Chapter Text
(Do I wanna know?)
If this feeling flows both ways?
(Sad to see you go)
Was sort of hoping that you'd stay
(Baby, we both know)
That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day
-Arctic Monkeys
There are many situations in which Deadpool regrets his actions.
Actually, that’s a lie.
There are very few situations in which Deadpool regrets his actions, because above all else, he does everything for the plot. Smart decisions are few and far between, but that’s what makes life so fun, baby! Could he have easily avoided getting captured by this villain of the week, Crabapple? Wait, Carbohydrate? Five-Minute-Whatever-the-Crap this guy’s name is. Don’t know, don’t care.
Wade’s been replaying the entirety of The Greatest Showman (for no particular reason) in his head whilst villain-of-the-week has him strapped him down to a metal table that just reeks of tetanus up the wahzoo; this would be in his top three kinky scenarios if the guy didn’t smell like cabbage and failed villain arc. They’re in some sort of abandoned factory, all smashed windows and out of control spiderwebs, and he’s straight up starting to get annoyed by the handsy little fuck.
Anyway, the answer is, yes, he could’ve avoided capture, but that would’ve been less fun than getting a colonoscopy from Logan, post-unsheathed claws. He’s had a pretty boring day, so letting this mark kidnap him has been something of an enrichment activity for Wade. He’s going to break free eventually and bash the guy’s fucking head in, but it’s all about timing.
Wait, actually… now that he’s thinking about the whole colonoscopy thing, that might be kind of-
Slash.
Villain guy stabs a rusty blade through his chest, and Wade gasps in mild disdain.
“What in the Stab-a-thalon are you doing, Numbnuts? You can look all you want, but despite looking vaguely like a fucked-up donkey, I do not have candy inside of me. Are you gonna pin a tail on me next? Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, why are so many party games centered around donki-”
Another stab in the chest, deeper this time.
“Do you ever shut up, you repellent creature?” The insignificant villain grits his teeth, seemingly digging around for something inside of him, and not in the sexy way. His fingers fondle organs that should not be fondled without a doctor’s permission, and Wade grits his teeth at the mildly uncomfortable feeling.
“I think not, Bingo Wings. Also, what in the Guts by Olivia Rodrigo are you looking for in there, Doctor Lecter?” He grunts as the guy rummages around in his insides like an estate sale, forcing his scummy little fingers into all sorts of places they don’t belong in. God, can’t he go up against a normal villain for once? They’re always nutcases.
“What I’m looking for, you buffoon, is the source of your regenerative abilities. There’s got to be something in here that will give me an idea of how to use them for myself.” The guy pulls one of his intestines to the side, and it makes a squelching noise that seems to squick the villain out, if the look on his face is anything to go by. Leave it to Wade to get tied up and internally fondled by a squeamish gut-fuck of a villain; whatever the TVA is paying him for this mission is not enough, and they will be hearing about this in full detail.
“Sorry, that was an intestine fart. Think it was the broccoli bake I had for dinner last night.” Wade huffs. “Also, you can’t just pull out my regenerative healing abilities, you miserable result of inbred copulation. I’m starting to think that you don’t even have a phD with the way you’re digging around in there. This has gotta be against HIPAA or something. I’m calling Dr. Shepherd!”
The villain groans in annoyance, and just as he’s about to speak again, the angriest motherfucker that Wade has ever seen strides into the room. There’s dirt and debris caked onto his movie star face, alongside the most miserly scowl that Wade has ever seen.
Oh, and also, it’s his boyfriend. Well, it’s his sort of partner, slash boyfriend, slash don’t call me that, slash theyre-not-labelling-it guy.
“Logie! It’s about time you got here, ya big hunk’a finger-licking Adamantium.” Wade waves with the hand he’s already slipped from his restraints, which only causes Logan to growl, and the villain to suddenly go pale in the face; serves him right.
Logan points at Wade. “You shut up. And you-” He then points to the D-list villain with a menacing snarl and recently-divorced steak knives. “-get your fuckin’ hands outta him before I give you a real villain origin story.”
If Wade had a pussy, he would be dripping down his thighs right about now.
“Yeah, you tell ‘em, babe!” Wade shouts, sliding his other hand free of the restraints with only a dislocated wrist as collateral. His chest is already starting to heal up, the gaping cavity more of a small melon-sized hole now.
As he makes the move to sit up, he watches Logan bull-rush the villain into the nearest wall. The guy gets six claws in his sides, assfull of concrete, and the world’s nastiest wall-burn. In Wade’s rapid attempt to get upright, his liver flops down onto the operating table, and he shrieks.
“Ew, wait! Wait a minute. Pause, guys. I’m sorry, really sorry about this. T-out!” Both Logan’s eyes and the dying villain’s are suddenly on Wade as he wraps two hands around his liver, bouncing it in his palms like a hot potato. “Ew, gross, oh God, what the fuck, ew.” He shoves it unceremoniously back into his body and watches as it finds its rightful place like those cans of rolling Chef Boyardee in the commercials.
Logan looks extremely unamused and the other guy looks dead.
“Wade, I swear to God, you weren’t supposed to go off on your own!” The older mutant slips his claws out of Dead Weight David’s skull (he still doesn’t know his name) and steps over. “This was a team mission, asshole.”
“Aww, were you worried about me, Wolvie? That’s so sweet! Look at how fast my heart is beating right now.” Wade gestures to his rapidly-shrinking chest cavity as Logan unties the restraints around his ankles.
“Gross, you jerk. And I wasn’t worried. I just wanted to do the mission right so we get fuckin’ paid. Al’s gonna expect rent next week and we’ve got jack shit to show for it.” Logan’s not making eye-contact, which means he’s lying about the whole not being worried thing. Wade bites back a smile; he knows him so well.
