Archive of Our Own

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It’s been a rough day - the kind where Wade just knows Logan isn't going to hold it together. There's a low pressure system rolling in, for starters, which always gets Logan’s bones aching. Their bodies have been through a lot, over the years, and some injuries heal better than others, so sometimes Logan’s left shoulder throbs from that time it got dislocated and reset too far forward. And sometimes his thigh burns at the place where a piece of shrapnel healed itself into his femur. And sometimes his spine aches from impacts too many to count.

When bad days come, they can be really bad days; days where Logan ends up stretched out across the sofa, biting the head off anyone who comes near. He doesn’t know how to ask for help, or accept it. So, on the bad days, Wade has to go through a bunch of convoluted charades just to get him to go take a hot shower, or eat a handful of Advil, or to borrow his bedroom to sleep on a real mattress for a while.

There always has to be plausible deniability about it - like Logan’s doing Wade a favour by looking after himself. It has to be Wade's idea. It’s got to be that Wade wants to play his video game really loudly, so can Logan just fuck off and sleep in his room for a while? Or, Al can smell yesterday’s mission on him, so can he go have a really hot bath, with lots of bath salts, and - oh, gosh - maybe that would make his tortured spine feel a little better, too?

Wow. What a coincidence… Wade’s not suggesting he needs to relax, or anything, though… Nothing like that, buddy…

When a bad day and some other stress coincide, they’re in for a really rough ride. Pain plus anxiety is enough to send Logan slinking off to the nearest bar, to bury his head in a couple bottles of jack. And visits to the mansion are the worst.

Wise in the ways of Wolverine management, Wade checks the weather reports before every visit up-state. If it looks bad, he takes preventative action - fakes a family emergency, or pretends Mary’s sick, or steals all of Logan’s shoes to stop him from heading out.

Today’s plan had been something along those lines. Wade was going to start off early. He was going to make pancakes and coffee, then pass by Logan’s favourite smoothie place on Mary’s morning walk. Then, he was going to ‘find’ tickets to the baseball that afternoon in his coat pocket, and pretend he’d double booked them, and convince Logan (hopefully in a good mood from all the pancakes, and coffee, and smoothies) to play hooky with him and go watch a game before getting an early night.

When Wade tumbles out of bed and stumbles to the kitchen, however, to pour himself a cup of tentative optimism, he finds Logan already awake and standing by the window, rubbing at his left shoulder. Checking the weather app on his phone, Wade sees that the low pressure system he’s been tracking has grown into a full blown storm, due to hit around four.

Two inches of rain and a lightning warning. Right when they’re at the mansion. Guaranteed shits and giggles.

And if that doesn't just ruin his whole day...

In time honoured bff-style, Wade tries to carry out his plan anyway. He piles pancakes onto Logan’s plate and pushes a huge mug of coffee into his hand, and, when Logan is starting to look a little less murderous, he ‘offhandedly’ suggests that this afternoon’s meeting is going to be a snoozefest and only one of them should go, or - fuck it - neither of them. Why don’t they just blow it off and catch a game instead, he suggests, and leave all the organisation to Peter this month?

That goes down like a lead balloon. Logan can sense the care in it a mile off - can sense the implication that he isn’t going to be able to handle himself - and that’s like waving a bottle of almond milk on front of a bull and telling him his mom’s life's work has been in vain. Logan’s just so fucking testy about this shit…

Glaring at Wade, he tells him he doesn't need anyone fussing over him, and he's going to the goddamn meeting because he said he would. And then he stomps off to eat his third serving of pancakes on front of the TV, leaving Wade at the table by himself.

Which is just so fucking rude. 

He doesn't even take the fork with him - just sits on the sofa and stabs his pancakes straight into his mouth with his stupid knife hands, dribbling maple syrup all over his jeans in the process. The rude, messy bitch.

.

The rest of the day plays out pretty predictably. They drive up to the X-mansion and Logan makes it all the way through the two hours in the back of Peter’s truck without biting anyone’s head off. He makes it through the three hour meeting with the ghosts of his dead friends without stabbing anyone. And through a tactical discussion about their next mission. And through Hank’s presentation on a new piece of medical tech. And through Ellie’s complaints about overarching strategy when it comes to liaising with other super forces.

He does real good but, somewhere between the appearance of some tiny sandwiches and Colossus standing up to toast a bunch of people who died in the last movie, Wade looks up from his end of the table and realises that Logan has slipped away.

This is bad news all round - because the only place worse than the meeting room for post traumatic Wolverine flashbacks is, basically, the whole rest of the X-mansion. So Wade needs to find him. And fast.

For the first time in his cursed life, however, everyone seems to want to talk to him. First it’s Hank with an idea for some new protective plating to the gauntlets of his suit. Then it’s Ellie, with some wild accusations (true) about him taking one of the new laser scopes from the armoury. Then it’s Kurt, wanting to talk Padel.

Wade manages to break free after ten minutes - turning down four offers of food, three offers of coffee, two questions about last month's expenses, and one accusation of fraud. Pushing through the meeting room door, he performs a quick sweep of the mansion, which shows no sign of Logan, then a sweep of the grounds which shows even less. Peter’s truck is sitting on the driveway, but Wade always feels weird stealing from a friend so, because it’s an emergency, (and because he’s basically officially an X-men these days, so it's totally (probably) allowed), he liberates one of the pool cars from the garage beneath the X-mansion and heads south to Jersey City.

.

By the time he pulls up on front of the apartment, he's hit about six traffic jams and is cursing his enthusiastic hydration from earlier in the day. Parking as close to the front door as he can get, he sprints inside, head ducked against the rain.

There’s a rolling rumble of thunder as starts up the stairs. Which is great. Really fucking great. Knowing Wade’s luck, Logan will have missed all the traffic and got home an hour before him, heard that thunder, downed an emergency mickey of Jack, and headed straight for the bar. If he'd managed to get to the A-90 before that second car vs truck, he might already be a couple of bottles deep, by this point, and he becomes increasingly hard to carry after three…

Fuck.

Wade takes the rest of the stairs two at a time, arriving breathless and damp at the apartment door. Digging the key from his pocket, he pushes his way inside, throwing out a pre-emptive greeting in case Logan is still at home, engaging in some hands-down-pants stress relief, and needs a moment to make himself decent.

“Baby boy!! I’ve come to save you!”

Baby boy is suspiciously absent from the sofa, however. And from the kitchen. And from Al’s bedroom. And the bathroom.

Wade pauses in the bathroom, for a moment, to take the world’s longest and most satisfying piss - live-streaming his stream in case Logan is listening. 

"Oh man, that was a close one. I nearly popped about five times back there. Every pothole was a test of concentration. I might need to ease up on the energy drinks. And also the caffeine. And the ket. Don't want things getting ropey in the holding department. Ugh-" He lets out a long sigh, enjoying the last few seconds of pissing where it no longer feels like his belly is on fire. “God, you know, everyone went deep about my motivations for joining the Avengers, but I was actually after whatever tech Stark has, for peeing in the suit. Honestly, I can take or leave the prestige. It’s all about the pisstige. I have dreams of driving to Nebraska with zero stops and zero need for bottles.” He finishes off and tucks himself away. Flushes and tosses his gloves onto the floor. Then he pushes back out into the hall. "Logan? You in here, buddy?”

There's really only one place Logan can be, now. Wade’s checked the rest of the apartment.

Poking his head around the door to his own bedroom, Wade's search is ended. Logan is spread out across his bed, still dressed in the clothes he was wearing at the mansion, a blanket pulled around his body, his head shoved under a pillow.

“Oh, peanut…" Wade stands in the doorway, watching him for a moment, watching his purposeful lack of reaction. "Mind if I come in?”

Logan doesn't say no.

He doesn't say yes, either, but Wade figures there's reasonable enough expectation of consent for a white man to pass an East Coast jury, so he slips inside, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

He paces over to the side of the bed, kicking his boots off before crouching down beside the nightstand.

“Hey, buddy. How ya doin' in there?”

Logan's jaw tightens, then he cracks an eyelid, squinting up at Wade in the lamplight. His expression is such a trademark mix of anger and shame that Wade has to pinch himself to remind himself that this is real; that he really has The actual Wolverine spread out in his bed, getting his outside clothes all over his sheets. 

"Okay, I can probably answer that one for myself," he admits, eyeing Logan's feet to make sure he has, at least, taken his muddy boots off. “You’re lucky you’re not the type of person that gets thrown out of bed for leaving crumbs, you know,” he tells Logan. “If anyone else pulled this shit on me they’d wake up in the Hudson.”

Logan continues to watch him.

"Sorry," he grunts, eventually. “It was quieter back here.”

Wade supposes it is quieter. The storm is driving into the front of the building but, back in Wade’s bedroom, there's just the occasional spatter of rain hitting the fire escape, and rattle of wind against the shitty glazing. The thunder is ever present, though. As Wade watches Logan, it makes itself known.

Logan’s eyes squeeze tight shut. The lines between his brows darken and he lets out a low, angry rumble of his own.

“Fucking hell…”

“Some crazy storm we have going,” Wade comments, hoping making light of the situation goes down better than offering help. “I kind of thought you'd be down at O’Neills, by now, drowning your sorrows. I was preparing to have to bring you home rolled up in a sheet, but it looks like you got there ahead of me."

There's another tiny roll of thunder, then the sky goes quiet.

After a few seconds, Logan's eyes reopen.

"Sorry," he mutters again. “It makes my head go like… bad static.”

Wade feels a little rush of fondness, trickling down the back of his spine; hot and sweet and familiar. Because, the truth of it all is, despite the bitching and the moaning, Logan is his bestest buddy and he doesn't begrudge his inability to regulate.

Sure, Logan can't ask for help to save his life, and his coping mechanisms are bullshit, but he is trying. He’s just new to all of this. New to having a home, and a job, and people he’s accountable to. He’s still learning how to manage all of that, while processing his grief. And, between being a total dick about the things he can't manage yet, he’s actually really fucking nice.

On a day to day basis, Logan is a great roommate. He buys groceries, and pays his share of the rent on time, and fills out any forms they need to fill out - which is a fucking relief, because Wade's always struggled to keep the lines and boxes straight in his head.

Logan laughs at his jokes, and leaves him notes on the fridge, and brings home snacks - and he’ll make a song and dance about it, but he will read his library books aloud to Wade, in the early hours of the morning, when neither of them can sleep and there's nothing good on TV. (When Wade would rather be sprawled out on the sofa, anyway, watching the lamplight play over Logan's face). And sometimes, when the story is too wordy to keep Wade's attention, Logan will start summarising it instead; telling it his own way, with embellishments. And sometimes he full-on makes shit up, just to see if Wade will call him out on it, so Wade will, and they'll argue good naturally about it, and it’s nice. It's comfortable, and sweet, and just-for-them, and it makes Wade's belly feel all squirmy inside.

