Fatherless Behaviour

by wideshot

Summary:

The idea that Logan sees any kind of male role model in him has literally never crossed Wade's mind. He's just not the strong, patriarchal type. He’s the joker. The unserious, morally ambiguous, buddy-type guy. He’s made a huge fucking deal about being that guy because, that way, people don’t expect too much. That way, he can’t let too many people down.

Wade is the first to admit, he's not daddy material.

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Chapter 1

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The move into their new apartment is, honestly, barely a move and the apartment is definitely not new. The unit is directly across the hall and it's kind of a shithole but, as soon as Wade hears that the previous tenants have decided to move out, he marches straight down to the rental office to snap it up.

It makes perfect sense, him and Logan moving across the hall from Al. It kills, like, seven birds with one stone.

Birds being;

One - Al getting her laundry room and sofa back, while still receiving significant financial contribution due to her role as primary dogsitter.

Two - Logan and Wade getting a bit more space, while being able to keep an eye on Al.

Three - Bigger living room area, for games night.

Four - Better pull out for Laura, so she can sleep over.

Five - Privacy for Logan and Wade to fuck nasty on as many different surfaces as they can, while slowly processing the reality of being together, and being wanted, and having long term options for their lives that don’t make them wish they could die.

Six - Bigger shower, to fuck in.

Seven - Bigger bed, same reason.

They are definitely a lot richer for the move. And also, financially, a lot poorer, because overnight they’ve gone from paying half of Al’s rent to paying their own larger rent and still a third of Al’s. (Because Mary lives there most afternoons. And when they’re away. And because they don’t want her to have to rent out Wade’s room again).

Literally anyone can reply to a Craigslist ad - look at who she ended up with last time!

Work is steady, so they’re managing, for now. Weasel has been tossing a few extra jobs their way, and rent isn’t crazy in their part of town, and Logan’s even deigned to drag his ass back to the mansion a couple times, to work on projects for the X-men, so things are working out. They’re doing okay. Wade is pretty proud of their setup.

The apartment is finally starting to look like a home. They've scrounged a bunch of furniture from dumpsters up and down the local area. They’ve got a table with mysterious knife marks and bloodstains from behind their favourite Japanese restaurant (which is only going to get more fucked, so they’ve decided just to embrace it as a feature). They've got a sofa which dips severely down at one end (which they're planning on fixing by having Logan sit exclusively at the other end). They’ve got one saggy beanbag, re-stuffed with packing peanuts, and a random assortment of kitchen implements, and a signed Spider-Man poster, and a lamp.

All together, it looks pretty good. It looks a lot nicer than most of the places Wade’s lived. (Except for his and Vanessa’s place, which doesn’t count, because it had already looked like that when Wade moved in). He’s trying to embrace being part of the process, this time, though. He’s trying to be a grown up about it. He’s even got plans to paint the living room, next week, because the landlord is cool about it and he likes the idea of him and Logan doing something together. 

He’s planned a whole date night around it - because he’s a FUN BOYFRIEND - and also because he thinks he can convince Logan to wear some of his old clothes, under the guise of not getting his own covered in paint. He's going to dig out a tiny pair of shorts. Maybe a crop top or something. It’s going to be fun.

He thinks Logan is having fun. He's pretty sure he is. Which is a relief, because it was touch and go at first. 

For the first week after moving in, Logan had been the biggest fucking dickhead about pretty much everything. He has taken ages to move all their stuff over from Al's, and then complained about everything being in different places, and then refused to buy anything to sit on, or eat from, or cook with - claiming that they’d only have to move all that stuff when their lease was up, and things go out of fashion so quickly, and why don’t they just wait until they have more money to buy nicer shit anyways? He’d refused to offer an opinion on anything Wade brought home, and refused to enter any store that might contain homeware, and been a recalcitrant fuck about stuff he’d actively encouraged back at Althea’s - like having a grocery list, and taking out the trash.

In short, he'd been a total fucking nightmare and Wade had had to take himself out on a couple of really long walks, to prevent himself from starting something about it. And then, when that didn't work, a couple of runs. And then, when that didn't work, one really aggressive gym session where he kicked through a hundred kilogram leather punchbag and ended up having to pay to replace it, decimating their nicer-shit budget even further.

By day five, he’d been so pissed off that he’d been considering telling Logan to go fuck himself, and that he was moving back to Al's and leaving Logan in the new apartment himself - but then they’d had a good hard fight about it, and a good hard fuck, and smoothed things over.

Logan had dragged a bunch of old wooden pallets back the next morning. Stacked them against the bedroom wall, to form a bookshelf, and piled his growing collection onto it without comment.Wade had watched and tried not to make a big deal - which was apparently the right call, because a dartboard appeared on the kitchen wall, a couple days later. And then some coat hooks by the front door. And then a polaroid of Wade and Laura wearing stupid hats, taped to the fridge.

(Wade did thank him for that last one. On his knees. In the traditional way).

And so things continued.

Slowly.

Really slowly.

Wade’s trying to let things happen slowly. He’s always been a full-throttle, full-steam ahead, maximum-effort sort of guy, but he’s trying to give Logan time to process. The pair of them have got two hundred and fifty years of baggage between them, and some of it’s pretty dark, so he reckons they're both due a bit of leniency.

They’ll get there one day. Wade trusts that in his bones. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Just like their stupid secondhand furniture makes him feel all warm and fuzzy. It feels like they're investing in something - that they’re in it for the long-run - which is probably what had Logan freaking out, a couple of weeks ago. He seems okay with it now, though. He seems content. Happy. At home.

He looks relaxed, draped across the non-dipped end of the sofa, watching board games night play out with a characteristic half-frown on his face.

It's Wade's turn to host the bi-weekly gathering, tonight, and their apartment looks about as good as it can look. There's a sheet thrown over the table, to hide the stains, and a bunch of cushions from Al's scattered across the floor, for people to sit on, and they've “borrowed” half a dozen glasses from the bar around the corner for people to drink from while they share out pizza from boxes on the floor. (Boxes, not plates, because Logan’s made it to furniture-acquisition stage of moving in but not the crockery-acquisition stage. Despite Wade’s best attempts, he is still firmly refusing to set foot in the homeware section of the local Goodwill. Wade figures that must be a nine-to-twelve month kind of thing and is letting it lie, for now). 

None of their guests seem to mind, though. They’re busy arguing over the rules of Uno. Peter is shuffling cards, perched on an upturned ammo box. Laura and Ellie are sprawled on floor cushions beside Yukio on the beanbag. Al is holding court in the middle of the room, seated in an armchair that Logan hauled across the hall for her. She’s got a massive joint in one hand and is taking a drag ever few minutes, then offering it to the group. Pretty much everyone is partaking. Logan’s even allowed Laura two draws and a beer.

Considering she’s nineteen and it’s almost impossible for her to get high, or drunk, Wade thinks he’s being a bit much, but Laura seems happy with the terms. (Wade reckons she just likes having someone watching out for her). She’s got Mary Puppins in her lap and is stroking her bald head absently as she listens to Al's retelling of some wildly pathetic shit that Wade did during his third and final breakup with Vanessa.

To be fair to Al, this story doesn’t involve him pissing himself face-down on a bar counter, but it's still a solid seven out of ten on the embarrassment scale.

He’s just a naturally dramatic guy, okay? Life just goes that way, sometimes…

“… in the end the fire department had to come and get him down,” Al finishes up, to generalised laughter. “A lot of damn trouble, just to get manhandled by a bunch of men in uniform, but I suppose he was distraught at the time.”

He had been. Actually.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Wade pulls on a sarcastic smile, pushing himself back into the sofa and tucking one leg underneath, trying to see the funny side. “I didn't hear you complaining when one of them manhandled you back up the stairs, because you suddenly went all weak at the knees.”

Al huffs.

Everyone laughs again.

Honestly, the memory is distant enough that it barely hurts, now. Another couple of months and Wade reckons he might be over feeling dumb about it - though he reckons the darker memories from that time are always going to sting. That's just how these things go.

Logan’s warm thigh nudging into his helps, though. The eye contact he offers helps. Logan just being there helps, especially since he’s not a social gatherings kind of guy.

He’s done a really fucking good job, tonight, Wade thinks, watching him back - way beyond what Wade would have imagined, during their first few games nights together. Tonight, Logan had hauled crates of beer up the stairs with Peter, and moved chairs around so that everyone could sit together, and gone to pick up pizza with Dopinder. He’d shared war stories with Shatterstar, and talked shop with Colossus, and had been sweet as fuck to two of Laura’s friends from college, who had turned up to see some real live X-men in the flesh. He’d been a perfect fucking host for the first couple of hours. Then, when the non-core group started to filter home, he'd settled back against the kitchen counter and chatted with Vanessa, looking comfortable and happy and at home.

They get on really well, Logan and Vanessa. Logan's not usually a big talker but, with Vanessa, he talks. They get coffee, sometimes, when she’s in the neighbourhood. They text every couple days, and share in-jokes at Wade’s expense. Logan likes her photos in instagram. 

Wade knows it’s Logan's way of stepping up. Vanessa had given birth to her first kid a couple months back and Wade had found it unexpectedly hard watching her moving on with that part of her life. The feels hadn’t really hit until after the baby was born, but they had hit hard, and Wade hadn’t been able to handle being around them for a while. So, Logan had stepped in to bridge the gap.

For a couple of months, when Vanessa messaged the group chat to see if anyone wanted to grab coffee, it was Logan who made himself available. When she needed someone to help build a piece of furniture, it was Logan who offered. And, after a few weeks of finding it really weird, and worrying about what the two of them were talking about when he wasn’t around, Wade has decided to lean in. And it turns out it’s nice, watching them bond.

What had started out as a favour has developed into a functional friendship and Wade knows its coming at a time when Ness and Logan both need a bit of extra support - so he’s trying to let it be a good thing and not push back in. He's trying to hold a little space as they all move into this new stage of their lives. It's nice, though, knowing Logan's keeping an eye on Vanessa. It’s nice seeing them hanging out and laughing together. It makes Wade feel all warm and squirmy inside. And obviously a bit horny, too - because they’d look so good railing each other and he has all the information to make that happen, in high-definition, inside his head.

He plays out the fantasy, every now and again, on behalf of his younger self, (but only every now and again, and only on behalf of his younger self. Because Wade doesn’t really want too share Logan. Life is good. And they’re all friends. He doesn't want to spend his time looking back).

