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Wade may not be the most coherent first thing in the morning, but really, the only logical explanation for the People magazine Valentine's issue laying on the bathroom counter next to the sink is that someone has gone and cured blindness, because it has to be Al's. He eyes the cover while he pisses, skimming the bright letters that advertise 69 Ways to Guarantee You Get Wrecked this Valentine's Day!
He hasn't celebrated since he used to call it Vanessatine's Day. Before her, with her, he adored the pink balloons and streamers, the heart-shaped chocolates and candies littering the aisles of just about every store. He buried her in gifts whenever he could. Every year since she left, though, they're just material reminders that love has an expiration date. Wade barely even registered it was February already.
He skips into the kitchen with the magazine in hand. Al and Logan sit together at the table eating breakfast, enjoying the calm until Wade breaks it, actually shatters it with the magazine. He waves it in front of them then slaps it onto the table when they don't look up, holding it down with his hand. Al only flinches and mutters at him to fuck off, but Logan?
Logan drops his spoon in his bowl of cereal and doesn't blink when milk sloshes over the side onto the sleeve of his cardigan. "Where'd you find that?" he asks in horror.
It's so cute the way Logan gets embarrassed, how he flushes from his cheeks to his hairline and stammers out half words or phrases. It's a better stimulant than most else Wade's tried, if he's honest, and his lips curl into a wicked grin as he starts to plot all the ways he wishes he could take Logan apart. Maybe this would be one of those days Logan has every couple of weeks where he can't keep his hands off Wade. He wonders if he can get him off just by talking. His mind starts to drift before Logan asks again, louder this time.
"Wade, give me that," he says when Wade doesn't answer and instead bites his lip to keep from laughing.
"Oh, come on, peanut. I know you've been trotting the globe for a while but you can't convince me this is the last thing on Earth you haven't read." He knows the titles Logan usually has his nose in, dense, wordy novels that make Wade's head ache and eyes wander.
"What is it?" Al says through a mouthful of cereal.
"Why, I'm so glad you asked! This is a People Magazine!"
"Give. Me. That," Logan bites out again, getting up from his chair now. He lunges for Wade, who makes a dash for the living room and leaps over the arm of the couch.
Wade's fast, and Logan's faster. One moment he's jumping gloriously onto the couch cushions, the next he's face down on the carpet with Logan on top and People underneath.
"We are way too clothed to be in this position, babydoll," Wade manages to gasp. Logan's weight is a solid pressure on his back, constricting his lungs so completely it sends a thrill through him right down to his toes. He wiggles them as his vision goes spotty.
"Will you just give it already?" the man above him growls.
Mary must've shit in his slippers or something—why else would he be so touchy about something as stupid as a goddamn magazine? Wade frowns into the carpet. "You really need it that bad?"
"Quit being an ass. It's been a while since I… dated. Anyone." He clears his throat and Wade feels his weight shift. "I guess I just want things to be perfect for my Valentine," he says a bit quieter, his dulcet baritone such a soothing and traitorous sound.
"Perfect?" Wade echoes. He's not present. He's not on the floor of his apartment, he's not even in New York—he's floating away because what the fuck. "You. Have. A Valentine?" A nausea worse than he's known in recent years threatens to climb out of his throat. How had he not even considered this?
Logan barks a laugh. "Yeah…?" he says it like it's obvious and truly, this is what pushes Wade to spiral.
Maybe Wade's willingness to always assume the worst is rearing its matching ugly head, or maybe Wade's just fucking stupid. It's barely been three months since the guy moved in, Wade shouldn't have fallen so hard so fast, he knows, and yet, he couldn't help but feel it was wanted. He was wanted.
Well, it was fun while it lasted. Really, really, really, fucking fun.
Logan's not on top of him anymore, instead kneeling on the carpet beside him and shaking a shoulder gently. "I'm going to be cooking dinner tomorrow, 'kay?"
Wade snaps out of whatever immediate paralysis he just experienced and jumps to his feet. He needs to get out of here. Logan says something else, but Wade's hardly listening.
