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It’s hot.
To put it politely, but Wade W Wilson isn’t all that versed in social niceties. In his opinion it’s fucking hot. Hot as Satan’s arse crack. Hot as the centre of the earth, or the surface of the sun - which figures, because this whole mind-melting, body-perspiring fiasco is that giant flame-balls fault! That, and global warming, or something.
The sun has got his hat on~ Hip hip hip fucking hooray…!
And what’s worse - they live in the city! Which, although beneficial for things like public transport (read: Dopinder), and the plethora of open-all-hours, weird and wonderful food outlets which fulfill Wade’s needs whenever he gets the munchies, well...it does add extra degrees of suffering in other ways.
For instance: extortionate rent on shoe box sized apartments (with or without extra mice companions), sirens wailing every hour like clockwork, 24/7, 365, and also, the endless disaster that they chase after – this cities got a crime problem and a new bad guy every week, which often then becomes Wade’s problem! And legit bad-guy work doesn’t actually pay all that well, just sayin’...
Most importantly, the city is a landscape of concrete and asphalt in every direction - which reflects heat hideously well - along with tall glass buildings which trap it all in and make it nice and toasty. Like a 300 mile square oven.
It’s been like this forever (two days), and Wade is suffering. Even on his good days, cancer equals inflammation equals higher body temperature. Which is generally bearable, and actually somewhat useful for missions when he ends up knee deep in snow in only a skin-tight spandex suit. But right now? He doesn’t need the outside interference. And of course he’s whining about it, while Logan – also suffering, by the way, just quietly - is slowly stewing in his own sweat.
It’s mid morning, and already the world is stifling – it never truly cooled down from yesterday, and heat rises, after all. Their two bed apartment is three stories up, which coincidentally seems to be the level where the building regulations dictate the windows need to be chained up. No biggie; Wade’s already fixed that problem by taking a hack saw to them and damning the deposit (that is the least of the reasons why they will not be getting their deposit back). But that’s redundant for the fact that if there is a blessed breeze out there in the sweltering streets, it definitely isn’t aiming at their building!
They’ve got fans going, instead. Dusty old things Wade dug out from a box at the back of The Junk Cupboard this morning when it became clear the heatwave still wasn’t letting off. He’s decorated them with strips of toilet paper, which flutter and waft as they spin, in an attempt to stop Mary sticking her tongue through the bars and spraying blood everywhere, he’d said.
“Which, yes, may be preferable to shit, but at this point in time if I have to move one inch from this sofa I’m going to perspire until I expire, and then that’ll be even more cleaning up to do!”
“Yeah, for me.” Logan had grumbled from beside him. “You’ll be having a nice little nap.”
“True.” Wade had admonished, tying the last of his safety measures onto the rickety old fan. “On second thought, maybe that’s actually a good idea! I could work myself up into heat exhaustion, and then remain comatose until the world decides to chill the fuck out!”
“Being cooked alive isn’t a stella way to die.” Logan says, levelly, and Wade had blinked at him.
“Shit.” He’d said. “You’re going to have to tell me how that happened.”
Wade had placed one fan next to Mary’s bed, so the dog can splay upside down, tits to the world, and revel in the hot air blowing across her skin. Though it makes her puff of hair floof wave in the draft, it doesn’t actually offer much coolness – but she appreciates the idea. Her tongue dangles into one of her eyes as she pants.
The second fan is on the coffee table, set to rotate so it wafts back and forth across the sofa where Wade and Logan are currently sprawled like dead bodies, limbs spread for maximum air contact, and clothes wearing at a minimum - Wade's wearing nothing but his favourite lace panties; for the extra ventilation. After Trauma Story Telling Time had trailed off, and divulged back into woeful moaning about the temperature, Wade has been transfixed by the fan, only moving his eyes to follow it. It’s strangely hypnotic; the subtle wrrrrr of the blades, and the little metronome as it changes direction.
Tic…tic...tic...tic ...
And also a blessing, because that means it’s been ten minutes since he’s been pitifully chewing Logan’s ear off.
Eventually though, even boiling in his own skin can’t keep Wade’s mouth from blowing hot air.
“It’s fucking hoooooot.” Wade whines for the hundredth time, 48 hours into the heat wave – that’s approximately once every half hour, give or take the couple of breaks when they’ve actually managed to sleep a bit. Wade twists his head as the fan roves to the left, to face Logan as it does. Logan offers a grunt of acknowledgement, and blinks open one squinted eye from where he has his head rested back against the sofa. His arms are flung across it, legs open wide.
Logan doesn’t have cancer, but he does have metal bones. Metal bones which conduct whatever temperature he’s surrounded by; so right now he’s being cooked from the inside out. To account for this, when he’d rolled out of bed this morning, he’d grabbed for the smallest pair of boxers he could find - some of Wade’s, bright pink, with some cutesy cartoon on them, but Logan’s beyond caring about that. They are skimpy, and soft and just enough for him to be modest (for Al’s sake; blind or not, it’s the principle!), but not enough to set off his revulsion at literally anything touching any part of his body right now.
It means the rest of him is very much on show. All bulging muscle and hair, accented by a sweaty sheen across every inch of his skin. If his expression didn’t look so pinched from literally drowning in his own body fluids, Wade would be all over that. As it turns out, even Wade – normally a human koala – has gone off the idea of any form of body contact. Which sucks, because Logan is right there looking like some sort of Greek statue, that needs to be worshipped, and he caaann’t.
“This is so not fair. It’s so far from fair, even the underhand dodgy dealers that sell coke out of the back alley at 194th street think it’s not fair. And hey, they can probably afford air con!” Wade grouches, and lazily drops his gaze to then run it up Logan’s body. From his muscled calves to his tremendous, tempting thighs, to the gratuitous bulge of him in Wade’s too small boxers. The slight pudge of his stomach, from 6 months of eating actual food and relaxing in Wade’s company. Across his glorious tits which Wade wants to smoother his face in, but the humidity is too bad already and motor-boatings fun but waterboarding himself in Logan’s sweat sounds less so. He finishes at Logan’s face, where the man has now managed to blink open his second eye, and is looking across at Wade like he’s just come out of hibernation, all soft and sleepy and unbelievably hot (figuratively and literally).
“I miss yooouuu.” Wade whines again, and turns in his seat, drawing his legs up even though his thighs stick together revoltingly as he does. He reaches a hand across the cushions to whisper it against Logan’s leg, which flinches away reflexively.
“I’m right here.” Logan frowns a little, and blinks, and swallows dryly. He drinks less, these days – has tried to be good about it, not use it as a crutch as he did for so many years, even if this world is just as fucked up and mental as his old one had been, just in different ways. But even though it’s barely 10am, right now an ice cold beer wouldn’t go amiss. Even if it was just to put the bottle to his forehead, jeezus.
He’s not getting up to get one, though.
“But you’re so far away.” Wade’s hand clenches, and he pouts as he sags against the back of the sofa. “I am bereft in your absence. It’s been exactly 2 hours and 17 minutes since I last touched you. I fear I will never know the pleasure again.”
“It’s too hot, bub.” Logan tries to placate, and shifts his arm on the back of the sofa so his fingers can lay against the nape of Wade’s neck. The other man shudders, exaggeratedly, and let’s out a little groan.
“We’re not in the Victorian era, though!” He complains, once he’s got himself back under control. “I want more than grazing hands and flashes of ankles!” He says and Logan manages to glance down at the both of them, in their all but naked-glory (at Wade's Not Very Victorian underwear, which normally would get Logan going, but the flash of want just ups his body temperature an extra degree and that's enough for him to go off the idea), and raises an eyebrow. “I mean, your lap is right there, and I am the rightful heir to that throne and all its kingdom. But I don’t think I can take it any more! The risks are too great...”