He's got a little crush on Logan. He'll admit it. He figures it's pretty normal for anyone who's ever lived with the guy. 

It's not easy keeping your feelings in check when you’ve got a People's magazine centrefold strolling around your apartment. It's not easy adjusting to a life where Logan just wanders out of your bathroom in the morning in his y-fronts, sporting what has to be at least half morning wood, because otherwise he’s just wildly OP. It's not easy to glance up, while cooking, and find Logan stretching to reach something beside you - all biceps, and delts, and traps, and fuzzy strip of belly on show beneath his vest.

It’s impossible to handle that much Logan with your dignity intact. Losing your mind over him is totally normal. Just a totally normal side effect of having a bonafide X-man living in your apartment; smoking shirtless on your balcony, and petting your tiny hairless dog, and occasionally forgetting that he's supposed to be hot and gruff and angry, and just being hot for a second.

God, Logan’s great.

Wade's so into Logan.

And, yeah, that maybe makes him a little more tolerant of his shitty coping mechanisms. It means Wade goes out of his way to treat him nice. It means he does shit like download multiple weather apps on his phone, and keeps an eye on the calendar, and marks out which anniversaries trigger really bad days. He's willing to give Logan time to adjust, because he likes him. And because they have time.

Which is narratively lucky, when you think about it, because Logan's unresolved issues would pose a real impediment to any relationship building if they couldn't take it real slow. But they’re both guys who can take it slow... And how ABOUT THAT? Doesn’t that feel meant-to-be?

Wade reaches out, tapping the lamp on the nightstand down to its lowest setting so that Logan doesn't have to squint.

"Better?” He asks.

"Yeah." Logan swallows, throat sounding dry. “What time’s it?"

Wade checks his watch.

“Six.”

“Shit… feels like I’ve been out for hours.”

“Mm.” Wade watches his face. Watches the way his eyes slide around the room, the tension bleeding back into his body. “How long have you been out?”

“Thirty minutes.” Logan lets out a long, shaky breath. Stretches an arm. Winces.

“You sore?” Wade’s voice auto-regulates into something low and soothing. And maybe that disguises the ‘are you okay’ in it, because Logan answers without any bite.

“Yeah, my arms are killing.”

Licking his lips, Wade scoots an inch closer, achingly excited by this turn of events; because he’s not really been able to really flex into his caretaker abilities, thus far in their roommate-ship, and he feels like they might be the deal breaker in Logan ever considering him as a potential future fuckbuddy. 

“Can I get you an Advil or something?” He asks.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“I know.” Wade fiddles with the edge of the bedsheet. “Can I get you one anyway?” And maybe that’s a little too much, because Logan’s forehead creases and he pulls a face.

“M’fine, Wade, lay off…”

“Alright,” Wade reassures. He runs the bedsheet between his fingers another couple times, just watching Logan. Then, on impulse, he reaches up and tugs at the back of the Deadpool mask, pulling it over his head. “Man, that’s better.” Free from the fabric, he scratches at his skin, enjoying the sensation for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to write to the DMV and check it’s okay that I drive around in this thing… It must be cutting down on my peripheral vision, but then my reflexes are superhuman fast, so maybe that compensates? It's hard to say. We didn’t cover traffic regulations at Deadpool law school.”

Logan throws him an unamused look, but his mouth betrays him, twitching a little at the corner.

Wade’s stomach soars.

Yes. WIN.

“You want a water?” He asks, capitalising on the moment. 

Logan considers him for a second then shakes his head, expression falling back into 'morose'.

“Nah.”

“You want… a snack?”

“Wade, I'm-” overhead, the sky lets out a low roar then a crack. Logan closes his eyes. Waits a second before opening them. “You don’t have to fuckin' baby me,” he mutters, once the lightning's passed. “I’m not scared of the damn storm...”

As if Wade would DARE to suggest that.

“Duh, obviously." Wade rolls his eyes. "You’re just aurally sensitive. I remember that, from the last time you totally reasonably bit my head off about it.” He eyes Logan. “I take all your feedback on board, you know. I scribble it down in the notes app, on my phone, and read it to myself every night, and, like, stress about it a bit.”

"Don't I know it…” Logan sighs, glancing up at the window.

Wade glances up at it, too. Then back down at Logan’s face. Then back up. Then, slowly, so that Logan can tell him if he’s being a dick, he reaches up and tugs the drapes across the glass, closing off the streetlights, and the skyline, and the world outside. 

“Better?” He asks Logan, crouching back down.

“Yeah.” Logan grunts.

Taking a second or two to adjust to the half-dark, Wade reaches out to the nightstand, to the glass of water that’s sitting there. Taking a sip first, he offers it out to Logan, who - despite his earlier protestations - takes it.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing, honeybadger.”

When Logan’s done, he hands the glass back to Wade, rather than putting it back on the nightstand himself. And that’s all the confirmation Wade needs about him needing a bit of babying.

“Okay,” he claps his hands together, feeling a little more confident. “Here's what we're going to do… I’m going to make my patented blanket fort, and we’re going to pretend he sky doesn’t exist, for a while, and- no I’m not taking requests-” he says, as Logan tries to interrupt. “We’re trying this my way. And if that doesn’t work, we can consider other options. But, for now, I’m gonna give you some painkillers, and earplugs, and some top-shelf Armagnac I stole from Ness after we broke up, and we’re going to ride out this storm the way that Marvel God intended - drunk and slightly dissociated. Does that sound doable, peaches?”

Logan watches him in the half light. Eyes reflective pools.

“I don’t need lookin' after,” he tells Wade, one more time.

“I know you don’t,” Wade answers, with more confidence than he actually feels, “but I’m going to do it anyway. And you’re going to let me. Aintcha?” He dips his head to one side for the last bit, a little bit cocky - because Logan likes that.

There isn’t a lot that Wade knows, for sure, that Logan likes about him, but confidence is one thing. The other thing is his thighs, and Wade's not sure how he’s going to work that into the blanket fort experience, but he’s going to fucking try. 

“Come on peanut," he tries a little smile in Logan's direction. "It's just a couple blankets. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work."

And, eventually, Logan nods.

"Okay!" Wade claps his hands, delighted. “Lets fucking go!”

Reaching under the bed, he scrabbles around until he finds the cool, dusty shape of a spirits bottle. Pulling it out, he turns it over, examining the label.

It's good stuff. The only reason Wade’s not drank it already is because it’s an emotional bombshell of a bottle. He'd bought it on sale, three summers ago, with intentions of him and Vanessa drinking it at Christmastime, naked on front of a fire, and Ness’s expression, when he’d told her that, had sent a cold rush down his spine and solidified the suspicion that they weren’t going to be together, in six months' time. And that had sucked so bad that Wade had stowed the booze away and tried not to think about it again. 

He's got shitfaced drunk about twenty times, since the breakup, but he’s never dipped into the Armagnac. It always felt too close to the bone. But tonight it would be for a good cause, he thinks, turning over the bottle. Logan is a good cause.

And there’s probably some symbolism in it, too. Wade's unwilling to commit to that before the end of the fic, though… he’s waiting to see how the blanket fort plays out. 

Logan takes the dusty bottle, frowning.

“We drinking this straight?” He asks.

“We sure are! Gird your loins.” Wade dips back beneath the bed, pulling out an equally dusty blanket and shaking it, wincing at Logan’s resultant sneeze. “Oops! Sorry, peanut. That's my bad.”

Standing up on the edge of the bed, he ties one corner of the blanket to the curtain rod and stretches the other across to the corner of the closet. The third corner, he secures onto one of the bottom bedposts with a zip tie from the back pocket of his suit.

Always prepared.

Ducking his head under the canopy, he looks down at Logan, who looks back up at him, clutching the bottle of amber liquid, expression grumpy.

“This is stupid," he growls.

“And, yet, here you are,” Wade grins. “Humour me for, like, two more minutes?”

Logan rolls his eyes but doesn’t move. 

Ducking back out, into the room, Wade gathers up two more blankets, creating a kind of layered teepee effect around the bed, then fetches his best earphones from the living room, a couple of things from the nightstand, and sticks his head back inside the impromptu tent, grinning at Logan.

“Right. Permission to board?”

“What?” Logan’s face creases up - a big show of offence that doesn’t go more than skin deep. Wade can tell. His forehead is creased in all the wrong places for that. “Fuck no,” Logan growls. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

“Oh nooo…” Wade says, clambering into the bed anyway. Because it’s his bed. And because Logan doesn’t actually mean it. “Is that too gay for you? Too much like boy-on-boy action?”

Logan throws him a disgruntled look.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s not.” Wade grins at him, flopping down and kicking his legs about a bit, to free himself from the blankets. “You’re totally up for a bit of boy-on-boy action. I’ve seen the search history on my laptop.”

Logan watches him, a blush spilling over his cheeks, the rest of him painted in a soft orange glow. Lamplight through blankets.

He looks like a renaissance painting. He’s so fucking beautiful.

“And, since you don’t actually have a problem with that,” Wade tells him, pressing into the silence following the tease, “I’m forced to consider that your disgust is more about me as a person, which is actually way meaner. I mean, look at me, peanut. You can’t say mean shit about someone like me… I look like the love child of a pangolin and a jigglypuff. I probably lie awake, at night, crying because men like you don't want to share a bed with me. You can't be mean to me."

Logan’s mouth opens, clearly about to bite back with some snappy one-liner, but Wade chooses that moment to shove the headphones onto his head, upsetting the kitty-ears.

“Hey!" Logan growls.

“Oops!” Wade grins, unapologetic.

Fiddling with the on switch, he makes a meal of adjusting the headphones so that the foam covers both of Logan’s ears. And Logan grows and curses at him, but he doesn’t actually push him off. Doesn't throw the headphones away. 

“So, this is your big plan, then?” He asks, voice heavy with sarcasm - the bite of it undercut when a particularly hard gust of wind rattles the window and he flinches.

“Yup." Wade nods. “Pop the booze and swallow these.” He shoves a couple of Advil into Logan's hand, then wriggles himself down into the pillows, getting comfortable.

He’s still wearing the Deadpool suit, which would normally be a huge big HECK NO, for Wade, but Logan’s in his outdoor clothes, too, so they’re already going to to have to wash the sheets. Plus, Logan might draw the line at him stripping down to his shorts. Gay jokes aside, it’s a delicate moment and Wade doesn’t want to give him a hard time.

Pulling at his shoulder holster, Wade unclips his guns and drops them to the floor behind him. Then slides the pistol from his hip. Then his throwing knives. Then his stabbing knives. Then his baby knife. Then his second baby knife.

Across the way, Logan works the cork free from the bottle, watching him.

