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Wade honestly intended to be a perfect gentleman about sharing the pullout couch with a gorgeous, ripped-to-hell, beautifully furred Wolverine.
Seriously. Okay, he did not exactly have a history of gentlemanly behavior, especially around hot guys, but he was turning over a new leaf. Becoming a new man. Totally going to feel up Colossus's biceps at the next opportunity but genuinely desperately did not want Logan to either leave or to hate it in this universe that he helped Wade save. Terrifyingly desperate about it actually. Super fine, super regular, an extremely normal response to a guy helping you save a universe. The Avengers probably got like this about each other all the time and there was a much larger Ao3 tag to prove it -- oh, this must be fanfic, he only knows what the Ao3 is when he's on it. So obviously that couch resolution wasn't going to end the way it started .
That, however, is Wade-as-narrator, and/or the cool 20-20 vision of hindsight. At the time, falling into bed next to Logan at barely eight-thirty PM
It lasted almost a whole week before the wheels came off.
He had vague memories of drifting out of a tangled nightmare, the kind that had a desperate loop of this is a dream this is a dream this is a dream wake up playing at the back of his head as he dug through the wreckage of the Time Ripper looking for Vanessa's bones because if he could piece her back together then she might heal like he could -- anyway, he finally managed to drag himself awake out of that one, at least enough to shake the dream off. Enough to do what he usually did during nightmares and scoot towards the nearest warm body, drag the pillow over his face, and pass back out.
He absolutely did not wake up enough at any point to think about who he was in bed with or what the consequences of that might be. Which didn't matter either way, it turned out, because he would have never in a million years actually believed that snuggling up to Logan in the middle of the night would turn into Logan spooning him like he was trying to expand Hugh Jackman's collection of heartthrob-related rewards.
"Oh, hey there," Wade said, his voice coming out not at all nonchalant but instead high-pitched and schoolgirl-y. "Should we have stopped off in your universe to grab your teddy bear before we got settled in?"
He kind of expected that to snap things back to a much less beautiful but also less confusing normal. God, Logan was warm and solid and not only had one arm over Wade's waist but had Wade curled close so his head was pillowed on Logan's -- again, ridiculously solid -- bicep. Logan also, instead of breaking this idyll, made the kind of heartbroken snuffling noise that was the trans-universal code for I refuse to be awake on ethical grounds, and buried his face in the side of Wade's neck to hide from the daylight. Which, by the way, meant Logan had a faceful of lumpy sore-riddled cancer skin and was apparently too deep in dreamland to notice. Also apparently cancer smelled fine.
"C'mon, peanut, judging by my keen sense of the daylight and also my line of sight to a clock, it's ten in the morning," Wade coaxed. "It's okay, the world's saved, remember?" Not that he was trying to remind himself or anything. "You're waking up in an actual bed -- well, that's generous, but I bothered to put sheets on it for once -- and you can have actual breakfast without anyone trying to kick you out. As many meals as you like, even." His voice had slipped from gleeful obnoxious unignorable Deadpool to something softer and more coaxing, without really meaning to. Still kind of obnoxious, since he sounded like he was trying to talk a stray dog out of hiding, but still. "But you gotta wake up. You're gonna hit the point when it just feels really nasty and groggy and all your skin is sticking to all your other skin really soon. Also, sooner or later I'm going to need to piss, and I don't think I can wriggle my way out of this without elbowing you in the nuts. It's not an issue yet, so I guess we're not adding that set of tags to the fic, but seriously, this is going to be way nicer for both of us if you can be a little bit less dead to the world, come on."
"...Wade?" God, Logan sounded cute all sleep-rough and confused. It was fine. Not an issue. Wade could be chill about it.
"That's me! You know, I would have forgiven you if you said the wrong name but I am absolutely thrilled that you didn't." Unfortunately, this was only a joke because Wade actually said it out loud. The only way out of that kind of thing was to lean right into it, so Wade pasted on his best grin and added, "Sooo... morning sex?"
If they hadn't been pressed so close together, he wouldn't have felt Logan's breath hitch. If he'd been a little more awake, he might not have had the same weird spike of panicked concern laced with rejection issues. If that hadn't happened, he might have let Logan have his weird little moment instead of craning his head over his shoulder to try and see what was wrong.
He had maybe a millisecond to think oh that put our faces really really close together before the universe abruptly tilted sideways and threw up a post-ripping error of probability and Logan's mouth was on his.
Sheer melted-brain shock opened his mouth enough for Logan's tongue and Logan took the fucking opportunity, kissing him sloppy and half-awake and almost eager, almost like he wanted this. Wade gasped without even a little bit intending to do it and reached back enough to curl his hand in Logan's hair, because he was only fucking human. Logan's hair was coarse between his fingers -- really unfair that it looked that nice and sleek when he clearly had had priorities other than conditioner -- and Logan actually honest-to-God sighed into his mouth and shoved his hand up under Wade's T-shirt, again undeniably on purpose. Wade groaned, and, okay, logically that should just be morning wood pressing against him, but morning wood didn't get steadily harder and Wade could feel that happening, what the hell, that was Logan getting hard against the small of his back.
"Oh sweet mother of Stan Lee," Wade breathed, and Logan just dropped his mouth to the side of Wade's throat and kissed him there, kissed his jaw, his shoulder. "Oh, fuck, you can use way more teeth than that. If you want! If you want -- oh, fuck, God, yes, please. Do you wanna rip my throat out? I'd let you. Oh, fuck, I felt you laugh at that, that's so nice, it's like an emotionally validating full-body vibrator. God." Logan bit down -- still not all that hard -- and instead of moving away just sucked, and Wade gave up on coherent words for a second there and just panted with overwhelming lust. Thank fuck Blind Al slept late.
Wade was squirming desperately against the air at this point and you would have been too so don't fucking judge him, and Logan not only let that happen but shifted until he could rub his cock along the curve of Wade's ass, and except for the skin thing Wade still had a pretty rocking ass, thank you, so: "God, that's good. Should warn you though, peanut, if you're thinking of parking that big mack truck right in this little garage --" that one song justified three weeks of a broken aux port forcing him to listen to recent music -- "then it's going to be a real parallel parking kind of experience. Like, I'll do my best, but the spirit is more willing than the flesh on this one and I haven't been a parking spot in a while --"
"I have --" Logan kissed his throat -- "no fucking idea --" his jaw -- "what you're talking about." The next kiss missed, landed on Wade's cheek instead of his mouth. "'M I supposed to?"