“What risks?” Logan plays along, and soothes his fingers across Wade warm skin in some hope of lessening him winding himself up further.
“Of me melting ala Olaf!” Wade whines again, shifting the tiniest bit closer, and tilting his head so it’s resting lightly on Logan’s arm. He mumbles, quieter: “I don’t even want to build a snowman right now…” He wrings his hands together on the cushions between them, and one of his knuckles grazes Logan’s hair leg and Logan makes himself shift into it, in commiseration. It’s all that they can take.
“Can’t help you with that. Not exactly having fun myself.”
“We should...do something.” Wade decides, and he frowns down at his hands as he finds a hangnail to worry. The fan wafts over his chest, hot draft which does absolutely nothing to ease his suffering. “To cool down, I mean. I can’t take another day of stewing and hoping it’ll go away. But then again, the idea of any physical activity makes me want to puke with pre-emptive heat stroke.” He carries on, and Logan hums in wholehearted agreement, and shifts his hips as he feels sweat gathering at his lower back. “Oh! We could go live in the shower!”
“You’ve already showered twice this morning.” Logan says. Once immediately after peeling himself out of bed, the second after eating breakfast - because even digesting Lucky Charms with strawberry milk made him overheat. “Landlord will question our water usage if we’re not careful.” Considering all the extra clothes washing they have to do already, what with the frequent bad guy blood baths they end up in... “Best leave some for Al.”
“Who, the old bat whose currently literally cooking herself up on Maud’s rooftop terrace? She snatched that coconut oil you use for Thai curries on her way out, I swear to Beelzebub. She doesn’t deserve cool down time; she wants to roast!”
“Must just be okay with the heat.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.” Wade thinks, and turns back to Logan. Dares to press his fingers into his thigh, rubbing circles, because if he can’t be sitting on them, he can at least feel them up. Logan hums again, almost like a purr, and his own fingers follow the whorling scars across Wade’s shoulders. “We could find a pool? Not our water to waste, then.” Wade says, tentatively, and glances at Logan for the dismissal he’s sure will follow – The Wolverine is not known for being much of a swimmer, Wade knows. “Or a very shallow body of water? Like a puddle.” He tries instead, voice going higher in desperation. “A hose pipe somewhere. IDK, I know it’s not your favourite thing in the world pookie, but I’m literally dying here.” He groans, and grows more serious. His hand stills. “Like, for real, I think the extra heat is making my cells cook and break down faster. Everything feels tight and achy.”
Logan looks worried for a moment, and his wandering fingers stop as he considers. He ignores the flashes of memory of all the times he's been near the ocean - stood on piers waiting for boats to take him to another fight, or on look out at the top of rocky cliffs - and glanced down into the turbulent water. He'd known, instinctively, that if he'd fallen, he wouldn't be getting up again. Had stepped back, away from the edge.
Or the times he'd made camp by a river, and the other men had gone swimming to cool off from the jungle heat, and he'd been unable to do the same. Had washed himself off on the bank, and ignored the heckling of 'What, you never learn to swim?'. Bit less of a joke if it's not lack of skill that would make you drown, but your own body dragging you under...
But then Logan looks at Wade - a bit dazed eyed, a bit lethargic like on one of his Bad Pain Days, obviously suffering - and he reins back his anxiety reasonably quickly. Logan doesn't like to see Wade downtrodden, doesn't like him to not be Wade, and considering the unprecedented and often unexplainable affection he holds for the other man these days, it's easier to squash down his own fear.
He gives Wade’s shoulder a reassuringly squeeze.
“Yeah, we could do that.”
“What, really?!” Wade chirps, brightening up and reflexively going to grab Logan but stopping himself, palms already sweating. “I’ve got a blow up Unicorn float, and some arm bands! I can lend you them!”
“Nah, I won’t go in. But if it’ll help you, we can go.”
“Ah, poppet. You’re the sweetest.” Wade can’t stop himself this time, too overjoyed and full of Happy Feelings. So he rolls towards Logan, and just the motion has him burning up, and it’s even worse when he’s suddenly in Logan’s proximity, not quite touching, but enough to feel the heat between them radiate, sticky and wet and not in their normal good way. He pulls up short, but leans in just enough to kiss Logan square on the cheek. The other man’s smile flashes for a second, before he’s overcome with suffering and his Bad Boy Facade takes over again. Wade spots it, though.
“I’ll go get my snorkel!”
***************
They don’t go to a pool, because the closest one is five blocks away, and walking sounds like some sort of biblical punishment, and the bus like BO soup - Logan vetos that idea rapidly. Getting the tube, joyously, would be a heinous combination of both!
Wade’s next suggestion is to abuse the nearest fire hydrant and pay the fine, but Logan grabs him by the back of his shirt before he can go about doing it.
“The park, then?” Wade says, and nods towards the slight greenery of the dog park peeking through the buildings only one block away. Logan had taken Mary there on her morning walk - it’s got grass and trees, and a large man-made lake hidden in the middle, so the city can claim it provides enrichment for it’s citizens by giving them a tiny slice of nature in the midst of it’s concrete jungle. Really feels like a jungle, right now, fuck. “I know the water is suspicious, and that the swamp monster lives there, but I’m willing to take my chances right now.”
“There isn’t a swamp monster, Wade.”
“And despite multiple photographic evidences, dear Nessie of the Loch doesn’t exist either.” Wade sing songs. “Until proven otherwise, there is totes something radioactive and monstrous lurking in thems shallow waters. One day, she’ll rise in her glory, and flood the city. Hopefully in the next hour...”
Wade is wearing a sun hat (one of Al’s), and a hideous Hawaiian shirt. Both are floral and garish, and the shirt is held together with only one button. His shorts are khaki coloured cargos, covered in pockets, and knee length because he is in public, and that’s the maximum he is willing to wear – which, considering his normal levels of self-consciousness, puts the heat factor into perspective. His crocs are bejeweled with multicoloured Jibbitz in basically every available space.
Logan’s gone for a white tank top and his thinnest pair of jean shorts (which had actually been full length until yesterday, when he discovered he didn’t own any summer clothes, and he’d used his claws to rectify that), along with some of Wade’s least offensive canvas slip-ons, rather than his standard boots. Even so, the back of his neck is prickling with sweat already.
As they leave their building, Logan puts on his aviators to block out the offensive glare of the sun. The sky is gloriously blue, not a cloud to be seen. Mary trots between them, panting heartily but ecstatic to be out again. Her little booties make sure her feet are protected from the hot asphalt, and Wade had slathered her in kid-safe sun-cream before putting her summer outfit on – a body suit, boring and plain coloured, but with the bonus of having inbuilt cooling packs. Wade had got it special delivered yesterday, and eaten a whole two litre tub of ice cream so he could squeeze it into the freezer to chill it (he'd had to press his head into Logan's shoulder for ten minutes after to stave off the brain-freeze). Mary's even got a matching sun visor, which leaves her hair floof free to do as it wishes.
The park is only a block away, and easy an wander, but today it feels like a million miles. Wade starts off relatively chipper, happy to be doing something other than stewing in the apartment, and so he’s jingling Mary’s lead and skipping over the familiar cracks in the pavement. But soon he starts sweating, and slowing, and whining again. Normally he’d be holding Logan's hand at this point, swinging it absently between them as he looks around shops and people watches into cafes, relying on Logan to guide him out of danger. But right now even brushing shoulders is too much.
They drag their feet at about half way, and by three quarters Wade is gasping dramatically and pausing by their local convenience store to lean against the wall – the brick is sun-baked and hot, which has him hissing and quickly flinching away from it 'fuck, I think I just sloughed a chunk of skin!'. Mary, cool and oblivious in her new jacket - or maybe just as much of a sun worshipper as Al - yips up at him, tongue lolling in a happy pant. She’s having the best time.