"'Kay!" he declares, then turns on his heel and stalks back to the bathroom. Slamming the door quickly behind him, Wade takes one step forward and yelps when he steps on something harder than his cock at the aquarium's sea anemone touch tank. He hobbles to the side and eyes the culprit—a shiny silver belt buckle, one of Logan's. It's looped through his work jeans laying strewn in the middle of the tile, and Wade spots something poking out of one of the pockets. Really, Wade's only helping Logan by picking up his jeans and throwing away his trash. It's not his fault if the paper falls out, or if it turns out to be a note that says 'Call V 2pm.'
V?
A weird, almost aroused, then immediately distressed part of his brain tells him that V is for Vanessa. He drops the jeans and the buckle clatters on the floor.
No. She's with Dermot and the most respectful person he knows. Logan wouldn't do that, either. Unless it was to piss Wade off, maybe…
Veronica?
Wade watches Logan carefully through a small crack in the bathroom door, planning his unnoticeable escape. The man stands facing away from him, tending to the dishes. Just as Wade decides to open it further Logan starts to turn around, and he ducks out of view.
Violet?
He closes the door and paces across the tiles. The thought crosses his mind that they really should clean the grout between them. Maybe he'll get Logan to do it on his hands and knees, that would be- wait. There's a good chance V isn't even a woman.
Victor?!
Wade's running out of names and reasons to still be in the bathroom. He crumples the paper and tosses it in the trash, only to do a double take when he sees a few folded receipts in the bottom of the empty bag. What are the chances he actually took the garbage out the night before like he was supposed to? Wade: 2, ADHD: 719432287.
He reaches into the bin and grabs the receipts, turning them over in his hands. One's from Antonio's, Logan's work. Wade shoves that one in his pocket for later analysis. The next is just for gas, so he throws that one back in the trash. The last is from a place called Lou Winters and Wade's never heard of it. All it says on the receipt is CRIMSON, XXL, and Marvel Christ, it was $190?!
He shoves the crimson winters receipt into his jeans, too, then starts to picture where he's gonna pin it. Oh, yeah. The crazy cork board with red string connecting shit? He's got one of those in the back of Sister Margaret's. Weasel keeps trying to throw it out, but Wade's paying a dollar a month to keep the wall space now, so he might as well use it.
"Wade?" Logan calls out across the apartment.
"In the bathroom!" Wade yells back. He kicks Logan's jeans to the side of the room and turns on the tap to wash his hands. For the second time in the past 15 minutes. "Almost done!" He splashes water on his face to freshen up or something.
"Alright. I'm gettin' groceries for tomorrow," comes Logan's muffled voice through the wall. The front door shuts with a bang and immediately Wade bursts from the bathroom.
First order of business is food, because fuck, he missed breakfast. Al is nowhere to be seen as Wade makes his way into the kitchen. He takes a large spoonful of peanut butter from the jar in the cupboard and sticks it in his mouth upside-down.
Mouth glued shut, he's waltzing around the kitchen when the apartment landline starts ringing. He stares at it while it goes off, tongue still stuck in the peanut butter, and wonders who it could be. Al only ever calls people first and Wade used to have a cellphone, before he lost it in the void. He meant to buy himself a new one, but as it turns out, getting fired means having less money. It's not his responsibility to answer the phone, so he doesn't. He is a little shit, though, so he takes it off the wall and listens to the message being recorded.
"Hi there! This is Julie from Edible Arrangements, I'm just calling to remind you that your choco-strawberry bouquet will be ready for pickup by 4 p.m. Unfortunately, the message you requested was too long to hand write on the plaque, so we've shortened it to "To someone truly life-changing." Thank you so much for understanding, I hope you have a delicious day!"
Well. Wade hopes Julie chokes.
It's obvious Logan placed the order. It's undeniable, but who the fuck could he have met that changed his life in such a short time? Has he not known Wade for its entirety?
Wade hastily pours himself a cup of milk and washes down the peanut butter, then shoves a slice of bread in his mouth for good measure. Alright. Now that he has some food in his system, he can think rationally.
Realistically, Wade's logic is sound probably 67.8% of the time. In this case, it's about as sound as the San Andreas Fault; as he's pinning receipts to his cork board, Wade decides that the only reasonable explanation is that Logan's been poisoned or put under a spell or some shit. He stands back from the board with a finger to his chin like it'll activate his latent detective abilities.
