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1.
Wolverine is exactly as terrifying (and handsome) as Wade had anticipated- perhaps even moreso. And he’s also fucking annoying , which is coming from Wade, who gets called annoying at least three times a day- but Wolverine is annoying in a different way. He’s stubborn, and mean, and he won’t stop trying to drink himself to death, and Wade loves the grizzly, battle-hardened, crude types, ( he does! ), because Cable was one of them, and Wade wore him down to ‘bestie’ level just the way he’s pretty sure he’s going to do to Wolverine, but holy shit, it’s different.
It’s so different, because this is Wolverine and he has a ferality to him that Wade is used to seeing in animals and Blind Al when she gets the withdrawal shakes, gnashing teeth and borderline foaming at the mouth, and Wolverine is absolutely not having any of Wade’s shit, which is unfortunate, because Wade needs him to save his entire world.
And so Wade naturally unloads, what, nearly two clips into his sides and maybe the rest into his chest and one into his throat, ( he thinks ,) but honestly he’s so annoyed with Wolverine’s obstinance that he’s starting to understand why people tell him to shut the fuck up all the time, and isn’t really thinking too hard about who’s stabbing who and what bullets end up where.
But even after they seperate, Wade rising from the dirt like a beat-down messiah, even way later, after they kiss and make up (though, really, there is 100% less kissing than he’d like, because there is absolutely none,) Wade can’t stop thinking back to this one bullet he’d unloaded into Wolverine’s body- not the first, or the sixth, or the eighth, but that ninth bullet, -and, sure, maybe it’s not the ninth- But, really, who’s counting? Not him- at least, not right that instant , no. Because in that very instant, Wolverine shifts his jaw, and bares his teeth like he really is a fucking wolverine, and then puts Wade’s ninth (or whatever) bullet between his teeth, having pulled it from wherever it had landed in his flesh- somewhere on his neck, maybe- and caught it in his mouth, holding it just so Wade can see how little it did to him.
“I don’t fuckin’ care.”
Wade is deeply paralyzed by the flash of Wolverine’s tongue, soaked in his own blood, the way he sinks his teeth into the bullet just so , tilting it so Wade can see, right before he spits it out. It’ll replay in his mind for the rest of his life, he thinks, the way the shot had rolled on his tongue, the way it had glistened caught between his snarling teeth. The way he had spoken, with the end of the bullet resting between his teeth, a growl, his magnetic voice a rich and vicious sound that had lit up Wade’s entire body.
Their chests are heaving- Wolverine looks pissed. And he’d just taken Wade’s bullet, placed it on his tongue, poised it between his teeth, just so Wade could see him do it, and spit it out.
Wade’s never been so hard in his entire life.
He’s glad it doesn’t show through the suit- something those TVA bastards had thought of that he hadn’t ever fully considered. He’d been aware of it to some degree, naturally- of his own flexible morals, aware of where, to a man distorted in the glaring darkness of death and the brilliant red of murder, violence and desire had quickly come to blur, peering through the jagged, bleeding edges where they mingle, coloring him like chapel glass, sacrosanct and hellish, where teeth split tongue and nails rake down flesh, where a bullet enters a skull and imbues Wade with the godly and unnatural power of forcing another living thing to end.
Yes, hypothetically , he’s been aware of the possibility- post-kill adrenaline is something all mercenaries are aware of, something where the high, near-divine power of slaughter becomes the craven, vicious sharpness of want.
But he’s never felt it so intimately. He’s been attracted to the power, of course, to the way his body ratchets into a mindless, monstrous rush, but he’s never been attracted to someone actively trying to kill him before, though he can’t say anyone trying to end his life as of late hasn’t been the utmost scum or the kind of person otherwise entangled with someone else.
And Wade isn’t interested in being a rebound, or a pity fuck, or winding up in any of the other hundred awkward ways that usually turns out.
And it’s not that he’s unable, though, realistically, he’s aware of the slight discomfort others feel at his appearance- he could always keep the mask on, could always make do with most of the suit still in place, but he just hasn’t. Because, up until now, it was either ‘Vanessa or Bust ( and thus, not bust, obviously,) ’ or something aligned with ‘pity fuck’, and that really doesn’t do it for him.
But good god- even as he loads his guns with a sharp twist, a keen eye, catching the cartridges mid-air, Wolverine is mind-numbingly gorgeous. And capable! And Murderous! And at the moment, all of that severe and vehement attention is focused on him, and it’s sort of like he’s flying.
So that’s where it starts. With the bullet. That ninth (- ish) bullet.
Not that he hadn’t thought Wolverine was undeniably attractive before, but it had really become a sort of fixation with the bullet thing.
And if, when Wolverine digs his claws into Wade’s chest, the pain lights up his body sort of like pleasure, he tries very hard not to gasp, if only because he’s worried it’ll sound like he’s enjoying it too much, like his wires are crossed so deeply and irreparably that his body isn’t sure where ‘pain’ and ‘pleasure’ separate anymore. (Even though they definitely are.)
2.
So yeah, the bullet.
And then the fucking Honda Odyssey.
It’s a shit car, it really is.
It’s ugly and drives like a brick and on this particular Honda Odyssey the steering wheel sticks the slightest amount when you turn it left, so even though Wolverine- Logan- ( they’ve upgraded to first-name Base, which isn’t quite First Base, but it’s not not a Base either,) has been driving for what has to have been at least a day and a half by now, Wade just sits in the passenger’s seat and talks and talks and talks because like hell is he driving that fucking thing, and he’s always been more inclined toward being a passenger princess anyway, since half the time when he drives he gets distracted by the game of ‘how perfect can i get the numbers on the dash’ and ‘wow, that’s a cool looking building’ and, ‘holy shit, is that a bird’ and sure, maybe Logan was right about the ADHD thing, but like hell he’s going to go get diagnosed. So he just sits there and talks and gestures and just barely manages not to impede Logan’s driving- Wade is respectful like that . Logan gets annoyed at first, as he endlessly shifts in his seat and performs, pantomiming wildly as he talks, and he thinks, though perhaps this is giving himself too much credit, Logan perhaps even enjoys his monologues- shit, he even gets a response sometimes! Halfway into his play-by-play rendition of a movie he’s like, 75% sure Logan has never seen, (purely because he doesn’t acknowledge Wade at all while he asks if he has,) he says,
“And then, and then there’s this part where he kicks this helmet, right? And I don’t know if you know this, but that actor, he actually-”
“He broke his foot.” Logan says.
Wade goes silent for a half-second, his jaw dropped, his eyes wide, his throat a little hoarse from thirty-six hours straight of talking with little water in-between, and he gasps in a way he’s sure sounds a little broken and a little like sandpaper dragging together, but Logan doesn’t really react.
“Yes!” He shouts, suddenly, and Logan just keeps his eyes forward, “Yes- Viggo Mortenson. He broke his toe. I didn’t know you’d even seen that-”
“It’s the Lord of the Rings,” Logan grumbles, tapping his index finger on the steering wheel, “Everybody knows that.”
Wade shifts in the passenger seat, tilting against the window, spreading his legs, one knee propped against the dash, and Logan glances at him, for just a second, so it’s a win, “Do they, really? I thought it was a fun fact- a unique fact. I thought it was a very impressive display of my expertise.” He taps his hands on his knee, absent-mindedly copying Logan’s rhythm on the steering wheel, letting his foot find some sort of rhythm, tapping against the glovebox quietly.