“I’m done for. Go on without me.” Wade gasps out into the empty street. A stream of very air conditioned cars roll slowly by, and a handful of other folk are wandering about, but it’s a bit of a ghost town which the sun glaring down on it.
“Come on, it’s not that much further.” Logan says, levelly. His breath almost feels weighed down as it fills his lungs, thick and unrefreshing. The apartment was still and stifling, but this is almost worse – the full force of the heat, with no breeze to take off the edge. His bones seem even heavier than usual, and hotter. Every step makes him feel sapped of energy and patience.
“#Regret. I can’t. I am defeated. Let it be known that—”
“This was your idea, Red.” Logan grits out. Ducking under the shop awning to get out of the direct sunlight. He can feel his skin crisping constantly, itching; his healing factor fixing it as quickly as it happens.
“And normally my ideas are the best, I know! But this one is just sweaty.” Wade looks through the shop window, tilts his head. Then his hand’s go lax in his distraction. “Luckily, I’ve just come up with a better one. I’m going to go attempt cryofreeze. It's what all the cool MCU characters do - ha!” He barks out a laugh, then dives for the doorway. Logan flinches from the speed for the movement, and looks down at Mary, her lead abandoned on the chewing-gum-and-cigarette-butt-riddled pavement, and sighs.
“Better go keep him outta trouble, eh?” He says, and scoops her up under his arm to follow after Wade. The blast of cooler air as he pushes through the doorway feels like heaven.
Dogs aren’t really allowed in here – there is a sign stuck to the door right by Logan’s hand which says as much, bold letters and sad looking cartoon puppy and everything. But thankfully Wade’s done a good deed (stopped an armed robbery) or two (possibly murdered the loan shark after the owners mother, nothing was ever proven) for the store owner, so Mary is an exception. On the proviso that she doesn’t take a bite of any of the bakery goods, or pee beneath the reduced section shelf. Again.
Luckily Wade’s done more than one deed.
So, Logan trails into the shop, keeping his sunglasses on because raising his hand to take them off seems like an effort, and the dullness after all that light is soothing. It is a little bit cooler in here, but the initial effect is lost the further into the shop he goes. Thankfully, holding Mary to his chest seems to be actually helping; her cooling jacket turning her into a living cold pack. She’s excited, always is when she gets picked up, and is wriggling around and looking about for where Wade has gone.
Logan nods to the cashier on duty – sat with a small electric fan aimed at his face, some Youtube video droning on from his phone – and heads for the frozen section. But Wade isn’t there. Suspicious. Logan frowns, and sniffs, and catches his scent, then trails it in the opposite direction.
He finds Wade in the toy section. The other man is grinning maniacally, and brandishing a water pistol the size of his torso. He swings to Logan when he hears him coming, and Mary barks a greeting.
“Lookit, peanut! Not my normal style, I admit, but I’m nothing if not flexible to my circumstance.” He offers a wink, and awkwardly cocks the gun in it’s packaging. “It’s called the Super Soaker 2000, and it’s on offer!”
Logan (concerned, but sensing the inevitability of where this is going) slowly makes his way to him. “What do you need that for?”
“For soaking, duh! It’ll be like a portable shower! Mucho refreshing, and also, I suspect, a bit of fun!” Wade cheers and grins, and the misery of the passed couple of days seems to have eased off his shoulders suddenly, and Logan feels himself smiling slightly in return.
It’s really not his thing – he’s too old and beaten down for games, and getting wet tends to make him agitated. Because of your kitty cat like nature, he hears Wade voice echo in his head; a discussion that often dissolves into a argument, and one which they’ve had one too many times already - normally involving the claws, and Logan hissing and spitting, and Wade laughing because Logan's protests easily become Wade's evidence. But despite his dislike for water, and knowing any form of engagement with the idea will just be encouragement for Wade, Logan knows being unarmed will be a recipe for disaster. He’s Wade’s obvious target.
So he thinks If you can’t beat em’..., and glances at the shelves. He spots another water pistol, even bigger than Wades – labelled, in super hero font, Drencher Mark III. It’s double barrelled and has a bigger water container, though it’s not discounted in price. But fuck it, they’re not dirt broke right now.
“I’ll take this one then.” He says, picking the first one off the shelf and turning to go pay before he can talk himself out of it. Wade cheers behind him, and skips to follow, hugging his own toy to his chest. There’s always a comment though:
“Nice choice, peanut! I would make a quip about how you’re blatantly over compensating...” He says, and then turns over his shoulder, and his voice lowers as if he’s telling the worlds dirtiest secret: “But he’s really, really not.”
***************
The break from the heat seems to have refreshed Wade – helped by the entire litre of fizzy fruit juice he’d also bought and necked the second they left the shop – and so they make it to the park in only a couple more minutes.
Logan places Mary down on the cooler grass. He unclips her lead and drapes is around his shoulders, and watches as she immediately starts her normal route of investigation: first, the park bench, to see who’s peed on it recently, and leave her response; next the bin next to the park bench, to see if anyone’s left any snacks. Then it’s a trot/run as she leads them on their normal route - a loop off the main path through the trees, before circling passed the lake and back towards home.
“Easy there, Princess!” Wade calls after her. “It’s hot out remember!” He adds as an afterthought, already too distracted by ripping into the box holding his new gun hostage. He flexes his strength to pop the zip ties with his finger tips, rips right through the cardboard, and then quickly stuffs all the rubbish in the bin. He coos over the freed weapon for a second, all bright colours and cheep plastic not deserving of such reverence, before thrusting it at Logan - who grasps it reflexively - and snatching the Drencher Mark III out of his other hand to unbox as well. “I’m suddenly jealous of her not having fur, and any sort of inhibitions.” He says, handing the gun over to Logan again so they each have their Weapon of Choice. “Normally I don’t mind, kinda like the camaraderie of both being naked mole rats. But right now clothes are too much, and she can get away with public indecency and get called cute, but I can’t!” He reaches up to absently pull at his shirt, wafting some fruitless hot air across his chest. Logan watches, absently.
“Let’s get in the shade then.” Logan says, and turns to wander under the trees. It’s not much cooler, but it’s better than the street and better than being stuck in the apartment melting. Wade’s quickly by his side, and dares to bump his shoulder off Logan’s as he watches Mary sniff in-amongst some tree roots.
There are a few more people here – a family setting out for a picnic, carrying a parasol and a quaint wicker basket which draws Mary’s attention for a moment too long before Logan whistles and calls her off. There’s a group of probably-skiving-kids leisurely kicking a football between each other. Another couple of dog walkers with their soggy mutts frolicking beside them – obviously having the same idea as Wade, but just with a different purpose in mind.
Mary’s next stop is the water fountain at a fork in the path, which is convenient, because that’s where Wade was heading too. As the dog laps at the dog bowl at the base of the fountain, Wade unscrews the cap off his water pistol, and cackles as he fills it from the tap.
“Are yer gonna behave with that?” Logan questions, as he wanders after them both. His eyebrows rise behind his sunglasses, because he knows full well Wade wont. He’s just hoping to set at least some ground rules first. It’s not like they can actively brawl in such a public area (at least, not without drawing attention), and Logan’s hoping Wade’s self preservation and worries of heat stroke might stop it coming to that. But he’s also very competitive. And stubborn. And gets carried away when he’s having fun.
“Who? Me?” Wade asks, innocently, as he finishes filling the pistol’s container up, water bubbling onto his hand as it overflows. He screws the cap back on with a flourish. Mary looks up at him, happily drooling the water she didn’t quite swallow. “Did you hear that, Miss Puppins?” Wade says, leaning down to her conspiratorially. “Logie bear thinks I’m going to do something naughty.”