"You're not getting what you're packing up my ass in any way that feels good to either of us without like twenty minutes of pinkie play and half a bottle of lube I don't have," Wade confessed. "Which I'd enjoy, don't get me wrong, but maybe not the most practical, ah... "
"Doesn't matter," Logan murmured, and then, before anything more than a flicker of alarm could manage to break through the haze of cozy desperate horniness, added, "Just wanna touch you."
"You know the scars are all over, right?" Wade asked, still a little sleep-hazed and insanely horny and a little bit cracked-open-feeling and... totally unable to come up with anything good about avocados or chihuahuas or sexually transmitted diseases in animals or anything else that would put a fun little spin on the plain, pitiable fact that he was ugly as hell and always would be.
"Mmhm?" And instead of any reasonable reaction Logan just followed the ridge of one scar his chest, along a stretch of road-rash roughness over Wade's ribs, over a cluster of lumps on his hip, pushing under Wade's waistband to do it and then sliding right past Wade's dick to trace the wrinkled skin on his thigh. The actual sore there did make Logan pull back like a sane person, at least, except -- "These hurt?"
"Uh, I mean, technically a little bit if you hit them wrong, but like, extremely worth it for a lot of stuff, why are your hands so big? Are they actually big or do I just default to porn dialogue when I'm too turned on to think of words?" Logan's laugh brushed the back of his neck again, and he just -- kept touching Wade, over his hip, the inside of his thigh, his stomach, only stopping to shift his weight enough to get both hands involved. He was still kissing Wade's throat.
Even when Logan finally, finally followed whatever scar-pattern he was imagining to Wade's stomach again, then the inside of his hip, then rolled Wade's balls in his palm first like a fucking tease before he actually got his hand around Wade's cock -- even then, his other hand kept stroking over Wade's chest, over his stomach, all aimless. The whole thing felt kind of aimless in a good way, actually, like the two of them could just lie here and do this for hours if they wanted, like they did both want that, and Wade gave up on being a dynamically characterized vers king and just lay back and panted and let Logan touch him as warm and gentle as sunlight.
Even when he came it didn't feel urgent exactly, more like just gradually cresting over an edge, the release kind of blurring into the slow shivery goodness of the comedown. Logan stroked him gently through it, let Wade's cock go soft in his hand -- he could get it up again real quick if he was with somebody who went for it but Logan didn't, just made a soft content noise against Wade's jaw. He was still rolling his hips against Wade's ass, slow and easy like he wasn't trying to get off just yet, just doing what felt nice. And he had what sure felt like a really nice cock rubbing up against Wade, and Wade was a lot of things but no one had ever called him ungenerous in bed, so Wade rolled over and then almost swallowed his tongue. Logan looked -- his hair was sticking every direction in ways that were objectively stupid but also incredibly cute, and he was just a little bit flushed, eyes all half-lidded and sleepy, the line of his body all loose and relaxed. He looked happy; he looked like happiness.
Wade tried to slide down the bed and Logan caught his shoulder, squeezed. Wade froze.
"Just --" Logan buried his face in Wade's shoulder, breathing deep, and took his hand off Wade long enough to fumble at his own waistband. The motion shoved the covers down a little more, enough for Wade to actually get a look at Logan's cock and the really nice thick way it bulged against the purple fleece of Wade's second-comfiest pajama pants. Oh, God, and he knew for a fact he hadn't loaned Logan anything to wear under those either.
Wade half expected to be slapped away, but he reached out anyway, because if he didn't at least try to get to touch Logan's gorgeous hard dick with his actual hands then he would spend the entire rest of his life regretting it. Logan didn't slap him away. Logan let out this breathy little grunt and wrapped his arm back over Wade's shoulders, holding Wade exactly where he was while he eased Logan's cock out of his pants (which were actually Wade's pants, which, totally normal feelings about that). "Oh, that's not fair, you cannot have everything else you have going on for you and have a dick this pretty, fuck, do you always get this wet or is it more of a specific however-many-minutes-of-frottage situation?"
Logan said something against Wade's shoulder that wasn't even close to being words, but he also shoved his hips into Wade's hand, so Wade figured he was allowed to do this. Allowed to rub his thumb over where the head of Logan's cock peeked out of folds of skin all bright and shiny, allowed to feel the weight of Logan's dick in his hand, the coarse hair against his fingers. He wriggled enough to free his other arm from his own body weight so he could palm Logan's balls too ( not smooth at all, by the way, Wade was totally talking out his ass back in the first movie and honestly he might like this better.) He squeezed oh-so-gently and Logan moaned, muffling it against Wade's collarbone. Logan was still touching Wade, skin to skin, both hands shoved up under his T-shirt like a highly specific masochist.
God, it felt good.
Logan came just like that, thick messy spurts all over Wade's hand. (And the sheets.)
"Fuck," Wade murmured into Logan's hair. "Fuck, okay, first we're gonna cuddle for a minute or two, then I'm making pancakes. This definitely deserves pancakes."
Aaaaand... that was exactly what happened.
The rest of the day was an astonishingly normal one, somehow. Blind Al woke up two hours after they did, plenty of time for the living room to air out, and if she smelled rampant sexcapades on the air anyway she kept her mouth shut. (So she didn't smell rampant sexcapades.) Wade had reconnaissance for a hit job -- what, he planned shit! -- to do in the morning, which he did, and Logan had some gig he'd found on Craigslist helping somebody move. Wade bugged him on the regular until he extracted promises not to do anything too depressing or the wrong kind of sketchy, and Logan did always promise, but 1. there was a lot of eye-rolling, and 2. Wade was fairly sure Logan had sold a kidney at least once, so Wade still did not love it.
That particular job was just a seventeen-year-old who'd been driving for fourteen hours and needed to haul a bunch of stuff into a college dorm, though, so probably not miserably depressing. Actually, college was probably still young enough to fall under Logan's editorially mandated soft spot for lonely teen girls who contrasted charmingly with his whole deal.