The silence of early morning (11 a.m.) Sister Margaret's is eerie and Wade doesn't feel like he's actually standing in the bar, just floating, his body a foggy apparition. This Vicious (that's what he settled on V standing for) person captured Logan's attention, his care, stole it to spite Wade personally, it seems. He's about to crash out and start throwing knives when he remembers he owns just about every handgun under the sun and his muscle-memory has aimbot.
So what if they've got some dark magic thing going on? He's gonna kill this motherfucker. Surely that'll break whatever slutty spell they cast on Logan.
Wade stabs the note with the letter V on it, babyknife sticking into the cork and holding it to the center of the board. "Gotcha."
He did not, in fact, have shit.
Turns out Lou Winters is a frilly boutique in Downtown Manhattan with tall, arched windows. In the displays, mannequins adorning matching-colour sets of lingerie are poised, and between them, a glass door with an Open! sign chimes when Wade pulls it toward him. The tiniest shred of doubt in Wade's mind, the stupid, childish bit that tells him the mannequins were a red herring, is shot down as soon as he walks into the store.
It's all lingerie.
Wade pulls the crumpled receipt from his pocket. Crimson, XXL. He can't help the harsh jealousy that bubbles up as he imagines who Logan could've bought it for, pictures his fingers grabbing handfuls of large, soft breasts and hips, the red lace hugging, no, embellishing a smooth expanse of skin-
He walks out just as fast as he walked in, but not before catching the date on a promotional sale poster. Valentine's is fucking tomorrow. Shit's adding up and he doesn't like it.
Of course, Wade finds Logan sitting with Mary and Al on the couch when he gets home—how is he supposed to jump the motherfucker now?
"There's leftovers on the counter for you," Logan says without looking up from the TV. Not even a glance.
Wade knows the man loves his Rachael Ray, but damn, it's starting to feel personal. First the magazine, then the mystery lover and all the strings attached without so much as a word, it's killing him. Or at least, he wishes it fucking would already.
On the counter, there's a plate covering another. Wade lifts the top and stares at the leftover pasta. The TV drones on and he catches a few instructions like 'heat oil and butter in the pan', or 'filet the chicken into nice, thin pieces' as he brings his fork to his mouth. The pasta's cold.
Logan's taking notes like he does the nights before Al's friends come over for their old soaps reruns. He squints at the TV while his hand writes in loopy script across his notebook, fully engrossed in copying down the seasoning blend. That man loves to please company, even if only from the kitchen.
"Peanut," Wade says. He hopes panic doesn't seep through his words. "I thought you said you were cooking dinner tomorrow."
"Yeah, for Valentine's." Logan turns to face him with an adorable smile, one usually reserved for the laziest of mornings or latest of evenings, and jealousy blooms a garden in Wade's chest.
No, this can't be right, Logan wouldn't, not- "Here?" Wade squeaks. "You're cooking dinner here?"
"Of course, what's the matter?"
It's not mean. Wade knows what Logan sounds like when he's annoyed or frustrated, and this isn't it, but it sets him off regardless. "What's the matter?" Wade throws his head back and cackles something hollow and wretched. He doesn't even fucking care. Whatever. Whatever! "Okay, okay- Goodnight. I'm leaving again." He announces, and doesn't bother to pay attention to Logan or his reaction as he sets off for the bedroom.
The rest of the evening is a streaky blur.
Wade bolts from the apartment suited up and with enough ammo to take military control of a small country, takes about 27 shots of tequila to the face at Sister Margaret's, then decides to hit up Wall Street.
Meatheads just take bullets so well. They also offer cash up front, and maybe it's a little cruel that Wade lets them think he'll take the bargain before he cocks a gun over his shoulder on the way out. Cocaine is easy to find, though, and after a few lines, Freddie Mercury is singing out the soundtrack to his slaughter spree. His imagination supplies the piano.
'Let them eat cake,' she said, just like Marie Antoinette!
He waltzes through office buildings in Lower Manhattan and relieves them of their wealthiest wolves, the greedy fucks working after hours to make rich people richer.
Caviar and cigarettes, well-versed in etiquette,
Extraordinarily nice.
Wade shoves the barrel of his gun in the mouth of a wiry, greasy man and fires without a second thought. That's right, bitch. He's a killer queen.
