far as his do so her nose scrunches adorably in frustration. 

He stalks toward her, swoops down to kiss her forehead and then promptly shoves her off the end of his bed, “let me fucking sleep on it. I’m taking a nap.” Crawling to flop in the middle of her vacated spot, he groans. She lands with an indignant squawk, falling right on her ass. He’d kicked the pillow toward her when he walked toward the bed, though, placed perfectly so she’d hit the soft material instead of the floor at the end of her fall. 

They both know he’ll end up going to the party later, just because she asked him to.

—

He shows up late, fashionably so, simply because he had to pace the curb outside for a solid forty or so minutes and work up the courage to go on up. The party is in full swing by the time he turns the knob and steps inside the once-shared apartment. 

Laura sidles up to him instantly, bouncing into his space as excitedly as Puppins does with the same big, soft eyes. “Hi, dad,” she purrs and nuzzles against his arm, pulling him into the mix of the crowd easily before anyone can really register his presence. 

Everyone barely bats an eye, returning to their conversations and food. Everyone except Wade. 

Logan catches his eye over Laura’s shoulder, watches the merc buffer and freeze, staring at him until he snaps out of it and downs the glass he nearly cracked in his tight grip. He disappears hastily into the kitchen. 

Untangling from Laura as gently as possible, Logan follows automatically. Feet moving without his permission, drawn to Wade like a magnet. 

On his way to the kitchen he notices things, takes inventory of the whole apartment, cataloguing anything out of place in the last four months. But it’s as if time has frozen in the place; every gap Logan left when he took his things that night has remained in place. Wade hasn’t adjusted a single thing, as if Logan’s absence was preserved. 

The spot on the end table where his ashtray went; the rectangular space he always slid his reading glasses into on the coffee table. Everything remains empty, waiting for the return of Logan’s items. 

It’s both worse and better than the alternative. 

Finally in the kitchen alone with Wade, Logan’s mouth dries out, words stolen out from under him. No plan, no script. No goal. 

Wade is oddly silent, too, back turned and clutching the edge of the sink with white knuckles, until he hears Logan’s heavy footsteps and turns toward him, offering him a glass. 

Blinking and thoughtless, Logan takes it without hesitating, already knowing what’s in it. And more importantly, what isn’t. 

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Logan croaks, “How’s Ness?”

In anticipation of Wade’s answer already, his fingers tighten around the glass in his hand. Orange juice. From the back of the fridge. With a far enough out expiration date that Logan knows it’s new. Freshly bought, the carton on the counter reveals. 

Waving a dismissive hand, Wade answers absently, “Huh? Oh, she’s fine, peanut, don’t worry about her.” He’s tense and agitated, flighty in a way Logan hasn’t seen him in ages. It’s clear that Logan’s presence unnerves him, a sign that Logan should have trusted his gut and ignored the invitation. “Thanks— thanks for coming,” he says, sidestepping around Logan with a wide berth and disappearing into the living room again. 

Logan hides out in the kitchen for most of the night, stomach fluttering with butterflies every time the sound of Wade’s laugh carries throughout the room. 

—

They don’t talk again until everyone’s left. 

By some conniving, Logan ends up the last person in the apartment after coming back from taking the overflowing trash out back. In the time it took for him to go to the dumpster and back, the apartment was cleared of even Puppins and Althea. 

Wade startles when he finds Logan in the kitchen, stuffing a new trash bag into the can like he lives there, like he used to do every other day, grumbling about being the only one to do the chores around the place. Wade reminds himself to separate Laura and Vanessa in future. The two of them could bring the world to its knees with their combined scheming. 

“Thought you left, honey badger.” He’s noticed that he’s demoted back to honey badger and peanut, only. No more baby. Of course not. 

“Was just taking the trash out,” he says dumbly, nudging the can with his boot, “you um, you look good.” Smooth, Logan. He mentally berates himself. Subtle. 

The answering snort this comment earns is ugly and full of derision, “no, I fucking don’t.” 

But he does, to Logan, who hasn’t seen him outside of his Deadpool suit in months, has almost forgotten the way the light dances across his scars and how soft he looks in his cardigans and slippers. 

“How have you been, peanut? Mansion life treating you well?” There’s an awkward tension between them that’s never existed before. Not even during their initial meeting in the Void has there ever been such stifling silence. Things were always easy. 

“S’fine,” Logan grunts. “Just missing—”

Wade cuts him off, suddenly irate, “well, things have been great here. Just peachy. Yep. Thank you for asking. And picking up my calls.” 

Brow furrowing, Logan shakes his head. It doesn’t make any sense that Wade’s unhappy anymore. He got what he wanted; Logan had left the apartment at his insistence. He must be playing it up to spare Logan’s feelings. “Look, Wade, you don’t have to lie to me. I want to hear the truth, come on.” 

Somehow this comment just incenses Wade further. “You want the truth? You want a real answer? It’s been fucking hell around here. You left me, and then Ness left again —,”

Voice like steel, it’s Logan’s turn to cut him off, “What the fuck do you mean? I left because you fucking asked me to.” 

“I did fucking not , you— you big fucking idiot. I was asking you to move in with me and you ran away !” Wade shouts, hand slamming against the countertop. 

“But you just fucking admitted that you were with Vanessa!” Logan roars right back, all cards on the table. “I was just the fucking stand-in until you worked your shit out! I don’t fucking get it, Wade.” 