They are both so hot, though. Wade can’t believe he's been allowed to lick both of them out. He’s just so fucking lucky. He’s definitely done nothing to deserve it. He’s definitely not that funny or good looking.

He stares at the wall, ruminating as Al launches into a new embarrassing story.

Maybe his dick is magical…

“Hey,” Logan nudges his thigh, trying to get his attention in an undertone. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh?” Wade asks, blinking back to reality.

“Your eyes are all glazed.”

"God, sorry,” Wade shakes himself. “Just got caught up in my own intro.” He turns to face Logan properly. “What're we talking about?”

“Mission yesterday,” Logan grunts, green eyes darting between Wade’s own, assessing him. Trying to figure out if there's anything wrong. Trying gauge if it’s something he can fix.

It’s sweet. Wade’s had Logan looking at him like that for months, now, but it never gets any easier to reconcile that softness with the fact that Logan’s Logan - and that he’s just Wade. Imposter syndrome prickles just below the surface, most days, but Wade knows how to deal with it. He’s been managing a baseline level of anxiety all his life. He’s got a tried and tested method.

Side step. Joke. Deflect.

“Shit, did I take that pipe bomb out of my bag when we got home last night?” He asks Logan, sitting up a bit against the back of the sofa. Around them, the people of the living room look over, expressions stiffening. “How many hours were left on the timer?”

“Oh, fuck off…” Logan’s eyes narrow. He casts a look around the room, lifting a reassuring hand. “Bomb disposal have the bomb," he tells them. "It’s not here. It was never here.” He frowns back around at Wade. “Jackass…”

“See, this is exactly the sort of thing I don't have to put up with anymore,” Al grumbles, as everyone mutters darkly at Wade. She takes a long drag on her joint, (which Wade is starting to suspect is a second joint, because it’s been around the group twice, at this point, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter). “Coming in at all hours, making noise, bringing back unexploded ordinance…"

"In my defence, it was mainly exploded ordinance," Wade tells the room.

"It was constant, unrepentant, attention-seeking behaviour, from the pair of you.” Al shakes her head. “Honestly, watching you two find one another has been one of the great horrors of my life, and there’s a long list to choose from.”

“I’m sorry.” Wade raises his lack of eyebrows. “Did you say 'watching’ us?”

“You know damn well what I mean,” Al grumbles.

Wade grins, rearranging himself on their shitty sofa.

“You couldn’t pick Logan out of a line up, my sweet myopic elder." He tells her. "You were barely able to pick me, that one time, and I still think you just got lucky, because they let you touch, and I come with braille.”

“I'm just lucky he took you off my hands,” Al sniffs, in his direction. “Imagine dying with you still leaving cumstains on my towels in the next room.”

“Again,” Wade dips his head. “You cannot see them. I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Jackass,” Al grumbles.

“Fatherless behaviour,” Ellie agrees, from the floor.

Everyone laughs again.

To be fair, Ellie’s not far off with that, Wade thinks. He’s always run a bit wild. He's always craved attention and affection from older male figures. He’s done pretty much everything to fill the void. He's joined teams, and clubs, and the fucking Marines. He's drunk himself stupid, and smoked everything he could get his hands on, and experimented with pills and canisters and genitals in every straight and queer club from Regina to Long Island.

Now that he’s got Logan in tow, they run wild in smaller circles, but they’re still messy guys. They live messy. They drink to much, and eat like shit, and spend too much time on the road. Their days are full of casual violence, and their histories are full of really not-casual violence, so their home life has become about balancing that.

Its soft. Their furniture is cheap and secondhand, but what they do have is covered in blankets. When they’re not working, they spend their time slouching around in sweats, or curled up on the sofa, watching un-cerebral shit on their gigantic television, or napping in the sun.

They’re in their college phase, Wade likes to joke, to anyone who will listen - but its actually kind of true. They’re re-living the years they should have spent learning about themselves; the years they both spent crawling around in the mud on the other side of the globe, shooting at strangers, learning a hundred and one ways to end a life. They’re figuring out how to recover from all of that. Learning out how to live like men who are not under siege. And, honesty, it’s been pretty fucking great.

On the days they’re not working, they rarely get out of bed before ten. They run the dog in the park and go to the gym. They take long, meandering walks around the city, pointing out the things that are different between their worlds. They get ice cream, and watch ball games, and hang out in the apartment - and it's always a bomb site, but it's home. There’s laundry all over the place, and the only watering the fire-escape plants get is when they get home drunk and competitively piss on them - and the last time anyone changed a lightbulb was long before the last tenant moved out - but it's warm, and it's comfortable, and it’s theirs. 

“We’ve come a long way, baby,” Wade tells the room at large. “The toilet seat no longer exists exclusively in the upright position. We own cutlery, now. We’re probably only one area rug away from domestic bliss.”

On the floor, Ellie gives a disdainful sniff.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you guys own a toilet seat.”

“Mmh,” Wade grabs the last slice of pepperoni pizza, taking a huge bite before answering her with his mouth full. “I needed somewhere to sit, to watch him shower.”

“Ew.” Laura flicks her pizza crust at his head.

Logan throws him a warning look - then throws Laura another as she reaches for the joint Al’s passing.

“Hey! Uh-uh. You had yours.”

“We said two!” Laura protests.

“You’ve had two.”

“I didn’t inhale last time.”

“Yeah, daddy, it was just for the mouthfeel,” Wade whines on her behalf, slouching sideways into Logan’s shoulder. The collective retching and gagging noises, from their friends, pull a grin right across his face. “What?!”

“Thats disgusting, man.”

“Yeah, nobody needs to know about that…”

“Gross.” 

“I think they’re sweet!” (Yukio, naturally).

“No,” Laura wrinkles her nose, passing the joint on, to Peter, without partaking. “That little handholding thing they do when they think no one's watching is sweet. That made me sick in my mouth.”

Wade grins wider.

“Hey, you’re the ones who brought up my fatherless behaviour.” He glances around at Logan whose neck and cheeks have flushed scarlet (but whose eyes are dark - so he’s not so pissed off that he's not turned on, Wade thinks, grinning wider). He'll leave it there, though. He doesn’t want to give Logan a hard time. “I’m just trying to fill a void.” He tells their friends, unable to resist one last jibe. “Honestly, I’ve been auditioning for years. I tried Colossus, and Cable, but they just had too much metal for a good cuddle."

Logan raises an eyebrow.

"Charming."

"Logan's got more of a hard-on-the-inside situation, which is really working for me.”

Another few retches from the crowd, but Logan’s expression warms minutely before he rolls his eyes and looks away.

He does actually look very ‘dad’, tonight. He’s rocking the jeans and vest and plaid shirt combo, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His socked feet are pressed on top of one another on the floor, on front of the sofa. He looks fucking great. His thighs look about two feet wide. Wade wants to bury his face in them.

“Plus,” Wade tells the room, grinning, "when I’m a really good boy, he lets me stay up past my bedtime.”

Logan pulls a face, groaning along with everyone else.

"Can you all stop encouraging him?" He asks, throwing a disparaging look over at Ellie. 

Ellie answers him with a snort.

“Yeah, there is literally no way of doing that.”

“Yeah, we all love him,” Peter agrees, dealing out another hand, “but encouragement has no place in it.”

“It's more about damage limitation,” Yukio nods.

“And a lot of therapy.” Ellie, again.

“And don't you go blaming the girls,” Al cuts back in, (because she’s weirdly protective of Ellie and Yukio, in a way that Wade has always read as queer-girl solidarity). “You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you started this.”

“Why does everyone assume we do it that way around?” Wade asks the room at large. Everyone ignores him. "Also- I'm actually hugely responsive to positive reinforcement, not that anyone's tried. Instead of complaining about me, maybe you could all start a sticker chart?"

“You’re as bad as each other,” Al continues, ignoring Wade. She picks up her cards, rubbing a finger over the top left corner, where the markers tell her the suit and colour. “All that posturing, and jealousy, and emotional dysregulation I had to deal with, before you got your asses together… I’m not a therapist, but I’m willing to bet neither one of you knew your damn daddies.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Logan grumbles.

Al clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

A couple people around the room snicker.

Wade and Logan glance at each other. Wade feels his cheeks heat. He gives a nervous laughs, then looks back around at their assembled friends.

“Bullshit,” he forces out.

“Oh, you think?” Al is using that tone she uses when she knows she’s already won. “You two have been trailing around after one another, trying to get a pat on the back, since the day you met. If anything, Logan's the worst of you.”

Wade glances back around at Logan. 

Usually, at this point in the tease, Logan would be snorting out a derisive laugh and telling Al she’s being a dick, turning away like the whole conversation's beneath him. Logan is usually a really good sport, when teased about Wade - which makes Wade feel a lot more secure about a lot of shit he wouldn't naturally feel secure about. But, today, Logan's quiet. 

He's a little too quiet, actually. He's watching Wade with this weird expression on his face - like he’s been caught off guard by the idea of them being each other's father figures. And Wade doesn’t know what to do with that. Usually, he’d crack a joke at his own expense, because - yeah - he’s obviously very into the fact that Logan is a big, strong, hyper-masculine figure. He's very obviously into pleasing Logan. But the reverse?

The idea that Logan sees any kind of male role model in him has literally never crossed Wade's mind. He's just not the strong, patriarchal type. He’s the joker. The unserious, morally ambiguous, buddy-type guy. He’s made a huge fucking deal about being that guy because, that way, people don’t expect too much. That way, he can’t let too many people down.

Wade is the first to admit, he's not daddy material. Besides, the optics don’t fit. Of the two of them, he's younger and less experienced. He’s immature and crass - way more ‘fun uncle’ than ‘dad’ - and, sure, he might be physically imposing, but Logan probably likes that for the simple reason of not having to worry about breaking him.

And, sure, Wade might decide where they go and what they do, most of the time, but that's just because it's his world and Logan's still finding his feet. And, sure, Wade usually takes the lead, when they fuck, but it’s not like they go exclusively that way. And the whole, heteronormative idea of who's-fucking-who being about dominance is super reductive anyway - Wade doesn’t roll like that. And, well- Logan’s Logan. He doesn’t need protecting. He's big, and he's tough, and he's Logan.

He's The fucking Wolverine.

Still...