“Nope. I know you will.” Logan says, and steps forward to fill the Drencher. He has half an eye on Wade as he does it, though the other man simply stands there, and doesn’t make a move to attack just yet, even though he’s whistling pseudo-innocently and running his finger along the trigger guard of his Super Soaker. “So, can we at least set some ground rules?”
“You know what I think about rules, sweet cheeks. They’re meant to be—”
“Either completely ignored or broken out of spite.” Logan finishes for him, and Wade grins back.
“Ah, it’s like you actually know me!” Wade happy-dances, his Hawaiian shirt fluttering, and a fluffy Jibbit on his foot bobbing about. Logan, despite feeling his bones roast him from the inside like some some of mutant kebab, appreciates it when his chest warm for other reasons, too.
It’s been eight months since he and Wade had saved this world. Eight months since they’d endured complete atomisation and come back almost bonded by it. Logan had been drawn to Wade before, anyway – during those couple of days he’d spent in The Void with him, listening to him tell tales and blurt out jokes, and fight like the devil, and genuinely be kind, and endearing. And a fucking liar, too, but only out of desperation, and the kindness of his huge heart.
Logan had forgiven him for that sometime after Wade, still being kind, had offered him a place to stay. A shitty, too cramped flat, sure, but something that felt more homely than Logan had lived in for years.
Skip a couple of weeks and they were friends. Skip a month or so, and casual touches and idle flirting had become more meaningful. Somehow believed, on either side. They’d grown closer because that’s the sort of person Wade is, and the sort of person Logan needs to have around, chipping away at the walls he’d put up over the years, encroaching on his personal bubble in ways that weren’t violent (most of the time), but pleasant, and...wanted.
Skip another month, and they’d been falling asleep together on the sofa under a shared blanket, after watching Great British Bake Off re-runs late into the night. Which ended up with mornings waking up softly together, but also...the opposite: Wade plastered to Logan, legs tangled and hips lined up, and showing a lot of interest.
When Logan’s TVA funds had finally been sorted, they’d decided to move to a bigger place. Namely so they could have a room to themselves to wake up plastered together, and actually be able to do something about it without Al screaming at them that she could smell their flirting even if she couldn’t see it!
At the start, all those months ago, they’d been enemies of a sort. Now Logan considers them...boyfriends? Partners? Lovers? Either way, established enough, since more often than not they go out wearing each others clothes, and Logan knows most of Wade’s strange food preferences by now (has even learned to make some of them, under duress and puppy-dog-eyed guilt tripping). They also seem to be co-parenting a mutt, and acting as semi-carers for an elderly lady of no relation to either of them. And this morning Wade, despite the heat, sheets shimmied right off the bed because it was so hot overnight, had been wrapped around Logan like he was a teddy bear rather than a spiky mutant with a track record for violence, snoring right against his neck. It’s how he ends up every night, drawn to Logan even in his sleep, and Logan finds himself welcoming the gesture, and Logan had been perfectly happy with it - up until the point he realised he was overheated and clammy as fuck.
Wade hadn't so much peeled himself out of bed, as he'd had to peel himself off Logan.
Either way, Logan’s come to know Wade pretty well. Has come to like him despite his first impression. Foibles, idiosyncrasies and sheer stupidity and all.
Like being a fourty-something mercenary who wants to play with water pistols.
“Yeah bub, I know yer an overly-competitive, tricky fucker, but this parks Mary’s favourite, yeah? So let’s not get ourselves barred from it.”
“What damage could I do with this thing!?” Wade blurts, aghast as he waves his water pistol about. “It’s flimsy as fuck.”
“I’m sure you’d think of something.” Logan says, barely containing his eye roll, which Wade spots and grins back in return.
“Okaaayyy.” He says, put-upon begrudging. “I promise I will not do anything truly nefarious or scarring that may warrant a complaint to the guys at Park Enforcement Patrol.” He smiles then, a bit more mischievously, and Logan’s bracing himself almost without realising, hand tightening on his water gun, but not daring to raise it in case it sets Wade off into doing something stupid. “I, however, do not promise to keep it above the belt.” He grins, and then, quick as a flash, spins the gun, pumps it to pressure, and aims it at Logan. Or, more appropriately, right at Logan’s crouch.
Looks like that’s the rule discussion off the table, then.
Logan looks down at the wet patch spreading on his jeans, then looks up at Wade with a despairing raised eyebrow. The other man is cackling, still spraying Logan until the pressure in his gun runs out, and the water stream turns into a drip onto his own feet.
“Really…?” Logan says, levelly – but very forced levelly, and he’s struggling to stop the corners of his lips quirking into a smirk. Wade stifles a second wave of giggling.
“’Kay there, Wolvie? Age finally caught up to you?” He says, voice teasing and light. “Nothing to be ashamed of, you are ancient, after all! I’m sure incontinence is a completely normal complication of passing beyond the centenarian bracket.”
Once upon a time, Logan would have taken hold of this sort of rage bait and launched himself at his opponent with enough force to knock them out or maybe even incapacitate them in a more permanent way e.g. claws to the spinal chord, to the carotid, to any stabbable place in reach. But Logan, as Wade has said, is too old for that shit now – he’s matured, and mellowed, and settled. And somehow grown fond of Wade’s stupid sense of annoyingly infectious humour.
Doesn’t mean he wont still take him out though.
“Let’s fucking go.” He says, and retaliates by shooting Wade right in his smug face.
"Gah!"
It diverges from there, because it’s them, and Logan’s just as competitive and stubborn as Wade when he let’s go of his guise of morality.
Spluttering and coughing on water, Wade quickly turns tail, firing behind him as he jumps away. And then it’s like doing army drills again; holding their water guns, they hide behind bushes and fire at each other. Dash for new cover and do it all again. In minutes, Logan’s tank top is nearly see through with saturation, and Wade has lost his hat ducking under a low branch.
They dart amongst the trees, chasing after each other, Wade giggling all the while. Mary scurries between them, leaping up to try to catch the water shots. At some point Wade, hiding behind a large fallen log, lets out a stream of muffled expletives, and then sticks up both his hands above the wood, yelling:
“Parle!”
“What?” Logan calls, stopping his advance, but holding his gun up still and aiming. When Wade dares to slowly peek up from his hiding place, Logan stands, and tilts his head, eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Why should I parle with you?” He says. “You short first!”
“Because I’m out of ammo?” Wade says, voice high, eyes big. “And you love me? Mostly that one.”
Logan had snorted out a laugh, and allowed Wade to edge from his cover, to head back to the fountain to refill. But not before pressuring his own gun again, and squirting Wade right on the ass as he jogged away.
“Hey!"
“Sorry bub, finger slipped.” Logan says, smirking, and the grin Wade throws back over his shoulder is a little too filthy for public.
They both refill, in the end, and then head out again, further into the woods this time so not to disturb the other park-goers using the path. They’re both truly soaked to the skin now, but in the shade that’s glorious, and having vegetated on the sofa for the past two days it’s nice to stretch out a bit. Mary follows them, not choosing an alliance, but biting at their shoes, and on one occasion, this manages to completely trip Wade up.
“Wah!” Wade cries as he tumbles into the grass, panicking that he’ll land on the dog. But as he hits the deck, he catches her out of the corner of his eye bounding merrily after a squirrel. “Gah, silly creature! Watch your beelining!”
“Gotcha!” Logan says as he catches up to him. And then Wade’s spluttering as he takes a stream of water to the chest.
“Nooo. Right to the heart!” He wails, and falls back lifelessly into the grass, arms akimbo, eyes closed, playing dead. But unable to stop smiling as he does. Logan steps to stand over the other man, head tilted, small smile on his own face. Waits him out, a moment or two, until Wade blinks open his eyes, and his restrained smile becomes a blinding grin. He reaches up a hand, and makes a grabbing motion.