‘Expertise’ Logan mutters, under his breath, and Wade faux-gasps, feigning hurt, shifting again, leaning the seat back so he can pull his knees to his chest. Logan doesn’t respond, even as Wade tries to pry more reactions from him, and Wade continues describing movies that, apparently, Logan has already seen, but Logan doesn’t stop him, so Wade just keeps doing it- keeps switching positions, sprawling across the passenger’s side, mindful not to impede Logan’s driving, if only barely. He pulls his leg up onto the dash, shifting forward to basically bend himself in half, stretching his hamstring, aching from too long motionless, tilting his leg and popping his hip with a relieved sigh, forcing the seat back so he can arch his back and crack his spine, still halfway through an explanation of the 9/11 to MCR to Twilight to Fifty Shades of Grey pipeline, and Logan keeps glancing at him, like he’s worried Wade is going to kick him or something, so Wade says,
“Don’t worry. I’ve got exceptional spatial awareness.” Cracking his knuckles and popping his shoulder.
“Uh-huh.” Logan says, like he doesn’t believe him.
“At least in regards to my body,” Wade clarifies, “Maybe not in regards to personal space.” He grins at Logan, and Logan stares at him almost too long, like he can see it through the mask, or maybe in his voice, before he finally fixes his gaze back on the terrain, scoffing.
“No shit.” Logan mutters, and Wade curls up on the seat again, forcing the back to rise so he can put his knees back on the dash.
“So my ex-girlfriend was a dancer, I told you that- she was a stripper, you know? With the pole and everything? Anyway, she told me that Magic Mike was super accurate which I’m not necessarily sure was true…-”
3.
And then, a few hours later, it all fragments.
Breaks- shatters- whatever you call it. The tension snaps- brutally, quick as lightning and as unforgiving as the clap of thunder that comes after. Wade accidentally says ‘ if’ instead of ‘ when’ and leave it to Logan to notice a single slip up in a 36 hour monologue he has reacted to maybe six times total.
And Logan is the first person, in a very, very long time, to get into his head- to anger him, to really strike a nerve. ( Leave it to Logan, again.)
‘Except it’s one of god’s best jokes that you can’t die, except that’s on all of us’.
And when Wade murmurs, “I’m going to fight you, now.” He means it- he means it cruel and emotional and messy- it is not Deadpool, or the Merc with a Mouth so much as it is just Wade, whispered and spilling off his tongue through a cool, overwhelming, powerful anger he can feel tightening his every muscle, slipping over and around him like the ever-crushing depths of the blackest sea, a current of unending force that feels more like Wrath than anger.
“ Oh , are you-”
And first blood is his- it is his and it is righteous. He can hear Logan’s nose crack in the shocked silence. Wade hasn’t felt so alive and glutted with fury in years. Logan’s eyes are consumed by his iris, dark and furious, fixing on him with a single-minded ferocity.
They fight and it’s rough- it’s blow after blow that would kill anyone else- even most regenerative healing mutations would be unable to keep up with the sheer amount of times they end one another’s lives, split a heart or carotid or artery, break a neck or a spine or shatter ribs to pierce lungs- no.
No- there is no-one else.
No-one who can fight the way they can.
And they do- they fight, even as the sun sets and Wade ends up thrown into the passenger’s seat again, throwing Logan through the car window, shifting from where Logan had previously slammed Wade’s head onto the dash to lay back in the seat fully as Logan pulls himself back through the windshield to stab him again and again and again- Logan stabs him, especially viciously one final time through the side, forcing the claws even further into his side with sheer brute force, enough that he’s fairly certain one of the tips is tickling his fucking heart, and then his weight is on Wade’s thighs, pressing him down, his claws an almost intimate caress knitted through the muscle and flesh above his hip, his other claws poised to pierce his throat.
It is just energy, at that point- energy and adrenaline and the full, unending and undeniable awareness that there is no-one else who can do this. The anger has subsided by now, for both of them, after hours of fighting, Wade’s blood on Logan’s tongue and the faded bruises of where Wade had strangled Logan nearly to death satisfying the initial blaze of anger, of blood for blood, and yet the fight still continues- it is as intimate as a dance- they learn each other’s habits, make new ones, adapt, change- Wade has never met anyone who can predict him, but Logan learns to. Logan is unpredictable, too, in that way. There is no-one else. No-one who can be met with their full strength and bare their teeth, challenging for more, and, in Logan’s case, grin, madly, against Wade’s knife, sigh, laugh a little, in that single moment Wade had him on his back, his teeth pink with Wade’s blood, his eyes wild, nearly black with his excitement.
Like he’s been enjoying it.
So when the claws dig into him again, spilling blood warm and wet over his side, and Logan digs his knees in to press him down harder as he struggles, he tilts his head back, gasps through his mask, sinks his fingers into the meat of Logan’s thigh without really meaning to, holding him there.
He owes the Honda Odyssey so much credit. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. This is better than sex. God, he’s so desperate he could crack- he wants it rough and mean and bloody and fuck , if Logan isn’t providing.
It’s good. It’s better than good. Wade barely manages not to buck up against Logan’s hips as Logan rests his weight on his torso. Their blood is hot, their skin, their sweat- they are sharing air, copper-stained, burning breaths between them- the car windows would be slick with fog were there any left.
“I think you’re enjoying this too much.” Logan says, because Wade’s hips have shifted none-too-subtly a few times by now, but his eyes almost seem to feel differently, burning and focused, clawing over every single inch of his bloodied body like he’s carving out a place for him in his mind.
“Maybe you’re not enjoying it enough.” Wade counters, easily, subtly drawing his knife from where it’s wedged in the crack between the seat and center console. Logan rakes his gaze along Wade’s chest, neck, his face.
He fits the blade between Logan’s ribs in the half-second of opportunity, watching as Logan grits his teeth, hissing through his clenched jaw, his head falling back, his eyes closed.
It looks almost like pleasure - Wade isn’t sure it’s so different in Logan, either. Maybe his wires are crossed, too. He already knows that the claws hurt every time they pierce his skin, even though all they punch through is borderline bloodless scar tissue, little knots of flesh where his ever-adaptable body has stopped storing so much blood where it’s clearly not wanted- he’s long since asked.
‘So…’ Wade had said, leaning against the diner counter, ‘We already know you’re a glutton for pain,’ and Logan had stared at him like he was a fucking moron, but Wade had just watched him down 70% isopropol alcohol like it was ambrosia, and so he just stares right back, daring him to deny it, ‘but seriously, I gotta ask- that has to hurt, right? Constantly sheathing and unsheathing them? Your healing keeps closing the skin right as you retract, so they must cut a decent hunk of flesh as they slide out, even just on the inside, much less where they come out.’ Wade almost asks to look at his hand with the gloves off again, like they’d been when they’d first met. Logan stares at his mostly-empty isopropyl alcohol and then stares at Wade. He wonders if Logan’s liver is frying itself and he’s preoccupied by it or if Logan just doesn’t want to answer. It’s probably both. ‘That’s gotta fucking hurt, right? I mean, it’s metal as shit- literally- but I’ve always wondered.’
‘Every time.’ Logan says, like he’s said it before, and Wade thinks he definitely just upgraded to the ‘glimpses of traumatic backstory’ part of their friendship and thus grins unabashedly. Logan sneers a little, ‘fuck are you so happy about?’ and Wade rests his chin in his hands, ‘we’re so similar- badassery at the cost of constant pain. Knife hands,’ and he gestures to Logan, ‘mutated cancer cells.’ and he gestures to himself, ‘It’s fucking cool, right? We’re so rugged.’