“You do really, really like it when I tell you what to do,” Wade murmurs, out loud, as the thought occurs.

Logan’s eyes go very slightly wider. His eyebrows slide up.

Five seconds pass, Wade realising that that last bit should have stayed as an inside thought, then someone in the room lets out a half-swallowed laugh.

“Oh my god…”

A few more titters spring up. Then an open guffaw from Peter.

“Hah,” Wade lets out a nervous laugh, glancing around at Ellie and Yukio just in time to see them exchanging a look that confirms he’s fucked up. “Jokes.” He looks back at Logan, cheeks on fire, about to summon up some comment to lighten the mood but Logan just shakes his head.

“Uh-uh.” 

“What?” Wade gives another weak laugh. “I was just-”

“Nope.” Logan fixes him with a very serious stare. He looks pissed. “Drop it.” Standing from the sofa, he looks around at their gathered friends who are doing their best not to grin too widely. (All except Laura, who is making a big fucking point about looking disgusted). “Uh… it was good seeing you guys. I’m just gonna…” he motions towards the hall, trails off, then throws Wade one last extremely dirty look. “I’ll let daddy Wade, here, wrap things up.” Then he wanders off, taking the rest of the joint with him. Which is just bad manners.

Wade watches him go, aware that that could have gone worse but feeling kind of like he might have fucked it in ways he can’t even understand, yet.

There is a very long silence, then Peter clears his throat.

“So, I brought cake. Anybody want cake?”

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Chapter 2

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About an hour later, Wade sticks his head around the bedroom door. It’s dark inside, their one lamp turned off, their single drape pulled shut over the cracked window. Wade can hear the gentle noise of traffic on the street outside, can smell the distant charcoal smoke of the kebab house on the corner, and the faint diesel of a passing bus, and the weed that Logan's been smoking. He can smell the warm mix of scents that make up their shared bed, too; Logan, and him, and sex, and soap.

He rests his cheek against the doorframe, eyeing Logan.

Logan's lying fully dressed, on top of the sheets, one leg bent up, hands on his belly, breaths slow and even. He’s not asleep, though. Even without super senses, Wade can tell.

Just pretending, then...

“He-eey,” Wade says it softly, just to see if he’ll get a response, but Logan doesn’t move. Swallowing, Wade tries again. “So, everybody's headed home and I've tucked Mary up in bed. She's snoring like Jabba the Hutt with a deviated septum. It’s darling. You should see her.”

He’s willing to bet that Logan knows all of that. He’s willing to bet that Logan’s been lying here the whole time, wide awake, listening to what’s going on next door. He’s willing to bet that Logan had heard Laura bitch at him for being too much, and Yukio cornering him in the kitchen to hug him and whisper in his ear that he needs to be gentler with Logan, because sometimes the ones that act the toughest need softness the most.

As if Wade doesn’t fucking know that...

Wade knows Logan needs a bit of extra love, sometimes. He wasn’t being a dick on purpose. If you really broke it down, Al was the one being a dick, but nobody did break it down.

Al had given him an apologetic pat on the shoulder as she left and a little-

"Sorry about that, champ. You’ll have to grovel for both of us."

-but nobody else noticed. Everyone was busy being exasperated with Wade.

Which is so fucking typical.

Always the fucking scapegoat. Never the benefit-of-the-doubt goat.

Stepping inside the bedroom, Wade moves quietly over to the side of the bed.

“Lo?”

Logan’s breaths stay slow and deep.

Fuck.

Kicking one slider off, Wade sits down on the side of the bed, foot drawn up beneath him.

“Logan…” he slides a hand over, scratching at the side of Logan's belly. “I’ve come to offer my body in payment for the crimes of my mouth…” He watches the corners of Logan’s eyes, waiting for a change in the tension there. “Or my mouth in payment for the crimes of my body. Whichever you prefer. I have done so many crimes…”

Logan lets out a particularly long exhale.

“Sorry about the daddy stuff.” Wade runs his lower lip between his teeth. “You can totally not talk to me for the next twelve hours. Or spank me, if thats more thematically appropriate. Or-” he cuts himself off before saying ‘I could spank you’, because he’s pretty sure that’s the bit Logan had a problem with. “We can just cuddle and make up.” He offers, instead.

There’s a long silence.

Then a very soft-

“Fuck.” And Logan opens his eyes, turning his head to look around at him. “You’re such a prick.”

“Hey, baby,” Wade grins, winningly.

Logan continues to glare.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay." Wade nods. "That’s cool.”

He bounces up onto the bed, kicking off his other slider so that he can crawl over Logan - relieved that he’s speaking, and talking, and honestly doesn’t look as angry as he has been some of the other times Wade’s fucked up, over the past eight months. His brow is barely furrowed this time, and he's not showing his big pointy teeth at all.

He narrows his eyes further, though, as Wade throws a leg over his hips and crawls up to loom over him on all fours.

“Honestly, I only really want to fuck about it,” Wade tells him, looking down, one hand on either side of his massive chest. “We can talk tomorrow… or the day after… or in three to five working years. I’m easy.”

Logan’s glare slowly morphs into a lesser frown.

“You okay?” Wade asks, softening the affect a little - trying to leave a bit of room for vulnerability, even though the idea of Logan being vulnerable still makes him feel vaguely uneasy.

It’s just not their usual vibe. In their professional lives, Wade is the flighty, self-doubting, emotionally vacillating one. Logan is the steady one, the anchor, the rock. He might be grumpy and taciturn, but he knows who he is and what he stands for, and he would lay it all down for Wade and the world repeatedly, if asked.

In their personal lives, there’s a bit more ambiguity, though, and Wade isn’t one hundred percent used to balancing the two things out yet.

“Is this about what Al said?” He asks Logan tentatively.

“Nah,” Logan stares up at him, wearing the expression of a man who, despite his own words, does want to talk about it. “I don't know...” He rubs a hand over his face. “M'kinda baked.”

Wade’s eyes pass over him again.

He does look kind of baked. His pupils are huge, his skin flushed.

“What? Did you smoke the whole rest of that thing by yourself?" Wade asks, somewhat accusatory, glancing around until he finds the stub of the joint Logan had walked off with, sitting on the nightstand. “That is a rookie mistake, kittyclaws. Al's personal supply is not meant to be consumed solo. It's, like, the nacho sharing platter of weed.”

“M’fine,” Logan pulls a face. “I’ve been way higher than this, before.”

Wade gives a soft laugh.

“Man, it is wild that they just let you stomp around in a children’s comic.” He watches Logan's brow furrow and relax again. “And teach. And know the password to the official X-men Netflix account." He watches Logan's eyes track him. "I still can’t believe it’s not Netfli-X, by the way. Total waste.” Logan doesn’t react. Wade sighs. “You could have at least saved a little of that for me."

Logan gives a little snort.

“Why? Because you’ve been so sweet tonight?” He raises an eyebrow. Wade declines comment. Logan looks away from him, back up at the ceiling. “If you’re all going to laugh at me, you don't get to share.”

"We weren't laughing at you," Wade lies a little.

Logan snorts.

"Bullshit."

"We weren't," Wade insists.

"Al was.”

"Okay,” Wade admits, warmth blooming in his belly. “Al was maybe a little laughing at you. But mostly she was just laughing at me. You were more collateral damage.”

"Whatever…" Logan pushes his head into the pillows. "She's not getting her weed back."

Wade decides not to tell him Al had produced another joint from her pocket, the moment he left the room.

“That's fair,” he nods, rubbing his thumbs across his belly, instead. "Good call."

Logan grunts. "Jackass..."

Wade continues to smooth finger pads over him.

Eventually, when he hasn't said anything for over a minute, Logan heaves a sigh and looks down again. Drawn out, as usual, by how fucking weird it is for Wade to be quiet.

“Listen,” he grumbles, not quite meeting Wade’s eyes, “I’m not freaking out about the sex shit, okay?”

Wade raises an eyebrow. Caught off guard by the cold open.

“Uh… okay.”

“I know people know that we fuck.”

OH MY GOD.

Wade stares.

Oh my god. They’re having a talk. A real talk, with feelings and shit. One that Logan started all by himself. And, yeah, he may be baked out of his metal skull, but Wade will take it. He will fucking TAKE it!

“Okay…” Wade blinks, trying not to overreact. “… that’s good that you're not freaking out about it. Because they all definitely know... I mean, Al could probably make some pretty educated guesses about our favourite positions, at this point. The walls in this building are not thick.”

“Yeah, well,” Logan’s expression twists, uncomfortably, “I don’t have a problem with any of that shit, alright? I’ve been out longer than you’ve been alive, bub. I’ve heard it all. I’m not getting bent out of shape about them assuming you fuck me.”

“Heh-” Wade exhales a nervous laugh, trying to will his dick into minding it’s own business while racking his brain for anything he can say to that that doesn’t sound wildly patronising. “I mean, that's great," he eventually settles on, "but nobody should be assuming anything, right? It’s the twenty-first century. Gay pride, love is love, free the whales and all that jazz… Nobody should be assuming how we fuck.”

Logan gives him a withering look.

“It’s not a huge assumption.”

“Why?” Wade asks, curious. “You don’t think I could pull off bottom vibes?”

Logan snorts.

“You get bored doing your fucking teeth, Wade. The idea of you sticking to any one position is about as believable as you remembering to take the trash out on collection day.”

“Okay, fair,” Wade has to give him that one. “It’s lazy characterisation. I’m canonically switch as fuck.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

They sit together a moment longer, Wade casually adjusting himself so his half hard dick isn’t pressed quite so obnoxiously against Logan’s belly.

Logan’s expression shifts into something more thoughtful.

“I just…” he breathes out, slow, and Wade holds his breath - unable to believe that Logan is still talking, because he usually doesn’t get more than a couple sentences about what’s going on inside his head. It’s like pulling teeth… “Al was talking shit,” Logan mumbles out, eventually, not quite looking at him “…but she wasn’t a hundred percent wrong.”

Oh.

OH.

Wade stares. 

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Logans hands are resting at the side of his knees, fingertips playing with the fabric of his pants. He’s staring off over at the wall, away from Wade. “I mean, not all of it,” he mutters, after a few seconds. “Because I did actually know my dad. I knew both of them - my real dad and the guy who raised me. And you’re nothing like my real dad. He was a dick.” Logan’s brow contracts and then loosens again. “But…”

“But... ?” Wade prompts.