That theory picked up some supporting evidence when Logan got home not only in a cheerful mood by Wolverine standards but with a bag of the good Chinese food swinging gently in his hand, since apparently the cash was burning a hole in his pocket that badly. He and Wade and Blind Al ate everything in the bag through half a season of Cutthroat Kitchen -- it would have been Great British Bake Off, but Logan had admitted after two days of argument that it gave him serious fancy pastry cravings, which was a logic Wade could not fault. The two of them argued over how to describe the episodes for Blind Al; she cheerfully pitted them against each other until she got bored and then, shortly thereafter, high; Logan took his turn on dog-walking duty like he always did in the evenings; and then suddenly the day was over and Wade was about to have to climb into a very small pullout bed with Logan like they hadn't jerked each other off that morning. Or possibly exactly like they had jerked each other off that morning but it was extremely normal and casual and not a big deal.
He managed to snag the coveted first shower not just for the hot water but to sliiightly procrastinate making a decision. The nice easy straightforward solution to the problem would be to fall asleep by the time Logan came to bed, but that obviously was not going to happen unless Wade actually concussed himself. (And also, that removed even the tiniest wild frantic pathetic hope that whatever had possessed Logan that morning would happen again.) When Logan did finally emerge from the bathroom, Wade was on plan G or so: lie with his back to Logan's side of the bed and prepare to pretend to be asleep, but also prepare to do anything else as appropriately inappropriate. (Logan had brought his pajamas into the bathroom with him and usually slept in a T-shirt, which, yes, was affecting the calculus; a more naked Logan would tempt Wade to much stupider risks.)
The floorboards creaked; the mattress squeaked; Wade caught a faint panicky feeling somewhere under his clavicle and remembered to breathe. (Thanks, leftover movie one trauma!) In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Logan's hand settled over his hip, heavy and warm and stiff and slow. Two fingers landed on the stretch of where Wade's T-shirt rode up. Very slowly, very slightly, his fingertips stroked over the scars.
There was exactly one glorious reason to do that.
"Well hello there, big boy," Wade purred, and rolled over, his heart hammering out glee. He caught Logan mid-eyeroll but smiling, the creases around his mouth gone all deep with amusement. Totally a normal thing to appreciate in a guy you were about to try and kiss again.
Oh fuck yes. Fuck! Yes! Logan kissed him back so easily that Wade couldn't resist a tiny little fistpump out of Logan's line of sight -- not that it mattered, because Logan kissed with his eyes closed like a good leading man should. He was an unsurprisingly but unfairly good kisser, too, a slow sensual tease sharp with the mint of their shared toothpaste. Also a totally normal thing to like in a kiss, and who was Wade kidding, he was so fucked.
On the other hand, if he was going to be fucked in the sense of staggering wildly away from one serious relationship and into an even more doomed and sappy rebound, he could at least get fucked in the sense of oh God yes harder please give it to me. If it was a choice between pathetic moping and pathetic moping but also not being able to walk straight, obviously he was going to go with the second.
"So, I'd hate to seem to easy," he said, drawing back from Logan's mouth just enough to do it, "or like I'm making assumptions about your virtue, pookie, for that matter, but I diiiiid take a minute while you were out and figure out where I put the really good lube, I'm just saying." A minute. Like forty-five of them. Whatever. "And also put it in the side table. You know, just in case."
"Sorry, Wade," Logan said, his lips brushing Wade's mouth, "did you just imply there's a single damn thing about you that's easy ?"
"Okay, now I think I'm offended as a slut," Wade said, over the weird warm thing his gut just did over the shape of his name on Logan's tongue. "Like, some of my first lines onscreen were a joke about fondling your balls to get my own movie. I will spread my legs for you so easily, just say the word and my panties are on the floor."
"That how you like it, then?" Logan palmed Wade's hip meaningfully. His voice had gone all low and husky and ridiculously perfect. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Ohmigod. Yes. Please. " Wade hooked his leg over Logan's hip in illustration, and Logan's fingers dipped under his waistband. "I mean, I'm a little offended you'd imply there's only one way I'd like it, I like to think I'm versatile in every sense of the word, but --" But it kind of seemed obvious that if he was going to get this at all this would be how, which was maybe making a lot of assumptions actually, so, "Why, what're you into, big guy?"
Logan shrugged, close enough that Wade could feel the movement. "Try anything once."
"See, people say that, and then you say, so does that mean I can put a metal rod up your dick, and then they look at you like you said something weird somehow."
There was a second where Wade was pretty sure he was about to get his point proved perfectly, and then Logan's lips curled up with unutterable self-satisfaction and he said, "Tried it already."
"Wait, really?" Wade blinked. "Okay, fine, I'm impressed."
"Eh, didn't like it that much," Logan admitted, offhanded and easy. Wade had pretty much never gotten him to talk about himself like this, like it didn't hurt like setting a dislocated shoulder. Granted, this was probably not especially tied to the X-Men or Weapon X or whatever else was particularly plot-relevant to his continuity. "Just felt weird more than anything else, and it felt weird to piss for two days after."
"Two days? You have a fucking regenerative healing superpower, were there spikes on that thing?"
Logan hid another laugh against Wade's mouth. "Probably just in my head, I get that as much as anyone else. Still felt weird, though."
"Okay, fair enough," Wade granted. "It's not like I have a pack of sounds in the other drawer or anything, I've never actually gotten around to trying it --" Vanessa absolutely would have done it, if he'd asked, but he hadn't really thought of it until he ran across something on PornHub, and things were already so badly on the rocks by then that sex was the last thing left that felt familiar, so, "-- I was just curious."
"Could try it on you if you did have something, I guess," Logan mused. "Wouldn't really know what I'd be doing, but, hell, not like I could do any damage if I screwed up. Long as you tell me if it feels bad."
These were some fascinating little bits of character work getting fleshed out here, not least among them that Logan was apparently okay with bottoming in some senses at least some amount of the time -- and, yeah, Wade loved getting fucked once he had time to coax his generally obnoxious body into playing along, but he was not immune to the idea of big bad Wolverine actually letting Wade fuck him, either. How many people got to see Logan like that? Even if both Logans had been playing Free Hole up and down the Eastern Seaboard it'd still feel like a shared secret, a tiny little Brotherhood of Morally Varied Tops in comparison to everyone watching the news and all the fanboys out-of-universe. Also, hell yes hell yes hell yes, this was totally an ongoing fuckbuddies-of-convenience thing now. Logan had probably been pent up for a while.