"You have so many knives." He grumbles.

“Ditto, kittyclaws,” Wade winks. “Bottoms up!" He nods towards the bottle.

Grunting something that might be 'cheers' back, Logan lifts it to his lips, throwing back a mouthful of amber liquid. And he's just-

Fuck.

God, he's so fucking great. Wade would watch his pink lips close around anything, all day long.

“Good?” He asks, trying not to let too much of it show on his face.

Logan nods, taking a second swig, then offering the bottle over. And Wade’s not the kind of guy to walk into a high-stakes romantic-coded interaction sober, so he takes it.

Lifting the bottle to his lips, he takes a long gulp, enjoying the burn.

“Man, this stuff is good. I can’t believe I've been sitting on this for years! I could have been sipping it in one of those big fat glasses when I stared into an open fire, having deep thoughts.”

Logan scoffs at the ‘deep thoughts’ part.

"Doubt it.”

“I could have been adding it to my coffee in the mornings, to spice up the day." Wade continues. "I could do two shots, after the cream. A double double double.”

"More likely," Logan grants.

They watch one another for a long moment, then the wind throws another gust of rain against the window, and Logan flinches, and Wade remembers his duties.

“Sorry, kitten.” Digging out his phone, selecting a pre-made playlist and connecting to the headphones. “How's that work for you?” Wade asks, over the low thrum of The Yardbirds. “Appropriately soothing? Or would baby prefer a bit of Bach?”

Logan gives him a withering look but he still doesn’t squirm away. He reaches out for the bottle instead, and swallows back another mouthful.

Wade watches him, scrolling through the playlist, adjusting it based on the months of musical reconnaissance he's conducted, in the back of cars, and on stakeouts. His Wolverine homework.

From careful observation, Wade has deduced that Logan likes seventies rock, and sixties pop, and a smattering of nineties indie. He’s likes a little melody in his bass lines and a decent guitar solo, and he’ll listen to most of what Wade plays, from the eighties - but Wade suspects that any enjoyment of glam metal comes solely from Wade’s own enjoyment, so he avoids that for now.

He queues up a few things that will go down well, instead. Watches Logan lean back against his pillows and listen.

“Your arms still sore?” Wade asks, after a minute or so has passed.

Logan looks up at him, skin lit pink and orange.

“Huh?”

"Oh." Wade reaches out, flipping a little button on the side of the headphones, so that they won't white-noise out his voice. "Are your arms still sore?" He asks Logan again.

Logan watches him for a very long moment. Then he nods.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. C’mere.” Setting his phone down, Wade reaches out for one of Logan’s wrists. “Gimme.”

Logan lets him take one, eyes hesitant.

“What you going to do?” He asks.

“Ohh... terrible things,” Wade answers, working his hand slowly up Logan’s forearm, feeling along the tender underside of the muscle belly there. “I was thinking… skin em, then pull all your little fingie bones, then make wind chimes out of your claws...”

Logan frowns.

“Funny,” he mutters. 

“I’m gonna make them feel better,” Wade reassures him. “Just trust me, peanut. I got skills. Gimme.”

And slowly, Logan gives his arm over.

“Okay…” Wade keeps his eyes focussed down, trying to stay calm. Because honestly he was fifty-fifty on whether Logan would allow him to touch like this. He's still surprised he got past blanket fort. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he exhales, pressing a thumb into the underside of Logan’s wrist.

He’s actually not lying about having skills. He’s received one hundred percent positive reviews from one hundred percent of his previous partners about his long, dextrous fingers. Wade’s good at touching people. He pays attention, and he's careful, and he notes what works and what doesn’t. There aren't many things in life he can claim he's naturally good at but this is one of them.

Sliding his hands up to Logan’s elbow, he finds the tense attachments of his wrist muscles and starts to rub at them.

Logan groans, then winces, flexing against him.

“Fuck…”

“Relax,” Wade murmurs, not thinking - then remembering that Logan doesn’t like being told what to do. Before he can figure out some way of backpedaling, however, Logan’s nodding and relaxing in his hands, his arm going soft and limp. And okay… okay, that works. “Good boy,” Wade breathes, feeling the heat of it in his spine.

“Uh-huh,” Logan nods, letting his head flop back against the pillows, eyes closed. And that sends another rush up Wade’s spine.

Oh shit. Okay…

“Just like that,” Wade breathes again.

“Uh-huh." Logan’s lips part slightly, the distant sound of a guitar solo filling his ears, his right hand curled loosely around the bottle.

Wade works down to his wrist and then up again, feeling along the muscle groups that he knows and the extra ones that are Logan’s alone - the ones that control the metal beneath his skin. Carefully, Wade explores around the base of each of claw, feeling down between the arm bones, into the fleshy places where they attach to his skeleton.

Each press is rewarded by a soft little ‘uh’ and Logan dropping his head back even further.

“Does it hurt?” Wade asks, after the third time.

“Yeah,” Logan nods, swallowing. “But… in a good way?”

And that tracks, Wade thinks, rubbing over the spot again, watching Logan’s forehead crease. That tracks.

“Okay,” he reaches behind him, grabbing the bottle of almond oil he’d brought from the nightstand. “Tell me if this is too much.”

“Uh-huh.”

Coating his fingers in oil, Wade works the thick muscle up to the Logan's elbow, spreading his fingers to continue around the back of his arm, digging into triceps, then delts, then squeezing his shoulder joint from the outside. Logan lets out a low groan.

“Yeah?” Wade glances up at his face, fingers slowing. “You okay?”

Logan breathes out really slow, and Wade’s not sure he’s even heard him, over the music. Then he notices a little shift of his cheek against the pillow. A little nod.

And that's a good thing. That's definitely a good thing.

Oh-fucking-kay. Let’s go, baby.

“Good,” Wade breathes out, heat pooling in his belly, blood resolutely flowing down towards his dick. He shifts against the bedsheets, drawing one leg up to give himself a bit of cover. “You want me to do the other side, too?”

Logan opens his eyes, looking dazedly up at him.

“Yeah,” He nods, breathless. Shifting onto his back, he takes another swig of amber liquid, then switches the bottle to the other hand, offering his right forearm out to Wade.

“Okay,”

Wade's mouth carries on without him, mumbling platitudes, and praises, and little utterances of Logan’s name. He can’t help himself. He knows he should shut up. If he doesn't, Logan’s inevitably going to realise that he’s really into this, and that he’s Wade, and that that’s embarrassing. It makes this a thing. And Wade isn’t sure exactly how Logan’s going to react to that.

Some days, he can convince himself that Logan likes him that way. He’s noticed the way his eyes linger, when he is doing something athletic. He's noticed the way that they catch on his thighs, and on his hip holster, and his hands. It feels like those looks are about sex.

Logan likes guys and Logan likes watching him, and it feels like those two things should add up easily - but there are, sadly, more variables that go into a decision like fucking Wade Wilson than Wade Wilson feels comfortable in predicting. Logan might like him, might even want him, but Wade's not sure it’s enough to overcome the rest. (That huge, terrifying societal ‘rest’).

“Damn, that's a knot,” Wade murmurs, to distract himself from his spinning thoughts, digging his thumbs into a spot above Logan’s right elbow.

Logan’s lets out a low groan.

Wade watches him, eyes trained on his wet, pink mouth, desperately trying not to think about sliding any part of his body inside of it, because he’s already hard enough inside his stupid stretchy pants, and hiding it will get harder if he dribbles precum all over the place. 

“You need more pressure?" He asks Logan, to distract himself. "Or less?"

“No it's good, can you-” Logan turns his hand to offer his knuckles, the tips of his claws sliding out.

Wade watches blood bead over his skin. Watches it slide down between his fingers, onto the sheets, exasperated and turned on all in one, because Logan can be a thoughtless bastard. He has a total lack of appreciation for how hard it is to get blood out of cotton. He's a rude, messy bitch, with way too much attitude and way too little control, but if this is what it takes, to see him let go, he can bleed all over Wade’s life any time. Any fucking time.

What are a set of sheets between friends anyway?

“Okay. Gotcha," Wade swallows, pressing fingers into the scar tissue where Logan’s claws emerge.

And Logan makes a noise that's close to ecstasy.

And any hope Wade had had of keeping his dick from achieving full liftoff leaves the building.

Need rushes down his spine, pooling in his dick. He tilts his hips forwards, pressing himself against his inseam for a bit of relief, swallowing back a noise of pleasure, trying to keep it subtle.

“That better?” His voice has dropped about an octave lower, though, which is pretty fucking telling. It sounds like he wants to roll Logan over, and fuck him into the sheets.

"Yeah..." Logan breathes out, eyes still closed.

“This setup is pretty wild, honeybadger,” Wade continues to talk, pressing his fingers into claw muscles, trying to keep his mouth busy so the wrong words don’t spill out. “You’ve got these little slips around the end of each of these bad boys, like a safety. I reckon they work like a double release - one twitch to unlock, one to extend.”

“Yeah, feels like it,” Logan confirms, with a swallow. And he doesn't sound unaffected either. His voice has dropped so low that Wade's eyes automatically dart down to his crotch - but Logan's still half wrapped in the blanket, so he can't see a damn thing.

ASS.

“You should get these out more, you know,” he suggests to Logan, starting to babble as he loses his mind. “You know, like stretching before going to the gym. You’re used to going zero-to-one hundred in a fistfight, but we’re not getting any younger. Maybe we need to get you on some kind of claw yoga regime. Or a regular massage. I'm always here, you know. Mis manos son tus manos.”

Ah shit.

Wrong words. Wrong words!

Wade bites his lip, watching Logan’s face, waiting for him to growl at the idea, but Logan doesn't. 

“Bub, if you’re willing, I’m willing,” he rumbles, instead, pushing his head deeper into the pillows, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.

And Wade stares.

Stares, and presses his fingertips into Logan's wrists, and tries to stop himself from clambering up to apply his mouth to his thick, exposed neck. He wants to suck. To bite. To tell Logan he’s a dirty fucking boy and it should be illegal to flirt with someone when you look like he does. It should be double illegal.

“Anytime,” he mumbles, instead, working his fingertips up the inside of Logan’s bicep, causing Logan’s to mouth fall open a little. Which is so, so, so unfair. He’s wet and pink inside, and Wade’s only got so much willpower. “Just an FYI,” he tells Logan, swallowing back on the need, “I will be requiring all further massage appointments to be conducted naked, in the traditional manner.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth pull back properly, and he lets out a low rumble of a laugh.

“Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wade breathes out, shallow. “It works better. It’s just science.”

“Alright. Good to know,” Logan says. 

And what the fuck is Wade supposed to do with that?