“Hmm?” Logan says, and lowers his weapon. The last of the water in it sloshes. “Does this mean I win?”
“Nah.” Wade says, and waves his hand more insistently, and whinges to draw attention to it until Logan snorts out an amused breath and reaches to take it. Which is a mistake – though Logan already knew that. Because Wade (is a trickster, and he) might be down, but he isn’t out.
With a heave and a leg swung at his ankle, Logan’s suddenly hitting the ground with a grunt and then Wade’s scrambling on top of him.
“I totally win.” Wade finishes, as Logan blinks and rolls his neck, and reorientates himself as he looks up at the trees. Wade leans over him, legs pressed against his thighs as he sits himself in Logan’s lap.
“Because not only am I the one on top, but look at you, peanut. Soaking wet and on your back for me.” He’d dropped his gun in the tussle, and now both his hands are free to run across Logan’s abs, his pecs, through the basically transparent tank top. “And because we’ve both had an impromptu shower, I can actually fondle the goods without either of us wanting to die of heat stroke, YAY!”
Logan absently bats Wade’s wandering hands away, and rests his own on Wade’s thighs, prodding absently at a pocket – feels like maybes there’s a lollipop in there, and some loose change Wade’s probably forgotten about since last summer when he wore these shorts.
“Maybe we call it a draw, then.” Logan mutters, and shifts so he can sit up into Wade’s space. He wraps his arms loosely around the other man’s waist. They are dripping a puddle into the grass, and the cooling air is pleasant. But its quickly made warm again by their body heat combining. “Since I caught myself a prize too.”
“Oh, you smooth motherfucker!” Wade bats at at Logan’s shoulder, then grabs for his face and ducks close. “Now, quick, kiss me before either of us decide physical contact is a terrible idea again, or Miss Norris and her pooch come around the corner.”
So they kiss, and it’s languid, and pleasant, and it’s only been a half a day but it’s enough for them both to have missed it – the concept of Can’t Have leading to Overwhelming Want. So it takes a while for them to pull away, and when they do they are both flushed, and Wade’s shifting about in Logan’s lap, and making far too needy a noise for just a kiss.
“Great, now I need to cool off for other reasons.” He grumbles, and looks over his shoulder for any passers by. But it’s just Mary, standing deathly still on her back legs to stare transfixededly up a tree, where the squirrel must be hiding. “I know I’m morally flexible, but I do have standards about public spaces. At least, opens ones.” He turns back to Logan, and leans forward to rest his forehead against him, expression softening and filling Logan’s whole line of sight. “Missed you, peanut.”
“Me too.” Logan admits, and shifts himself, but mostly because the ground is rock solid and his arse is going numb. “Move it, though. I can hear Miss Norris. And you know how she gossips.”
“As if Al doesn’t already spread rumours about us and our thoroughly enjoyable sex life.” Wade rolls his eyes. “It’s like she’s bragging! Oh, look at me, ticking all the politically correct boxes by being blind and living with two queer, mutant slash mutilated dudes. She’s such a two faced bitch! She always tells us to knock it off, or keep it down, or clean up after ourselves! And then runs off to her Bingo club to spill the tea anyway.”
“Everyone's gotta have a hobby.” Logan shrugs, but he’s smiling slightly as he says it, completely smitten and glad to be able to show it.
“And shipping is high on some folks lists. And those people aint sailors.” Wade admonishes, and is saved from further contemplation when Mary – having given up on the squirrel - barrels back into his side like a pocket-sized wrecking ball. Wade rocks with her, and then gathers her up in his arms, so she’s squished between his and Logan’s chests. “Oh well hello, my little hellion. You have a lot to answer for! Luckily I didn’t break my coccyx falling over you!”
Logan chuckles, and nudges Wade with his legs. He’s starting to warm up, and the pleasantness of having Wade close again is fading.
“Come on. Get up.”
“Mmm, fine.” Wade rises elegantly, and then moves Mary to one arm so he can help Logan up. Logan raises an eyebrow, but takes the offered hand, clasping it tight and not letting go as they stand. “So, I’m out of ammo again, and we diverted from the fountain like, a click and a half ago. Lake?”
“Sure.”
They gather their plastic weapons and Wade’s hat, and make their way further along the trail, Mary leading the way. Their water soaked clothes and the shade do a good job at keeping them cool, though all too soon they begin to dry out. Smiling happily to himself, Wade steps beside Logan again, and reaches for his hand. Logan glances at him when he does, but squeezes his fingers in response, and then together they walk side by side through the trees.
“See, what do I tell you - every situation can be improved by a gun!” Wade chirps, brandishing his water pistol.
“Yeah yeah.” Logan says, blasé, rather than outwardly admitting Wade's idea had been sorta of good.
As they reach the pond, Mary spots one of her regular playmates – a flashy whippet who runs circles around and around her until she’s dizzy, but somehow that’s fun? - and darts off to play with him. Wade watches her go, and sighs, happily.
“Our baby’s all grown up.” He says, waving their joined hands at the whippets owner (because they are multifaceted people like that that; they lead semi-normal lives, and have normal Dog Park friends, but they also beat the absolute shit of bad guys on the regular while wearing ketchup and mustard themed spandex. It's a hoot!). Mary, they have learned, is very much a free spirit – but thankfully she has chosen them as her people, so she normally comes back. Just sometimes in her own time frame.
It’s a weekday, but it’s busy enough to pretend to be a weekend. The park is a central hub for people to congregate in for Outdoor Activities. The lake itself is surrounded by reeds and flowering bushes and trees. It has a beach section which slopes down to the water, where some daring folk are laid out sunbathing, or building sandcastles. There are a couple of people swimming in the middle of the lake, while others sit on the park benches lining it, wearing sun hats and drinking iced lattes. The kids who were playing football have moved here too, and now the football has become a beach ball, as they wade in the shallows and fling it at each other.
Not quite the peace which Logan likes, and what Wade wants, right now.
“I’m going to go dangle my feet.” Wade chirps, tugging Logan’s hand. He glances at him, and finds the other man's expression carefully neutral beneath his large sunglasses. Makes his voice a bit softer: “Come on, I know the best spot!”
They end up on a secluded little tucked away bank on the opposite side of the lake, enclosed by spiky bushes which cut at their bare skin as they squeeze through them, and half hidden by the trailing vines of a willow tree. The edge of the water is lined with wooden planking, and the grassy bank surrounding it is dry.
Wade instantly drops his gun and kicks off his crocs into a pile, then flops down upon it, sighing contentedly as he dunks his legs into the mostly clear water. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to remember and rejoice in what not burning alive feels like. The water ripples, quietly, and Wade kicks his legs a bit, feels it flow between his spread toes, cooling and this feels fucking amazing!
When Logan doesn't join him, Wade looks back over his shoulder.
Mary has her butt sticking out one of the spiky bushes, tail wagging and chewing on something she probably shouldn't be chewing on. And Logan is stood in his still, considering way, as he watches Wade. The sunglasses do a good job of hiding what he's thinking. Wade tilts his head, widens his eyes theatrically.
"Come on, peanut. That waters fine!" He chirps, and Logan hmms, and stands. But then he shrugs a little, before putting down his water pistol, and toeing off his borrowed shoes, adding them both to Wade's pile, along with Mary's lead and his wallet and phone from his pockets. He walks barefoot to the bank, and pauses, and looks down critically at the water - spots the red of a crumbled Coke can, the green of some sort of water-plant. The dirt brown bottom, that could be deceivingly far away...