“… you are a bit like the guy I thought was my dad, until I was twelve.” 

Wow.

Wade feels the skin of his not-eyebrows slide up.

Logan really is baked. What the shitting dickfuck is he supposed to say to that?

In the end, he's not sure Logan wants him to say anything, so he just stays silent, propped up over him.

“I've never thought about it,” Logan admits, still staring at the wall, looking like he’s working through some deep internal crisis. “Every other guy I’ve been with was like my real dad. You know... I had a type. They were all big, mean, emotionally distant guys. But you're not. You’re like the other guy.”

“Okay…” Wade gives that information a few seconds to percolate before leaning in, tilting his head to catch Logan’s gaze. He throws him a grin which he hopes hides his anxiety. “You know I’m gonna have to ask at least ten follow up questions about this, right?”

Logan sighs, sounding resigned.

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Okay.” Honestly, Wade doesn’t know what to ask, first. Logan’s only ever made passing remarks about his childhood, before, and now feels like an unfair time to make him elaborate. Despite his insanely high tolerance for mind-altering drugs, he’s definitely a little buzzed, and it would be a dick move to take advantage. Wade supposes finding out what kind of comparison this is wouldn’t hurt, though… “What was he like?” He asks, watching Logan’s face, to make sure he’s not overstepping. “Your not-dad dad? Apart from obviously really, really good looking - since I remind you of him?” 

Logan pulls a face.

“I don't know…" he shrugs. "He was just my dad.”

“Oh, come on. You have got to have more than that.”

“I was twelve. It was a long fucking time ago.”

Wade scoffs.

“I remember loads of stuff from when I was twelve! I remember my class hamsters, Pete and Repete, and learning about ancient Egypt, and my favourite shoes…” Wade’s eyes catch on the middle distance. Flashback style. “I’d been asking for them all fucking summer, and they were red with white stripes, and eventually my grandma got me them - or not them, exactly, but these four-stripe fakes from some guy who sold purses out the back of his truck - but they really looked like the real thing. They were amazing. I was so excited to wear them on my first day of school that I actually cried when Ben Lomack was sick on them on the bus ride in.”

Logan stares at him.

“Wow.”

“See, it’s possible to remember being twelve,” Wade tells him. “Try again.”

Logan’s expression darkens.

“How about you try again, in two hundred years, and see how much of that sparkling detail you’ve hung on to.”

Wade fakes a shudder. “Christ, you’re old.”

“Fuck off.” Logan glares at him. “You know I'm old. Leave me alone.”

“Okay, okay…” Slowly, Wade lowers himself down until his chest is resting on Logan’s, his arms crossed below his chin.

Despite his scowl, Logan’s hands come up to rest against his sides.

Logan gets kind of pensive when he's high. Not in a sad way, or anything - in more of a sweet, kind of tender way. Wade's a big fan, he's never above milking it for an extra cuddle, but he doesn’t want to overstep, tonight. He’s trying really hard not to overstep...

“Tell me about him?” He asks, trying to leave the question open. 

Logan exhales heavily.

“I don’t know. He was nice, I guess... He used to travel a lot for work, so it was kind of a novelty when he was around." He stares into the distance for a while. "He'd always make time to play with us - me, and Victor, and the other kids on the estate. He brought us stuff back from all the places he went. Toys and shit." Logan thinks for a second. "I wasn’t rough-and-tumble like the others, but he was gentle with me. Used to read to me.” He pauses for a few seconds. “I don’t know... I thought he was a good man. Guess he must have fucked up, somewhere along the way, because his wife ended up screwing someone else, but I was twelve, you know? I didn’t know anything about any of that... He was just my dad.”

Wade watches him, feeling very fond.

“You know, if I was a psychologist,” he eventually says, “I’d have a field day with the way you call her ‘his wife’ and not ‘my mother’.” 

Logan closes his eyes.

“Yeah, well, that’s one for another day.”

“Noted.” Wade stretches up, pressing a kiss against the underside of his jaw. Acknowledging the boundary. “Continue.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Don’t got nothin' else, bub.”

“What? Nothing?”

“Nah, I barely remember what he looked like. Memories from that far back are fuzzy, like you’re looking at them through fogged up glass. The mortal brain isn’t meant to compute, or somethin'.”

Wade thinks about that for a while. Wonders if his own memories will fade. Decides to keep a better track of them, just in case.

“Does that mean you think I’m a good man?” He asks, after half a minute of silence.

Logan’s brow does a complicated little frown.

Wow. OKAY.

“I think…” Logan starts, sounding cautious.

“Oh my god, never mind!” Wade interrupts him, forcing a laugh - because suddenly he doesn’t want to know the answer. Doesn't want to know how badly he fails to measure up to Logan’s dad. “That’s my bad, buddy. You are way too high to have to deal with that one.”

“Wade,”

“No, really.” Wade tries to sit back up, then realises Logan still has hands wrapped around his back. “Talk about a loaded question... I shouldn't have gone there, kittyclaws. Not your responsibility to handle."

"Wade,"

"I've made my bed. I’m cool to lie in it.”

“Wade, will you fucking quit it?” Logan’s hands squeeze his ribs, and Wade stops wriggling. Logan’s looking up at him, eyes soft and serious. "Stop freaking out. You’re the best person I know.”

A really warm five seconds pass.

Okay.

Okay… fuck. Okay.

Wade watches him, swallowing hard.

It’s probably a lie. It’s probably a rose-tinted lie, because Logan loves him, but Wade will take the lie if it comes with the love. He’ll take it any day of the week.

He holds still. Watches.

Logan keeps his hands on his back, looking up at him with warm, slightly stoned eyes.

“If I had some twelve year old version of myself,” Logan tells him, all slow and meaningful, like he’s having to force the words out past years of self-imposed boundaries, “and I needed to hand him over to someone, to take care of... you’d be first on the list, okay? You’d be really, really good at it.”

Wade watches him, the words turning over inside his brain - building towards some delighted joke about parenting Logan’s inner child, or looking after Logan Jr. And he’s almost there. The joke is forming on the tip of his tongue. But then-

“Oh my god,” he blinks, brain grinding to a halt as the realisation hits.

Oh wow, HOLY SHIT.

He'd be good at it.

Oh-

“Yeah…” Logan sighs, dropping his head back against the pillows in resignation. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh. My. God.” Wade stares down at him. Mind blown. “You weren’t acting weird because I reminded you of your not-daddy.” He blinks, mouth open in delight. “You were acting weird because you were thinking about me being an actual daddy!”

Logan screws up his face, cheeks resolutely flushing pink.

“Shut the fuck up... I was not.”

Wade lets out a bark of incredulous laughter.

“Oh my god! You were!”

Logan flashes his pointed canines. "Fuck off."

"Sweet Marvel Jesus." Wade sits up, letting out a loud laugh. "This is wild."

"It's not," Logan growls, glaring up at him. "It's not wild. It's not some weird thing. I just... had a moment.”

“Yeah,” Wade grins, “a moment where you wanted me to put a baby inside you!” 

“Yeah, well, now you’re being a prick," Logan mutters, darkly, "so I don’t want you to put anything inside me. Ever again.”

“Oh my god, that is so not true…” Wade grins wider. "You love it when I put things inside you."

He can’t actually believe this is happening. He’d thought the whole offended reaction was about Logan’s masculinity being impinged by the suggestion of little ole Wade as a father figure. But here he was, comparing him to the guy who raised him. Thinking of having actual babies with him. And - oh my god - that is so much better...

Or so much worse, if you’re Logan.

But so much better, because he’s not.

He’s Wade.

Daddy Wade. 

Fuck. Logan must like him so much. How the fuck did Wade get so lucky? That’s two insanely hot people, now, who have wanted him to knock them up. Intentionally. On purpose. With his crinkly-skinned dick. That has got to be a record, or something. Definitely one to write about in the memoirs…

“This,” Wade says, sitting back on Logan’s hips, "is amazing.”

Logan groans, letting go of Wade's waist to rub both hands over his face.

“Shut up…”

“I can’t. You are too perfect.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m wildly in love. And also wildly erect.”

“God, Wade, will you please shut up?”

“I literally can’t. I feel like someone's pouring cocaine directly into my veins. I might be capable of anything. God, we should give it a go, you know? Just in case.”

“Give what a go?”

“Making a baby.”

Logan makes a helpless noise, halfway between a laugh and a groan. He drops his hands.

“Wade, what the fuck?”

“You never know.”

“I mean… we do.” Logan eyes him, clearly pulled him back from the brink of death by embarrassment by the absurdity of the suggestion. “Apart from, you know, all the obvious reasons, it also would definitely have happened by now.”

“You don’t know that,” Wade insists, motioning around the room. "This is Disney's world, now. It might be one of those intention things - like true love breaking a spell. We should give it a go, just in case.”

“Jesus…”

“YES.” Wade nods, leaning over Logan until their noses are only an inch apart. “You just lie back and think of Disney Marvel Jesus.” He grinds his dick into Logan’s belly. “And Canada. This baby needs to know where it's loyalties lie from the start.”

“Wade,” Logan whines, frustrated.

Wade ignores him, pressing a kiss into his cheek.

“Wade,” Logan growls.

Wade presses another kiss against his jaw.

“Wade, stop it!” Logan nudges him. None too gently. In the dick.

“Fuck- ow!” Wade leans back off him, adjusting.

“Come on, man,” Logan glares up at him. "Cut it out." And he’s got this divot between his eyebrows. Genuine distress in his expression. And - fuck - fine. FINE. Wade’s not going to tease him when he’s looking like that. It’s not fair.

Sighing, he sits back on Logan's thighs, resting his fingertips against the little sliver of furry belly where his shirt is riding up.

“Sorry. I might be losing my shit a little. You’re so ridiculously hot.”

Logan eyes him, reproachfully.

“You're a prick.”

“I know,” Wade says, heart pretty much exploding.

“I don’t want you to put a fucking baby in me. It’s not some weird thing.”

“I know…” Wade soothes. 

“I just thought about you being a dad for a second, okay?”

“Okay…”

“And I thought you’d be good at it.”

“Okay…”

“And that surprised me.”

“What?" Wade asks. "That I’d be good at it?”

“No.” Logan continues to glare at him. "That I liked the idea.”