Logan scoffs, ‘That’s a word for it.’ and Wade says, ‘Grizzly? Edgy? Gritty? I’ve got plenty of words for it, I can keep going.’ and Logan sighs, growling a little, ‘Oh, I know. You’ve got nothing but words.’ but Wade just continues, ‘hardened? Jaded? Rogue-ish? Severe?’ Logan sighs, ‘How about ‘silence’?’ but Wade just continues, ‘Badass? Intense? Gruff?’ and Logan cuts in, ‘You get two words.’ And Wade tilts his head, ‘Only two?’ and Logan enunciates it exactly, ‘peace and quiet’. Wade smiles, pleasantly, ‘that’s three words.’ and Logan grits his teeth, digging his jaw into his hands and closing his eyes like if he clicks his heels and wishes hard enough Wade will simply disappear. But he doesn’t tell him to ‘shut the fuck up’ again, so it’s basically a win, even if Wade is learning he kind of likes it when Logan snaps at him. He watches Logan’s hands, where he’s taken off his gloves all of a sudden, like he’s showing Wade, and stares at the knots of scar tissue between his knuckles. Logan catches him staring and unsheathes his claws, just so Wade will go, ‘ohoho- so fucking cool’ even though apparently it hurts every time. Logan just stares at him, almost as if pleased with himself, falling into an expression Wade can’t really understand.
So, yeah , he thinks. Logan’s wires are definitely crossed, too. He’s wearing the pleasure of baring his claws like it’s a badge of honor- he’s retracted them multiple times during their fight when he hasn’t needed to, forcing the pain to rip through him freshly every time he does it. Like now, he retracts the claws close to his throat about halfway, preparing to unsheathe them in one sharp movement and shove them through Wade’s windpipe with the force of doing so, even as the other set still rests tangled in Wade’s side, spilling his blood freshly everytime one of them shifts.
Logan growls as he leans forward, and Wade jolts where the claws sunk into his side dig in further, preparing to breathe in a lungful of blood as Logan pierces his throat, but the action doesn’t come- Logan yanks Wade’s mask up, just barely, just enough to reach his lips, and for a second Wade thinks he’s going to punch his claws through his teeth, which will be unfortunate, and rather uncomfortable to heal, but definitely not enough to shut him up for as long as Logan is probably hoping, but then Logan’s kissing him.
Wade’s brain short-circuits.
Because holy shit. He is kissing Logan- or more accurately, Logan is kissing him . It’s choice- it’s decision- it’s Logan wanting to kiss him, unprompted. Initiating.
It’s more bite than kiss, more claim than caress, but it’s their mouths connecting all the same, and Wade gasps, hoarsely, as blood wells up from his lips and Logan tongues it away like it’s his god-given right. Oh, oh oh, oh- he’s crazy. He’s so crazy. Wade has never wanted anyone so badly in his entire life. Their hips are pressed together, a wall of sheer muscle and power pinning him to the seat, solid and immovable, their blood and sweat mingling on their skin like they’ve been trying desperately to intertwine every part of themselves, and Wade is out of his mind with the sheer expanse of desire streaking through his every fucking blood vessel.
Wade slides his fingers into Logan’s hair, tightening the hand at his thigh, all corded, tense muscle, firm and scorching against his palm as he leans into him, savoring the scratch of his beard as Logan tilts his head, the coarse fullness of his hair under his half-ruined gloves, thick locks threaded roughly through his fingers, the mean bite that draws blood into both their mouths as Logan slips his tongue into his mouth, letting Wade bite down and spill some blood for himself. Give and take, blood owed and blood taken- no, shared - Blood shared. It is perfect .
Logan groans, low and rough, into the kiss, pinning Wade down to the seat by his throat, though without his claws- the set still wedged in his side twitches as Logan runs his thumb across Wade’s waist where blood is still leaking onto the seat beneath them.
Wade moans with the way it feels- the way the pain strikes him, couples with the pleasure and becomes more, becomes pure, blind sensation, becomes the flame set to hollow him out and remake him to fit Logan’s shape. His lungs had healed to fit around Logan’s claws the instant they’d punched through his side, clearing of blood and sealing around the intrusion, ribs mending around metal like he’s being fully reshaped around Logan, and the furthest claw is practically kissing the edge of his thrashing heart, so it’s kind of like he’s holding Logan there, touching his heart, and it’s intimate in a gruesome, disgustingly poetic sort of way. He closes his eyes, and they’re kissing, breathing into each other’s mouths, frantic and urgent, their every movement instinctually complementary, even with their eyes closed. He can feel the weight of Logan’s claws still sunk into his side and angled toward his chest, but Logan is so careful not to move them, and it almost doesn’t hurt with how high he is on adrenaline- it almost feels good. The raw, sparking pain lighting up his senses in beautiful watercolor tones of yellow, stained bright, aching gold by Logan’s presence. Logan tilts his head, gasping into Wade’s mouth as he sinks into another kiss, sharp and insistent. Wade matches him at every breath, drags his teeth along Logan’s lip, echoing his desire for blood, letting it rebound off of the heat and need spiking between them. He can see Logan is burning, too, can practically see the embers in his eyes when they part.
Logan draws away from the kiss, breathing hard on his jaw almost like he doesn’t care how strange Wade’s skin is warped, how odd it might feel, like he doesn’t care, and that’s erotic in itself, mind-numbingly so. He pulls down Wade’s collar roughly to bite hard into his jugular, deep enough that with any more pressure he’d rip out the damn thing in its entirety, and Wade likes it, gasps, brokenly, at the threat, at the ability that Logan has- at the potential in the torrent of violence they’ve inflicted upon one another and survived only because of who (-and what-) they are. He moans as Logan peppers harsh bites along his throat, one after another, like he’s trying to imprint the shape of his teeth into Wade’s very soul.
Wade slides his hand down Logan’s neck, to his side, pressing his fingers along the spot where the blade is still neatly stuck in his ribs, yanking it free with a picturesque flood of red, (Logan jolts, slightly, but the way he’s panting into Wade’s neck makes it obvious he likes it,) stabbing it hard into the center console, shifting Logan’s leg, propping himself up slotting their legs together better, straddling Logan’s thigh so that he can get a better angle, lifting his knee so he can grind up, and oh-
The sound Logan makes- it’s throaty, animalistic- the yank of his claws as he frees them from Wade’s side even more so- Wade jolts, pain rocketing through his every nerve, and he gasps against the blood that spills into his throat, coughing, each breath ragged and aching, but Logan guides him through it, letting him cough as he holds his hip steady, and Wade gasps for breath, catching a full inhale, and Logan licks away the blood that flecks over his lip. Wade kisses back as he finally recovers, and Logan immediately pulls away, as if he’d been waiting. With the pressure from within gone, Wade’s able to focus fully on the weight rocking down onto him, and it’s wholly consuming- Logan is so solid. Pure muscle. It makes him feel insane.
“ Fuck,” Wade breathes, as Logan pants against his neck, reaching for the zippers of their suits, just enough to get to skin, “ Fuck.”
Logan wraps a hand around them both, rough and quick, fast, mean strokes that leave them both digging their fingers into one another, Logan’s nails so strong they’re cutting a hole in Wade’s suit at his hip and drawing blood, and Wade’s back arches, his legs spreading as much as he can to dig into that feeling, planting his foot and rutting against Logan, trying to get him off better, faster, more- Wade pulls him down, by his hair, and Logan reopens the bite on his lip, moving their lips together like he’s spinning silver with his tongue, coaxing words Wade can barely find from his throat, searching for where all of his bravado has gone, trying to taste his voice when Wase gasps, whispering his name.