He’d thought that this would play out with Logan a little bashful and embarrassed, but generally grateful for the attention. He’d thought it would be a gentle intro into touching. And, yeah, he’d planned on a little flirting, but only enough to show interest. He definitely hadn’t expected Logan to flirt back.

His fingertips trace one last time around Logan’s knuckles, touching the warm metal bases of claws before reaching up and squeezing his forearm, up, towards the elbow, trying to encourage the claws back in. Which works. Wildly.

“Oh man,” Wade lets go of Logan slowly, looking down at his forearm, watching the skin between his knuckles healing over. Turning dark pink. Then soft pink. Then white. “Wow.”

God he sounds pathetic. He sounds like he’s fifteen, seeing boobs for the first time.

He feels like he’s fifteen, seeing boobs for the first time.

Taking the bottle from Logan’s loose grip, he takes a sip, feeling dizzy; half cut on a quarter of booze and one whole ass Wolverine.

He literally can’t believe this. They’re sitting in bed together, Logan letting him touch, and flirt, apparently A-okay with all of it. And Wade wants to lean in and find what else he’s okay with, but there’s a lot of complicated stuff that comes along with that. And, fuck, maybe this is all just situational... Maybe Logan’s just got really sore hands...

“You gonna do the rest of me?” Logan asks, opening his eyes to look over at Wade, and Wade's brain grinds to a halt - because that was NOT how this scene played out in his head.

He's off script. Lost in the prose. Lost in the sauce.

“Uh…” he blinks, not sure how far he can push this. "I'm not nearly straight enough to manage that with my dignity intact, peanut,” he hedges, eventually.

And Logan’s eyes stay locked on his.

“Good to know,” he says, mouth curling into a grin. And what the fuck is Wade supposed to DO with that?! Reaching out, Logan takes the Armagnac back. “This stuff is great, by the way.” 

And Wade has to rearrange his brain to try and catch up.

“Uh… yeah.” He asks, weakly. “Vanessa’s favourite.”

“Yeah?” Logan eyes him, intentionally. “She has good taste.”

And Wade’s way too far gone for comments like that.

“You better be real careful, peanut,” he tells Logan, breathlessly. “You’re getting dangerously close to being nice to me, right now.”

Logan doesn’t say shit to defend himself. Just grins a little more.

And, fuck, maybe this is it.

Maybe this is his moment.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Wade reaches out and touches the front of Logan’s shirt.

“Do you want me to do the rest of you?” He asks, heart staying in his mouth for a full five seconds, until Logan nods. Then he lets out a huge breath he didn't know he was holding. “Okay…” His heart lurches faster. “Okay. Uh… you gonna take this off, then?” He tugs at his shirt.

“Mmh.”

Taking one last sip of booze, Logan hands the bottle over and sits up, dragging his t-shirt back over his head, exposing what feels like acres of skin.

“Oh my god,” Wade blinks, experiencing a sudden, ladylike moment of discomposure over seeing his nipples - which isn’t something that’s ever happened to him, before, but whatever. What's a guy to do? He’s got The fucking Wolverine stripping in his bed. He’s allowed a moment of discomposure. Forcing his eyes away, he searches for something else to look at. Something that won’t make him come. He spots Logan’s fallen headphones. Reaches out. Grabs them. “Get those back on! Don’t want Vecna to get you. Safety first.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan laughs.

“I don’t know." Wade admits, shoving the headphones back onto his head, fussing with the strap. "I’m mixing genres. I think I’m nervous? Which is dumb, because I’ve seen your nipples before, a couple million times. I don't know why I'm being weird about it.”

“Search me,” Logan grins, tossing his shirt to the bottom of the bed.

At a loss for anything to do, Wade kicks it further, feeling the lingering warmth of Logan’s skin.

When he looks back up, Logan’s rolling onto his back, stretching, legs still tangled in their blankets. And it’s dark inside the tent, and the soft noise of a guitar is tapping out from Logan's headphones, but none of that is distraction enough for the need welling up inside of Wade.

“Okay…” he breathes out, feeling something else welling, too. Some kind of resolve. Like, if he doesn't do this now, he'll miss chance. Taking a swig from the bottle, he stows it on the nightstand and shifts back over, pulling the blankets up around his belly for modesty.  Biting a little harder on his lip. “Okay, let's do the rest of you. You are insanely beautiful, by the way.”

And Logan has to know that’s true, he has to, but his face still does this great embarrassed-pleased thing when Wade says it. And, every moment that passes, Wade is less aware of what rules he should be playing by. He feels like a mess of need and flesh and bones, and Logan looks like a god, lying opposite him. And Wade needs to be closer. And-

Fuck.

He has to risk it, right?! 

“Okay, baby boy. Flip it,” Wade swallows, tasting copper on his tongue. Blood and risk. “Lets hit the back.”

Logan flips it.

He’s almost as beautiful from the back as he is from the front. He's broad and symmetrical, with thick shoulders and dark columns of muscle that lead down either side of his spine in a long V. His skin is smooth and unmarked, except for a faint diamond of hair across his lower back.

"Oh boy." Wade blows out a breath. "Okay…"

Wade pressed a hand under one shoulder blade, digging into the muscles along his spine. Logan is huge, and powerfully built, and the hardest Wade can press with one hand doesn’t feel like enough, but Logan just exhales a happy little sigh each time, so maybe there’s more to it than pressure, Wade thinks, as he starts to find a rhythm. Maybe Logan’s more into this for the touch.

The noises he’s making definitely aren’t those of a man who's losing interest.

“You are wildly fucking tight, babygirl,” Wade murmurs, mouth moving almost totally independently of his brain. “Is this working for you?” 

“Yeah,” Logan nods.

“You good and distracted?”

“Yeah... keep going.”

And honestly, being told to keep touching him is pretty much Wade's wet dream, so he sweeps his hands across Logan’s back and touches him.

He touches him and falls - just opens his mouth and lets all kinds of nonsense spill out. He talks about how he watched six hours of YouTube videos on human anatomy, to learn how to take someone apart. He talks about how a masseuse in Singapore once made him pass out by rubbing the base of his skull just right. He talks about how he used to work his army buddy’s wrists when the kick from their rifles left them numb.

He talks about being on deployment, overseas, keeping his unit distracted with shadow puppets against the wall of a tent. He tells him how every last man of them came home jumpy about loud noises - whether that was the rattle of the subway, or cars backfiring, or fireworks, or thunderstorms. He talks about how he and two other soldiers had tried to aversion-therapy themselves back into civilian life by going down to the airfield every Friday and watching the helicopters fly overhead, eating Kentucky fried chicken from buckets, in the back of a pickup.

“I still jump on the inside,” Wade admits, “but on outside, I’m steady as a rock. A big, dumb, wrinkly rock.”

And isn’t that a fucking metaphor?

Logan lies still under his hands, one cheek on his pillow, watching Wade as he strokes over his back in slow, predictable movements.

And it’s good.

Wade wants to pick himself up and straddle Logan, to get some weight into his hands. He wants to grind his aching dick against his ass and get some relief, but even Wade - a mission specialist in getting as close to the line as possible - knows that would be too far. Not without some additional indication from Logan.

So he holds back. He listens to the storm blow itself out against the window, running fingers up the back of Logan's neck, and pressing them into the base of his skull, and rubbing circles around every little notch of his spine, all the way back down to the waistband of his jeans. He presses his thumb into the little dimples there. First one side, and then the other. Slides his fingertips underneath the denim.

Just the tips. Just an inch.

Logan exhales heavily.

“You okay?” Wade asks.

“Yeah.” Logan stays still for a moment, then he huffs out a laugh, shifting his chin so that he can meet Wade’s eyes. “This isn't how I thought you’d distract me.” He admits, expression shy.

Wade stares, the words feeling like a kick in the gut - because they're pressed up together, skin on skin, and those words sound a certain way.

And Logan can’t mean it like that, he thinks, staring. He can’t mean it that way because Logan’s Logan and Wade's just Wade. Wade’s not guy that gets the girl. He’s not the hero. He’s the spunky anti-hero. The comic relief. He’s loud, and obnoxious, and high-key irritating. Hero isn’t written into him. It’s something he’s stumbled into sideways a few times, but it never seems to stick.

There seems to be a bit of flexibility in the dark, though, that the light doesn’t account for, and Logan’s watching him with expectation in his green eyes. And Wade might not be the right guy for the job, but he is the guy who’s there, so-

“What did you think I’d do?” He asks, breathlessly.

Logan’s expression doesn’t shift. He just watches Wade’s mouth.

“I don’t know…” he says, but he says it like he does know.

And what could happen next plays out in Wade's mind, in high-definition. He can see himself pushing Logan down into the sheets, and kissing the bitter-sweet liquor from his lips. He can see their skin against one another’s, their bellies pressed close; and it all feels possible in a way it's never felt before. It looks not so different to what Wade can read in Logan’s eyes.

And Wade cannot fuck this up…

Reaching up, he slides Logan’s headphones off and lays them on the pillow, fingers only shaking a little. Then slides his hand down to rest it on Logan’s lower back.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks.

Logan watches him.

"I don't know…” but, again, he says it like he does know. His eyes are so, so dark.

“Peanut…” Wade exhales, stomach flipping over inside him, eyes locked on Logan's. “You’re gonna have to make some kind of move, for that one," he whispers. "I don’t fuck with vulnerability. Not under the hurt/comfort tag.”

And Logan huffs out a laugh, cheeks flushing pink. He turns his face down into the pillow and, for a second, it looks like he’s going to hide away, ending the evening where it is. But then Wade feels the muscle bunch in his back, feels it shift up as Logan rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow.

And the change in altitude adjusts the power balance. Wade’s feeling acutely nervous as he meets Logan’s eyes.

“You gonna freak out if I kiss you?” Logan asks, quietly.

And Wade’s world shatters and rebuilds around him.

He shakes his head - maybe a bit too fast.

"No," he answers, voice coming out all hoarse.

“You sure?” Logan asks, one eyebrow quirked.

“Mm-hm.” Wade nods.

“Okay.”

Logan reaches up, fingers tucking into the strap of Wade's shoulder holster, tugging him closer. And he’s so fucking beautiful. And so big. And so fucking close. Their noses are almost touching.

And Wade panics.

“Oh shit, wait,” he reaches out, pressing a hand into Logan’s chest. “Wait, Logan, stopstopstop,”

Logan stops. “What?”

“Uh…” Wade stares at him, mouth open.

A few seconds pass. Tumbleweeds roll across his mindscape. His heart thunders, eyes darting between Logan’s but, despite struggling to keep his mouth shut every other damn moment of his life, not a single word comes to save him.

Fuck.

FUCK FUCK FUCK.

“It’s okay,” Logan tells him, after half a minute. He gives another gentle tug on the holster strap. “It's good.”