Wade pats the ground beside him, then steals back Logan's attention but reaching up to tug at his frayed shorts. "Come oooon, Logie! It's euphoric! This is better than missionary with eye contact!" He cheers, a bit too loud, and Logan grunts his disapproval but he can't hear anyone else around, and he's hot. He's sweltering; his top is sticking to his skin unpleasantly, and his shorts feel crispy as Wade tugs at them even more instantly. He hadn't worn a belt with them, and they start to slip down a bit, revealing the vein Wade likes to lave over so much, and with a grumble Logan tugs them back up and awkwardly sits with Wade still batting at him.
"Alright!" He snaps, and then tentatively dips in a toe or two, hands very much flat on the bank - claws biting at his knuckles to dig in, if needed. He's so focused on watching the water slowly swallow his leg, he doesn't see Wade beaming at him.
"There you go!" Wade cheers, once Logan's sat a little better, both legs slowly lowered into the lake and yeah, the instant relief is all-encompassing; cooling his blood and his bones, and then filtering around the rest of him. They sit shoulder to shoulder, Wade ankle grazing off Logan's.
Wade leans forward to trail his fingers across the clear, rippling waters surface, and looks down to try and spy the monster he will never find because it doesn’t exist – and if it did, some mad scientist would have already taken it and made it into an enemy for them to fight.
It’s a little bit blissful, and when the sun gets too hot, Wade splashes his arms, and dares to splash at Logan too, and ignores the warning growl that follows. But just having his feet and calves submerged seems to be dissipating enough heat for Logan to feel comfortable – his brows are less pinched - and the breeze across the water offers further relief. And he’s with Wade.
Mary’s sniffing around behind them, following old scent trails and chewing on sticks obnoxiously loudly. The chatter and screams of joy from the beach across the lake is ambient noise, mostly drowned out by the chirping of some small birds above them in the tree branches, and Wade nattering on about one of his childhood summer camps.
It’s all very peaceful.
Until a duck floats out of some nearby reeds, which gets Mary’s attention. Suddenly she’s abandoning her spit soaked stick and brushing passed Logan’s arm, barking and flinging herself into the lake after the bird. The giant splash of water drenches both of them, and the duck quacks in alarm and quickly swims away.
“Fuck!” Wade squawks, flicking water from his forehead before it can run into his eyes. He turns to Logan, and finds him equally as wet, water dripping from his cow licks, sprayed all across his glasses, and running down his scowling face.
“Urgh.” He complains, and Wade barks out a laugh at him, then turns to scold Mary.
“Oi, Poolfloat! You doggy paddle your way right back here this instant!”
But Mary’s focused, determined. No longer knows anything bar the thrill of the chase.
The duck, however, is a lot more streamlined than her, and better designed for lake travel. It quickly pulls away. But Mary is Dogpool, and as such, is just as stubborn as her Prime self. She carries on, yarping with every stroke.
“Ah, nuts. She’s not coming back, is she?” Wade wonders. Logan groans from beside him, patting down his wet tank top again, before looking up and pursing his lips to whistle, loud and shrill. They both watch as Mary flicks an ear, but carries on. The duck has put a lot of distance between them now; it’s a lost cause, but her small, hopeful mind can’t comprehend that.
“Oh, she’s. She’s going quite far, actually.” Wade says, as he watches, the hilarity of the situation ebbing. “What if Nessy’s cousin gets her?”
“Doesn’t exist, bub.”
“How deep is it out there?”
“Dunno. Never been in.”
“I’m going to have to go get her, aren't I?”
“You’re the one without a metal skeleton. So yeah, you’re gonna have to go get her.”
“Ah, fucknuggets.” Wade curses, and clambers to his feet, dripping onto the grass. He digs into his pockets to drop his phone and a stray lollipop – “Oh, I love cherry! You can have that!” - into Logan’s damp lap, then unbuttons the sole button of his shirt. He shrugs it off, and that falls into Logan’s lap too. The other man absently scrunches it all up so it doesn’t end up in the water.
Wade then takes of his flowery hat, and deposits that firmly, and with great enthusiasm, onto Logan’s head. The man grumbles, and leans away, but doesn’t actually remove the hat even as Wade hangs his toes over edge of the bank, and rubs his hands together, mentally winding himself up for his dive. Logan peers up at him, eyebrows furrowed beneath his glasses.
“Knew I should have brought my flippers! See you in a sec, light of my life.” And then he leaps off the bank and cannonballs himself straight into the water.
Which means two things:
One, Logan grimaces and ducks his head to use Wade’s/Al’s sun-hat to stop most of the splash, but it does not stop the rest of him being thoroughly soaked again. (Not a complete complaint, but a little more warning would have been appreciated, though he knows with Wade he’d never get any).
Two, Wade doesn’t completely break his coccyx, but it must chip a bit, and it sure gets bruised badly when he ass-plants on the bottom of the what is only a 3 foot deep lake. He comes up spluttering with the shock of it.
“Ow, fuck!”
“What’d you do, moron?” Logan curses, and uses Wade shirt to mop the worst of the water off his chest. The whole wet bundle gets dumped on the floor behind him once he’s done, and he leans to tuck their important bits and pieces into one of his shoes for safe keeping, since he’s apparently in a flood zone. Wade, back end twinging with hurt, manages to stretch out his legs, and then stands unsteadily, hobbling and grimacing as he rubs his tail bone. Water runs across his bare chest and collects at his sodden shorts, and it’s pleasant enough to distract himself from his pain. Logan looks at where the water rises to only his thighs, and understands what had just happened. “Not as deep as ya thought, huh?”
“No!” Wade whines, and feels whatever bone had cracked shift back into place. “I blame water distortion. Anyway, I best go save our daughter from her marathon swim now. Love you, peanut!” And he turns into the sun and starts to wade through the water. Eventually the lake does get deeper, and he kicks off the squelching dirt bottom and starts to swim. Mary’s far out now, and paddling a tight circle as the duck, who has gathered a couple of friends, circles about her. The confusion over which bird to eat means Mary is basically doggy paddling on the spot.
“I’m coming, munchkin!”
Wade splashes at the birds and scares them all off, then grabs for Mary before she can give chase again. He gathers her up, and manages to tread water as she wriggles against his chest, nails occasionally scratching. She tongues at his neck gratefully, panting heavily and tired after her aquatic adventure.
“Were someone’s big eyes too big for their little stomach?” Wade coos, and slicks the hair floof sticking out from the back of her sun visor with water. “Come on, Poolnoddle, I’ll get you a can of water bird for dinner. What sauce would you like? A l’orange. A nice jus. Strawberry?” She barks, and he nods. “Good choice! Now, all abound SS Wilson.”
Swimming with a dog in hand is trickier than expected, so eventually - and with some limber twisting - Wade ends up persuading Mary to balance on his shoulders as he breaststrokes back towards Logan. Her nails dig into his flesh a lot painfully as she grips on and swings her entire body to look around like she'd paid $1000 for this cruise, but he deals with it. The other man is waiting for Wade, rolling the lollipop stick from one side of his mouth to the other, expression passive, still wearing Wade’s sun hat as the willow branches fan about him. Wade can’t stop his grin.
Mary, when she spots Logan, wags her whole body in excitement, and her claws dig in even harsher. Before Wade can splutter for her to wait, she propels herself to the bank from an ambitious several meters away, ripping Wade skin and he curses.
“Fuckin' ow!” But she somehow lands safely besides Logan, who’s too distracted by petting her in hello to notice Wade bleeding – Logan acts all Holier Than Thou, and Disapproving about the dog, but the dog is actually highest on the rankings of this little family, and Wade knows it.
“Hope there’s no piranhas here. Or giardiasis.” He mumbles to himself, sinking further into the lake to sooth the aching skin of his back. “No, there’s probably giardiasis in here.” He bubbles to the surface of the water, before swimming right up to the bank. He uses Logan’s knees to moor himself, and then grins up as the man turns back to him. “Ahoy! I am a weary sea adventurer, returned from travels across the great ocean. Please, I beg of you, may I seek safety and anchor myself between your thighs.” Logan snorts out a laugh.