"I mean, I obviously have a masochist streak too," Wade pointed out. "Go ahead and hurt me, baby, I won't pussy out." Daddy might have been a more obvious choice, but he was still thinking about the possibilities of future sex with Logan and maybe getting to top him and all the things that that could look like, and baby was what slipped out.
"Yeah, that's another reason to worry, dumbass," Logan said, and kissed him weirdly, like that thought was killing the mood somehow. "But, hell. You'll heal." A heartbeat's pause. "Just stop me if you're not having fun, alright?"
"Aw, peanut, you're so sweet," Wade cooed, "the author's totally getting an A+ and a gold star in good consent practices, now will you fuck me already?"
"That's -- ah, forget it. Where'd you say you put that lube?"
Wade thrashed his way free of their limbs and the covers long enough to grab the bottle, and he hadn't even turned back over before Logan's hands were fumbling at his waist, shoving at his pajama pants. It must have been a while for him. Which, okay, Wade wouldn't trust a single fucking person alive in Logan's universe to treat him right, so.
Logan went for Wade's T-shirt too, which was a bold choice on his part, but at least it was dark. And, hey, if Logan wanted to stroke over Wade's shoulders and his weird nippleless chest -- he missed his nipples, they used to be really sensitive -- and his waist, Wade sure wasn't stupid enough to stop him. Wade was in fact going to arc into it like a happy cat.
He wasn't expecting Logan to roll them both gently enough that Wade could actually stop him if he wanted, and definitely not for Logan to roll them so that Wade was the one who ended up on top, legs splayed over Logan's hips. Logan ran his hands down Wade's thighs and back up, squeezing, and all right, Wade's backdoor might open slower than an 80s garage but Lil Wade was ready to go. Big Wade was ready to go. He was one million percent down to cowgirl it up if that's what Logan was into.
"All right, peanut, just kick back and relax for a second," he said, sitting up enough to fumble with the lube bottle. Logan chuckled, still palming the meat of Wade's thighs.
"Yeah?" he asked, a low rumble in the dark. "Never thought I'd see you offering to do all the work." There might have been more than a few dish-related arguments.
"Special circumstances," Wade assured him. Logan's laugh vibrated through them both, and then Logan actually did shift enough to tuck one hand behind his head and apparently just settle in.
Wade presumably kept talking while he spent too goddamn long massaging his own hole, dripping slick everywhere while he coaxed his stupid stubborn body into relaxing the way he wanted. He knew he kept talking. He couldn't ever remember a single fucking word he said, afterward, couldn't remember a single thing about it except Logan's warmth underneath him and Logan's palm against his thigh and Logan's eyes gleaming yellow in the dark.
Logan made the most amazing noise when Wade finally got the head of his cock inside. Not a snarl or a roar or a growl; a soft little groan like relief, like laying something heavy down.
Wade braced his hands against Logan's waist to keep him from thrusting up before Wade was ready, as if they hadn't amply demonstrated that he needed real leverage and serious impalement tools to keep Logan pinned down, and Logan stayed perfectly beautifully still while Wade sank slowly, slowly, rocking deeper and deeper and deeper. God, this was why it was so fucking worth the effort, the pressure and the slide of it lighting his whole body up. Logan was barely breathing under his hands; his grip on Wade's thigh got tighter with every inch. Not pulling him down, just holding on.
This was not how Wade had expected this to go.
"Okay," he breathed, when he bottomed out. "You can go ahead and move for me, sugarpie. You've been soooo patient." He kind of expected that obnoxious coo to get him flipped over and railed; instead Logan let out this long, slow, shuddering breath before he did anything else.
"Could watch that all night," he breathed -- apparently backlit silhoutte was really Wade's pornographic medium these days -- and then ground up slow and deliberate and dirty, and Wade groaned.
"Fuuuu uuuck, seriously, who let you be that buff and handsome with the laugh lines and the soft hair and have this nice a dick," he groaned. "Like, not just big, it's just -- okay, I've never actually had a non-silicon dick up my ass before, but seriously, this is an amazing start. Fuck, are you gonna creampie me? Because all the toys with the fake ejaculation thing are way too expensive, so that's gonna be a new one for me, and you know I'm a messy bitch. I wanna feel it." Wanted the proof that he actually got Logan off to drip down his thighs, to stick to his skin.
"Looks like that's your call." Logan's voice had gone hoarse somehow, for all his silence in the dark. His fingers tightened on Wade's thigh; he still had his other hand tucked behind his head. "You want that, just stay on me."
" Someone's got a little bit of a subby streak," Wade observed, putting a little roll into his hips. Logan made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. "Or would you prefer pillow princess? Pillow prince, if you're feeling picky about gender today?"
Logan growled low in his throat. "You want something else, ask for it."
"No, no, I'm into it," Wade promised, and meant it too. "You might have noticed I'm rock fucking hard by now."
"You want me to stroke you off?"
Wade wasn't expecting the question, was even less expecting his own answer: "Honestly? Not just yet, I just wanna really -- mm -- bask in the prostate stimulation right now. You just, ah, you stay right there and let me bask."
"I'll stay," Logan murmured, and dropped his hand from Wade's thigh to clench in the sheets. "Long as you keep me here."
Wade should have said something to that, he really should, but Logan's hips twitched up just a bit as he said it and it fizzed up Wade's spine, and Wade braced his hands better on Logan's perfect abs and started really putting his thighs into it, and just let the sounds of rough breathing and squeaking bedsprings fill up all the silence that he usually couldn't stand.
He'd honestly figured he'd come first, given Logan had had to sit there and wait while he managed to unclench, but he was as wrong about that as he was about literally every other part of this. He had no fucking idea how long it lasted, just that after a beautiful eternity Logan groaned, "Fuck, Wade, I'm gonna --"
"Oh fuck yes, baby, give it to me," Wade panted, and Logan threw his head back against the pillow -- the streetlight caught on the arc of his throat -- and fuck, yeah, that was what that felt like. Like Logan's cock throbbing inside him and a wetness spreading deep. "Reacharound time," he panted, somewhat inaccurately but the point was: " Motherfucker, Logan, touch my dick right now."