And Wade's brain on fire. His dick is rock hard inside his suit, and his heart is racing, and he’s still not sure if he’s reading this right. There are fireworks going off inside his skull, and he’s still half convinced that he's having a stroke, or hallucinating, or dreaming and - holy fucking shit - Logan is letting go of the front of the suit to wrap one big hand around the side of his neck, thumb stroking along the ridge of his throat, and-

“We can do this,” Logan murmurs again, head tipping in until he's breathing against him. “If you want this, we can have it.”

And he’s right- he’s always so right, but-

“Lo,” Wade breathes out, trying to keep it together, trying to hold some distance and not collapse into him. “I’m not freaking out, okay? I swear I’m not freaking out, and I'm totally up for helping out a friend in need, but- are you sure you're not freaking out right now?”

There's a space of about five seconds where Logan just looks at him. Then his face folds into a laugh.

“Wade…”

“I’m serious!” Wade exclaims, as Logan exhales another laugh. “I am a pretty left field choice for this moment, buddy mine.”

Logan shakes his head, still grinning.

“No you’re fucking not,” he says, the words coming out all soft and warm. He takes a moment, just watching Wade, then he gives an apologetic little shake of his head. “I’m always going to be freaking out, bub. That’s just how it is for me. If you can handle that?”

And Wade stares, just stares, because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that? If you can handle that? Is that a rhetorical question? A request? It feels like a ball-in-your-court moment, but Wade has never been great shakes with a racket. He’s more of a baseball guy.

“What does 'handle that’ mean, exactly?” He asks Logan, licking his lips. “I’m not too great on metaphors or tennis. I’m gonna to need you to be a lot more explicit with me, peanut.”

“Okay,” Logan considers him for a few seconds. “Well, I was thinking it could mean you kiss me.” He tilts his head. “And then maybe we could fool around a bit. And maybe we fuck. How does that sound?”

And Wade might actually die and float outside his body for a few seconds because, when he blinks himself back to consciousness, half a minute has passed.

“Okay. Wow.” His brain feels fuzzy, like someone's soda-streamed his thoughts. They’re interspersed with little bubbles of lust and pure joy. He’s effervescent. “Wow, that was actually way more explicit than I was expecting,” he blinks, clears his throat. “On multiple fronts. Which just goes to show, predictable dialogue is not always the most effective…” He shakes his head, ears ringing, heart on fire. He frowns. “Wow. Okay, I’m sorry but, just to make totally sure I’m not hearing things…” he blinks at Logan, “did you just say we should fuck?”

Logan's eyes move slowly between his for a couple seconds, then he nods.

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” Wade blinks a couple more times. Then, suddenly, the damn across his throat cracks and words are tripping out of him at double speed. At triple speed. Absolutely zero control. “Okay, at risk of sounding like a total buzzkill, are you really fucking sure about this?" He asks Logan. "Because fucking me is, like, a whole lifestyle choice, baby boy. It’s a whole thing. I mean, have you thought about what that would actually involve? You'd have to see me naked. Like, full-naked. And I know you've seen me part-naked, after showers, or changing, or that time down at the lake with the fire ants, but seeing me full-naked is different. It's a lot. I'm a lot. I’m-” he winces. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I know I'm kind of losing my shit, right now, but I really don't think you have any idea how hot you are, baby boy. Like… honest to god, sometimes you say something, or do something, that breaks my brain and you don’t even notice. You'll be standing there, tits out in the kitchen in grey sweatpants, asking me if I finished all the mayo, and I'm answering you, externally, but inside I’m counting backwards from a thousand, and reciting province capitals, and planning to go and have a fucking sit-down before I can even rub one out about the whole situation. Like, decompression before the recompression. I’m getting the bends from living with you, kitten.”

Logan’s watches him, mouth slowly pulling towards a smile, like he’s waiting for the punchline. And Wade doesn’t know what the punchline is - doesn't know if he’s ever going to get there - but he keeps on speaking anyways. 

“You’re fucking amazing,” he tells Logan, staring, “but you’re driving me crazy. I have no idea what’s going on inside your weird little Wolverine-y brain. You don’t talk, so I’m just out here trying to second guess what you mean when you look at my hands, and my ass. I’m out here taking notes, trying to figure out if your porn interests cross over into the real world, and, honestly, buddy, we’re gonna need to start paying for a VPN service, or something, because some underpaid salaryman at our internet provider’s HQ is definitely going to start selling our information to the Daily Bugle for wildly less than it's worth. You watch some really hot porn, baby boy. It’s so hot. I’m-” he blinks at Logan. Breathing hard. “Wow. I am only just getting my head around the idea that you might want to fuck guys. There are so many things I don't know about you. I have so many questions. I don't think I'm coping.” 

And Logan’s openly grinning at him, now, and Wade can’t shut up so he just keeps going, filling the air. 

“I have so many questions. Like, I need to know - does your hair do that double flick thing naturally? And do you feel it when you stab things with your claws? And who the fuck taught you how to use Uber?”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“Uber?” 

“Yeah, Uber. I’m assuming that’s how you got your ancient ass back here, tonight.” Wade blinks at him. “Because it's either Uber, or you have access to some helicopter that I don’t know about. Or teleportation skills. Because you definitely didn't have time to take the train.”

And Logan’s face splits in delight. 

“Wade…”

“And there’s no way you ran that whole way,” Wade tells him. “You are not that fast, even in crazy bitch mode, so-”

“I took a truck, from the garage,” Logan interrupts him, voice real warm. “It’s parked down on Sixth.”

And Wade could not be more in love. He couldn’t have asked for a better answer.

“Holy shit, me too!” Wade tells him, shifting infinitesimally closer. “I mean, mine’s parked just outside, because I have zero self preservation and didn't really think about the legal ramifications, but that’s wild, babycakes… that’s wild…” He holds Logan’s gaze, drowning in the need there. “We should take them out tomorrow and joyride along the coast. Bet they wouldn’t catch us for miles…”

And Logan’s head tips back and he laughs again, loud and deep and rich.

And Wade is only a man, at the end of the day. So he gives in, and leans in, and kisses him.

And time slows.

Kissing Logan is easy. It's soft and warm and a little scratchy on the chin, and it feels as natural as breathing. And all the things that Wade had worried about when he imagined this - because of course he imagined it - all fall away, because he and Logan fit like they are meant to, and it doesn't feel awkward, or weird, or scary. It just feels good.

"This okay?" Logan mumbles, drawing back after half a minute, warm breath ghosting across Wade’s cheek.

"Yeah, this is fucking amazing," Wade breathes back, not daring to open his eyes in case the moment fractures and he wakes up. “This is insane. Are you good?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay… okay,” Wade wraps a hand around the back of his neck and squeezes him there, dizzy. "That's good," he breathes out, slow. "Because I feel like I'm fucking any chance of doing this properly, so you better be enjoying yourself.”

Logan exhales a laugh.

“What d'you mean ‘fucking' it?” He asks.

“I don’t know... it just feels like I'm fucking it.” Wade lets out a shaky sigh then gives into need again and turns his face into Logan, kissing him hard in-between words. “It feels like I’m blowing six months of legwork- on a grope in a single bed- because I have no fucking self control.”

Logan laughs into his mouth.

“Six months of legwork?”

"Yeah.” Wade runs a hand up to cup his jaw, pressing fingertips into rough stubble, lost in the wet slide of their mouths. “I was thinking on making a move at some point. So sue me.”

Logan makes a soft little noise of amusement and draws back.

“What kind of move?” Logan asks.

“I- what?” Wade blinks at him, feeling his cheeks prickle, feeling the blush travel down the nape of his neck.

“How was it going to go?”

“I don’t know…” Wade blinks, mind going suddenly spectacularly blank. "Dinner. Candles. Something like that.”

Logan's eyebrows slide up.

“Candles?”

“Yeah.” Wade blinks.

"That was your big move? Candles?”

“Yeah,” Wade frowns. “I mean, no, there was more to it than that. There was going to be this whole plan, I just… hadn't figured it out, yet.”

"Oh fuck me,” Logan grins, pushing himself up on one arm and crowding over Wade - and his movements are much more confident, all of a sudden. Much more sure. "You need to stop thinkin' so goddamn hard,” he growls, knocking Wade’s legs apart and crawling in between them. “You’re going to break something.”

“Fuck off!” Wade protests - but it's only a weak protest, because his personal space full of Logan and it’s taking up all of his senses. He's got Logan’s thighs against the inside of his thighs. Logan’s belly nudging down into his dick. Logan's dick pressed up against his ass. "That's some real fucking great advice,” he tries to scoff, voice coming out all strangled with need. “Just don't think about it- Wow, you are so wise. Have you ever thought about becoming a communication guru? Maybe that's what you can do when you retire from the Edward Scissorhands routine - motivational speaking.”

Logan doesn't pay attention to his attempt at deflection. He leans down and cuts off his words with slow, hard kisses, fingers rubbing along Wade’s jaw, then slipping under the collar of his suit, popping the fastenings free, exploring down across Wade’s chest.

"Oh, fuck,” Wade shivers up into him. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”

It's important to remember, he tells himself - as Logan does a fucking excellent job of shucking him out of his jacket - that he wasn't expecting any of this to happen tonight. Kissing Logan wasn't on his radar. Sex wasn't even on the long range forecast. However embarrassing things might get, once Logan gets him down to his shorts, he can always claim that he was unprepared.

And, also, Logan's Logan. He's so fucking hot. It would be totally normal for a guy to make embarrassing noises underneath him, while making out in a blanket fort. It would be totally normal thing for a guy to lose his breath, and for his hips to jerk up helplessly, when Logan grinds his big fat dick against his inner thigh. That would be a totally normal response.

“Oh god, I think I'm having a stroke," he mutters, head falling back as Logan tugs the suit off his arms.

“Yeah?” Balling up the fabric, Logan tosses it to the foot of the bed.

At lest two of the blankets fall down on top of them, in the process, but Logan kicks them away, too. Then he slides a hand between their bodies and pops the top two buttons on his jeans to give himself a little more space.

And that's hot.

That is so fucking hot.

Wade makes a soft little noise of devastation as Logan leans back in, jeans sliding down a little to reveal that he's wearing tight white underwear underneath. Not boxers. Not even shorts. It’s those little y-fronts that he's always wearing when he strolls out of the bathroom, and in Wade’s dreams, and-

WHAT IN THE EROTICA IS GOING ON?! This cannot be his life!

“How are you always so naked?" He whines, helplessly holding on around Logan’s shoulders. "It's like you're constantly waiting for someone to whip out a ring light or something.”

“Me?" Logan huffs out an indignant noise.

"Yes, you. You're naked like it's your job. All oiled up and nowhere to go - naked.”