Wade goes pale and still. 

“ Wade ,” Logan begs. “Please?” 

“I’ve never known pain like that, Logan.” Only ever felt it again when you left me , he thinks. “I’m not going to lie to you, it was bad when she left but by the time you moved in I was already working through it. You were never a place-holder. Ness was around again this time because I couldn’t be alone, didn't know what I was capable of. Al wasn’t cutting it. I needed—,” he cuts himself off, running a shaky hand over his head. “I don’t know what I needed. Ness didn’t either; it’s why she gave up. Went back to her own life.” 

Throughout Wade’s tirade they’ve inched closer and closer to each other, coming to stand toe to toe and nose to nose. 

Neither of them know who leans in first, but it doesn’t matter as soon as their mouths crash together, kissing hard and aggressively. Just like their first time in the same damn kitchen; like they haven't learned a single thing. 

Reeling back, Logan gapes, dodging Wade’s attempt at chasing after his lips, “'move in'? You wanted to move in to the Mansion together?”

“That’s what I fucking said, now kiss me again or I swear to god I’ll stab you with your own claws,” Wade whines, fisting his hands in the front of Logan’s shirt and leaning into him. He's had enough of the talking part of their little reunion, wants to remind Logan of how good he can make him feel once he's his for good now. 

“And—,” Logan swallows hard, eyes darting to Wade’s pouting lips, “and it’s over with Ness? It really wasn’t anything?” If honesty is the name of the game tonight, he wants every answer. 

Halfway through his asking, Wade’s already shaking his head back and forth. “You’re so fucking stupid. You’re so dumb. Take your clothes off.” It’s a joke, like before, where he means it but hopes Logan thinks he isn't being sincere. “There was nothing between me and Ness, not since you.” 

Logan surges forward and captures his lips in another heated kiss, tongue darting out to taste him, god , he’s missed the man before him. All of his attraction and affection that he’s tried to bottle up and ignore comes crashing to the forefront, he pulls Wade’s hard body against his own, hands gripping his hips and snaking around his waist. 

“Bedroom? Lo, please?” Wade tips his head back, letting Logan suck bruises across his throat. Soft lips without even a hint of teeth, but Wade’s sure he’ll be able to change that by the end of the night. 

It’s so easy to stumble into Wade’s room, a familiar path well worn and ingrained into both of them despite the break. Old habits, as they say. 

“God, you don’t know how long I fucking stayed up just waiting for you to walk back through that door, Logan,” Wade moans, threading his fingers into Logan’s cowlicks as he lowers the merc down onto his bed, careful and steady like always. 

Logan can’t form the words to tell him how badly he wanted to come back, to come home to him. 

He uses his mouth in other ways, hoping to communicate the same sentiment. They’ve always been better at this than anything else. Sinking down Wade’s body, he strips the merc entirely before settling in between his legs. 

Wade whines for him, kicking his legs up over Logan’s shoulders and keeping him there until they both feel better. Logan eases him through it time and again, mouth never leaving his thighs or his hips, his stomach or his cock for very long the rest of the night. 

—

Convincing Logan to stay in bed takes less effort than Wade thought it would after they clean up; all he has to do is hold him in place, pressing kisses into his hair and skating soft fingertips along his ribs. There’s a spot across Logan’s lats that works like magic, draining the tension from him completely and allowing him to fall asleep in minutes. Before he can gather his wits and decide to leave like he used to, Wade winds strong arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him across the small distance between them. He tucks close against Wade’s chest, pliant and sweet and so tired. Rumbling quietly — so quiet that if Wade didn’t know of its existence he’d think he was imagining the sound of contentment. 

“Jus’ for a lil bit,” Logan slurs before passing out, satisfied like he hasn’t been in months and all he let Wade do was jerk him off after blowing him for so many rounds. 

Wade falls asleep with Logan’s breath tickling the hollow of his throat, and thinks that he could die happy if he never left this bed. 

A few short hours later, Logan startles awake, having rolled away from Wade to press his face into the pillow on his side. He cracks his eyes open with dread settling in his stomach and cold fear gripping him. Wade’s words from earlier ring through his head, how desperate and broken he’d been over Vanessa and how Logan had hurt him the same way.  

He scrambles out of Wade’s bed, and fuck , he’s broken his rule about sleeping there. His gut and his instincts scream at him that this was all a mistake. Vulnerability only ends in heartbreak. He doesn’t think he can survive losing Wade a second time. 

He’s not the guy people take home and keep. He won’t get to make this last. 

He runs. Covered in Wade’s scent and with his lingering warmth quickly seeping from his cold bones, Logan runs to a place he hasn’t ran in months. 

—

The call an hour later wakes Wade up from a dead sleep. One hand reaching for Logan’s side of the bed, cold and rumpled from his hasty escape. Before Wade can even process this information, though, he picks up the phone. 

“What the fuck did you do to him? He’s fucking drunk and his bike’s wrecked and he won’t shut the fuck up about you.” Laura seethes on the other end of the phone — if Wade had any hair on his body it would be prickling all over, standing on end. Baby badger is furious like a true Wolverine. Underneath the desire to piss his pants, Wade’s genuinely proud of her. 

“Laura, I—,” 

“Fix this. Now.” 

The line clicks and the echoing silence rings in Wade’s ears.

Notes:

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