At some point, the sky lightens and Wade starts to feel himself come down from the high he's been feeding all night. His head pounds as he stumbles through the back door of Sister Margaret's again. With no other leads after the lingerie, Wade decides he'll just wait until they're supposed to show up at the apartment. No need to spend all this time trying to hunt them down if Logan's just going to let them waltz right in. The thought of a stranger in his home and Logan's arms makes his skin crawl beneath the suit, and he shakes out his limbs, whacking his hand on a nearby table.
"Ah, fuck, what else? What ELSE?!"
"To someone truly life-changing," Wade says aloud. He wants to throw up, so he bends over and snorts a line of coke off the counter. At least he thinks it was coke. Was he underestimating this person? How powerful are they to change the will of the fucking Wolverine?
Wade spends most of the day getting intimate with the hardwood floor of the bar, slipping in and out of an attempt to sleep off the hangover.
When he finally gets home in the early evening, the apartment smells like chicken and heartbreak. Wade mopes through the door and starts unstrapping his boots, then kicks them off to the side.
"I'm outside, gimme a sec!" Logan calls, his voice carrying through the kitchen from the fire escape.
Wade winces at the sudden sound. Here goes nothing. He makes his way to the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks when he sees the title of the recipe card Logan has out: Marry-me chicken. Of. Fucking. Course.
Outside the open window, the fire escape is set up with a picnic blanket and cardboard box tables, one for each of them. Logan sets out two plates of the chicken and pasta in what looks like a cream sauce, then licks a bit of sauce off his finger where he'd touched the food. He steps back into the kitchen and ducks through the window.
"She's not here yet?" Wade asks, eyeing the choco-strawberries displayed in the center of the blanket. He wants to cry. He's about to just come clean and confess, tell Logan he can't live watching him go after someone else under his roof, not when he thought they had something real and rare, and so goddamn awesome.
"Who, Al? No, she took Mary out with her." Logan reaches forward and pulls Wade in by the waist. "We've got the whole apartment," he says lowly, a grin curving his lips. "Happy Valentine's, darlin'."
"Valentine's?" Wade squeaks as Logan's hand creeps lower and cups his ass. He wonders if his healing factor fucked up and he's still high as balls, hallucinating under a table somewhere. His brain barely processes the pet name. Surely, it's not for him. It's not supposed to be for him.
"I told you yesterday. Where've you been?"
Wade doesn't answer right away, can't even bring himself to take off his mask. He can tell he's only got about five seconds to think of something convincing before Logan shoves his nose in Wade's latest escapades.
"Weasel had something for me last minute," he lies and steps back. Wade pats down the pockets of his suit and pulls out a few wads of bloodied cash, offering it to the other man.
Logan takes the money and tosses it on the counter without a glance, then takes Wade back in his arms. "Come and eat, before it gets cold," he chides, then slips his thumbs under the edge of Deadpool's mask.
Wade can't tell if his heart's racing from excitement, confusion, relief, or an infuriating cocktail of all three. He lets Logan take off the mask and goes with him to the fire escape.
Dinner is fucking delicious. Wade makes Logan blush by saying it's so good he wants to marry him—well, it's either that or the obnoxious moans he makes slurping up the linguine, letting the cream sit on his bottom lip for a few tantalizing extra moments before licking it up. He tells Logan about last night's victims (himself excluded, of course) and the man watches him silently, appreciative and rapt. Wade can't wait for dessert and sneaks a few chocolate strawberries when Logan isn't looking (Logan takes a sudden interest in the crows dotting nearby power lines and lets Wade pretend he's slick). The sentiment written on the bouquet, that he is truly life-changing, keeps haunting his periphery.
Eventually, the sun starts to dip and burn the sky, and Wade shivers in the frigid February air despite the suit. Like the truest of gentlemen, Logan wraps him up in his too-big sherpa-lined denim jacket, then kisses him on the cheek.
"I'll make something warm," Logan says and disappears into the kitchen.
He returns soon after with two steaming mugs and hands Wade the bigger one. It's the white and pink cat mug they found at the dollar store, one Wade spotted and immediately clocked as rip-off Hello Kitty merch. Logan had scoffed at the price, muttering about how the dollar store shouldn't be allowed to sell things for more than a dollar.