“Yeah, because you’re a fucking paragon of modesty,” Logan growls back. He leans back in, hands dragging over Wade’s chest, thumbing greedily over his hips. "Fucking parading around in those tiny shorts… and those little shirts that show off your belly… and those fucking leggings.”

"The leggings are for work,” Wade whines, as Logan’s fingers fall to his belt, unhooking the clips at the side. “I have to wear them under the suit, otherwise it chafes. I have sensitive skin, okay? What’s your fucking excuse? Do you have some shirtless sponsorship deal with Levi’s?”

“I don't do sponsorship deals." Logan grins, reaching around Wade’s thigh and unclipping the holster there. "It cheapens the brand.”

"Oh fuck off!” Wade whines. “What brand?" His voice comes out a little squeaky because Logan's mouth is back on the side of his neck, sucking a love bite there. "You literally took your shirt off at the dinner table last night. You were naked from the waist up, eating bolognaise. Is that an official, approved X-men look?”

"Maybe," Logan draws his head back to look up at him, eyes dark. "You into it?"

"Yes!" Wade shakes his head, blinking. "Obviously! I had to go jerk off in the bathroom before desert!”

And him being a randy idiot must do it for Logan, because he lets out a low growl and grabs Wade by the crease of his thighs, yanking him further down the bed. And things start to fragment for Wade.

He's dizzy with need and his dick his rubbing up against the soft underside of Logan's belly, and their mouths are wet, and hot, and feel like they're being drawn together by some kind of powerful magnetism. He wants to bite Logan. Suck him. Swallow him whole. But he can’t. He's trapped underneath him, folded with the force of their kissing. And his legs are wrapped around Logan’s hips, one heel hooked on the back of his jeans, and the denim is sliding down as Logan grinds against him, underwear staying up on ass alone.

Wade lifts a heel to nudge at one cheek, to emphasise the point.

“God, you’re a slut.”

Logan lets out a low rumble of a laugh.

“I’m not the one pushing them down, bub.”

He stretches over Wade, hot and heavy and sweet, and his jeans slide down even further. And Wade has never been rooting for a piece of fabric less. He needs this. Needs Logan's chest, heavy against him. Needs his arms either side of his shoulders. Needs to feel his skin. Needs to feel him come. And he knows he should probably wait to get Logan inside him for that - he's been out of the game a while, but that's still the tradition, isn't it? - but it's been so fucking long.

He is so hard. And Logan is so heavy. Wade can flex all his strength up into him and he barely moves. He's an impossible warm heat, pressing down into Wade's belly and chest, and dick, and- fuck.

“Lo,” It’s been so long that Wade feels out of control. He feels like he’s spinning out, re-entering the atmosphere on the wrong axis. Belly up. Burning. “Shit,” There’s a coil of heat winding around the base of his spine and his balls feel like they’re trying to crawl back inside his body. And Logan's shifting, sliding a leg between Wade's so they're both straddling one another's thighs, and holyfuckingshit.

Wade exhales a strangled noise.

“Yeah?” Logan huffs against his neck.

“Yeah, you feel so fucking good…” His hands are fisted into the waistband of Logan's jeans and the pressure is huge. He's got three hundred odd pounds of Wolverine sliding over his dick, and it’s starting to hit that he's going to come soon - not in a while, not in a couple of minutes, but soon. There's heat crawling up his thighs. A tightening in his gut. "Oh, fuck…” 

“You want it like this?” Logan pants against him.

“I want you every way,” Wade whines back, narced on adrenaline, and it’s clearly the right answer because Logan doubles down, pinning him to the mattress, face pressed into the crook of his neck.

And Wade’s on fire, trying to run distractions inside his own head, trying to put off the inevitable. And he knows he should put some distance between them and give himself a second, but it feels too fucking good. And it’s been YEARS. And he doesn't want to give up the pleasure. And the heat is building. And Logan's sliding a hand behind his ass. And suddenly the pressure is tipping over from ‘almost’ to ‘way more than enough'.

Wade lets out a little whimper, not sure whether to shove his hand down his pants, or push Logan back and try to salvage the situation - but hesitation puts him on the wrong side of the moment and his orgasm crashes over him like a wave.

It breaks. Sharp, hot pleasure followed by sweet, sweet relief.

And heat.

So much heat.

Wade shivers through it with his hands fisted into Logan’s clothing, his face buried in Logan’s hair, ten to twenty seconds lost to the rush. 

Fuck.

Then, everything filters back in… 

The heat of Logan comes first. Then the wetness of his mouth as he kisses back up along Wade's jaw. Then the weight of his uneven grind against Wade’s thigh, and the pressure of his hand around back of Wade’s hips.

His arm is warm against Wade’s cheek, near and lovely, so Wade turns his face into it and mouths at him a little.

Logan laughs against his neck.

“You into that too, huh?” He asks.

And Wade laughs, weakly.

“I’ve been trying to find an excuse to get my mouth on these bad boys for months…” he pants, voice slightly hoarse, heavy with relief. He feels his nose bump against Logan's skin. He opens his mouth, tasting salt. “You know how hard it is to fit biting into convincing fight choreography?” 

Logan’s other hand comes up, thumb finding his mouth. He slides it past Wade's lips, running over the sharp edges of his canines before pressing down on the flat of his tongue.

"You can put your mouth on me anytime," he slides his thumb back out, replacing it with his mouth, “anytime.”

Wade’s ears are ringing. His breaths feel like they’re being ripped out of him. His right thigh is soaked, where he’s spilled inside his pants, and it's hotter than he remembers it being - you know, the last time it happened, twenty-five years ago. It feels hot, and wet, and weird, but his brain is still ringing with too much pleasure to raise any shame. Not yet anyways.

Logan is still pressing down into him, belly heaving, lost in his own pleasure, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed that Wade's come. So Wade thinks he can probably style this out... still get Logan off before he realises what a fucking idiot Wade is and wants to stop.

Silver linings.

"Can we-" Logan's hand slips against his side, trying to adjust their hips, trying to maintain contact.

With huge effort, Wade shakes his head free of post climactic fog and lifts his face to kiss one of Logan's stubbled cheeks.

“What do you need, baby boy?” He asks.

"I-" Logan shifts his weight, trying to shimmy the waistband on his jeans lower, but it immediately slips back up again and he makes a low, frustrated noise.

Wade watches, feeling dazed, and fond, and wildly benevolent.

“You want a hand?" He asks.

Logan looks up at him, eyebrows lifted.

“Huh?"

“Usually, I’d offer a mouth," Wade explains, "but a hand is way easier in this position." His mouth curls into a smile, warmth unfolding in his chest at Logan's dazed expression. Baby... He backtracks a little, helping catch him up. "Can I get you off, peanut? I want to get you off.”

"Oh." Logan's mouth curves into this great lopsided grin. “Yeah." 

“Okay, get up here." Wade tugs him forwards to sit in his lap, pushing down on the waistband of his jeans and underwear, so he can squeeze him up into the heat of his palm. Logan’s dick is hot and fat, tip already a little wet from where he’s been rubbing against Wade’s thigh. His skin is like velvet and he lets out this amazing low whine as Wade gets his hands on him. “Holy shit," Wade mumbles, appreciatively. "Where have you've been hiding all this in spandex?”

Logan lets out a tiny breathless laugh.

“Shut up..."

Wade gives him another squeeze. His hand isn't wet enough to get a decent slide, but Logan is clearly so close that it doesn't matter. He lets out another low whine as Wade squeezes over him, hips rocking automatically forward.

“Just like that, baby." Wade whispers, looking up at him. “Fuck me.” And Logan looks down at him for one long, hungry second. And then he does.

Dropping his head forwards, he buries his face in Wade’s shoulder, and fucks into his hand. His movements are small at first, and more than a little shy, but they grow with every rough exhale, until he's shivering into Wade, leaking pre cum all over his palm, thighs twitching wider. Grabbing Wade's chest, he holds him there, as his breaths become more and more uneven.

They only last about a minute. Then Logan's hips start to stutter, and he slips a hand down to wrap around Wade's, adjusting the pressure, whispering for him to keep going. And then Logan’s groaning, right at the back of his throat, and Wade feels wet heat spill across his belly. And it’s so good... it's so fucking good…

"Oh, baby..." he grins, feeling dizzy, feeling high. "There you go.”

Logan whines into his neck, hips grinding into his hand with enough force to flatten a lesser man into the mattress. Wade holds on until he shivers to a stop, and then a little longer, until Logan collapses into the sheets, half on top of him. 

"Fuck," he pants, into their pile of pillows.

“Fuck,” Wade agrees, grinning.

“Ugh…” Logan lays there for nearly half a minute, catching his breath, one leg still slung over Wade's hips. When he opens his eyes back up, his pupils are massive. "Fuck." He says, one last time, as if to really highlight the point.

Wade laughs. Delighted.

“Good one?" He asks, trying not to look too pleased with himself.

“Yeah...” They lie like that for another few seconds, just watching one another, then Logan groans and props himself up on one elbow. "Shit, sorry bub. D’you want me to, uh…” he lifts his hand from Wade's chest, sliding it down to touch the one patch of his belly that’s not streaked with cum. "I can get you, if you want?" He offers.

Embarrassment flames to life in Wade's belly. His cheeks flush scarlet.

"Oh, I uh... I'm good, actually." He winces, trying not to roll his eyes at himself, (to make it worse than it is). "I already... you know..." he gestures down and Logan's face does this little surprised movement, both eyebrows quirking up.

“Oh," he rolls a bit further off Wade, sliding his leg free to look down at their hips, and Wade feels a flood of embarrassment that permeates through to his spine. Or maybe that's just the massive load soaking through his really expensive red pants. Who the fuck knows.

God, he’s an embarrassment…

Keeping his eyes focussed on a cluster of freckles on Logan's left shoulder, Wade tries to control the flush of his cheeks. He tries not to rush into some joke or other defensive bullshit, tries not to panic as Logan slides a hand down to wrap around his hip, thumb brushing over the wet patch there.

“Shit, bub,” Logan mumbles, all low, like it's mostly for himself. "That's hot." And the tone shaves some of the awkwardness from the moment. It draws Wade back from the brink of death by embarrassment.

He lifts his eyes back to Logan's face, still having to force himself not to say something dumb, or mean. He watches Logan watch his own fingertips, tracing them down the side of Wade’s softening dick, then back up to his navel, touching a little puddle of his own cum there. Pressing his thumb in. Wiping it away. Because he's a sweetheart. Who isn’t going to make Wade feel shit about this.

“That's your thing, huh?” Wade can't resist a little jab, though. Just at himself. “This is what you’re into? Guys who come in their shorts, college virgin style?”

Logan glances back up at him.

“Man, I don't know…” he looks back down and Wade can feel his fingertips explore down over his hip again. He gives a little shrug. “S’ nice to be wanted.”