Wade babbles, when Logan breaks the kiss again, because, he thinks, maybe, Logan wants him to-
“Yes-” He tilts his head, as Logan’s lips trail down to his neck, to kiss the only partially-sealed deepest bite at his jugular, “ Yes- harder-” and he tilts his head back with a ragged gasp as Logan listens, moves his hand rougher, meaner, “-yes, like that- Perfect, there-” he rolls his hips, against Logan’s hand, grinding their lengths together, and Logan grunts, his head bowed, pressing his lips to Wade’s jaw, his throat, “ Oh, shit, Oh, shit, you’re incredible- Oh, you’re-”
Logan growls, against his jaw, something vaguely like, ‘shut the fuck up,’ but his hand also moves faster, his hips jolt more the more Wade praises him, the more Wade begs for it, like he can’t help but contradict himself.
“ Yes,” Wade whispers, “Yes-” But he doesn’t- doesn’t stop- he whispers his praises, begs mindlessly, whines when Logan flicks his wrist just so-
“ Do you ever-” Logan begins, his teeth gritted, soaking up Wade’s words, his need and his prayer, but pretending he’s not, and Wade moans, roughly,
“Can’t,” he rasps, and Logan bucks against him, getting off on it, on him, his endless chatter, his reckless mouth, “ Can’t,” He whispers again, “Have to make me,” he babbles, “Have to shut me up-”
“I can think of a few ways.” Logan drawls, punched-out and ragged, and Wade is so close, he’s so close, and he feels frantic, he feels like he’s burning, like he can’t think, the pressure and the need winding around his spine, spilling into his blood, feeding his lungs and his words,
“Me too,” Wade replies, eagerly, “Oh, god, me too-”
Logan bows his head, his brow furrowing, and Wade leans forward, panting into his mouth, breathing it between his teeth when he says, “Take you onto my tongue,” and then, with a hoarse sound he can’t begin to understand, “Suck you off until you came down my throat,” Logan grinds down against him, hard, “-show you why I’m famous for my mouth.”
“Wasn’t wondering.” Logan mutters, against his lips, and Wade’s entire being sings with the barely-there praise, the, ‘ I like your mouth’, hidden somewhere in-between, and Logan seals their kiss, Wade’s wicked tongue sliding along his, dragging pleasure from him, the wind of need coiling tighter and tighter, until Logan leans into him, sinks his teeth deep into his throat again, and Wade gasps, brokenly, against him- it only takes a harsh final stroke, and Logan’s teeth clenching down, tearing more skin, spilling warm blood down his neck, for him to snap- his back bows, a shout ripping through his chest.
Logan’s body goes stiff, against him- but it’s only a secondary awareness- for a moment, all of the pain that usually stings at his body ( mostly ignorable, but still irritating,) slips away- he is anchored only to Logan’s teeth in his neck, his heavy breathing, the hand around them both that’s gently working them through it, the hand at his hip that’s still digging its nails in.
Wade has been digging his fingers into Logan’s side, along where the knife had been, and he feels the warmth of blood there, too, as well as the corded strength of Logan’s thigh where his other hand is resting- he can feel his muscles twitch, can hear Logan’s voice with each panting breath. It is the only sound. It is all there is.
Full awareness returns like gentle ocean waves, smooth and syrupy, and Logan is panting against his shoulder, catching his breath, while Wade is still pliant and warm beneath him, uninclined to move from where a particularly beautiful animal of a man is breathing in the smell of his blood like it’s smelling salt- like it’s grounding to him.
Wade lets the silence linger for a moment, benevolently, because he does, in fact, have the ability, ( when it strikes him ). He watches Logan catch his breath, his eyes shut almost gently, the frown lines along his face smoothed with the release of energy- the fight, the sex, the constant and steady stream of easy words and reliable actions that Wade has given him throughout.
It’s tactile- it’s tangible.
Wade understands that- it’s half the reason he does it- as a way to keep grounded, to stay in the moment, to interact with it all at the fullest, staying far from the dark recesses that silence forces forth.
But this silence is measured- temporary, and comfortably so- Logan catches his breath, lifts his head, and Wade knows that they’ve both returned to the moment- to this very instance- that a little distraction- no- presence , for that is what words are, Wade’s constant presence, is necessary- welcome even.
“Shut you up.” Logan says, through deep breaths, like he’s won an award, and he focuses on Wade’s face, leaning back on his thigh.
“ And, now, I’m un-shut up,” Wade says, through heaving breaths, “Funny how that works, right?”
Logan scoffs, rolling his eyes, and Wade glances down, his lips parting, before he glances up at Logan and speaks, “ Actually , I’m feeling generous,” and with a grin, “ …Fifteen more seconds.”
He pulls Logan’s hand toward his mouth, licking it clean- Logan watches him the entire time, his eyes locked to his tongue, his lips, the way he doesn’t even flinch at the taste, cleans Logan’s hand like he’s not afraid of the claws that could spear his skull open.
Because, truthfully, he’s not- even if Logan did skewer him, it would be a mood-killer, (and hell, who knows at this point if that’s even true,) but it wouldn’t be fatal. Not to them.
Wade runs his tongue along his middle finger once more, swirling around his knuckle, and then lets go.
He doesn’t mind the taste, really- partially because Logan is staring at him like he’s the slightest slip of self-control from pushing him down and taking what he wants. Honestly, mostly because of that. Wade grins at him, knowingly.
“And now I’m officially un-shut up.”
Logan doesn’t say anything, for a moment, watching him, and then, smoothly, “If only it could last.”
Wade grins at him, lop-sided and feral, “But how would you ever survive? The monotony of silence would bore you to death.”
and Logan sits back, casually, but every line of his body tense, like he’s exerting impressive self control, “I’d have to be pretty fucking bored.”
Wade gestures flamboyantly, flicking his wrist, watching with amusement as Logan’s eyes track his every movement, “And without me, you would be.”
Logan grunts dismissively, “Without you, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
“And you’d be bored.” Wade adds, “ So bored. And now you’re not. You’re welcome.”
Logan scoffs, “If I feel thankful by the end of this, I’ll let you know.”
Wade grins wider, poking his chest, “Perfect- I’ll be waiting with an ‘I told you so’ made with love, on the house.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I will admit, breath-play isn’t my specialty,” and Logan rolls his eyes, “-so I’ll just wait patiently, instead.”
Logan levels him a flat, unimpressed look, “Do you even know what patience is? Or do you just use words you don’t understand to try and feel smart?”
Wade presses a hand to his own chest, sprawling out across the passenger’s seat, “Oh, I am very patient. Exceedingly so. I just also hate waiting and avoid it at all costs. But patience? Me and patience go way back.”
Logan shifts, lifting himself off of Wade’s legs, and climbs into the back, along the flattened seats, and Wade follows him, twisting and brushing away broken glass before he tumbles, bonelessly, onto the carnage-bed.
“Uh-huh.”
Logan lies down near where Wade is currently flopped over, calm- damn-near serene, still basking in the afterglow.
“I was actually voted ‘Most Patient’ in High-School.” Wade lies, elegantly.
Logan doesn’t even acknowledge him, even as Wade stretches, their wrists close enough to touch.
“I played patience in the live-action remake.” He adds.
Wade can feel Logan’s heat, where they’ve spilled onto the bed of folded backseats, lying beside one another. He imagines, without the suit, that Logan would be a comfortable, warm weight at -
No. No-no-no. No.