Warmth seeps into Wade's hands from the mug and he counts the mini marshmallows in his hot chocolate with glee. "Ten! Oh boy," he announces, hurrying to take a sip and then swearing when it burns his tongue.
"You say that like I'm starving you," Logan says with a chuckle.
"Ten is just a good number, peanut," Wade explains, setting his cup down. He reaches for a strawberry and takes a bite, moaning a bit—this one's drizzled with caramel and sea salt, and the fruit balances the richness of the candy perfectly. "It could be the best. For this mug, I'd say ten mini marshmallows is the ideal chocolate-to-marshmallow ratio."
"Sure, bub," Logan says and rolls his eyes. There's something so familiar in his voice that catches in Wade's chest like it phased through his skin and got tangled in his ribs.
Wade grabs his mug and downs the rest of the hot chocolate in hopes of quelling the wincing pain that grips his speeding heart. He still can't believe today's turn of events. When he sees Logan over the ceramic rim, he realizes his mistake. He's being watched with this sort of wistful, content look, and it's doing nothing for the ache in his chest, let alone the fact that it feels like he's swallowed fire.
"Nice mustache," Logan says with a smile.
It takes a moment for Wade to understand that he means from the milk foam, so Logan's already leaning in to kiss it away before he can get a word in. It's only a small peck at first. Wade puts his hand on Logan's bicep, tugging slightly, then Logan's falling into him.
His lips are firm and pressing against Wade's with excitement, hands reaching up to cradle his chin and hold his face. Logan parts his lips and breathes a sigh between them, his body a steady weight on Wade's chest as he leans closer.
Can he feel it? Wade's heart, beating like it's trying to leap from his rib cage to Logan's?
"Wait," Wade says as he breaks off for a breath. "Does this mean the crimson winters lingerie was for me, too?"
"How'd you know about that?" He pecks Wade again on the cheek, surprised but unbothered.
"I'm Marvel Jesus." A flick to the forehead. "No? Okay, I found the receipt in the garbage and then went to the store because I was curious. Sue me!" Another white lie is fine, surely, Wade thinks. As it is, everything's coming up Woses.
"It's not for you, Wade. It's…" Logan trails off after dragging his eyes over Wade's body, then tips his head to the side and blushes for what has to be the millionth time. Cute.
WAIT.
"Okay, hold the phone," Wade says. "Please tell me you've got a pair of panties wedged up your ass right now," Wade all but begs. This catches Logan somewhat off-guard, his brows shooting up to his hairline and a smirk dancing on his lips. Wade wants to kiss him for real this time. He grabs handfuls of flannel and smashes their faces together.
Their foreheads meet before their mouths and Logan growls, taking Wade's face in his hands to redirect the kiss.
Making out with Wolverine on his fire escape wasn't on Wade's 2025 Bingo, but neither was making love with Wolverine on his fire escape. Which doesn't happen, by the way, but there's certainly no harm in trying. Wade tries to shove his hand down Logan's jeans.
"Wade, this is a third-story apartment," Logan says, breaking off the kiss. "There's people on the sidewalk. And dogs."
"Let them watch." Wade leans in again and Logan stops him with a hand on his chest. He doesn't even dignify Wade with a response, just removes his hand, gets up with a dad noise, and takes their empty mugs into the kitchen with him.
As soon as Wade's in the door, though, Logan kisses him and backs him into a wall. His lips make their way across Wade's jaw toward his ear and the man giggles as breath tickles the skin.
"Couch. Now," Logan says lowly.
Wade helps Logan tear off his layers of shirts and nearly creams his pants when he sees the red leather harness cut across Logan's chest, straps dipping over his shoulders and fastened behind his back. Wade fumbles for his belt and Logan undoes it with ease. The red-laced hem of the lingerie peeks through his fly as Logan unzips it and Wade's mouth fucking waters. Any residual doubt that this night was supposed to go another way is gone in an instant. He all but rips the man's jeans off as he pushes him to sit on the couch.
Logan lands on the cushions with a huff and kicks off the rest of his pants. The panties are cut like briefs with a frilly clam-shell border that looks delicious against the hairy muscle of his thighs, and a couple more straps hold up a pair of matching stockings. His hard cock is pressed up against the sheer fabric, the outline so clear and inviting.