Logan's hand was big and shockingly soft, and his fingers trembled just a little with the aftershocks, and Wade lasted about three good firm strokes before he was arcing forward and moaning and coming in hot spurts all over Logan's stomach, whole body clenching down around Logan's cock where it was still going soft inside him.
He collapsed onto the mattress like all his bones had been pulped again, endorphin-stupid enough to nestle into Logan's side without a joke. Logan actually let him do it, too.
"Fuck," Wade mumbled. "Goddamn. It's been too long, holy shit, I think my balls turned inside out."
"That's horrifying." Logan shifted slightly, not quite away. "You got tissues or something?"
"In th' drawer." He lifted his head slightly from Logan's shoulder. "Honestly, kind of surprised you let me just pearl necklace you, I would've figured you'd catch some of it. Surprised like it's my birthday, to be clear, I will come on your gorgeous tits as often as you let me."
"You're ridiculous." Logan mopped himself up; Wade considered helping and decided that actually moving his limbs was way too much effort, especially when Logan was all warm and cozy and not pulling away from him. "Even this doesn't shut you up, huh?"
"Of course not. I have a reputation to uphold."
"You sound different, though. When you're not putting on a show for all those people in your head." He tossed the tissues at the trash can and fumbled the blanket over them, still not really pulling away from Wade. In fact, he nestled in, his mouth pressed to Wade's shoulder. "Now lemme sleep."
Okay, in retrospect, there were a few hints there that Wade could have picked up on in all of that. In Wade's defense, most of them happened while he was busy coming his brains out, and also everything's easy when you already know the answer, so just remember every mean thought you have and play it back in your head next time you let your own issues get in the way of accepting affection, okay?
Okay, insulting the reader is maybe not the best use of all the introspection he did between movies while he was trying to patch things up with Vanessa. (That's a whole different fic, though, and Wade happens to know this particular author is not up for that much of a bummer.)
But that's enough of Present Tense Narration Wade. Back in the head of Past Wade, everything checked out. Logan was horny and Wade was there -- and, yeah, Logan trusted him enough to relax enough to get his rocks off (more often than just enough), and Wade had some very sincere emotions about that. You had to have a friendship before you could add the benefits, after all.
Logan did give Wade a heart attack two mornings later, when Wade reached hopefully for the tie of his pants and Logan groaned, " No, " in mortal offense. But then Logan rolled his entire adamantium-enhanced weight directly on top of Wade, hid his face in Wade's neck to avoid the intruding light, and went directly back to sleep, which made it pretty clear that Logan more didn't consent to the concept of mornings in general rather than to Wade specifically, at least not in a way that made it creepy to bring it up later.
Logan did in fact like getting bossed around in bed, further experimentation confirmed, though he could also throw Wade down into the mattress and rail him if Wade asked nicely. He was happy to go from sparring to sex, when they drove out of the city or snuck into an empty parking garage, but it was more of a foreplay activity; he was pretty gentle once the pants came off. He was also hornier than Wade expected, for all that he tried to play it off -- he would tug Wade close on the couch, slide his hand down Wade's stomach in bed, grab Wade's waist in the kitchen, and then roll his eyes like Wade was the one putting the moves on him. But he was always smiling just a little as he did it, and he sure didn't seem to complain about Wade choking on his cock or jerking him off or riding him -- or, in fact, rolling him facedown on the bed and giving it to him with gusto, which was also a thing Logan had tried before and liked just fine.
"You really have no qualms about your masculinity, huh," Wade panted after the first time they did that, collapsing into the bed. "Shit, was that passive-aggressive? I actually wasn't trying to be this time, especially not when I'm getting to come my brains out about it, I'm genuinely impressed. You are remarkably at peace with your sexuality for a two-hundred-year-old."
Logan snorted against his shoulder. "Thanks," he said, with all the sarcasm a man could muster when he'd been drooling into the pillow five minutes earlier.
"What is your sexuality anyway?" Wade asked. "I go with pansexual usually, seems like the consensus for comics me and I might as well keep it consistent. You?"
Logan shifted just enough to give Wade the eyeball. "You know how many fuckin' words I've lived through, Wade?"
"Do I look like I know word histories?"
"Etymologies," Logan said, like it was a reflex, and then grimaced in embarrassment. "It's been a lot of 'em. People make always make it too damn complicated. If I... if I like you, I like you. That's all." He sighed, soft against Wade's shoulder. "I try and duck it too much, but that's just -- me. Never been about who. None of it changes 'cause of whatever we're calling it this time around."
"You know," Wade said, considering the ceiling, "that's fair. Kind of long for banter, though, so I think I'm sticking with pansexual personally." Logan chuckled and let Wade drag him in closer under the covers to sleep all snuggled up.
Logan was shockingly tolerant about Wade's cuddlebug tendencies, actually. He kept on gravitating to Wade's body heat in the night -- admittedly the apartment heating sucked and the windows were even worse -- and would let Wade stay cuddled up to him when he got all indecisive about sex. Which he did, sometimes, getting grabby and then backing off. Wade could not blame him, between the whole last-summer's-avocado-excavated-from-the-back-of-the-fridge skin situation and the thirty years of heartbroken whiskey dick. Maybe actually more the second; Logan let slip at one point that he hadn't gotten laid sober in actual decades. Plus he kept on treating Wade's skin like a nice textural stimtoy more than anything else.
Al started calling "You two hoes done out there?" before she came out of the bedroom in the morning, and told them both that they were buying her earplugs and if she ever touched any bodily fluid that didn't come out of her own body or off of Mary's tongue, both of them would be out on the street with her cane up their invulnerable asses. ("Who the fuck is paying the rent then?" Wade demanded, then realized Logan had just mumbled "Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am," then almost fell out of his chair laughing. Dangerously, he didn't have even a second of cognitive dissonance anymore when he caught Logan being cute as hell.)
They walked the dog together, usually Wade and Logan but sometimes all three of them. Logan was usually just there when Wade got home, and he'd grunt and toss Wade a can of soda or shift over to make space on the couch, and answer while Wade rambled. They'd bicker about Al's radio shows and the audiobooks she'd put on -- not about having them, but about which was better, about whodunnit in the murders and who was whose nephew in the soap-y ones and what the evil plan was in the horror podcasts. Al never really wanted to speculate, just told Wade to shut the hell up and listen. Logan kept on bringing takeout home when he had odd jobs, or texting Wade to ask if he needed something from the grocery store, all sickeningly domestic and also incredibly convenient. Logan got laundry of his own and it took maybe two seconds for all their laundry to get completely mixed together.