And shit. That's fair.

“Yeah?” Wade swallows, feeling his breathing start to come easier.

Logan shrugs again.

“Yeah, I figure can worry about being more impressive next time.”

Wade’s heart skips a beat.

Next time? There's going to be a next time?!

“Yeah?” He asks again, voice a little high.

“Yeah.” Logan runs a fingertip under his belt, tugging his pants down an inch. "Can these come off?”

The flush, which had only just faded back from Wade's cheeks, returns with a vengeance, painting him all the way down to mid chest.

“Oh my god…” his hands are over his face before he can stop them. “Are you serious?” He asks Logan, peeking at him from between his fingers.

“Yeah." Logan's eyebrows quirk up - like he genuinely doesn’t get why it would be awkward. 

And maybe he doesn't, Wade thinks, watching him. Despite his general awkwardness in most social situations, Logan seems totally comfortable in this one area of life. There’s an ease to the set of his shoulders. And in the way he's stretched out beside Wade; hair rumpled and skin glowy with sweat, the tip of his stupid fat dick still visible over the waistband of his underwear. He looks huge and dumb and happy. And, yeah, Wade's probably going to let him see whatever he wants. Because he likes him.

And how about that?!

“You got to see me," Logan points out, grin growing cautiously as Wade lowers his hands, (cheeks still very pink). "It's only fair.”

“Fair?” Wade scoffs. Is there no such thing as equity?! "Peanut, I got a handshake at best." He eyes Logan, dropping his hands to the bed to prop himself up a little. "If we're doing this, then we’re doing it properly. You go first.”

If he thought that would put Logan off, however, he was totally wrong. Logan apparently has zero qualms about getting naked.

“Alright.”

Picking himself up, he crawls backwards off the bed, knocking the remaining blanket to the floor in the process. Grabbing his discarded t-shirt, he uses it to wipe the cum from his belly, then he shoves his jeans down, then his underwear, then kicks it all to one side before crawling back into the bed. He kneels at Wade’s feet, legs spread, half hard dick hanging between them, expression annoyingly smug.

“There you go.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Happy?”

Wade really is. Logan is built like a tank. He’s tall, and broad, and well muscled - finally filling out after six months of good food and regular sleep. His chest and belly are covered with a fuzz of short hair, a couple shades darker than the stuff on his head. He looks amazing. And the stupid little grin on his face tells Wade he knows it, too. 

“You are so much, babygirl,” Wade sighs out, reaching down to reciprocate.

Because fair is fair. 

He tugs his belt buckle free. By the time he’s slipped the leather loop through, Logan has inched closer, hands back on his waist.

Wade laughs.

“Man, you really want to see that bad…?”

Logan's hands slow. He fixes Wade with one of those sincere as fuck ‘you’re-safe-with-me, I’m-part-of-a-major-superhero-franchise’ looks.

“Not if you don't want me to." He gives Wade's hip a squeeze. "It’s never going to be like that.”

And Jesus marvel Christ!

“Oh my god,” Wade groans, pretty sure the post fuck semi he’d been nursing down is suddenly on its way back up again. “You aren't allowed to say stuff like that,” he whines, at Logan. “You're too pretty."

Logan frowns.

“What?”

Wade rephrases.

“A guy can only take so much perfection before proposing - and that would just be too embarrassing after only a little dry humping." He looks away from Logan, then back again, reproachful. “You've got to give me a chance.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitches.

"Okay," he huffs out, soft.

“I mean it!” Wade insists. "I didn't come here prepared for any of that shit. I'm supposed to be doing the comfort, tonight, you’re supposed to be doing the hurt. Stop stealing my lines!"

Logan laughs at him, eyes twinkling.

“Okay,"

“We're not working with an unlimited word count, here,” Wade continues to gripe - mainly to keep Logan smiling. (Because he might never be able to give this up, now. He might never be able to walk back the need to have Logan in his bed, comfortable and laughing). "There's only so much of my self doubting introspection the people can take before they fuck off to read us finger each other somewhere else," he tells Logan. "They have options. The genre's booming. The people love us.” He watches Logan's grin widen. Watches him breathe out another little laugh, marking a soft little fold in the side of his belly. And, fuck, he's hot… “This actually does something for you, huh?” He asks, a little softer. “Me being an embarrassing mess of a human being?"

It's the only part of the monologue he actually wants an answer to, which Logan seems to get. It’s the only part he answers.

“Yeah." He nods, holding his gaze. “This does something for me.”

Fuck. Okay.

Okay…

"Oh god." Wade blows a breath out, then reaches out, guiding Logan's hand back to his hip. “Okay. Let's go.”

Everything feels better once Logan has his hands back on his skin. His fingers are warm, and careful, pulling the leather of Wade's belt through the fabric before reaching around to the zipper and working it down. By the time he's sliding Wade’s pants down his thighs, Wade’s more than halfway to hard again - and he's not sure if that's a better or worse look, in soaked boxer briefs, but it's where he is.

Logan tugs the fabric over his feet, then shoves it aside and crawls back up over him, mapping his body the whole way in slow, dedicated movements; a brush against the inside of his ankle, a squeeze around his knee, a thumb up along the line of his inner thigh. Its nice. It's soft and it’s sweet and its honestly kind of unexpected, because he’d always envisioned Logan to be the type of guy to grab you by the legs and yank you into position. Which is, to be fair, exactly what had happened few minutes ago. Its wild that he does both, though, Wade thinks, watching him draw level. It’s fucking great that he does both.

“I’m still going to need some kind of revenge for this,” he says, as Logan explores along the side of his thighs. “Some sort of embarrassment exchange program.”

Logan eyes him.

“Yeah? What you thinkin’?”

Wade sucks at the inside of his lip, considering.

“Might make you come while wearing my merchandise.” He says. “Wait, no-” he narrows his eyes, coming up with something far more diabolical. “Wearing your own merchandise.” 

Logan considers him for a few seconds.

“Unlikely. But I’ll give you three goes.”

“Holy shit.” Wade’s heart genuinely skips a beat. “Fuck off! Really?” His face splits in a grin, embarrassment forgotten.

“Sure. Seems fair." Logan glances up at the rain window, then down at him again, with a somewhat apologetic look. "Feel like I might've sprung this on you, a little, tonight.”

Wade laughs. 

“I mean, yeah," he agrees. “A little.”

"Mm." Logan adjusts his weight, tracing a thumb contemplatively against the wet patch on his upper thigh. There are a few moments of contemplative silence. "You wanna know why I like this?” He asks, quietly.

"Oh, one hundred percent,” Wade dips his head, “mostly because I'm nosey as fuck.” He dips his head. “But, also, because I feel like your answer might involve flattery. And I am startlingly not immune to that. Despite my boyish good looks.”

Logan's mouth tips up at the corners.

“Okay…” he laughs.

Wade gives him a second, trying not to vibrate out of his skin with anticipation.

Logan stares down at his hand for a few moments, then looks back up at him.

"I guess…” he starts, slowly, “I've had plenty people want me, before they know what I am, but not many after.”

"Buddy, we've barely even touched on how much I want you," Wade tells him, emphatically. "I've been restrained as fuck." And it's kind of a joke - but it's also kind of not. It implies that there are layers of want that he's been hiding under all the lust. 

Thankfully, Logan takes that in his stride.

He traces around a crescent shaped scar on Wade's belly, looking thoughtful.

“People always treated me different." He tells Wade, eventually, tone a bit more serious. “Like I was a novelty, or a prize, or a pet.”

Wade watches him, feeling his smile fade a little. He's not sure what to say to that. It doesn't feel like the right thing to joke about, but offering sympathy seems trite.

His lips part, but words don't come.

“You were never like that," Logan continues, when he doesn't speak. “You gave me a second chance. You took me home, and let me stay, and maybe that's just how this whole friend thing is supposed to work… I don’t know. I never had that many friends." He eyes Wade. "Maybe you're just a better person than the people I knew, before, but I think you like me, too? Like, not the whole Wolverine deal… but… me.” Logan swallows, then shrugs, looking awkward. “Sorry. Now I’m fucking this…”

Wade stares at him, feeling his chest ache.

"Yeah, well," he manages, after a deep breath. "That's not because you're a mutant, buddy boy, that's because you’re an embarrassing mess of a human being, too.” He reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Logan’s arm, just below the elbow. And he can feel Logan relax a little. Can feel the room warm around them. “Think that’s why I like this," he tells Logan, softly. “We match. We’re the same thing. Or, maybe not the same, but like… a pair of something?”

“Yeah,” Logan says, softly. "A pair.”

“Yeah,” Wade agrees. “And I don’t know that that something is, but it works, you know? We balance. Like a two man circlejerk of anxiety, and bad decisions, and immortal shitfuckery... and now actual jerking.”

A beat passes, then he lifts his eyes to meet Logan’s.

Logan raises an eyebrow. 

"Wow.” He shakes his head, a reluctant smile growing around his mouth.

“Sorry.” Wade winces. "Too much? Did I ruin the sentiment?”

"Nah, it was just… vivid. Thanks.”

"No problemo,” Wade lets out a breath, cheeks pink. "Always happy to lower the tone."

And Logan exhales a laugh and looks away, pressing his thumb into Wade's hip, stroking a little circle there.

"Maybe I need that, sometimes,” he admits.

'Sometimes' is an understatement, Wade thinks, watching him. Logan takes life about as seriously as a person can. His brow is perpetually furrowed. His attitude is that of someone with a two foot stick up their ass. He runs missions with military precision and his private life with nothing less than full commitment to the bit of being a grumpy old man. He reads books thicker than Wade’s head and listens to the fucking radio news. He is awkward at board game nights, and a liability in any loud, crowded space, and almost guaranteed to piss off at least two of the X-men whenever they all come into contact, but he can also be surprisingly sweet.

He checks in with everyone in his life on a regular schedule that took Wade two months to figure out. He does background reading on shit that people are interested in, and makes an effort to talk to them about it when he sees them. He shows up when he says he’s going to, and makes an effort at whatever activity they're doing, even if he thinks it's dumb. And he's smart, and he’s honest, and he’s loyal. And when he says shit, he means it.

Which is what Wade needs, if he’s honest.

That, and a bit more flattery...

“Well, this is all making me feel better about the amount of cum in my shorts," he tells Logan, with a big sigh, ”but I am going to need a bit more about my boyish good looks.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan eyes him, clearly gauging his response.

“Mm-hm,” Wade nods.

“Mm…” Logan continues to watch him, expression thoughtful. “You know, you keep usin’ that phrase, but I’ve seen photos of you, from before…” Wade eyes him, not sure where this is going. “And I know the date you’ve put down, on your driving licence, and I know people sure as shit aren’t going to question it, because of the scars, but…” he narrows his eyes, “I don’t think you’re actually twenty five.”