"Okay..." Wade rubs a thumb against the skin under Logan’s belly button, giving him ten seconds to process, to feel like he’s not under interrogation, or attack. “You know, you are allowed to think something nice about me, every now and again,” he tells him, after those ten seconds have elapsed. “You don’t have to lose your mind about it. I am your boyfriend.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

“I fucking know that.”

“Well, what’s the problem, then?”

Logan takes a slow breath, watching him with the kind of soulful intensity that he usually reserves for intimate musical performances. Or steak.

“We shouldn’t work,” he admits, eventually. “It drives me nuts.”

And Wade can’t help but burst out laughing at that, because yeah-

Yeah. He gets that.

“Okay, so we’re a bit subversive,” he concedes, still laughing slightly.

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“Subversive?”

“Yeah. Defying expectations and all that.”

“I fucking know what subversive means.”

Wade eyes him, trying not to grin too widely. And, yeah, maybe subversive is not exactly the right word, but they're definitely subversive-adjacent. On paper, they shouldn’t work. They’re both abrasive, and shit at emotional regulation, and bad at conforming to societal norms. They both live their lives at a thousand miles an hour, because it’s the only way they've survived in the past.

“We’re both a lot,” he explains to Logan, who's still glaring up at him, “and that shouldn’t work, but it does, because we’re lucky." He grins. "And we’re exactly the right kind of 'a lot' that balances out. That's what the people like about us. The balance.”

Logan snorts.

“I think they just like having someone to laugh at…”

“Yeah, I meant the readers, not our friends, but same-same.”

“Huh?"

“Doesn’t matter.” Wade slides both hands up under Logan’s vest, pressing both thumbs into his belly, enjoying the little layer of fat he's putting on there. Enjoying the fact that Logan's finally comfortable enough that his body can start building itself up, rather than just keeping him from dying. "They're not laughing at us in a bad way," he says, watching the worried crease between Logan's brows. “They like you. They like us. We’re goals, you know?”

"Goals?"Logan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. We make them feel like its possible to start again, even if you’re old and broken and you’ve fucked up a million times.”

“How d’you figure that?” Logan grunts.

“Because…” Wade feels a little rush of fear, “it’s how I feel about us... ?”

It feels a bit like skinning himself, saying that out loud, but - hey - what’s the point of having a third act redemption arc if you can’t use your personal growth for personal gain? And Wade’s pretty sure building Logan up is his personal gain.

Logan watches him for a long few seconds, expression veiled. Then he mutters another tiny ‘fuck’, and rolls his eyes - reaching up to drag Wade down by the elbows.

Wade lets him, laughing as he’s crushed against his chest. Spreading his legs wider, so that their bellies are pressed together.

Maximum contact.

Logan lets out an aggrieved sigh, all big and warm and perfect beneath him.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re doing this under duress,” Wade tells him, after half a minute of being firmly compressed. “There’s no one else here.”

Logan grumbles something inaudible against his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“I said ‘you’re still a prick’.”

“I know. I am your prick, though.”

Logan sighs again.

Wade’s got fingers tucked up against the side of his chest. Can feel the soft rise of pec through his shirt. He wriggles his fingertips a little, rubbing them against a nipple. Logan grumbles a noise of protest. Wade repeats the movement and, this time, the reaction is softer and accompanied by a subtle shift of the hips - a tightening of his lower abdomen that tells Wade all he needs to know.

“Alright, bestie,” he whispers against Logan’s neck, “in the spirit of emotional repression and a firm E-rating, do you want to fuck this out and talk about it later?”

Logan lets out a slow exhale, then nods.

“Okie doke.” Wade presses a quick kiss against his neck.  “Let me just-”

.

Chapter 3

.

Wriggling back out of his grasp, he sits up and starts to peel his sweatshirt off, slowly but not too slowly - because because Logan's probably in a weird masculinity headspace, right now, and giving him a proper striptease is exactly the sort of thing that will wind him up. (But it’s also totally his thing. Logan likes to watch. Once he gets out of his head about it, he gets so fucking into it, every time).

He’s still making a point of looking like he's under duress, tonight, staring up at Wade with a mix of need and embarrassment - but that expression will last just about as long as he's in control of his breaths, and Wade can obliterate that in under forty seconds. Thirty, if he works for it.

He’s going to work for it, tonight.

Because Logan’s been a really good boy, tonight. And he deserves to have his deep-seated emotional issues blown out along with his back.

Reaching up, Wade grabs the back of his t-shirt, pulling it slowly over his head, revealing belly, then chest, then arms. He stretches, watching Logan’s struggle play out on his face. A frown, a growl, a growing tension in his jaw; all the while his pupils blowing bigger, and bigger, and bigger. 

Throwing the shirt to the floor, Wade leans back over him, using all the moves from the super depressing cancer support yoga class he’d attended in the early weeks of his diagnosis. (Who says you can’t retrofit a silver lining?) He stretches out, slow and controlled, hips lifted so that he can brush his chest all the way along Logan’s belly, then chest, then face.

Plank, Chaturanga, Updog.

“I take it back,” Logan growls, underneath him. “You're the worst person I know.”

His mouth is on Wade's chest before Wade's finished laughing about it, though, the flat of his tongue dragging over one nipple. And Wade’s laughter dissolves into a groan.

“Ugh-”

Logan bites at him. Sucks. And - fuck - he’s good at this. The flat of his tongue is smooth, and hot, and wet, and it is so, so good.

Wade takes a few moments to enjoy. To let Logan suck and lick at him, as he grinds into his belly, the movement rewarded with one massive hand over his ass, then two fingertips under his waistband, helping him shimmy the sweats down his legs.

Logan pats at him.

“Up, bub.”

Wade kneels up - pulling one leg free of his sweatpants and then the other - kicking them away down the bed with his foot, before turning his attention back to Logan.

“Better?” He grins, naked.

“Better.”

“Good.” Sliding both hands under Logan's shirt, Wade dips down to kiss him again, kneading at his tits, grinning at the groan he receives in reply.

He's pretty sure Logan's love of having his chest played with comes directly from his own appreciation of the same. It wasn’t really a thing, the first couple times they’d hooked up. They’re a happy little feedback loop, Wade thinks, stroking Logan's chest as his hips flex up. He gets off on Logan getting off on him getting off.

They’re so good at this part.

“So… want to fuck me?" Wade asks.

Logan lets his head fall back, breaths starting to loose their even cadence as he makes a soft, annoyed noise - because he doesn't want to fuck Wade. Wade can tell. He absolutely wants the other thing.

"Don't be a dick...”

The words vibrate through Wade's skin. Low, but without bite.

"Me?" Wade grins, taking his weight into his arms so he can shift his ass backwards, rubbing a figure of eight around the tip of Logan's dick through his jeans. “Nah…”

He gets approximately one second of warning before Logan's hands capture him around the hips and he's lifted up and deposited off to one side.

“Oof-!”

Some deep-seated survival instinct kicks in, shooting adrenaline up Wade's spine. He rolls over, facing Logan are he looms up at the side of the bed. There, however, his natural fear response is obliterated by the look on Logan's face. His usually green eyes are dilated Wolverine-black. He's breathing hard enough to make the muscle contract all down his sides. And he's yanking his shirt free from his shoulders, leaning in.

“Fuck, okay,” Wade grins. "This works."

Logan throws the shirt away, not breaking eye contact. His hands drop to his belt, tugging it open then shoving his jeans down his thighs, his briefs with them. He’s hard underneath. Wade’s own dick twitches in interest.

"You know, this whole caveman thing you've got going on is really-" Wade's got some half baked quip on the tip of his tongue but, as Logan steps forward, he doesn’t get the chance to finish it. One big hand reaches out to wrap around his jaw, pulling him forward until he’s kneeling at the edge of the mattress. “Mmh-!”

"If I wanted to fuck you," Logan growls, real low, "then I’d be fucking you already.”

It is a really, really aggressive opening gambit - and it's one hundred percent effective because Wade loves getting pushed around almost as much as he loves the moment of vulnerability, afterwards. Almost as much as he loves the way Logan’s eyes flick up to his, seeking reassurance.

He leans forwards, pressing his chin in Logan’s palm.

Best subby top foot forward.

“Oh my god, yes chef,” he grins, slightly muffled through the grip. Adding- “super on board with where this is going. You should know my safeword is ‘donut’ and I haven’t used it since nineteen ninety-eight.” -because he's contractually obliged not to be serious about anything.

Because his safe word is not ‘donut’, and Logan knows that, but the jokes are what Wade brings to the table. Safety is what he brings to the table; a space for them to figure out what ‘they’ are without it being a thing; the flexibility for Logan to explore, and experiment, and figure out what he actually wants, after two hundred years of being who he needed to be to survive.

It’s not like Wade has everything figured out himself, or anything. Far from it - he still has no idea what he wants to do with his life. He’s no longer sure who the good guys and the bad guys are, or whether the big acts of world-saving self-sacrifice are really any more important than the jobs he pulls on weekday nights. He's not sure if his drive for recognition and being part of a team isn't more about not having to make decisions for himself, or if he’s capable of trusting in a higher authority again, or if he wants to shoulder the weight of people’s expectations.

It's a lot. He's working through it.

In terms of relationships, though, Wade knows exactly what works for him. All he wants - all he's really ever wanted from a partner - is to be admired and needed. And Logan looks at him like he hung the stars and has about sixteen layers of need stacked up deep inside him. And that works for Wade. It really works.

Wade gets to show him around this world, and give him a home, and drag him (stabbing and growling) into living safely in it - allowing him his guilt, and his shame, and his frankly unhinged coping strategies, while loving the ever-living shit out of him. He gets to take care of Logan while Logan looks at him with adoration and performs showy acts of service, like sanding the entire bedroom floor by hand, or taking him to some new wings place he read about in the metro, or fucking him face down into the sheets until Wade can’t remember his own name. It’s a really sweet deal.

Wade is aware that, as Logan becomes more settled, he'll need taking care of less and less - but he's also pretty sure that Logan has another sixteen layers of need buried deep to the first. He's pretty sure Logan is always going to be needy. And that works for him. 

He turns his chin in Logan's palm.

"Man, I’d be so helpless," he grins up at him, working through the rest of the joke, keeping the mood light. "If you were to decide to fuck me. I wouldn’t be able to do a thing.”