Wade gives in so fast. He drops to his knees and starts to bathe Logan's clothed cock with his tongue, pulling more broken grunts and pleas. He nibbles a bit, too, and preens when Logan howls—Wade decides he wants him loud tonight. He lets drool drip from his lips then licks it back up, moaning in the back of his throat when he tastes pre-cum through the lace. Wade runs his hands up the man's thighs, squeezing and kneading the relaxed muscle. Such a powerful man whimpering under little old Wade Wilson, what a fucking sight. Licking up the fabric once more, he stops his teasing only to tuck his fingers in the hemline, then shoves the front of the panties down.
Logan gasps as his cock springs free, veiny, throbbing and dribbling. His hips twitch and he bites his lip, pretty eyes watery when he peers down at Wade between his thighs. Logan holds out a hand and strokes his cheek, "I fucking love you, you know?"
There's nothing else Wade can do but laugh as he holds Logan's hand to his face—it bubbles out of him, splits his face in two from ear to ear. "You have no idea," he tells him. It feels true enough.
Taking the man's pink, swollen head in his mouth, Wade sucks gently and Logan lets out a small cry. Not loud enough. Wade sucks again, harder, and Logan thrusts his hips against Wade's mouth as he yells out, seizing to try and regain control. Wade lets his jaw go slack and moans too when he feels a strong hand cradle the back of his neck. The first full stroke is slick with saliva, Logan's cock sliding down Wade's throat with desperate ease. The head of Logan's cock stretches Wade's esophagus until the shaft is fully buried in his constricting throat. Wade swallows his drool as best he can before Logan's hips start to rock into a gentle rhythm.
With wicked expertise, Wade bobs his head and lets out another moan, this time deeper and wrecked. He feels himself leaking into his suit as Logan bucks his hips and jams his cock further into his throat. This is all his mouth was made for, he thinks. His cock throbs. Spit dribbles down Wade's chin and he starts to choke a bit, eyes blinking shut as he lets his neck go limp and lets himself be used. Wade takes it all the way and hums while Logan grunts and spills down his throat, the last bit of cum trailing across Wade's tongue when he slips out of his mouth. The warm, salty aftertaste lingers after Wade swallows and he's drunk on it.
Logan's leaning back on the couch watching him with open admiration, his cock still hard and wet with a mix of spit and cum.
Entranced, Wade leans forward and licks it off. He closes his eyes and focuses on Logan's skin beneath his tongue, the feel of his veins sticky with cum. He climbs up onto the couch. Wade seats himself in Logan's lap and rests his forearms on the man's shoulders. "Tell me I'm good?" he begs. Wade falls into their dynamic like its the only one he knows.
"You're fuckin amazing," Logan replies immediately, and Wade grinds against his cock as a reward. Logan lets out a choked moan and tries to find the zipper on Wade's suit. Frantic fingers pull at various buckles and straps with little success. When he can't get it open, pleasure turns to impatience and Logan just rips the crotch seams with his bare hands and a growl.
Wow, that is fucking hot. "Baby, peanut, let me just get lube-" one of Logan's hands is over Wade's mouth before he can finish speaking.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," Logan promises and deposits him on the couch. Large hands grip the spandex stretched over Wade's thighs, pushing his legs up to his shoulders with an easy stretch. Crawling on top of him, Logan holds himself up with an arm next to Wade's head, the other reaching between his legs. He grips his cock in his hand and bites his lip, then shudders as he pumps his hand faster. "Let's see how good my aim is," Logan jokes with a cut-off moan, and Wade whimpers as his throbbing cock still goes untouched.
"You'd be one-hundred-percent accurate inside me," Wade complains and throws his head back, and then he howls when Logan finally, finally touches him. "Yes," he hisses, nearly sings. "You sure know how to keep a girl waiting." It's so good it's almost painful, the tiniest dose of relief as Logan wraps his hand around both of them and tugs roughly. He shivers when he sees their cocks side by side against the red lace and feels a boiling pleasure build with each stroke, skin against skin, tips kissing and spilling pre-cum over one another. Wade rolls his hips in time with the movement of Logan's hand and gasps when he feels his balls drag across the other man's, then does it again, and once, twice more, for good measure.