Wade, in a fit of the kind of sincerity that a 2AM laundromat brings out in a person, told Blind Al, "I'm -- really glad you and Logan get along."
"He's a nice boy. Not like some laundry-mixing sons of a bitch I could mention." She thumped the washer shut. "He's good for you. You need someone who can shut you up once in a while."
"Hey now, hey, it's not -- it's not like that. It's not... you're talking like you think I have actual romantic feelings for him. Wouldn't that be crazy? I mean, a crush is one thing, who wouldn't, but like --"
"Motherfucker, are you serious?"
"It's me, Al, I'm never serious."
Al stood there in the laundromat, frozen with one hand in her pocket for the quarters, for a solid three seconds before letting out the loudest and longest sigh that Wade had maybe ever heard. "I am too goddamn old for this," she said, and started slamming quarters into the slots with practiced precision. "Not my problem. You two sort your shit out on your own time."
"It's sorted!" Wade protested. "Our shit, I mean. Not the laundry, you're going to end up with a whole lot of pink old lady underpants."
"You think I give a shit, Wade? I'm blind and they're underpants."
Obviously it wasn't sorted. Shut up, Wade's right about plenty of things, they just don't get fics written about them because 'character thinks one thing is going on and that's exactly what's going on and nothing changes about it' is a really boring story most of the time.
Their assorted shit got actually shorted shortly after the second overseas hit of the Great Deadpool Career Revival. (The first overseas hit was a nice, quick thing, three days including travel time and one less drug kingpin in the world. Mary Puppins lost her tiny mind when Wade got back, following him around the apartment like she won a lifetime supply of biscuits if she tripped him enough times, and Blind Al asked if he brought her any cocaine and filled him in on the radio shows he missed, and Logan both let Wade hug him and shoved his hand up Wade's shirt first chance he got. It was a pretty fucking great way to come home.)
The second hit, however, was more 'incredibly unglamorous and frustrating work trip but with one really inventive murder in the middle.' It was admittedly a pretty fun murder -- human trafficker but the cleaning services kind not the cinematic and titillating kind, Wade killed him with a Rube Goldberg of cleaning supplies, very Final Destination -- but the rest of it was just airports and delayed planes and dealing with non-Dopinder cabbies who actually expected to be paid and more fucking airports and overpriced food that he couldn't just dine-and-dash and being awake for 22 straight hours because he could do a hell of a lot of things but falling asleep in an airport was not one of them.
He actually whined enough over the phone to browbeat Logan into picking him up at the airport, which was an accidental win but one that Wade was happy to take and run with. Logan let Wade greet him with "Hey, snookums" and a smacking kiss on the cheek, with no more than an eye roll in protest, and put up with Wade's complaining about airports the entire twenty minutes they waited for Wade's suitcase of various goodies, and responded to Wade's whining about food with, "Wanna stop somewhere on the way back?"
Which is how Wade wound up in an empty iHop at three in the afternoon, watching a scrawny baby of a waitress -- seriously, when did teenagers start looking that fucking young? Ones with jobs even? -- frantically mop an entire glass of water off the table. "Sorry, sorry, oh my God, sorry --"
"It's fine, kid," Logan cut in, throwing a fistful of napkins into the flood relief effort. "It's just water, we're not gonna melt."
"I'm already melted!" Wade chimed in, and got the world's most predictable elbow to the ribs. He'd slid into the booth next to Logan, obviously , and was really enjoying not only the big fuzzy Wolverine warmth but the musty tobacco smell of home. Totally normal thing to feel about a fuckbuddy, he totally wasn't screwed.
"Don't scare the kid, Wade," Logan said, like an existential hypocrite, and looked up at the baby waitress to add, "He's full of it." A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, and Wade beamed. "We've both had worse on us."
The waitress visibly exhaled, shoulders settling. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry. Lemme just get these out of here and I'll be right back, okay?"
"What're you looking at me like that for?" Logan grumbled to Wade, low-voiced, as she vanished with an armload of soaked paper napkins.
"Do you think you're getting bleedthrough from your comics self?" Wade asked, propping his chin on his hands to look at Logan more obnoxiously. "Do you get lonely without a JV volleyball squad of sidekicks? Is there some kind of natural instinct towards the classic tropes here?"
"If you say so," Logan said, in the tones of someone who didn't think you needed to say so. He shifted oddly in his seat, shoulders hunching against the vinyl, and added quietly, "She's, what -- year or two younger than Laura?"
Oh. Yeah. Wade hadn't had the thought, but -- yeah.
"Well, I think she's successfully un-scared of us," Wade promised him, softer and more serious. "You, at least." He bumped his shoulder against Logan's, and then just didn't move away. Not then, not when the waitress reappeared with replacement water and actual drinks (well, sodas) and a shy smile, not while he inhaled his own body weight in pancakes, and absolutely not as the soporific effects of his own body weight in pancakes really set in.
God, Logan was warm and flannel-y and snuggleable, and he had such nice firm shoulders to lean on.
Sound blurred around him; footsteps, clinking cutlery, soft radio -- decent stuff, Lou Gramm crooning that it felt like the first time. Wade could dig it. If he felt like getting up.
Someone was talking. "...you two doing over here?" someone was saying. "You need anything else? Or -- oh." Their baby waitress.
"I'm doing all right," Logan said, oddly quiet. Wade could feel the sound in his chest. " He's jetlagged to -- uh. A lot."
The waitress giggled, faintly muffled. "That explains it. Well, um, do you need anything?"
"I could take another coffee." Wade's pillow shifted slightly. "He's just gonna whine if I wake him up, so." Aww, it was like he knew Wade or something.
"Got it, got it." Paper rustled. "How long have you two been together?"
The words sank into Wade's sleep-sodden head like water into a sponge, somewhere in the space between breaths, which was the only reason he didn't stop breathing completely. Slowly, an actual thought formed: oh, this is gonna hurt.