"Wade," Logan gives him a reproachful look, because that’s not the game tonight. That’s not what he’s after and Wade knows it. And Logan knows that he knows it.

It’s worth a little push, anyway. On behalf of the real game.

"I wouldn't be able to defend my honour." Wade widens his eyes. "Oh my god, you're so big.”

"Fuck off," Logan narrows his eyes, nudging Wade further onto the bed, and Wade grins wider because, if teasing Logan was an Olympic sport, he’d medal every time. It’s about tactics, he thinks. You’ve got to hit him in stages - because Logan kind of digs the humiliation, but he gets real prickly if you push too hard too fast. You’ve got to drip feed it to him. Small hits. Different zones.

“You are so fucking sweet, though,” Wade tells him, switching tact at lightning speed, pushing his voice lower, pushing all his strength forwards - stretching up against Logan to place both hands against his chest. “You know that, right? I love what for you do for me, kittyclaws. Everything that you do. You fucking destroy me.”

Logan lets out a slow breath, eyes darting between Wade’s; in, but not one hundred percent sold.

“Let me show you,” Wade says, pressing his palms against him, pressing intention into his words. “Let me show you what you do for me, baby.”

Logan mumbles something dark under his breath.

“We can do a little role-play about it.” Leaning in, Wade nips at the side of his jaw, feeling Logan infinitesimally soften. (Step one of his cunning plan complete). “You love a role play.” 

“Shut up…”

“You do. You loved that thing with the cape and the blowjob.”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan rolls his eyes, “it was definitely the cape part.”

“You are, at the very least, open to the idea. Come on, baby,” Wade grins. “Give me a chance.”

Logan sighs.

“Come on…” Wade bumps his hips against him. “I’ll be you. You be me.”

There's no mumbling this time. No reproachful growls. Logan just watches him steadily, breaths throwing shadows at the base of his neck.

“Let me show you what you do for me, peanut,” Wade whispers.

And Logan watches him for another three seconds, then he lets out a heavy breath and drops down to the mattress beside him. Rolls over on his back. Belly-up. About to let Wade do whatever the fuck he wants.

Wade allows himself a short villainous laugh.

“Fucking shut up and get down here,” Logan growls.

“Shutting up!” Wade crawls back over him, revelling in the warmth of skin on skin, before wrapping a hand around Logan's jaw and kissing him soundly. “Fuck, I love you,” he grinds into him through his boxers, the tip of his dick already wet. “You’re the best.”

Logan’s hands are all over him, big, and warm, and demanding - and he’s not being quite as docile as Wade would want, if they were to negotiate this game properly, but Wade also doesn’t want to stop and talk about it. It’s late, and Logan’s had a long night, and honestly Wade just wants to fuck the anxiety out of him and watch him go all liquid and soft in the aftermath. He doesn't want him to have to justify any of his actions, tonight. Logan ‘being him’ gives them the plausible deniability to be as soft as they need to be, and Wade wants that. Wants this to be easy. The last hour has felt like emotional edging and he wants to be able to treat Logan sweet.

Lifting one of his huge thighs, Wade crawls up in between them. 

“Okay, so this way’s good,” he says, grinning at the grunt of protest as Logan has to lift his other leg, to accommodate him. “I’m a sucker for bit of soulful eye contact." He bumps his hips against Logan’s ass and Logan lets out a soft huff of breath, eyelids heavier than they were thirty seconds ago, mouth wetter.

Wade slides a hand down between them, over his dick, enjoying the feel of the smooth velvety skin that he can tug up over him.

With all the scars and the fact that he’s cut, Wade is very much a lube-required sort of guy, but he could get Logan off with a dry palm down the front of his sweats. (You know… theoretically). He could get Logan off with a fistful of spit, up against the kitchen cabinets. Or lying on his back, the tips of two fingers rubbing against the tip of him, through his foreskin. Just the tip. Rubbing so, so slowly. (Theoretically). He could get Logan off five hundred different ways. Logan is made to be touched.

Wade tells him so, up against his neck, and Logan shivers. Then he opens his eyes, throwing Wade a challenging look.

“If I was you,” he growls, “this is where I’d start getting all impatient and bitchy because you’re not fucking me yet.”

“Oh my god, yes,” Wade agrees, leaning in, he kisses him wet enough to leave a string of spit between their lips. “Bitch away, smoother, hotter version of me. Hit me with your best shot. Soundtrack suggestion intended.” 

Logan's eyes narrow.

“Yeah, I’m not actually going to pretend to be-” 

“No, you have to!” Wade wriggles down, burying his face in Logan’s belly for a second before dipping in to take his dick in his mouth. He takes him right to the back of his throat, chokes a little, pulls off. “For the love of the game.”

And, honestly, the low moan Logan makes isn’t far from the mindless babbling that Wade's makes when Logan sucks him off - so Wade’s willing to let him off with that one.

Its all way too good to do anything else.

Wade loves this part. Loves the intimacy and vulnerability of the act. Loves the feeling of Logan’s thighs cradling his shoulders, and the heat and stretch and smell of him. He loves the feeling of strong hands on his head, holding him in place. Loves going faster, and faster, until Logan’s dick is as hard as it can get, and all that velvety skin doesn’t stretch up to cover him anymore.

Head spinning, he works him hard and fast until his hips start to twitch. Then he pulls off, slapping one big thigh, pulling on his gravelliest fake-Logan voice.

“Over, bub,”

“I don’t sound like that,” Logan complains, breathlessly.

“Oh, man, you so do,” Wade laughs, wriggling out of his boxers as Logan rolls over, exposing the backs of his thighs and the thick hair that runs up the inside of them, darkening all the way to the crease of his ass. Wade tracks it north with his fingertips, leaning in and pressing a kiss over the base of his spine. Then he crawls over him, grinding dick into ass, inhaling the back of his neck. “I love it when you do this.” 

It feels all hot and heavy and possessive to be on the receiving end. Wade knows.

In all honestly, he ends up under Logan less than half of the time they fuck, these days. They shared out acts pretty equally in the beginning but, as they’ve got more comfortable with each other, they’ve both found things they prefer. They balance out pretty well - just like in every other area in their lives. It works out at about seventy-thirty with Wade on top, and Wade could not be more fucking thrilled about the situation. Absolutely no notes.

Grinning, he bites down on the meat of Logan’s shoulder, slipping his hand around to hold his chest.

“Okay," he pats him gently, breathing into the warm space behind his ear. "I’m going to leave the rubber off, for thematic purposes. Unless you have any objections about getting fake knocked up?”

Logan lets out a long, low groan, like he’s really having to clear some internal hurdles to indulge in this one. Eventually, however, he casts a sideways look at Wade and nods.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Wade kisses him again, dizzy with anticipation. “Okay, okay…” He straightens up, grabbing one of the bottles from the nightstand - the good one, even though Logan insists he doesn’t notice the difference. “Now,” he says, slicking himself up very, very generously. “Real-Wade wouldn’t be able to do this without a five minute prep interlude, but you’re smoother, hotter, way less uptight Wade, so you’re going to be fine.” He adds another palmful, wiping his hand clean on his thigh before crawling back over Logan and lining them up. “Just between us Wades, you’re way better at this bit.”

Logan throws Wade a half-reproachful, half-amused look that makes Wade’s stomach do a flip-flop inside of him.

He grins.

“You okay to do the thing?”

“Yeah…” Logan watches him for a second longer. Then he pulls one leg further up, and drops his head to his forearms, and sighs as Wade presses up against him.

This is one of Logan’s best party tricks. In the right space, breathing deep, he can take Wade in one long, slow slide, with absolutely zero prep. Wade has no idea how he does it. He was pretty sure Logan was fucking with him, the first time - that he was letting his healing factor handle more than Wade was comfortable with, and gritting his teeth through the rest - but he’s not. Wade has made him talk through it, multiple times, and it's just something his body can do. He goes all zen, and relaxed, and gets the angle right, and takes Wade inside real slow.

It blows Wade’s mind. It feels so good that he gets lost in thoughts about predestination, and Marvel God, and whether the purpose of life can really be as simple as the heat of someone’s skin, and feeling your heartbeats race together. He feels on the edge of divine inspiration, every time, and - while he’s not actually discovered the meaning of life while railing Logan, yet - absolution does feel closer when they're pressed up against one another, so they must be doing something right.

One hand on Logan's back, he presses in. Feeling the heat and the yield.  The sensation is no less overwhelming than before. It blows Wade’s mind, for a minute. Gets him lost. Things feel more serious, all of a sudden. It feels less fair to tease Logan when he’s spearing him open. He's hot inside. And tight. And slick.

"You good?"

He doesn't need to ask, really. He can feel the muscle of Logan's back bunch under his hand. Can see pinpricks of sweat beading into life along his spine. Can feel his hips tilt, grinding his dick into the mattress.

"... yeah."

He's good. He's happy.

Dipping his head forward, Wade kisses the back of one big shoulder blade. Then he slips his hand down the long line of Logan's arm and takes his hand, guiding it towards his dick. 

“Need you like this,” he says, surprised by how his voice has dropped without him meaning it. He keeps clinging to the bit anyway, because that's whats keeping him grounded. “Just hold hold yourself. Like- yeah, like that. No playing.” He gives Logan a squeeze, over the top of his hand, and Logan breathes out hard. “That's cheating. When we do this, I just let you fuck me into it.”

"Mm."

Logan nods against the pillows, upturned cheek flushing slowly but decidedly pink. And, stretched over him, Wade can’t help but feel wildly protective - a feeling somehow intensified by the fact that Logan doesn’t need any protecting.

He nudges his nose against the rough-stubbled side of his cheek.

“You good, kitten?”

“Yeah…” Logan cracks an eyelid, dark eye flicking up to him. “If I was really you, I’d be running my mouth about now.”

Wade squeezes his hip and laughs.

“That's fair.” He tips forward over him, grinding in before drawing back and setting up a slow bouncing rhythm. "I'm gonna do this instead, tonight, okay?" 

And Logan doesn't say a thing, because his mouth is busy. It's busy falling open, busy letting out a soft little groan into his pillow. Because he likes this. Likes the bounce and the quick changes in pressure and Wade's hand at his back, and the way Wade tilts his hips at the end of each slide. He LIKES it likes it.

Wade grins, redistributing his weight so he can grab at one deeply amazing ass cheek.