All it takes is a particularly hard thrust from Wade into Logan's tightened hand before Logan groans and leans back, cumming hot all over Wade's spread ass, dripping down to coat his hole. He leans forward and kisses Wade deeply, fingers tracing through his spend and catching on the rim of Wade's asshole.
Wade whines and tries to press against Logan's finger, chasing sensation and crying out when it finally penetrates him. Wade lets his eyes fall shut and just feels as Logan curls his finger, stretches the tight muscle, and slides the digit in and out stupidly slow. "Just fuck me already," Wade tries to goad again, and Logan's free hand smacks one of his ass cheeks. There goes the attention to Wade's cock. It's red and curved toward his stomach, neglected and again waiting for reprieve while another of Logan's fingers buries itself next to the first.
"Be patient," Logan mutters. He's still stroking his cock, only slower, trying to bring himself back to full hardness as he opens Wade up. His fingers stretch Wade's hole and the man wrestles against the awkward tightness of his suit, half-torn and bunching up around his hips. It's starting to feel claustrophobic. Logan sits back against the couch cushion, cock at attention, and lets Wade fully undress.
"I got another surprise for ya, bub," Logan says and reaches under the coffee table. He holds up a gift bag and crawls back over to Wade, taking in his nude form with hungry eyes.
"What's that?" Wade's face lights up in a grin, his heart beating ever faster. God, how is that even possible?
Logan puts on a matching smile. "Let me show you," he says, then leans in for a searing kiss. His tongue forces its way past Wade's lips and sweeps the inside of his mouth.
There's rustling of tissue paper and the telltale sound of a cardboard box being opened, and Wade mentally goes through all the retail evidence he collected. He'll admit that all things considered, Logan did a pretty good job of hiding everything.
First, he hears the buzzing, then he feels the tip of the cool, vibrating plug slide into him. Un-fucking-believable. "Oh, you didn't," Wade squeaks. The toy is almost fully seated in him, just barely humming up against his prostate. He throws out a hand and grasps the leather strap around Logan's shoulder. "Turn it up, baby."
"Hmm, I'll think about it," Logan says, jacking himself off slowly while he watches Wade squirm.
"Please?" Wade begs reflexively. Maybe it's a little pitiful, but a man has needs—right now, Wade Wilson needs an NC-17 Deadpussy & Wolverpeen crossover movie. "I deserve that much, after you forgot to ask me to be your Valentine."
Logan laughs. "What was today, then?"
"Today I realized you actually like me," Wade says, and he thinks belatedly that maybe he shouldn't have been so flippant. He blames the vibrator for scrambling his brain.
"What?" Logan says, barely above a whisper. He turns off the vibrator.
"Um," Wade replies intelligently.
"You thought I didn't like you? I told you I was cooking tonight, I, I-"
He sounds so sad when he asks and Wade can't meet his eyes. He closes them.
"That's why you were upset yesterday," Logan says softly.
"Yeah," Wade admits. "I thought, since you didn't ask me, I thought you, y'know." He sounds stupid saying it.
"Asked someone else," Logan finishes. He rubs his face with his hand and mutters something under his breath. "I'm so sorry, I should've-"
"Hey, no harm, no foul," Wade interrupts with another little lie. He tries to play it off but Logan's already shaking his head.
"I need to make it up to you," Logan says, then pushes Wade's thighs to his chest once more and shoves the plug back in his hole without warning. He turns it on at the highest setting.
"Logan!" Wade cries. His nerves feel like live wire, jolted by the vibrator as it makes its way deeper, and he truly cannot decide if this feels more like the journey to hell or nirvana. Maybe it's the same place—is there a difference, for men who can't die?
Logan doesn't let him get close enough to find out. Just as Wade's starting to feel overwhelmed, Logan yanks the toy out and pulls the man into his lap, kissing him again. "I wanna be your toy," he shudders as Wade nips the skin of his neck. "Use me to get off."
It's barely a demand, but obedience has never looked so good. Wade sinks on Logan's cock, stretching to fit him as each inch splits him open. He breathes hard and whimpers as he takes what is, he's certain, the largest cock he's had the pleasure of bottoming for. It fills him so well and yet can't quite reach the persistent ache in his abdomen. He needs it deeper. He can't seem to catch Logan's gaze; it's fixed on where his cock enters Wade, already dripping with his cum. With another pathetic little whimper, Wade drops and lets Logan bottom out in one go. "Holy Marvel H. Christ and all her disciples, that's the fucking spot," Wade sighs and curls his toes. He was already close to cumming before, but now he really won't last.