Look, Wade could deflect like an all-time champion but he was pretty dialed-in to his own bullshit by this point in his life, and he'd had a lot of fuckbuddies and one serious girlfriend and then Logan, and he never cuddled any of the fuckbuddies. He never fought evil with any of them either. He never woke up curled up with them in the morning like he used to do with Vanessa, like he did with Logan now; they never spoiled the same dog or bickered over Springsteen versus Dolly Parton or knew which cooking shows did and didn't give them the munchies, any more than any of the fuckbuddies ever swatted him for getting his Star Wars references wrong or taught him how to poledance. None of them ever felt like home.
It wasn't like that, for Logan, and that was fine. Wade could enjoy the hell out of this while he had it. It just -- it was going to suck, a little, listening to Logan explain that it wasn't like that, that Wade was just weird and clingy and handsy and Logan put up with it and the baby waitress was reading too much into it. Having your nice comfortable illusions punctured was a really unpleasant pastime; nine out of ten morons agreed.
"Few months now," Logan said, warm and shot-through with wonder.
...............
Wade's entire film reel of a brain went to static.
"Oh, really?" the baby waitress was saying when he tuned back in. "I would've thought it was longer." Logan laughed, and Wade could feel it in exactly the way he couldn't do in dreams.
"Yeah, me too," he said. "Was a weird few months. No need to rush with the coffee, huh?"
"Yeah, no, yeah, I get it. Of course." She giggled, soft and conspiratorial, and nothing about this was getting any less weird. "I'll try not to get you whined at."
Her footsteps faded in quiet thumps. Wade sat there while few months now spun around his head in giant dizzy ClipArt.
"You okay?" Logan asked him, low and concerned and -- boyfriendly, maybe, apparently?! God, there was absolutely no chance that Wade could play this off successfully. Not pressed up against Logan like he was, not when Logan could undoubtedly feel that Wade had gone completely stiff -- and he meant his whole body, for once. Shit, shit, shit.
It's not that he would've rather heard that he was nothing to Logan but a warm hole and a place to stand while Logan got his feet under him, but, like, it would've been nice and simple.
That was almost definitely the deep-seated fear of vulnerability talking. Unfortunately the deep-seated fear of vulnerability had some points.
"Um," Wade said. "Don't get me wrong, this is good news, like, the best news, front page special edition news, but it's definitely still news. To me, I mean. I don't have news. Not even below-the-fold news."
"...Alright, am I actually supposed to know what you're talking about?" Logan asked, now into genuinely worried-looking, shit. This was going to involve actual honesty, the kind that really had to happen out of the costume. Not that Wade was even wearing the costume, on account of the plane, but he kind of really wished he was, despite it being, as established, really a mask-off kind of moment. Shit. "Because I don't."
"Um." Wade swallowed, hard, and that whole mouthful of nothing was harder to swallow than every massive forkful of pancakes; he didn't even want to make a dick joke here. "We're dating? Because I, uh, I missed that."
Logan flinched like he didn't even flinch the time Wade literally gutted him.
"Fuck." He pulled back, all-over, an inch of cold space between hip and thigh and shoulder, and dropped his face into his hand. " Fuck. I thought -- fuck."
"Uh, peanut?" Wade tried. "I mean, I mentioned I liked this news, right? Pretty sure I mentioned it, c'mon."
"I thought I was doing better this time," Logan told the Formica tabletop, still all gruff and stubborn but so underbelly-bare that it broke Wade's fucking heart before the words even hit him. Better than what?
"I should -- go," Logan muttered, jerky like a badly-made toy, and Wade grabbed frantically for his arm.
"No, no, no, uh, you do not get to dump me less than five minutes after I find out we're dating. I get to date you for at least ten minutes of knowing about it. Maybe fifteen. Or, you know, way longer than that, I'm down for way longer than that, but I've never been a long-term thinker."
"I mean, apparently we weren't, " Logan scoffed, not so much trying to tug away as just... fidgeting under Wade's hand. "Dating or whatever. Apparently I'm just fucking delusional."
"Okay, can we pause for a second here, please? Put the brakes on the manpain train for a little bit. Deeeep breaths. Now, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned --" he counts off quickly on his fingers, not taking his other hand off Logan for obvious reasons -- "mmm, five separate times by this point? That I am absolutely delighted to date you. So, like, if that's a thing you're apparently willing to do already, I'm not sure why this needs to be a problem. Unless you're mad at me or feeling underappreciated, which, okay, but I'm getting much more of a self-loathing vibe off of this, so, uh, what gives? Because seriously, I will wife you up in a second ."
"You sure?" Logan snorted, low and raw and bitter. "Because apparently you didn't fucking notice me trying, so --"
"Okay, listen: you have to remember that I am not very smart. And very good at annoying people into letting me cuddle them almost as much as I want to, which probably helped confuse the issue." He paused. "Also suddenly reconsidering a few things I thought were just you being really indecisive about your recovering sex drive. In my defense, it's not like you ever got affectionate in front of people, but I guess I didn't really account for your whole grizzled charm."
Logan winced enough for Wade to actually shut up, but at least he wasn't trying quite so hard to -- well, to run like a yellow-bellied chicken, but Wade wasn't really going to throw stones from the glass walls of Wade Wilson's School For Avoidant Oldsters. He was, instead, going to shift his grip so he could hang onto Logan's hand while the wince turned into something oddly considering, then faded through that secondary note to something almost... embarrassed?
"Yeah, well," Logan muttered. "Last time I was making time with a guy was back in the seventies and we still had to keep an ear out for the vice squad, so."
Oh. "Guess there's a downside to being two hundred years old," Wade said, more gently than most of his jokes. "I mean, something had to make up for the conspicuous lack of erectile dysfunction." Now that Logan's not inflicting perpetual whiskey dick on himself, anyway, but Wade only pokes wounds when everything else he tries is hitting armor. Or, okay, when he's dealing with a real dyed-in-the-wool, world's-better-off-without-him asshole, as extremely opposed to his lovable, gruff-over-a-soft-gooey-center, secretly-a-softhearted-romantic asshole, but that's not relevant right now. "So, like, should I stop holding your hand in this extremely public diner? Because I'm not inclined to do that and you haven't stabbed me yet, but, you know, I can be sensitive to your last-century trauma."
"It's not goddamn trauma," Logan grumbled, rolling his eyes. Wade shot him some medium-level dubious eyebrow and got a shrug in return, casual enough that Wade might actually believe him, especially when Logan squeezed his hand. "Just old habits, that's all."