“What yer planning on anchoring yourself too, bub?” He asks, but obviously is feeling less grouchy about the whole Hotter Than Hell situation again, because he wraps a foot around Wade’s back to tug him a little closer. Wade takes that as permission, and reaches up and out of the water, to drape himself across Logan’s lap, lower half still submerge and happily waving in the current.
“I hear there be a legend of a mythical creature in these here parts.” He says, looking up innocently, but glancing pointedly across at Logan’s crotch as he pillows his head upon his damp thigh. “A monster, a giant serpent! Which hides itself in dark, moist caves—”
“You have the worst lines, sometimes.” Logan mutters, cutting him off, but Wade’s giggling lowly to himself, and that makes him tilt his head back to hide his own smile.
“But you love them.” Wade grins up at him, and Logan doesn’t answer, just runs his hand across Wade shoulders, where the pits from Mary’s claws have just about healed again. “Nice hat.” Wade says, and this time Logan does bark out a laugh.
They stay like that for a while, enjoying the peace, and Wade, head resting against Logan’s thigh, shuts his eyes. He could sleep like this, cool, body swaying in the water, Logan keeping him afloat as he absently watches the people on the opposing bank, and keeps score of the beach ball game. Mary – after shaking purposely – finds herself a patch of grass, and curls up nearby, going for a full and unabashed nap after wearing herself out, snoring heartily within minutes.
Eventually, Wade flickers his eyes open again, and peers up at Logan’s stubbled chin. The man’s collarbones are damp, though the splashing from earlier has long since dried. He’s heating up again, the sun moving across the sky and shifting the shade away from them. He swallows, and flicks the lollipop stick with his tongue.
“You should get in.” Wade says, softly, half-asleep from dozing. No pressure. They’ve discussed each others fears by this point – Wade of his claustrophobia and dislike for fire, of the voices in his head one day being loud enough to overrule his own. Logan of...many dark, and traumatic things, but on this subject, his dislike for plane travel, and heights. Of wanting his feet on solid ground, and being heavy enough to sink.
“Nah bub, I’m good.”
“But you’re hot! Like, temperature wise. You know I think you’re smoking all the time.” Wade elaborates, and Logan's lips quirk at the compliment, but he doesn’t give in, otherwise.
“I’m wearing jeans.” He says, as if that’s a sticking point. As if Wade hadn’t just jumped right in wearing cargo shorts.
“They’ll dry off again in no time!” He runs his hands against Logan’s lower back, and finds it tense - obviously worried by the thought. “Trust me, peanut, this is so nice. And it’s shallow, remember!”
“Yeah, I know. I just…”
Wade reaches up, and grabs for one of Logan’s arms where he’s leaning back on them. It always and will always amaze Wade that his beast of a man – this living legend, and absolute powerhouse of a mutant - so often let’s Wade guide and manipulate him. Like now, as he weaves their hands together, and draws Logan’s with him as he floats back into the water. Logan leans to follow, but even Wade can spot the subtle glance he does through his aviators at the rippling water.
“Trust me.” Wade says again, and Logan finds he does – that’s why this works. Them. What once may have been self-destructive daring, a devil may care attitude to his own physical well being, he now finds is exactly what Wade says; trust.
So when Wade pulls, Logan follows – swallows, thickly, but lets Wade guide him until he’s slipping gently from the bank and the water is creeping further and further up his chest. His body sinks, instantly, feet landing heavy on the muddy floor, creating a bloom of dirt which drifts slowly away. He hooks back an elbow and grips the edge with his other hand, and hold himself still, until he knows the grounds solid.
“Easy there. Now, you've got your feet on the floor? It’s just sand and mud and probably something gross. But that’s what healing factors are really for!” Wade says, pushing at Logan’s chest to get him to settle back against the wooden planks lining the side of the bank. Logan goes, sinking further down into the water as he does. Sighs as the cool water soaking through his clothes brings him instant relief. It really is nice. “See!” Wade cheers, and ducks back until he’s floating, shoulders submerged, legs splayed out behind him as he sidles up against Logan’s chest again. Logan digs in his heels to stabilise himself, and draws his other elbow up onto the bank. He feels pretty stable like this, actually.
“Alright, bub. Another good idea, I suppose.”
“That’s two in one day!” Wade grins, and proceeds to wrap himself around Logan’s chest, and rests his head against his shoulder. “Look at me go.” He says, quieter, and nuzzles into Logan’s sweat salty neck. Logan hums, and tilts his head down to rest it against Wade’s, and the want to close his eyes is overwhelming, suddenly. Neither of them have slept great the passed couple of days, and sure, that's the norm when they are plagued by nightmares and horrors - but those have been getting less frequent, recently. Apparently sleeping beside each other has benefits other than pleasures of the body.
So, Logan shuts his eyes, and revels in the now bearable warmth of the sun on his face, and the way Wade’s body rests against his, a slick slide in the water. Feels his steady heart beat, in tandem to his own. Listens as the other man hums a peaceful tune to himself, and some birds tweet up in the willow tree, and Mary muffles a woof in her sleep, and feels honestly, truly blissful about it all.
***************
Eventually, Wade complains about turning into a prune, and also that he’s bored, and realistically Logan’s lucked out with how still the other man has been for the passed half an hour of dozing. So he stands, and they both climb out of the water.
“Also, I’m thirsty.” Wade says, and knocks his shoulder against Logan’s as he tries to shrug back into his shirt – tricky, with him dripping everywhere. After basking in the sun for a few minutes to dry off – just enough to put his crocs back on so they don’t squeak every time he walks - he reclaims his hat, and gathers up the water pistols, then nudges Mary awake and they continue their stroll around the lake, headed for home.
When they get to the gates of the park, they spot that an ice-cream van has pulled up - hoping to catch park leavers in the midday sun. Wade gladly offers himself as tribute.
He turns to Logan. “Can I can I can I?!”
“You’re a full grown adult.” Logan grumbles, the returning heat making him a bit snipey again. His tank top has dried to his skin an uncomfortable way, one of the seems of his jeans is chaffing slightly. “You’ve got money in you pocket.”
Wade pats himself down, ass first, before finding the change in his side-pocket. He grins. “Well, on me then! What would you like, Logie bear?”
The truck offers a huge variety, from ice lollies in all shapes and colours, to cheap screwballs, to posh flavours with toppings galore. It’s very equipped for dealing with the mass preference of the general public, and also to charge them for the pleasure.
So Wade gets a bubblegum, liquorish, pistachio multi-scoop of madness, with extra cherry syrup and sprinkles, and two flakes. Mary gets a pupcup, which she makes a complete mess of right besides the van. And Logan goes for a Madagascar vanilla in a tub.
Which is of course the better idea, as they sit on a bench in the sun to eat, because even with the small little spoon slowing him down, the tub contains the melting ice cream Logan can’t eat quickly enough. Wade’s chocolate coated cone does not. It’s all over his hand before he notices, and halfway down his arm before he can try to frantically lick it off.
“Told you three scoops was excessive.” Logan says, and takes another melted bite of ice-cream. Mary’s having a whale of a time trying to catch the sweet drips falling off Wade’s elbow.
“Yeah well, I couldn’t choose what to have!” Wade says, and ducks to lap at his own arm, which must taste of an awful mix of flavours, as well as lake water, gross. But in doing so, he catches Logan’s gaze, and holds eye contact all the while. Despite it already being 100 degrees, Logan feels himself heat up further, and shifts on the uncomfortable metal bench.
“The wasps will be after you.” He warns, and distracts at the same time.