"God, these things are centrefold quality. I'd fucking annihilate this in a magazine. It would be unreadable."

He's so hot inside. And his grippy little hole is tight when Wade slams himself all the way inside. And he wants to just fold over him and tuck him senseless but he holds back. Fucks him slow. Because that's how Logan does it for him, in this position. That's how Logan fucks him on the bad days - when all that Wade wants is to curl up and disappear. He arranges him all nice, and gets the angle right, and fucks hum for glorious half-hours at a time, until Wade’s ears are ringing with his breaths and his brain can’t register anything but pleasure.

Wade tries to do the same. He keeps the angle steep and the speed consistent until Logan's soft moans become whines, and his whines become low guttural noises. By the time Logan’s panting, they’re both slick with sweat and Wade’s muscles are on fire - because he’s strong, but he's also heavy, and the pace is relentless, and he can't stop thinking about how Logan was imagining him being a dad, and that he thinks he's a good man, and that he gets to come inside him. And, fuck-

Its making him feel a bit shaky, actually. His shoulders are starting to tremble. And he’s not sure if its from his workout earlier, or their big mission yesterday, or the fact that he's absolutely lost in the sauce, but he’s suddenly not sure how many more minutes he has left in him. It doesn’t feel like many, but he wants to keep making Logan make that amazing soft, high noise, at the back of his throat. Because - fuck - that’s amazing. Logan’s amazing. But, fuck-

“There-” Logan mumbles as he shifts. “More there. Y-yeah.”

Wade can see the hard ridge of his throat sliding as he swallows. Can see slivers of amber and green iris from beneath dark lashes. Can see the pretty little constellation of freckles on his left shoulder starting to blur as Wade feels himself helplessly pick up the pace, body shuddering as he starts to lose the battle with his own willpower, swallowed up by the desire to sit back up and fuck into Logan, fast and shallow, until he comes.

The thought sends an anticipatory thrill up his thighs.

“Uh-”

And Logan can definitely tell, because he’s shifted his cheek against the pillow to look back at him - because he mostly fucks with his eyes closed, but he likes to watch Wade finish. And the fact that Logan knows he’s close makes it suddenly so much more potent. Wade actually has to slow down, changing up the rhythm to stave off the inevitable, the back of his teeth tasting of copper and need. And-

“Fuck, babygirl,” he pants, pace faltering. “You know how I never cheat by rubbing one out while you fuck me?” He asks, pressing into Logan. And - shit - he’s definitely going to come soon. Probably as soon as they start back up.

“Yeah?” Logan asks, one eyebrow raised.

“I, uh,” Wade blows a heavy breath, sweat stinging his lips. “I think I’m going to need you to cheat.” 

Logan laughs, so deep it vibrates through Wade’s chest. He arches back, grinning.

“No you’re not…”

Wade groans. Grinds into him hard, for a second, because the change is almost as good as a reprieve, and he really fucking needs a reprieve.

“No, really. How do you do this for, like, thirty minutes at a time? I’m dying, here.”

“Lots of practice. Keep going.”

“Lo…” he laughs, shame flaring in his belly, “I mean it, baby, I’m definitely gonna come.”

“No, you’re not,” Logan drops his head to the pillow, rubs his cheek against it as he arches back, still smiling. “You never cheat, and I never come, remember?”

And - fuck - he’s slick. And hot, and mean, and Wade loves him.

“Shit, okay…” he drops his head forwards, changing the angle. “Okay…” He tries a few long strokes, feeling the rush of heat up his spine again. Very fucking pre-climactic.

And the involuntary noise me makes must sound really pathetic, because Logan shifts his cheek to look back at him again.

“Come on,” he says, eyes playful. “You’re not going to knock me up like that. Try harder.”

“Fuck.” Wade’s brain short circuits. His body stutters forwards into Logan’s, hand jumping to his hip, to lock them in place. “What the fuck?”

“You heard me,” Logan holds his gaze. “Harder. Come on.”

And there is literally nothing left in the tank. He’s definitely going to come. But Wade nods and fucks into him faster anyway. He whines, and shifts forward, and presses his forehead against the back of Logan’s shoulder and fucks into him as hard and as fast as he can until he’s sliding past the point of no return and shuddering into an orgasm that feels like being kicked in the stomach - that keeps rolling over him in waves, that he keeps moving through until his rhythm becomes so apocalyptic that Logan has to hook an ankle back around his leg, stilling him so that he can find his own.

And Logan doesn’t fucking cheat. (Because he’s a big fucking show off). He keeps his hand wrapped loosely around himself as he arches back, rolling his hips, finding exactly the right pressure to get himself off - using Wade like the world’s dumbest, crinkliest, most in-love dildo.

He comes all over his own hand and wrist while Wade watches, milky white sliding over skin, breathless and hot and perfect.

“Oh, fuck…” If Wade could shoot back-to-backs in under a minute he’d come all over again - fill him up properly, knock him up twice - but he can’t. All his body manages is an almost painful squeeze, an utterly pathetic whimper, and then his right shoulder gives way, sending him sprawling on top of Logan.

Logan looks back at him, mouth still open in the come-down, and bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god,”

"What?” Wade tries to push himself back upright only to find that his wrist has gone numb from the extended time bent back on itself. He flops back down onto Logan, sliding half out of him. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Baby,”

“What?”

Logan lets out another rolling laugh. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush to get away, though. Wiping his hand clean on their sheets, he reaches back and steadies Wade’s hip, sliding them the rest of the way apart.

Rolling over underneath him, he props himself up on one elbow, watching Wade, eyes wildly amused and wildly fond.

“How the fuck do you do that for so long?” Wade asks him, brain buzzing like static. “I think I nearly stroked out there.” He reaches out to tap the screen of one of their cell phones on the nightstand. “And that was only… seven minutes. Holy shit. SEVEN?” He pulls a face, flopping back down against the sheets. “Man, I am going to be rounding that up to ten, in the memoirs, and it will still be pathetic.”

Logan laughs again, pulling a pillow down to stuff behind his head. His chest is flushed, and his belly is beaded with sweat. He looks amazing.

“The secret is not spending the whole time thinking about coming,” he tells Wade, like he’s sharing the codes to a nuclear bunker, or how to do rocket surgery, or something.

“No fucking way,” Wade groans, dropping his head forwards onto Logan’s belly. “You’re a genius.”

“You need some boring thinking material,” Logan tells him, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah. You should lend me one of your fat books about old dead guys.”

Logan cuffs him gently.

“Ow!” Wade wriggles a few inches further up his body, trying to catch his breath. “Oh man, I think we got it wrong,” he mumbles, after thirty seconds, into one obnoxiously defined pec. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Logan laughs again.

“You can get me next time.” He sounds happy. Loose and satisfied and happy.

Wade grunts into his tits.

They lie together for a couple of minutes, equilibrating, then Logan gives a long sigh and nudges at him with one knee.

"Okay. You need to move before I shit myself.”

“You old romantic…” Wade smushes his face into his tits again. "You're supposed to lie still for a while, to increase our chances of conception. Put your legs up and all that.”

"Yeah? What d'you know about it?”

Wade looks up to find Logan watching him, eyes still a little stoned.

He's tempted to reply with something tongue-in-cheek, like 'this isn't my first rodeo'. He's tempted to tell Logan about his and Ness's naive attempts to try and make a baby with his fucked up cancer spunk and her thirty-nine year old eggs, but he doesn't want to ruin the moment and he knows Logan will get all weird about it.

Honestly, six months ago Wade would have got weird about it, too, but letting go of the past is a strange thing. It happens in stages. Sometimes in little pieces over time. Sometimes in huge landslides, all at once. Wade isn't sure when this part became okay, but it is, now. It doesn’t hurt so much. He doesn't feel it in his bones, anymore. And that's a good thing.

He'll tell Logan about it one day, he thinks, sliding a hand down to pat at his hip. They're not there, yet, but they will be soon. Wade wants to be there. And that's a good thing, too.

"Okay, old man." He levers himself gently off of Logan, shuffling up to press a rough kiss against his jaw before rolling onto the other side of the bed. "Be free. Go do your princess routine."

"Not wanting to marinade in you isn't a routine."

"Yeah, yeah," Wade grabs a handful of Kleenex from the side, roughly wiping himself down. “You are a princess, though."

"Not everyone can stoop to your levels of hygiene.”

"You fucking love how I smell…” tossing the tissues onto the floor, Wade collapses face-down in the sheets. “I catch you huffing me all the time. Pervert.”

Logan rolls out of bed, swiping at Wade's foot as he passes and catching a few toes. Wade doesn't open his eyes, just yanks his foot back, ticklish and grinning, and listens to Logan wander through to the bathroom instead. He listens to him run the water and clean himself up. Listens to him drink from the tap and go for a piss. Listens to him turn the tap off and wander back through, feet padding soft against the wooden floor.

Logan climbs back into bed on the wrong side - making a big deal about having to climb over Wade, tangling their limbs together and pressing his face into his neck. He finally settles, but only after pulling Wade in snug, against his belly. 

"Oh my god," Wade yawns. "Backshots and little spoon. Is it my birthday?”

“Nah, we already agreed what we're doing for your birthday," Logan rumbles against his back.

And Wade laughs, because he'd forgotten that particular conversation, but he's so glad Logan hasn’t…

"Oh my god.” He grins. “I'm going to have to put that in the diary. We’re going to have to order supplies in advance.”

"Mmh." Logan stretches and shuffles deeper into the sheets.

They're both quiet for a moment.

Wade watches the light cast by one of the street lamps outside the window. It's peeking through a gap in the drapes, marking out an uneven line down the far wall. When the fabric moves, the left side blurs just a little.

"We should probably talk about the kid shit for real, at some point." He muses, out loud. "You know, in a grown up, actual life-plan kind of way. Along with about twenty other life-plan things.”

"I know." Logan sighs behind him.

He doesn't sound panicked. Doesn't sound like he was drifting off to sleep, either. He sounds like he was thinking about it, too.

Wade watches the line of light on the wall.

"Doesn't have to be soon. Just sometime.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe if we make it to a year.”

“Yeah.”

“Or two. No rush.”

Logan's nose shifts and he presses his mouth against the back of Wade's neck. "I get it, Wade. Relax."