He’s not going there- not going anywhere in fact. This is ( probably, at least to Logan,) a one-time thing, and if he starts getting attached now, it’s going to be bad. Because Logan is temporary. He’s made that very clear himself.
( But… well. Who knows, really- Wade has really become such a sucker for strays .)
“That was good.” Wade says, and it comes out sort of quiet. He doesn’t mean for it to- means to say it with all the performance and bravado he usually does, but it comes out sort of sentimental, though he tries not to be. Whoops.
Logan doesn’t speak for a moment- Wade thinks he might not at all.
And then,
“Yeah.”
(-and if they do it again, and again, until the sun rises… that’s not sentimental either, surely.)
Logan wraps the seatbelt around one wrist, the other, and Wade grins, even as Logan binds him to motionlessness.
“Stop fucking moving.” He growls, but Wade sees it for what it is- any further and Logan will snap- what they’re doing with their clothes still mostly intact won’t be enough. He’ll rip off their suits and they’ll be fucked in a number of ways. Wade shifts so Logan can pull the seatbelt under his hips, around his legs, securing him in place, and Logan warily squints at him as he does it, trying to parse why he’s suddenly so cooperative.
“Still got my mouth.” Wade says, with a grin, and Logan huffs, leaning on his left hip, tying the seatbelts tightly.
Wade laughs, softly, as Logan turns away from him, trying to fall asleep, trying to ignore him.
“If you want it.”
“Shut. The fuck. Up.” Logan grits out, and Wade’s body is alight with the sound- he loves it, craves it, the way Logan snarls when he’s angry, the way his voice pitches low when he shouts, the powerful anger or cool dismissal in his stern tone- he likes it both ways, every way.
“I told you how.” Wade coos, and Logan snarls, softly, a little growling huff, irritated, but not just with Wade- irritated by the fact he’s probably genuinely considering it, half against his will, “Offer still stands. Or lies- I’m flexible.”
Oh, and Logan knows. Logan knows just how flexible he is, now- even though he’s hardly seen half of it.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Logan says, because apparently even though he’s never read smut novels (judging by the eyebrow he’d raised when Wade had brought up 50 Shades of Grey,) he knows all the lines by heart.
“Oh-ho,” Wade breathes, as Logan’s shoulders go tense, “I bet I could guess. I’d be pretty impressed if you managed to do something to me I didn’t like.”
“Shut up.” Logan hisses, shifting to face him, grabbing his jaw hard.
Wade grins. Jackpot.
4.
Alright. Come to think of it, it might’ve gone back further than the bullet.
When he’d been jumping through timelines, and dropped dead at the feet of probably fifty different Wolverines, he’d been pretty surprised meeting this one.
Every other Wolverine had reacted fast- been the first to shed blood and had killed him almost faster than he could get out ‘I need your help’ purely on some sort of sixth sense of moral flexibility and otherwise shadiness Wolverines seem able to clock at barely a glance.
But not this- ( can he say ‘his’? Fuck it.) - Not his Wolverine- Logan . He’d smiled, leaning into Wade’s gun, pressing it against his brow, and Wade had been so frustrated at that point that he’d not really thought about it, but that close he could smell the alcohol on Logan’s breath, the faintly woodsy smell lingering on his flannel, the old cologne on his collar that he probably only ever wore for the sake of the other bar patrons.
And now that he’s tied up in this Honda Odyssey, Logan breathing softly beside him, finally having worn one another out, he’s pretty sure it started with that smile.
It had been sardonic, a little mad in a slow, constantly crazy sort of way. It was the smile of a man who’d long come to terms with pain, with death and violence, with the fight and struggle, and he simply could not be fucking bothered by Wade’s aggression, letting it roll off his back like rain droplets.
He’d downed an entire bottle of liquor in probably thirty seconds, that smile still ghosting across his lips, and Wade had watched with something kind of like awe and horror, a mixed ‘ what the fuck’ sort of smile on his face.
That’s probably when he’d realized his Logan was crazier than most of them- unstable, on a hair trigger, split between ‘incapable of giving a single fuck’ and ‘giving way too many’-most Wolverines were, to be fair, but this one had slipped into a blassé sort of ‘couldn’t be assed’ that Wade almost admires.
Except, unfortunately, he needs this Logan to give a fuck, and he’s barely capable. He’s tired, Wade can tell- he’s been through something, dropped into a hole of hatred and self-flagellation that nobody’s ever even tried to snap him out of.
He’s gotten so self-sacrificial (a very Wolverine trait, based on how the Wolverine in his own universe died,) that it’s rounded back into self-preservation. An absolute unwillingness to be pulled from the abyss he’s crawled into.
Wade will pull him out, obviously- he’s already started. It’s almost like digging up a corpse again, except this time he has to convince the corpse not to dig even deeper as Wade tries to pull him out. He just has to get Logan to look at him long enough to see he’s offering his hand, trying to coax him into letting Wade pull him out. Hell, he’s already done most of the work- now Logan just has to want to get out of the shithole he’s dropped his soul and spirit into, and everything will be great.
Except Logan really doesn’t seem interested.
But he looks gentle when he’s sleeping- Wade can see a glimpse of a warm man there, someone who had hopes and feelings and maybe even wanted to experience the world around him- a man far removed from the Logan he’s come to know, drowning everything in the blurry, soft edges that liquor brings the sharpness he’s forced to live in.
Wade falls asleep, and he thinks of the smile- that first one, sardonic and bitter, and then the ones he’s pulled from him since. Sometimes at his own expense, but fuck, Logan had laughed! He’d found out about his toupee and he’d laughed! And, even better, he’d smiled when Wade had sunk down onto his claws, digging his own blades into Logan’s side and shoulder, had watched him gasp with the pain and then smile, feral and wicked, as Wade’s blood splattered across his face, his teeth, he’d watched, even through the shatter of glass, as Logan flicked his tongue over his teeth to taste it before he’d shot through the sunroof.
Logan had been playing with him as they fought, had goaded him with a little handwave- he’d been enjoying it just as much as Wade- obviously. ‘We’re just getting started, bub,’- Obviously . The rough sex afterward makes that glaringly apparent.
But, fuck, maybe it was his smile, first.
Wade is glad Logan had pulled down Wade’s mask after they’d both finished again, his taste lingering on Wade’s tongue, because, honestly, he’s smiling, too. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.
That smile, he thinks. That’s where it really started.
5.
Okay, or maybe it’s the way Logan looks at him. He notices it as they’re cutting down the hundred or so Deadpools (which, what the fuck,)- that Logan really does look at him almost as often as he can. Shit, even through the sheer number of Deadpools who look and act almost exactly like him, Logan seems to know exactly which one he is, even without the golden pistols- (he loses them at some point, empty and moving too quick to reload, steals a revolver from Cowboypool, fans the hammer like he’s always wanted to do,) but Logan knows exactly which one is his Wade, even as they get tangled, even if Wade is only sure which one is himself because he’s in his own fucking body. Logan glances at him now and again, hurls a sword into the Deadpool closest to Wade so that Wade can pull it out and keep fighting, and fuck, if it doesn’t do something to him.
It means something, he’s certain. It has to. Wade catches his glance at least thirty three times, which, considering they’re not fighting quite as long as they could be, is quite a few times.
And when they stand at the end of the street, breathing carefully, catching lungfuls of air, Logan is still watching him.