Logan closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose, his lips parted just enough for Wade to lean forward and take the bottom one between his teeth. Logan's hands come up to squeeze Wade's waist as they attack each other's lips, Logan licking into Wade's mouth fiercely.
Wade rocks forward on his knees and grasps Logan's neck as he starts to ride, feeling the burn of Logan's cock as it slides home again and again. He doesn't know when exactly his eyes slipped shut, but he may as well be dreaming. This is paradise—all his worries are being repeatedly thrust up his ass.
They snap open when Wade hears the single hottest sound Logan's ever made, this closed-mouth, whiny, long moan from deep in his throat. He glances at his body and his breath hitches at the sight of Logan's hands on his hips, knuckles white and gripping firmly.
"Wade, you're gorgeous," Logan chokes out, and Wade whines in response, hands tugging on the leather harness as he fucks himself on Logan's cock.
His thighs burn, his throat is hoarse from blowing and whining, and Wade's about to cum. He feels it, the height of the crest as the wave already begins to crash, slowly and all at once like a tide tumbling back into the harbour. His cock spurts ribbons of cum across Logan's chest and abs, pooling in the creases of sweat-shined muscles. Wade moans weakly and slows his rhythm, and Logan responds with a deep, loud growl. The man's not done, but Wade can't bring himself to keep riding—he feels like he's just blown a fuse by using every single electrical appliance at once.
With a frankly ridiculous amount of strength, Logan flips Wade onto his back on the couch and begins fucking him in earnest. Wade goes down with a yelp as Logan's hips snap quickly and hard, thighs hitting Wade's ass in lewd claps that echo around the living room. Logan breathes open-mouthed on the sweaty skin of Wade's neck and leaves sloppy kisses where his face is pressed closest. He speeds up his rhythm, arms hooking under Wade's knees to lift his legs over his shoulders. Logan grunts with every brutal thrust and Wade harmonizes with a down-right pornographic, orgasmic moan as the man's cock nails his oversensitive prostate.
"Fill me up, baby," Wade whines, and he fucking means it. "Breed me like we're the last people on Earth. Repopulate this pussy."
"Gonna stuff you," Logan growls. He reaches under Wade's ass to hold and pull him closer while he thrusts harder, the couch springs squeaking with them. Wade can't see Logan's eyes—they're hidden in the crook of his neck, squeezed shut in ecstasy—but he'd bet anything that they're shining with the fierceness he's admired since the first day they met. "Gonna stuff your wet cunt an' knock you up."
"Fuck!" Wade cries as the delayed final wave of his orgasm comes crashing down. It's a treat to get dirty talk from Logan; the man's usually all loud noises and heavy breathing. The words 'wet cunt' and 'knock you up' have Wade's eyes rolling to the back of his head. His vision's blurry but he swears there's still cum dribbling onto his stomach.
It takes one, two, three, four rough pumps of his hips for Logan to finally roar and drive his cock deep into Wade, pressing him to the couch and finishing with a skin-breaking bite to his neck. He clamps his jaw hard, hips still rolling slightly as his cock pulses and unloads.
Wade feels so full, so held, every surface of his body touching Logan's sparking his brain. The hot air from the rapid breaths on his healing neck, the warmth oozing from Logan's cock inside him, the rumbling of Logan's chest heavy on his—that's when Wade realizes Logan's laughing, and he can't stop.
"Did you say 'repopulate'?" the man wheezes.
"Maybe," Wade admits, and he's basking in the afterglow when he blurts out, "I love you too, by the way. Like, a lot. I would've mentioned it earlier, but you were so deep you were practically in my mouth-"
Logan cuts him off with a kiss, gentler than before, but passionate nonetheless. "I know, bub."
"Hey, babe?" Wade asks. He's suddenly very interested in a loose thread in the couch.
"Yeah?"
"Did you douche earlier?"
Logan snorts at that. "What if I did?"
"Then I'd say Valentine's has just begun."