"Ah, habits'll get you every time. I still try and hit where the switch on the old dishwasher used to be."
"Oh? And here I thought you were just being lazy."
Wade laughed, because he always laughed when Logan actually teased him even when if it was staggeringly obvious that Wade was the comedy half of this duo; because Logan was teasing, a tiny upward twitch at the corner of his mouth and a hopeful little look out of the corner of his eyes. It crumbled quickly, though, turned into just Logan staring at his hands again. "That shit's probably the problem, huh. Sure you don't want me to go?" He didn't ask it like he needed reassurance, he said it like he was trying to get Wade to take the out. Wade would have loved to punch something, possibly Logan's trauma. "I'm a mean old bastard. Plenty of people out there who'd date you in a way you'd fucking notice. "
Wade rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You're a lovable grump who's not fooling anybody and I know chemistry-riddled friendly banter when I hear it. No, this is probably about my intimacy issues as much as anything else. Also, your assessment is very generous given the whole, you know, skin situation, and also the many glaring personality flaws. My charms are an acquired taste."
"Mmm, sneaks up on you pretty fast," Logan mumbled, genuinely mumbled like he only half meant Wade to hear it, and heat bloomed from Wade's cheeks halfway down his throat.
"Aww, peanut, you'd make me blush if it showed through the scar tissue," he said. "But also, I don't care? I've got a perfectly good custom-sourced boyfriend right here. And... seriously, Logan, it's been really nice, these last few weeks. The sex, but also the cuddling and the breakfasts and walking the dog and arguing with Al about the radio and all of it, you know? If I'm not the only one getting feelings about it, that's great. That's all I need. It's not like I'm a flowers and fancy dinners kind of guy. Like, can you picture me at a black tie dinner?"
Logan snorted, very softly. "Not for long."
"See!" Wade squeezed his hand. "So we're all good here, I am very happy to adjust. This will be a hilarious story in a few years."
"Mmm." A faint, dissenting grunt. "I just..." He drew in on himself, enough to make Wade notice how much Wade had coaxed him back out: shoulders hunched up again, head down, all tense. He didn't let go of Wade's hand, at least; his fingers tightened on Wade's in fact. "I really thought I was doing better this time."
"Better than whaaaa.... Oh. Oh." The math all came together at once: glimpses that Wade caught in the Time Ripper, things Logan said, things Laura said, things Wade overheard while blatantly eavesdropping in the Void, scraps of words that Logan grunted while he let Cassandra fingerfuck his brain to buy Wade time.
Wade was, he had to admit, "not very good at letting people care about him" and "ruined the best relationship he ever knew was a relationship because of it" or whatever, but he was, he'd give himself credit for this much, a very affectionate guy. When he loved someone, he told them so -- mostly in very annoying ways, but he still did. And he could make time to be serious, if someone didn't get it. If he meant it enough to be serious.
Logan loved his X-Men, and the first time he ever let any of that love out past his skin was a berserker rampage after they died.
Yeah, okay, Wade could see where a whole lot of regrets hit him mid-pancake.
"You're doing pretty good, peanut," Wade promised him, because fuck if he knew what else to say to that. "Seriously, I mean it, it's been nice. Maybe we work on using our words a little bit more, you know, back to kindergarten with it -- or just to kindergarten, huh, you probably did the one-room schoolhouse instead of the A is for apple, hitting is not nice -- but we've got plenty of time. As long as you don't try to run off like a panicky asshole again."
"Yeah, yeah." Logan rubbed his thumb against a thick ridge of scarring currently puckering up the side of Wade's hand, and -- fuck it, Wade had just learned he had Logan's official going-steady permission to be as sappy as possible while maintaining his wisecracking charm, he could 100% go for the interlaced fingers. Logan made a soft noise like the world's least convincing scoff, but curled his fingers right back, so Wade figured he was well within his rights to just ignore that.
"Words, huh," Logan said, staring down at the table, and ducked his head a little more. He looked -- uncomfortable? Nervous? "Uh. Love you."
Oh. Oh, okay, they were that far into Wade's Wildest Daydream Theater. Holy shit.
"Wow, you are just a really all or nothing kind of guy, huh?" Wade blurted. "Okay, wow. I'm completely insane about you too, for the record. I mean, some would say I'm completely insane in general, but, you know, idiomatically."
Idiomatically, Logan mouthed. What, Wade knew words. He used the power mostly for evil (see: gubernatorial), but he totally knew them. Wade batted his eyelashes and dragged their intertwined hands up enough to smack the loudest possible kiss on Logan's knuckles. Logan snorted, tiny and fond, and Wade dropped a quieter kiss after the first one.
"Can't believe that doesn't freak you out," Logan said, nodding to their hands.
" Wow, how bad do you think my internalized homophobia is? Like, I have intimacy issues, but not that kind of intimacy issues. I'm all about the classic romance, just, you know, with my own little twist on it."
"What -- the claws, Wade." Which, yeah, Wade's fingers were right exactly over where they'd be. However.
"Honey badger, I'm pretty sure that would be, uh, incredibly stupid even if I didn't grow fingers back like all the time. Like, I've absolutely broken a guy's neck with my thighs and you've never had any problem --"
"All right," Logan said, just a little louder and with his ears looking maybe juuuust a little bit red.
"I'm just saying . Lots of body parts can be used for fun and murder."
"If you say so, bub." Logan bumped their shoulders together and used his free hand to point his fork at Wade's plate. "You gonna finish those?"
"Ooh, bonus points. Trying to eat off my plate? Very coupley."
"Trying to get you in an actual bed before you fall asleep again, jackass," Logan corrected. Wade opened his mouth. "Don't."
"You know me so well," Wade sighed, and Logan muffled another laugh.
Fuck, Logan maybe liked this just as much as Wade did. Pressed up against each other in the afternoon light, running their mouths to make themselves laugh, filling up the quiet. Logan had been enjoying this as much as Wade did, through all that few months now. Wade was in love with the Wolverine, or more accurately he was in love with Logan, and Logan liked him back.
Suck! It! Wade told Disney S&P and the marketing department and everyone who'd treated Logan like an animal and every bit of his own self-loathing, and settled in to split the last of his pancakes with his goddamn super-boyfriend.