And when Wade looks back on it, Logan does that. Just watches Wade all the time, fixes his gaze to him so that pretty much every time Wade glances at him they lock eyes. And Logan doesn’t even pretend not to do it- never has. He’d pretended it was out of annoyance, for a while, but even when they were tied up together, and Logan had been pressed hard against him, and they could barely face each other for how close they were, Logan had constantly been glancing at him- watching. And his gaze is always so severe. It’s heady, having that attention focused on him- having Logan’s eyes take in every little habit and nuance that Wade himself isn’t even aware of.
It’s how, in the swarm of deadpools, Logan doesn’t lose him once. Not once.
It would be hilarious, of course, if he had, and understandable, but he doesn’t.
(‘How did you know which deadpool was yours?’ He’ll ask, later, and Logan will raise an eyebrow at ‘yours’, but won’t correct him, and Logan will consider saying, ‘I waited for them to attack’ (a lie) or ‘I knew you’d been fine even if I killed the wrong one’, but instead he just says, ‘It was obvious.’ and Wade will glance at him sideways and say, ‘you can just say you know me well enough to tell.’ and Logan will roll his eyes and scoff but he won’t deny it.)
So maybe it was his gaze. Maybe it was the way he watches Wade that started it all.
The staring, the smile, the bullet- the fucking Honda Odyssey. Logan .
It’s Logan.
That’s where it started.
With Logan.
6.
And then Wade almost dies. Sort of. He prepares to die- just like he’d died before when Cable had brought him back. Or. Or undid it. Or something. Who fucking knows. But then Logan is there, and the energy flowing through the circuit of their bodies is melding their minds and flesh and souls and Logan is shirtless, ( which, holy shit. Holy shit. He looks like a fucking Spartan. All perfectly oiled and ready to die. Wade would drop to his knees if he could,) and Wade feels every single neuron and vein and cell screaming, lighting them both up from the inside, and he can feel where Cassandra is trying to fight back against the onslaught, but she’s losing, and then everything is bright and the pain is cosmic, and he’s drowning because his entire body can’t decide if he’s alive or not.
And then he realizes he’s actually drowning. In the instant he’d hit the wall, his spine had cracked just before he’d fallen into the water, briefly paralyzing him, and he’d hit the water mostly unconscious, or at least unaware, and now he’s so deep in dark water that he can’t see shit. He hits something hard behind him, then to his left, his right- he’s not sure where ‘up’ is, he’s not sure he isn’t trapped under debris. As he blindly searches through the blackened water, he feels a weight begin to slink along his limbs, like he’s caught on cord, and when he goes to kick himself in the direction he thinks is up, he can’t free his left leg from whatever is tangling around him. He realizes, abruptly, that it’s the wiring he’d been holding onto- his hand had instinctively clenched, and as if electrocuted, it still was when he’d been thrown, and so he lets go finally, but it’s already tangled around him. He gasps in a lungful of water through the mask, though he doesn’t mean to- he simply can’t keep the breath in any longer, struggling against the tangle of wires. He’d been flung away, into the water, and most of the wiring had come with him, but between when he’d been knocked unconscious (he’d hit the wall pretty impressively hard, and the dissipating material energy had ignited along his entire spinal cord as it cracked and short circuited his brain) and whenever he’d regained consciousness, the long tubes, some still wrapped in his arm and clutched in his fist, have wrapped around his torso, his throat, tangled along his feet, and as he tries to move, to yank his arm free, it only gets the wire tangled in both his legs, and it’s like he’s trapped in the seatbelts but worse, because he’s asphyxiating, which is the one thing he really hates even still , and he’s struggling against debris that’s making it impossible to see, maybe even the reason he’s pinned in the water in the first place, and the huge tangles of wire are making it impossible to move, and he’s drowning.
Wade searches for his knife, tries to pull off his mask so he can just take his legs and arms off, but he can’t move enough to get any of his limbs free anymore, which means he’ll just keep drowning forever unless someone finds him. And he doesn’t even know if Logan is alive. He has to be, right? But what if he isn’t? The Wolverine in his world had died. Maybe- Maybe-
And then his thoughts give out to the burn of oxygen deprivation, and he’s choking on water, and he’s thrashing but he can’t get free, and he can’t even think. He’s dying- he’s dead. When he wakes, he’ll die again. And again. And again. Fuck.
He doesn’t see the water ripple, see something dive in near him, because his vision is already growing red and then black.
Wade wakes again on dry land, Logan hovering over him, having peeled off Wade’s mask so he can cough and hack and free himself of the water lingering in his lungs.
He can’t think for a moment, wretchedly coughing up water and coagulated blood (though he doesn’t know where it came from- had he been impaled in the water?) but he thinks Logan’s hand is on his back, holding him steady, keeping him from falling back into the water.
Logan is soaked, too, breathing hard and coughing out the last remnants of water in his own throat, watching Wade with a strange expression.
“Holy fuck,” Wade rasps, gurgling inelegantly, and Logan sighs, leaning on his knees, swallowing hard through a gasp, “ Fuck that. Jesus christ. Drowning is the worst.”
Logan nods, his chest heaving, and pulls himself to his feet, staggering slightly, offering Wade a hand.
Wade stares at the hand, ( holy shit. he did it. Logan is reaching for his hand. Holy Shit,) still coughing sporadically, and lets Logan pull him to his feet, stumbling into his exceptionally solid chest as his vision swims, like a properly woo’ed love interest, leaning into his shoulder while he begs the room to stop spinning. Metaphors about corpses and graves and reaching his hand out to a man who doesn’t want it (he! reached! back!) are for a version of Wade that didn’t just eat absolute shit and drown.
Logan wraps an arm around his shoulders, (holy! shit!) steadying them both, leaning against the wall and tilting his head back, breathing slowly through his nose like he’s riding out a wave of nausea.
“Don’t do that again.” Logan grumbles, and Wade huffs, through a ragged cough, because even though he’s not drowning anymore, his body is exceedingly willing to let him continue feeling like he is, and Logan steadies him, holding him to his chest, away from the water, turning bodily (Wade groans, dizzy,) keeping him close to the wall- bodily separating Wade from the water.
“ Shit,” Wade whispers, “Don’t try to sacrifice yourself again and I won’t have to.” He counters, and Logan growls, like he’s going to retort, but then they both fall silent, hearing Paradox’s faux-watery voice.
‘ My friends, two brave heros, just died -’ and Wade’s eyes lock to Logan’s, and Logan pulls down Wade’s mask, nodding toward the sound, and Wade grins because Logan really does know him, helping him stand steadily on his feet and rush forward. Logan pulls down his mask and Wade almost screams with how fucking perfect this is about to be.
“ He has Risen, babygirl!”
“ Fuck !”
Wade could kiss Logan. For all of it.
7.
As the TVA members leave, filing out one after the other, Logan watches Wade, out of the corner of his eye, his bare chest still heaving with the dissipating energy that’s still sparking through them both. It’s making him glow, slightly, along the veins of his neck, his wrists, at his pulse points, gittering along with the beat of his heart. He’s pulled off the mask by now, as the last few TVA members leave, pulling on a borrowed TVA zip-up, resting the mask on the console beside them. His fingers are twitching with irritability, tapping against one another in a barely-controlled rhythm. Wade is running his mouth again, mostly to the TVA agents, ‘you missed something,’ and, ‘ god, can you be any slower? chop chop-’ and Logan is quiet at his side, until he chimes in, ‘ your mug, fuck’s sake’ after the fifth time that Wade says it, and Wade nods enthusiastically,
“It’s like they’ve never emergency evacuated before.” He scoffs, flicking his wrist, ‘can you believe this?’, gesturing to where the last couple TVA agents can’t stop staring greedly at them long enough to compose any coherent thoughts. Wade understands. Logan is fucking gorgeous. Even fully clothed. But Logan is watching Wade like he couldn’t possibly bother to look at anything else.