“It’s not the Wasp I want stinging me, Wolvie.” Wade says, licking his lips exaggerated - mutters something about some sort of plant being ridiculously attractive? - and Logan rolls his eyes.
“That was terrible.”
“Good enough for you to get it, though!” Wade says, and accepts defeat of his pleasure, and stops licking in order to take great bites of his treat to save the rest ending up on his toes, or in Mary Puppin's stomach to then be excreted far from pleasantly. He manages to garble around his now frozen tongue: “Like me. Later.”
Despite pulling a face at the performance, own teeth aching at the display, Logan does not deny the idea.
The ice cream helps, but the trek home is still 100 meters too long. So by the time they get there, Wade has to crawl himself up the last flight of stairs, and Logan’s got sweat beading from his damp hair again. They fall through the front door into the stagnant heat that almost feels physical, and Wade instantly plants himself in front of one of the fans, turning it on to max and pressing his nose right against it. Logan bends to remove Mary’s outside apparel, and then goes to refresh her water bowl.
“This is actually ridiculous.” Wade is saying. His mouth is so close to the fan it causes his voice to echo ominously, which makes him giggle, and then he’s turning to watch Logan walk back into the living area from the kitchen. “Logan, I am not your father, but I could be you dadd—holy sweaty abs, Logie bear! Warn a guy!”
“I am taking off my shirt.” Logan says, deadpan, and continues with the process. Once it’s over his head, he locks eyes with Wade again, who has dropped the fan in his lap and is sitting with his mouth wide open, and his gaze zeroed in on Logan’s chest. “I will never understand why you do this.” He says, levelly, feeling a bit grouchy again. He flicks the shirt in Wade’s direction, where it lands directly on Wade’s face. The merc – after taking a great breath through his nose, breathing out 'Eau de Wolverine.' - grabs for it and holds it to his chest like it is a most prized possession.
“A token from my beau, I am honoured!” He cheers, then tilts his head at Logan, who’s snorting in semi-amusement/semi-revulsion and continuing on his way for the bathroom. “What can I say, this is life affirming stuff! A sight to make angels or a Madonna choir sing. I will never not be gobsmacked witnessing the reveal of The Pecs.”
“What happens if you get to do more than look?” Logan wonders aloud, and pushes the bathroom door open with his foot. He glances back over his shoulder at Wade, who appears to be short circuiting - or finally succumbing to heat exhaustion, and having some sort of hallucination. “Wade?”
“I explode.” Wade says, all at once. “Just a little, in one specific area. It’s all good! Are we showering now, because if we don’t I think I might suffocate in my own sweat. And I think you just offered for me to feel you up, so please say yes.”
“Get over here, moron. At least if we shower at the same time, we’ll waste less water…”
“I like your thinking very much!”
***************
The only problem with showering on a hot day is that it feels good for the five minutes – or fifteen, it turns out, because Wade really does take Logan up on his offer, and maybe they waste a lot of water while wandering hands find previously described Mythical Creatures to occupy themselves with – but after that, once the air evaporates the last of the water, you’re back to roasting again.
Wade and Logan sit on the sofa, back in their underwear, and watching the fan buzz between them. Mary is sound asleep and snoring near her own, the loo-paper tassels fluttering across her muzzle and making her twitch. They haven’t even bothered to turn the TV on, because that would make the room heat up. Wade’s barely said ten words in as many minutes, the heat sapping them from him so much he can’t even whine about it.
It’s now the hottest part of the day. The sun’s moved round so it’s blasting against the windows like someone was holding a gigantic magnifying glass to it, and even with the blinds drawn, the apartment is heating up.
“When will this be over?” Wade says, voice a hoarse whisper. A desperate man, hoping for the right answer. Logan can’t give him one. After the pleasantry of this morning, Logan’s brain has melted thanks to the adamantium surrounding it.
“Dunno. Reports says maybe tomorrow?” Logan says, and adds, as an after thought: “Might storm.”
“Oh! That could be fun!” Wade perks up a bit, and rolls his head around to face Logan. “Love a summer storm. It’s like natural fireworks!” Logan grunts, not exactly sharing the sentiment.
“Smells weird.” He says.
“Petrichor.”
“What?”
“That’s what that smell is called. When rain comes after a spell of complete and utter dryness.”
“Huh.”
“And did you know, that if you count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder, and do some math, it will tell you how far you’ll have to run to score a date with Thor?”
“Don’t like that bit.” Logan admits, brain all slow and ignoring Wade’s fanboyism over the Norse God. “S’loud.”
“Aww, does little Wolvie not like thunder storms?”
“Makes my bones ache.” He grumbles, and shifts as if he can feel it happening. “And I’ve got heightened senses, idiot. You were in the army, right?” He retaliates, a bit harsher. “It leaves a lasting impression…”
“Fair enough.” Wade says, softer, but the joking lilt is hard to keep at bay: “I can hold your hand, anyway. Play some background rock music. Light some zen candles. Maybe plug in a Feliway?" He revels in the growl Logan gives, almost like his teasing commanded it. Wade leans over, not close enough to touch, but enough to offer the idea of comfort. Lowers his gaze. "I could distract you with...other means. Maybe even pleasurable ones.” He slouches back again, as Logan raises an questioning eyebrow - just as vocal as him using words. “Because I adore shower sex, but I will literally turn into a perpetual prune if I stay in there any longer. Hopefully when the storm comes, it’ll cool the fuck down!”
“Here’s hoping.”
“Actually, I’ve just remembered. Our shirts must be done by now!” Wade lurches to his feet, leaving behind a slightly damp patch on the sofa. He crab steps across the apartment, trying not to touch his legs together.
“What shirts?” Logan asks behind him, as Wade disappears into the kitchen.
“The ones I put in the freezer!” There’s a racket as he flings open said freeze door, and then loudly opens the semi-stuck drawers, ice crunching.
“Why’d you…?” Logan blinks, but then cottons on. A bit like Mary’s jacket; Wade must have frozen some shirts for them to wear. “Good idea, Red.” Logan admits as Wade reappears. Of course the shirts he’s chosen to freeze are the most garish ones he owns, big and baggy and patterned, but Logan’s beyond caring. He takes the rainbow tie-dyed t-shirt from Wade, and quickly shrugs it on.
“Oh.” He says, struck dumb and wondrous, as Wade scrambles into his own shirt and settles back onto the sofa, closer than before, thanks to the new level of cool.
“Good, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“Also brought these.” Wade says, and picks up the beer bottles he left on the coffee table, and twists to hand one to Logan. “If you’d kindly do the honours.” With a hum, Logan unsheathes a couple of inches of claw, and pops the caps on the beers – they bounce under the sofa to be stepped on at the worst moment the next time they fight in the apartment and end up rearranging the furniture. He hands Wade’s back to him, before taking a long, luxurious pull of his own. It’s almost too cold, having come from the freezer, searing down his oesophagus and kicking him right in the belly, but damn if Logan cares right now.
“Thanks, darlin’.” He says, a little wondrously, and Wade flusters, and giggles disarmingly, and dares to slouch against him.
“Quick.” He says. “We don’t have much time before these heat up again. I wanna cuddle.”
And Logan gets the sentiment. He wraps an arm around Wade, and already the way their legs are pressed together is sticky and gross, but he missed this casual closeness. He turns to press a close-mouthed kiss against Wade’s head, and revels in the way Wade hums contently, and leans against him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Eight months ago, they saved the world. Nine months ago, Logan was trying to drown himself with whisky in a shitty bar, and Wade was not-living a dull car-salesman’s life and hating what he’d become. Now, they are here. Together.
Suffering, because….
“Urgh, nope. Still hot as Satan’s ass crack. Peanut, make it stoooppp!”
Logan just about manages to roll his eyes.