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They fall into the routine of not letting each other die through the years. There’s nothing noble in that, just an everyday work.
Pierce cooks elaborate chemical cocktails in their small kitchen deep at night, and each one of those makes Logan feel better, just not all at once and not permanently.
Logan, in turn, barges into the rooms and dark corners to drag Pierce out with his stump of a hand patterned with bruises and cuts. There are occasional bite marks, too, when he feels creative.
He’s not intrusive, always lets Pierce have a few first blows against his own flesh. If that’s what the man needs to feed the dragon, who’s he to stay in the way?
Sometimes Logan’s enhanced hearing returns and he can hear Pierce exhaling the tobacco smoke on the porch and the cars speeding through the highway outside the forest. It’s useless, but for the shortest moment or two, it brings him peace.
Sometimes Pierce’s nightmares come back and he jolts upright in the middle of the night, wheezing. He falls, unbalanced, without the right hand to catch himself into Logan’s arms and it’s the only time and place when he allows himself to be held.
When Logan’s nightmares come back, it’s a war. A battle with the sheets, and the pillows, and the faces, and the past. Pierce would be long dead without the army training basics and a damn flawless triangle choke. He wraps himself around Logan’s thrashing body like a python, avoiding the claws, and talks him down with a low, even voice. He holds Logan together when he can’t do it himself.
===
When Logan asks Pierce why doesn’t he use his mechanical arm, Pierce deflects it with “Why don’t you look for Laura?”
The other question is “Why didn’t you leave me to die?”, but Logan sort of has a philosophical answer to that. He remembers the sharp branches under his back as he tries to fight Pierce off after the battle is over and Laura is safe, sees the other man’s bloody face right in front of him, burning hot skin and blood pouring out of his mouth. He knows then that they both are a few breaths away from death, so he closes his eyes and tries to save his remaining ones.
He thinks in some way they both did die there.
Then, in this new life Pierce dragged him out of the forest, the mechanical arm still with him, and proceeded to put him together while simultaneously breaking himself apart.
It went on and on with them both going in and out of pain and consciousness until Logan found enough power in him to lean in and press his mouth to Pierce’s freshly damaged arm.
He didn’t really stop kissing parts of him ever since.
===
When the heightened sense of smell slaps him across the face deep at night like an old drunk of a friend who has a chest of old memories no one ever wants to look into, he doesn’t waste it on smelling the gas leaks or mold around the house.
He finds Pierce in the bathroom trying to wash himself in the sink without provoking the rusty shower into action and pushes his face into the man’s hair.
The scent of it is intoxicating by itself, but there are also notes of sweat, skin, and Logan himself added into the mix. The animal in him grumbles low and nuzzles the nape of the man’s neck, burning the soft skin behind the ears with the scorching breath.
He tries to remember each undertone, each sharp and soft note.
“Can you get that thing up again?” - Pierce whispers, his voice small all of sudden. He sounds almost sick with some unspoken emotion, something that shakes him up deep from the inside.
Logan snorts, flattered and defiant. Pierce grins back, the bright flash of golden light inside the dense greenish fog of the bathroom. It’s a truly desperate grin.
“You like this too much, huh?”
“I do,” Pierce agrees.
He rubs himself against the thick hair down Logan’s stomach and Logan hums into his neck, licking off the fresh drops of sweat that form right under the hair. Pierce is a fine piece of ass, but they’ve fucked tonight and I’ll take some time.
Logan glances into the mirror, and Pierce’s reflection is hard as hell. Offensively so, leaking, hips trembling. The flat planes of his stomach work hard against Logan’s palm and he pants louder than the static hum of the neon lamp above them.
It takes time, but he gets there. He peels himself off the man’s back — it almost hurts, the cold feeling of separation — and pushes a few fingers between Pierce’s cheeks, feeling for the mess he’s made before. The body around him is warm and spasming against the digits, grabbing him tight when he moves.
Logan snakes an arm around Pierce’s waist and pushes inside the trembling heat. Pierce’s cheeks are bright red when he looks at him again.
He grabs him by the jaw to make him look up and Pierce does, eyes wild. Logan’s eyes are probably the weakest part of him, but he stares hard, taking the sight in all detail he can get until he gets punched in the arm for gawking for too long.
He holds Pierce up by the throat and the waist then and pounds him, staring into his eyes in the stained mirror. He pulls back until Pierce’s hot little hole is contracting around the head of his dick, trying to get him back in, and he slams back in so hard the glass they keep the toothbrushes in falls off and shatters.
Pierce reaches down, cups his dick and his balls and holds them up, so they both can see Logan sliding in and out. Logan just howls and drops his head to the back of Pierce’s shoulder to wipe off the sweat pouring down his eyes.
He comes like that, without looking, and it feels like a missed opportunity. But the pull is so strong he’s not sure he can keep pumping Pierce full and keep his head upright at the same time.
He circles the other man’s body with his arms and doesn’t stop. He wants Pierce to come just like this, untouched. He’s made him do it before.
Pierce’s hips push back and back, milking the hardness inside him for what it’s worth. He does a little dance of his, looking for a better angle, and when he finds it, Logan pushes forward to meet him.
Logan expects him to shout — Pierce is a snarling, ferocious mess in bed most of the time — but he just groans quietly, his head rolling back against Logan’s shoulder. He explodes against the mirror, breathless, and it feels so quiet and personal this time around.
“Fuck off, don’t do it,” - Pierce speaks again after a while, bringing them out of the trance. Logan blinks, realizing he’s been nuzzling him again, the hair and the tips of his ears.
Pierce bends over to grab a discarded t-shirt and wipes down his stomach and light hair down below. He sighs and wipes himself between the cheeks, too. Logan stills his hand, takes a t-shirt from him and does it instead, softer, slower.
“You’re such an animal, I swear,” Pierce murmurs, but doesn’t fight it, hips pushing back against the rhythmical pressure.
“Just come here,” Logan hugs him again from behind, the fucked up hurricane of a man that he is. He kisses his jawline, his neck and both shoulders, down his hand and his stump. Pierce turns his head and presses his mouth to the heavy wrinkles between his eyebrows. All the weight of the world disappears for a moment.
He lowers his head and finds Logan’s mouth, just a ghost of a touch against the lips before pushing the scorching tongue in.
They lie in bed, shoulder to shoulder, so exhausted that Logan calls Pierce “Donnie” twice in one sentence and only gets a snort in return.
“You can try “Don” from time to time,” Pierce finally says. “I will bite off your balls for “Donnie” if I hear it again, see if you can grow them back”.
“Yeah,” Logan presses his face into Pierce’s neck and since it’s not a cuddle, Pierce lets him have it.