Logan tilts his head agreeably, and that’s a fun development- Logan reacts to him now, even tag-team berates people with him, and it works perfectly- he sets up Logan’s finishing remark with his own words, and Logan pounces on the opportunity, claws at the ready. It’s perfect- it’s damn-near erotic. Logan matches his crazy in that way, in a lot of ways- Vanessa had, of course, in her own right, but she also wants a normal life, with paperwork and sales and all the things Wade is coming to realize he really, really hates. She can’t survive in Wade’s world, in the violence, the gunshots- Vanessa had died, been shot and killed, but Logan had spit out the bullet Wade had put in him like it was a prize.
He’s different.
He’s Logan .
Finally, the two TVA agents manage to look away from Wade and Logan long enough to leave, practically craning their necks to watch them as they go, and then it’s just Wade and Logan alone in a building halfway to falling apart, and a tense, anticipatory silence rips through the air faster than Wade can even open his mouth, which is truly a feat in it of itself.
Logan waits a few seconds- a heartbeat or so, and then he shoves Wade into the wall, locking his arm at his throat, and Wade scrabbles against his arm, mouth gaping with shock.
“ What the fuck-”
“Of all the brainless, dickless , self-sacrificing shit-”
Wade scrabbles the arm at his collar, (it’s not choking him. He notices that. It’s not impeding his airflow at all. Just pinning him. holy shit. again.)
“-but we lived,” he rasps,
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Logan hisses, “Trying to make me tell your friends how I got you killed-”
“It was very heroic,” Wade counters, and Logan growls, pressing into him, “It would’ve been very-”
“Heroics don’t mean shit if you die. Not to the people who want you alive.”
“You sound like you’d have missed me, peanut,” Wade coos, and Logan bares his teeth, righteously furious, and Wade thinks they’re going to fight again, but Logan just rips off Wade’s mask fully, seals their lips together.
Wade gasps, teeth sinking into his lip, and Logan uses the moment his mouth opens to deepen the kiss, flick his tongue into his mouth, pressing Wade firmly against the wall, using his free hand to pin him there by his hip.
The arm at his collar shifts to cup his throat and jaw, tilt his head up to kiss him harder.
When Logan breaks the kiss it’s to shove him against the wall again, parting his thighs with his knee.
“If you ever pull shit like that again -” and Wade really likes the way his voice sounds when he’s angry, really really likes it, but he can also tell Logan is serious, so he just raises his hands, placatingly,
“I won’t! I won’t-”
“I swear to god-”
“ Promise! Promise!”
“ Fuck,” Logan hisses, breathing hard, bowing his head, “You’re fucking crazy.”
“You were going to do it too,” Wade counters, “If it makes me crazy, then you’re also crazy.”
Logan scoffs, but doesn’t deny it.
“That’s not the point.” Logan says, firmly.
Wade tilts his head, “Isn’t it?
“You need to live.”
“What’s Deadpool without Wolverine?”
“Alive, probably.”
“A-a-ah. But isn’t he bored? ”
“ Wade -”
“And what does it matter? We survived. We’re a good team.”
“ Wade.”
“ Logan.” He stares at him, flatly, watches Logan sigh.
“Just don’t do that again.”
“Don’t make me save you and I won’t.”
“ I saved you. ”
“Uh-huh. Sure you did.”
“ You-”
“Okay, okay! You saved me. Happy?”
Logan scoffs.
“Just-”
“Don’t do that again, yep- got it. Likewise.”
“Fine.”
8.
Wade manages to convince Logan to move in. He’s not exactly sure why Logan agrees, or why he even offers, but it might have started with his smile, or the bullet, or the way Logan looks at him, or the Honda Odyssey, or maybe it’s just because it’s Logan and that’s the natural progression of all of it.
Wade opens the door to the apartment, and Al immediately asks for drugs, which could not be more embarrassing, because this is literally Wolverine, but it’s also Logan, so it’s probably fine, but that also sort of makes it worse, because he really likes Logan, and he’d really like him to move in. And he’s not 100% sure Logan likes him as much as he likes Logan, so it’s extremely daunting. And very fine and not a little bit embarrassing and/or mortifying at all.
“ Al,” Wade hisses, “Not in front of guests .”
“Oh,” Al says, tilting her head, listening as Logan stands just over Wade’s shoulder, sighing softly, “Is that a man? You brought home a man?”
Logan raises an eyebrow, and Wade pats his shoulder, “He’s our new roomie.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Move, I’m going to Martha’s.”
Al shoves him purposefully as she slips off her house shoes and into her slides ( which are the exact same as her house shoes, just dedicated to the outdoors,) and Wade frowns.
“Martha? That sour florist hag across the street?”
Al taps his heel sharply with her cane and he hisses, scooting away, “Uh-huh. I’m blind, not deaf- if you two are gonna fuck, I’m leaving.”
“I thought you hated Martha-”
“I can have hate sex, too, you little shit.”
Wade recoils, resting a hand passively on Logan’s chest, grimacing, “Oh! Graphic. So graphic.”
“She excites me. And she grows bud off her back patio.”
“Don’t offer her your dandruff.” Logan watches, like he’s entertained, but doesn’t speak, his eyebrows eternally raised.
“Fuck off, pipsqueak. Don’t get lube on my throw pillows.”
“They’re my throw pillows.” Wade reminds her, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, well, I like ‘em more. So eat shit.”
Wade gestures at her, to Logan, ‘can you believe this’ and Logan smiles, just a little, the slightest curl of his lips, raising his eyebrows, ‘ what are you gonna do about it?’ so Wade boldly says, “We saved your life yesterday!”
“I’m sure you fuckin’ did. Come get me when you two are done.”
Wade blanches, grimacing, “And risk walking in on old lady sex? No thank you.”
Al swats at him, “Oh, go fuck yourself.”
“No thank you- I’ve got Logan for that.” Logan scoffs, but, as always, doesn’t deny it. ( Holy shit x4 )
“Logan,” she mutters, “Like he’s fucking Wolverine.”
“It is Wolverine actually.”
“I’m sure.”
“Wade,” Logan mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Oh shit, is it really?” Al asks, wondrously, turning toward Logan’s voice.
“She has the ears of a bat. The eyes of one, too. Al, are you Batman? Is this a cross-over?”
“Bye fuckers.”
“Smell you later.”
“Har-har. Such a fucking comedian.”
Al slams the door on her way out, knocking it closed with her foot, and Wade sighs, relieved. Logan quirks an eyebrow, effortlessly handsome as he does, and Wade almost pushes him into the wall and kisses him senseless right then and there.
Wade spins around, gesturing to the house, “Welcome, welcome- Mi casa es tu casa- except literally, ‘cause you’re moving in. We’ll have to share a bedroom, ‘cause it’s a two bed one and a half bath, but I can swing a second bed in there if we put them caddy-corner and take off the head and footboards.”
“One bed is fine.” Logan says, and Wade stares at him, silently.
“I mean this as respectfully as I’m capable,”
“So not very,” Logan cuts in,
“But I really want to fuck you right now. With the utmost possible respect intended.”
“Without a near-death experience as foreplay?” Logan crosses his arms, trying desperately not to let the handsome smile growing on his face cut into a full grin, “Didn’t know you had the range.”
“I’m multi-faceted.” Wade says, casually, trying not to show how desperate he feels.