“And that’s the difference between you and me, Snuffleupagus. You want to get the job done right, and I want to stop and smell the broken heroin needles along the way.” As he’s finally untied, Wade hops up off the table and leans up to press a kiss to Logan’s scowling mouth. “Thanks for saving me, Big Guy. It really gets a girl going. Is dilapidated building sex off the table? I’ll admit that it would be a really weird tag to add to the fanfic, but I’m willing to overlook it for the sake of getting laid if you are.”
Logan returns the kiss with a huff that borders on both petulant and adorable, and despite the downturn of his lips, Wade doesn’t miss the amusement in his eyes. “You wish, Bub. C’mon, let’s get the fuck outta here before one of us catches something.”
“I already caught something. You can guess what it is on the way home; it’ll make for a hell of a road trip game.” Wade smiles giddily, glancing over towards the dead villain, who is slumped against the peeling wall.
Logan follows his gaze. “Do we just leave the poor sap here?”
Wade shrugs. “Don’t know, don’t care. Mr. Grabby Guts can rot for all I care. I’m sick of people sticking their fingers in me.” He gives the other a sidelong glance and a wink through his mask. “Besides you, obviously.” Grabbing at Logan’s hand, they leave the rat-infested cesspool and head out to the car.
The two men had pooled together enough money to buy a used Toyota Sienna, which is damn close to the Odyssey, but only a million times more reliable. The whole process of buying the car together had been oddly domestic in a way that Wade wouldn’t mind getting used to. They drive to TVA jobs together, go on grocery runs, and make the occasional trip to the dog park for Miss Mary Puppins. It’s all so domestic.
Speaking of domesticity, it’s been three weeks since they’d started sleeping together, and Wade still doesn’t know what they are. Well, obviously, he’s deeply and pathetically in love with the Wolverine, but Logan hasn’t given him a clear signal as to whether or not the feeling is requited. The L word still hasn’t been uttered by the brunette, as much as Wade has tried to pry it out of him with his grubby little mercenary hands.
They’re just as good for each other as they are bad for one another, and it shows. They fight less, which is a plus. Well, they physically fight less, but they’re always bickering. They bicker like ‘a couple of baby-powdered, bingo night, diapered-up retirement home geezers’ according to Blind Al, but most of the time, their bickering doesn’t result in scuffles. And when they do scuffle, it almost always ends in bangin’ sex; so if Wade pokes and prods at the former X-Man a little more than he should, that’s his business and nobody else’s.
Logan has been drinking less, too. It isn’t something that he’d outright admitted to, but as someone who is unusually attached to Logan like a second skin, Wade has noticed. He still drinks on the bad nights, sure, and he’ll have a beer or two with dinner, but he can’t remember the last time he’d seen Logan take a bottle of something hard to his lips.
In response to that, Wade has been coked up less often than usual. He will occasionally partake in skiing with Blind Al, but it’s pretty rare, usually for special occasions like Thursdays. He’s taken up smoking weed a bit (to help with the chronic pain), but it’s a much-preferred vice to have, as agreed upon by the general public.
The other thing that is driving him a little bit insane is how soft Logan is when he wants to be. For being the world’s prickliest old man, the Wolverine is an exceptionally gentle lover. Sure, they have their fair share of bloody and violent moments of intimacy (ones Wade wouldn’t give up for eight thousand chimichangas), but the tender moments often outweigh the brutal ones.
Late in the evening, when they’re lying shoulder to shoulder on the shitty pull out couch, lit only by the tableside lamp without a shade, soft glances and even softer caresses are exchanged. Logan will be reading whatever classic novel he’d picked up from God knows where while Wade watches shitty reality television. Sometimes Logan’s head will come down to rest on his shoulder, or Wade’s bald, wrinkly scrotum head ends up in the other man’s lap, but either way, he wouldn’t give up those moments for anything in the world. The peaceful silence that surrounds them in those moments slows Wade’s overactive mind and allows him to truly be present in the moment - something that isn’t at all common for him.
Every night before bed, Wade utters a quiet “love you” to Logan. Sometimes it’s in the afterglow of good sex. Sometimes it’s during that teetering precipice right before sleep overtakes them both. Sometimes it’s after a shared kiss that’s so gentle it nearly breaks him into a million tiny, indestructible pieces.
The point is, he says it every night, but it’s never returned. Sometimes he thinks that Logan is going to say it, though; he’s absolutely damn sure of it some nights. Every now and then (maybe twenty-seven percent of the time), he’ll get this contemplative look on his face after one of Wade’s confessions, like he’s ripping apart at the seams trying to keep his mouth shut (something that Wade has personally never experienced, not once), but the words never come.
Most times, he just hits Wade with the dreaded I know (ouch!!!), rolls over onto his side, and goes right the fuck to sleep. It would almost be funny if it didn’t hurt so damn much. It’s not like they saved the world together through the power of gay love and Madonna or anything; they’re not that serious, actually. Knee-deep in the passenger seat, and all that jazz.
On the car ride home that day, Wade Wilson makes a promise to himself. He promises to be the best damn not-defined person to Logan. He’ll be so damn loveable and perfect and charming that the little beastie will have no choice but to - not only admit his deep, desirous love for Wade - but also propose with the biggest goddamn diamond engagement ring known to man; it’s going to be so enormous that Wade’s going to need to hold his right hand under the ring just to keep his left hand upright.
They’re going to move to Calgary (Go Flames!), drink so many Tim Hortons double-double iced coffees that they pass out, and be the hottest gay couple this side of the Canadian Rockies; it’s what they deserve, really.
He just needs a plan.