"Okay..." Wade swallows, still watching that line of light. A long minute or so passes. “Objectively speaking, I’d be a terrible dad,” he says, when the noise inside his brain has mismatched with the silence for too long, "I'd leave the kid places, and forget about school plays, and lunch tickets, and never turn up to appointments on time… I'd buy them brand-name three-stripe shoes and give them a superiority complex."

Logan yawns.

"I never said you'd be a dream to co-parent with, bub. I was just high, and horny, and my brain got confused.”

"Co-parent? Jesus Christ,” Wade looks back over his shoulder. "Who is teaching you these new words? They need to stop. The twentieth century isn't ready for you, honeybadger.” The angle is inadequate, so he wriggles over to face Logan properly.

He turns under the heavy weight of Logan's arm and Logan doesn't pull back. Doesn't shuffle away or change position. He lets Wade get all up close and personal, nose to nose against their pillows.

"We'd both be terrible, right?" Wade asks him. "I mean, objectively speaking, it would be really dumb.”

"It would be a car crash." Logan is watching him with that soulful intensity again.

"Yeah." Wade watches him back.

A moment passes.

"That said," Logan stretches, the hand behind Wade's back dragging over him in a comforting manner, "we do dumb shit all the time." He shrugs. "Might be worth revisiting, sometime. In the future." 

Wade's belly gives a happy little squeeze.

"Yeah?"

“Yeah.” Logan yawns again. “When I'm sober. And we're out of our college phase."

"Totally," Wade grins at the parroting of his joke, relief flooding through him at the fact that the subject isn’t closed - that it isn’t off the table, but also isn’t a now-thing. “We’re still babies, ourselves, right now.”

“Sure.” Logan closes his eyes. Settling back down.

“Barely grown.”

“Mm-hm.”

"We've got time.”

"Yeah."

Wade watches him for a long few seconds. Feeling all sorts of shit.

“I’m super flattered about the whole 'giving me your younger self to look after' thing, by the way,” he says, when he can’t keep his mouth shut for a moment longer. “I mean, hard same - but I've got proof of concept. You’ve got Laura, and you’re amazing with her, so if we had a kid and something happened to me, I know you’d be fine. But the idea of me being capable of doing anything like that by myself is mind blowing.”

“Oh, please,” Logan mumbles, into his pillow, eyes still closed. “You wouldn’t be doing shit by yourself. You’ve got so many people. All of those assholes who were laughing at us, for starters... Besides," he yawns. "If I ever actually managed to die, the insurance payout would be insane. You could hire anyone you wanted."

Wade blinks at him.

“Wait. YOU have life insurance?”

Logan opens his eyes a crack. Just to frown at him.

“Yeah. Through the institute. I worked there in my world, remember? The TVA transferred it over with my pension and shit."

Wade blinks.

“You have a PENSION?!”

“Yeah, Wade.” Logan widens his eyes. “I buy my own lunch, and tie my own shoes, and everything.”

“Man, that is wild.” Wade flops back against the pillows, trying to process this new information. “I don't even have a savings account.”

Logan watches him closely for a moment, then breathes out.

“The way you live gives me anxiety.”

"Mm." Wade watches him back for a minute, thinking. “Would I really get your life insurance money if you died?” He asks, eventually.

Logan stares.

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

“And you… you chose that?” Wade asks, feeling surprisingly nervous. “You asked for that, or something?”

“… Yeah.” It comes out all rough - like Logan’s angry at Wade for asking - but when his hand slides up to rub at Wade’s side it's gentle. It’s so gentle. They’re both silent for a few seconds, then Logan swallows. “It goes to you and Laura, man. Where the fuck else would it go?" He looks a little shy. Wade can see a flush of pink over the bridge of his nose. “Someone's got to look after you.”

Wade watches him. Heart beating overtime.

The weight of the moment must hit Logan, at this point, because his brow contracts into a little frown.

“I can change it, if it's a problem-”

"Nope." Wade interrupts, shaking his head. Warmth is pouring through his belly. Filling him up. "Nope nope nope. Absolutely not! That's my highly improbable death money, now. You don't get to take shit like that back.”

"Okay." Logan breathes out, looking relieved. There's a short silence where he watches Wade, then the relief morphs into a frown. “You're thinking of ways to kill me, aren’t you?"

"Well, yeah, obviously," Wade lies.

Logan’s frown deepens.

“Wow. Thanks.”

"I've come up with about twenty three so far," Wade lies again, feeling lightheaded. “Some of them are really good. One involves swordfish."

“Great.”

“Mindfuck is,” Wade’s belly swoops inside of him, “I’ve actually never been less inclined."

Logan watches him. Shadows soft in the lamplight.

“Yeah?”

“It’s a whole ass conundrum.” Wade breathes out, slow. “Because I'd be real good at being rich. I'd be so fucking good. I have a whole list of shit I’d buy with my first million, saved on my laptop. You know. Just in case.” He holds up a hand, ticking the items off on his fingers. “I’d get a truck, and a boat, and a teeny tiny diamond studded jacket for Mary Puppins. I’d buy my own gym. And a house. And one of those giant chest freezers where people store the good ice cream.”

Logan frowns.

“Do you have any idea how money is worth?”

“No,” Wade admits, “I can barely add and the concept of inflation confuses me but, my point is, I have plans, peanut. I’d be a really good rich person. And here I am - perfectly good murder-for-insurance plot at my fingertips, perfectly good access to giant admantium-cored icicles -” his stomach drops away inside him, “and I’m getting all giddy over the idea of you living forever and filling you with my babies, instead.” 

Logan stares at him for two seconds. Then his eyes crinkle up at the corners and he starts laughing. Properly laughing.

“Jesus Christ…”

“I am, for once, being completely serious,” Wade tells him. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan looks away, grinning, and then back around, his eyes all reproachful and warm.

Wade shrugs.

“Okay. Your funeral.”

“Man…”

“Literally.”

Logan gives one last low laugh, then exhales heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right, bub. That is a conundrum.”

“I know.” Wade watches him back. “I’m all kinds of fucked.”

“Mm.”

Dropping his hand back to Wade’s hip, Logan gives it it a squeeze. Then he tips his head forwards, until his forehead is resting against Wade’s chin.

It’s an intimate position.

“You’d still kill me for the insurance money, right?” Wade asks, after half a minute. “You know, if I had any? And could die?”

Logan huffs out a breath. Wade can hear the smile in it.

“Oh yeah. In an instant.”

“Thank fuck…” Wade stares into the darkness. “This would have been really awkward, otherwise. Can’t have both of us going soft. We’d have had to hang up our suits, or something.” A pause. “That’s why I don't have any, by the way. It was the thinking man’s choice. Safety first.”

“Mmhm.” 

Tipping his head forwards, Wade presses his nose against the top of Logan’s head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo.

Its hard, sometimes, to internalise the fact that Logan is in this for the long-haul. Over the last eight months, Logan’s been kind, and loyal, and generous, and not done anything to indicate that he might cut and run, but self-doubt is a bitch and, sometimes, the idea of them living out a life together still feels terrifyingly out of reach.

There is just so much that can go wrong. And, up until now, they’ve been taking it really slow. They’ve spent eight months learning how to sit still and face the world. The only decisions they’ve made are about stupid, inconsequential shit - like what food to order, or what chairs to drag back from the dumpster, and what colour to paint the living room wall. The idea of deciding anything more permanent makes Wade’s belly burn with anxiety. With fear. But also with need. 

If he’s completely honest with himself, he really likes the idea of him and Logan deciding on permanent shit, together. He wants to argue about whether they need a bigger apartment, or if they’re going to move out of the city. He wants to see Logan figuring out whether he wants them to live and what he wants that to look like. He wants to talk about whether they should take on more work with the X-men, or stay solo, or retire. He wants to bring up the option of Logan teaching at the institute, one day. Wants to know if he’d want to get another dog, if Mary ever dies. Wants to know what kind of truck he’d buy, and if he’d be okay with a granny flat above the garage for Al, or if he’d want to adopt some kids. He wants to be able to say how he feels about all of that without being afraid of the consequences. He wants them invested.

The transition between sitting still together and moving forwards feels huge, though - and it’s where every one of Wade’s relationships has fallen apart, in the past. Wade knows its got to happen at some point, but he’s not sure how to bridge that moment. He’s only just reaching the stage where he can trust Logan when he says he’s going to stick around. It’s not that he thinks he’s a liar… and there’s been a lot of good evidence that he will… but it’s fucking hard sometimes. Wade’s not sure he would do the same, in Logan’s shoes. Wade’s not sure if he’s worth the drama. But maybe Logan’s a better man than he is.

Wade presses his nose into the top of Logan’s head.

He guesses he’ll find out, sooner or later. There’s nothing he can do about it, until then. Love is life’s longest trust fall. But if there's anyone strong enough to catch him, it's Logan. And that's got to count for something.

“We should buy paint tomorrow,” he says, into the top of Logan’s head. “For the living room.”

“Sure.” Logan yawns, pulling their sheets up around them. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m thinking red.”

“Course you are.”

“Red’s a great colour.” Wade kisses the top of his head. “It's the colour of passion and internal organs. What’s not to love?”

“Don’t you want something less... stressful?”

“What? Like yellow?”

Logan exhales a laugh. “Meet you halfway?”

“What? Orange?” Wade considers it, stroking a circle around the swell of Logan’s shoulder. “Orange is an insane interior decor choice. You would never suggest that sober. How would that fit with our mid-century modern aesthetic?”

“Think we’re about fifty years out from ‘mid-century’, bub.”

“Fine” Wade rephrases. “How will that fit with our end-century garage-sale aesthetic?”

“I don’t know.” Logan shrugs. “But, if it’s shit, we can just paint over it.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Wade shakes his head. “Everything must be perfect. First time. Always.”

Logan yawns again. 

“Okay, I’m going to sleep, now.”

“But-”

“I’m going to sleep,” Logan repeats, squeezing his hip. “And, tomorrow, I will buy you paint. And, on Tuesday, I will paint the living room any goddamn colour you want.”

“Even-”

“Except red.”

“… you are no fun.”

“Yeah, well, as your baby mama, I reserve that veto right.”

Wade stares at the top of his head for a while. Feeling stuff.

“Laura really needs to stop teaching you new vocabulary.” He says, after a while. “I’m barely handling this.”

Logan laughs.

“Go to sleep, Wade.”

“Okay… night night, peanut.”

“Night.”

.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 5 of Nine Years