“We’ll see about that.” Logan says, watching his mouth, flicking his gaze up to his eyes, quirking his brow in that deeply vexing way he does, like he knows what it does to Wade. ( and he probably does, intimately, with the sheer amount of staring he does.)
“How do you make everything sound so hot?” Wade whines, “What the fuck.”
“Range.” Logan reiterates, and Wade grabs him by the nape, dragging him into the bedroom, and Logan pulls off his shirt while they go, revealing a line of muscle and power that makes Wade feel a little out of his mind and desperate, and Wade yanks off his own shirt, pulling off his belt as Logan unzips his jeans, throwing his own slacks god knows where, leaning back on the bed as Logan crawls overtop of him, fitting between his legs.
Wade pulls a bottle of oil out of the bedside drawer, and Logan grabs it smoothly, like there is no point where Wade ends and Logan begins, but rather as if they are a single harmonious unit.
His dick is big- he’d noticed it when they’d been in the car, but he’s really aware of it right now. In a good way. It’s not too big, but it’s long and wide enough that it’ll feel good. Too good. Wade is so doomed- he’ll be ruined by this- he’ll have had a full taste of Wolverine, and there’s probably no going back after that. They’re probably both thinking that same thing- Logan is watching him like he’s thinking rather hard.
“I can cover up more,” Wade offers, because for once in his life, he actually feels a little self-conscious- he’s worried that Logan is daunted by the scarring that carves its way along his skin, “If it’s hard to look at.”
but Logan simply shrugs.
“Doesn’t bother me.” and lowers his mouth onto his cock, and Wade moans, rough and sharp, shocked by it, yanking hard at Logan’s hair, the perfect tufts like handles at the sides of his head.
“ Oh, fuck .” Wade rasps, and Logan hums around his cock, making Wade gasp for breath, digging his nails into his hair. The scratch of Logan’s beard on his thighs makes it better, more , and Wade’s breath catches in his chest like he’s struggling for air. And half of it is because this is fucking Wolverine , going down on him like he wants to, likes it, and the other half is because it’s Logan and all the sentimental shit he’s been trying to avoid is welling up and spilling over into everything they are.
Logan pulls off, licking a long stripe down his length one final time before coating his fingers in oil and slipping one in, gently, opening him up with little circles. He sinks bites into Wade’s thighs, hips, even at his calf and ankle.
Wade doesn’t need much preparation, realistically- they both like it rough and their bodies can take it, so he goes to two, three fingers, and then Wade impatiently grabs his arm, urging him to get on with it, and Logan obliges.
He fucks like an animal- hard, deep thrusts that rip the air from Wade’s lungs and make him beg mindlessly for more. Wade rakes his nails down his back again and again, drawing blood, practically carving his name into his shoulderblades, and Logan bites him, hard, at his carotid, just like he had in the car- except now he bites elsewhere too, anywhere he can find purchase with his teeth, leaving streaks of blood on every inch of his flesh, even as blood trails down his spine where Wade keeps reopening half-sealed claw marks. Logan moans every time he does it, flexes his shoulders just so Wade’s nails will bite deeper, and Wade is delirious with the sound, so low and honest.
Wade moans into his throat, pressing Logan into his chest, feeling the way Logan slides his hand along his thigh, lifting his leg further up for a better angle.
“ Logan,” he rasps, and then jolts, as Logan finds the spot he’d been looking for, making Wade’s entire body turn to static, sparking helplessly, and he rocks back into Logan’s thrusts- Logan grunts, kissing along his jaw, making his way to his lips, and Wade flicks his tongue into Logan’s mouth, dragging him closer by his hair, pulling hard on his scalp, listening to the way Logan hisses as he moans, letting his head fall back.
It’s harsh, yes, but it’s also almost gentle. Logan digs bruises into his hips, but he also kisses along his chest, the scratch of his beard running along his skin so roughly sweet, and Wade strokes his hair and rubs his hips and back and sides like he’s trying to coax orgasm from him rather than tear it out of him like he had in the car- it’s more. It’s more- it’s complicated and simple and obvious. It’s so obvious. It’s the natural conclusion, it’s a beginning- it’s understanding and-
Oh,
Wade sighs into Logan’s hair, smelling of salt and this boozy body wash Wade had stolen from one of the TVA agent’s lockers and the seabreeze shampoo he’d bought from the corner store and he…
It’s Logan.
That’s what it is.
And when Logan makes Wade come, because he’s a fucking gentleman, apparently, Wade digs his hands into his thick hair and kisses him hard. And Logan stills, just a little, so he can sink into the kiss all the way, and Wade tries to press each and every one of his feelings into the line of their lips, and Logan must feel it because he kisses back just as eagerly, their voices tangling where they’re breathing into one another’s mouths, painting their names on each other’s lips, and Wade drags his hand along his beard, fits his jaw into the palm of his hand, and holds the kiss, feeling Logan lean forward, into him, holding himself up by the hand near Wade’s head, his other hand tracing circles into his hip.
And when Logan comes, he breathes his moan into Wade’s neck, and Wade runs his hands along his spine, his hips, along his back, to tangle gently in his hair as Logan catches his breath.
“Good?” Wade says, through heaving breaths, like he had in the car.
And then Logan kisses him, hard, which is different from the car, and breathes,“Yeah.” onto his lips, like he remembers exactly what Wade is referencing.
( As always, he probably does.)
Vanessa is staring occasionally at Wolverine with a sort of ‘holy shit’ expression that Wade can sympathize with, and Logan is comfortable enough in this whatever it is they’ve fallen into, (boyfriend seems too plain, husband too marital, partner too vague- he just calls him ‘Logan’- sometimes ‘my Logan’, ‘my Wolverine’, and he calls himself, ‘your Wade’ to Logan, and ‘Logan’s Wade’, to others, so whatever they are, it is together, and it is ‘us’ and it is Deadpool and Wolverine, which is what it all comes to, in the end-) that Logan takes dogpool, (with only mild disgust, which is another win, even though she is objectively horrifying, though, strangely, Logan has never looked at him with disgust, even though he had kind of thought he was similarly horrifying, but apparently he isn’t, if Logan likes him, because Logan is gorgeous, and kind of makes him feel sufficiently gorgeous, which, holy shit, by the way, in case Wade hasn’t reiterated that enough,) and he says, ‘talk to the girl’, and Wade smiles at Vanessa only slightly awkwardly, and eventually, Vanessa says,
“So… you’re seeing someone, huh?” But she’s smiling, which is a good thing.
“No finance bros in my area,” Wade says, faux-mournfully, “Tragically. So not the same as yours. But yeah, I’ve got my Logan.”
He can see Logan roll his eyes out of the corner of his eye, and Dopinder’s jaw drops,
“Mr. Pool, you didn’t tell me you had found someone.”
“It’s recent.” Logan says, pleasantly, petting one of Puppin’s ears, one of her least reactive ( turns out, she’s got pain all over, Deadpool style, so idiotpool was right, she is reactive, just not in a gross way,) spots, and Wade tries not to gasp, or giggle, or do any of five thousand schoolgirl things, smiling leisurely as Yukio clasps her hands together, excitedly.
“I’ve always wanted to meet Wolverine,” she says, practically vibrating with excitement, “You guys are so cute!”
Negasonic, (Ellie, but Negasonic sounds cooler,) nods, “He makes you less horrifying.”
Wade gasps, feigning hurt, and then, “Why, thank you. I was thinking the same thing. His handsome surliness brings out my eyes.”
Logan laughs, under his breath, and everything is perfect. That smile. The bullet. The Honda. His stare.
Logan.
It’s just Logan.
His Logan.