Wade gives a snort of laughter and then a rolling series of chuckles, pure heat running through him.

And - fuck - that's the good stuff. That's the really good stuff…

Forcing his mouth straight, he fixes Logan with a reproachful look.

“No?” He asks.

“Nah.” Logan watches him, expression serious apart from the slight tightening in the corners of his eyes - the one which says he’s about to smile. (Which Wade loves. He really fucking loves). “I think you’ve got at least one foot in middle age, bub.”

"Oh my god!" Wade grins a bit more.

“You were a little receding, up top,” Logan brushes a hand against his temple.

“Oh my GOD!” Wade swats it away, openly laughing now.

“You’e got a great smile, though," Logan tells him, soft. (Holy shit). "And amazing eyes.” (Shit, shit, shit). “And you’re a huge fucking guy, which is kind of my thing.”

OH. MY. GOD.

Wade's chest might be splitting open as he grins up at Logan.

“Oh, that's your thing?" His skin is tingling. His brain is full of static and he can't look away from Logan's face. Doesn't want to. Ever. “Just huge fucking guys, eh?” He asks. "No girlies?”

Logan shrugs, rolls his eyes. 

“Nah…”

“Not even a little?”

“Nope.” Logan shakes his head. 

“Really?” Wade holds his gaze. “Because I always wondered what went down between you and Jean Grey."

“Jean?” Logan raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely perplexed. “Nothin’."

“…not even Scott?"

Logan's face shifts into something a bit more reproachful.

“Nope.”

"Not between you, anyway…” Wade winks.

“Not between us,” Logan agrees, patiently.

Wade sighs.

"Oh man, that's devastating.” His cheeks hurt a bit from all the smiling. "As an equal opportunities pervert, I've always liked the idea of the set.” He plays with the back of Logan’s arm, fingertips tracing the little cluster of freckles there. “Guess I'll just have to go back to imagining this-world’s Wolverine in a tight little X-sandwich."

Logan gives him another reproachful look, slightly undercut by the way he's sliding a hand around the back of his ass.

“You do that,” he grumbles.

"Mm." Wade tentatively lifts his hands up to rest on Logan's shoulders. “So... just guys, huh?”

Logan watches him for a moment. Nods.

“Yeah."

"Just huge fucking guys who've been lightly roasted?”

Logan eyes him.

Takes a beat.

"You're more of a medium roast, bub.”

Wade gives another bark of laughter that he tries to hide inside a scoff. He’s unsuccessful, though, because Logan’s only a few inches away, and he’s watching him with careful eyes, and he knows him - he really fucking knows him. He knows that the joke is making Wade’s skin prickle pleasantly. Knows that the palms Wade’s pushed into his chest are more about him trying to push his way in, rather than pushing Logan away.

He knows Wade’s dick's most of the way back to hard again, too, but for less ephemeral reasons. His belly is resting against it as he leans over him, pressing his face into the side of Wade’s neck, exhaling soft.

"I just like you..." Wade feels him murmur, against his skin.

And suddenly the moment doesn’t really feel about sex, anymore. It doesn’t even feel like hurt or comfort.

Hands sliding up around his neck, Wade lets him stay there a few moments, stroking fingertips through his hair.

“Feel like we’re veering perilously close to the confessions tag, here, buddy,” he murmurs, once his heart rate feels under control again.

Logan doesn't move away. Doesn’t snap. He just rubs a stubbly cheek against Wade, thoughtfully.

“That one you’re aiming to hit, tonight?” He asks, his tone very, very neutral.

Wade considers the question, fingers playing with the back of his hair.

It's tempting. He can imagine the validation and catharsis of saying how he feels about Logan out loud. Can imagine how fucking good it would feel to hear something like that back, in Logan’s plainspoken, grumpy cadence. He wants it, he wants it a lot, but this has all been kind of a rush, and he’s not sure he can line up his ten thousand incoherent thoughts about Logan in a way that makes sense - that make it clear to Logan that he’s his best fucking friend, and he's so loved, and so wanted, but which doesn't make him want to run a fucking mile. So;

“That’s actually something I do want to do properly, some time,” he tells Logan, diplomatically. He draws back a little, just enough to meet his eyes. “I don’t think I’d do it justice, right now, and brain’s a little fuzzy, and you're great, and…” he licks his lips, feeling a flutter of neves. “I just want to get it right.”

Logan watches him steadily for a few seconds.

“Well, I guess I owe you that,” he says, eventually. “Since I ruined your whole big move, with the candles and everything.”

Wade feels his face pull into a grin. Can’t take his eyes off Logan’s.

“You will not regret it,” he tells him, sincerely. “I am so fucking good at making moves. Just you wait.”

“Mmh.” Logan narrows his eyes slightly, like he’s sure what to say about that, but he seems to decide to give Wade the benefit of the doubt. Leaning in, he nudges his face up against Wade’s cheek and kisses him. Along his jaw, and then his chin, a then into his willing mouth.

And Wade laughs into him, then he wraps both hands around his head, and pulls him down, and they make out for a few minutes against the sheets.

Outside, the storm has well and truly blown itself out. The rain on the side of the building is soft and regular, again. The cracks of thunder are growing distant and further away, and Logan’s not paying a damn bit of attention to any of it. His face is buried in Wade’s shoulder, hand wrapped around his bicep, exploring him happily as Wade closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the experience - feeling thoroughly grateful for the hours he spent in the gym last month.

“Are there any tags you do want to hit, tonight?” Logan asks him, once he’s traced all the way down to his chest and around his ribs.

And, damn, he’s good…

“I guess we could do, like…” Wade blows a breath out as Logan slides further down, kissing at the top of his belly, “…blowjobs? The people love blowjobs.”

“Who doesn’t?” Logan bites at the skin over his hip, tucking a fingertip under the elastic of Wade's boxers.

He’s feeling how wet he is again - but he must have done some Wolverine magic over the last couple minutes, because Wade suddenly feels a lot less embarrassed about the whole thing and a lot more turned on.

“Any other requests?” Logan asks him.

“I, uh-” 

Logan’s eyes flick up to meet his. He raises an eyebrow.

Wade gives him a nervous laugh.

Oh, man. In for a penny…

“I know its narratively satisfying for me to rail you within an inch of your life, now, to let you feel taken care of after the big scary thunderstorm, but honestly I’m more for cracking out the bottom Wade tag.” He flashes a bit of tooth that could be considered either a grimace or a smile. “If that works for you?”

Logan dips his head forwards, grinning.

“That works for me.” He works fingertips into the creases of Wade’s thighs, tugging him down the bed.

The back of Wade’s head hits the mattress.

“Oof- Yeah?” He gets out. “Satisfying enough narrative?”

“We'll figure somethin’ out,” Logan says, starting to peel him from his cum-soaked briefs. He drags them down Wade’s legs before tossing them aside, sucking the taste off his thumb like a total fucking reprobate, causing Wade to splutter out some shit that definitely won’t make it past the Disney censors. “Relax,” Logan murmurs, crawling back over him again.

Wade tries. Lets his head flop back as Logan works his way over his body.

He’s funnier than Wade would have predicted, during. He cleans Wade’s hip with his tongue, kissing the traces of his cum away with enough enthusiasm that Wade doesn’t have to worry about it being for show. He even does a whole bit when he deviates too far north and gets a taste of himself, pulling a face.

He keeps the mood light. He ignores Wade's self-deprecating comments about the scars on his dick, and laughs at the ‘ribbed for your pleasure’ joke that Wade’s been workshopping for the past couple years, and lets him ramble through the sticky moments without giving him too much shit about it. He’s sweet, and strong, and knows exactly what he’s doing - which goes a long way to reassuring Wade that he’s made the right call on the tags. And, when he leans in and swallows Wade down, he’s so good that Wade forgets his own name.

It feels even better than Wade had imagined. Logan’s hot inside, and slick, and soft, and Wade loses six glorious minutes whining mindlessly at the ceiling, his knees around Logan’s ears, his hands knotted into Logan’s hair. Then Logan pulls off of him with a soft wet noise, letting his dick slap forwards against his belly.

Tugging his head free of Wade’s hands, he crawls back up over him.

“So, you got anything useful in that nightstand or is it just glittery dicks?” He asks.

And Wade dies all over again, because that means Logan cares enough to have gone through his belongings, while he’s been out one day. He’s the best kind of pervert. 

“I totally do,” he grins.

And then he wriggles out from under Logan and spends about three minutes digging around in the box beside his bed for lube and a condom that didn’t go out of date in twenty-eighteen.

Which is harder than expected, honestly.

It’s been a hell of a dry spell.

Logan’s remarkably chill about it all. Just laughs, when Wade apologises after the first minute, and says he's done this every which way, before, and they can just throw down a towel and shower, after. But Wade has a vision which involves him not shitting cum all over himself (because Logan is a sweetheart, but this is so fucking new, and he’s not done this in a while, and he really needs more control than that) and Logan just kind of rolls with it.

He doesn't complain. He just flops over on his side and watches Wade as he digs around until he finds what he’s looking for, entertaining himself by doing wildly unhelpful shit like running a hand up and down Wade’s thighs, and telling him his back looks amazing, and dipping in to kiss the base of his spine.

He’s incredibly distracting.

And insanely hot.

Eventually, Wade decides that twenty-twenty wasn’t really that long ago, and tosses their best-option condom at Logan’s face. And Logan grins and rolls over on his back, tearing it open with his teeth in a way that feels more music video than sex-ed, but Wade doesn’t have to worry about getting knocked up and can’t really catch anything, so he lets it slide.

Then Logan motions for him to climb on top, using the same hand movement he used in that shitty van, all those months ago, and that blows everything else from Wade’s mind.

It really does it for him. He loves a narrative callback.

He tells Logan all about it as he throws one leg over his fucking massive midriff. Tells him how much he likes his hands as Logan runs them over his body. Tells him how much he likes watching his expressions shift as they do the minimal prep necessary to get this show on the road, and loses his breath as Logan slides a finger up into him, and loses his mind at the sigh Logan makes when he finally replaces it with his dick.

The sting of him is so much, but then Wade’s hot, and full, and there’s something wildly intimate about it. About being joined at one tender point. About the way Logan’s hands curl possessively around his thighs as he arches his back, making a bit of space. About the soft noises they both make as Logan slides hands up his thighs.

Because, apparently, Logan really likes his thighs. Like, really likes them. He keeps tracing along the outside of them, pressing his thumbs into the shallows under Wade’s hips. 

Wade revels in it. Grins, and revels in it, and stows the knowledge away for another day - because it feels like there is going to be another day. And a day after that. And a day after that. Which is seriously good shit.

It’s good shit to know that Logan fucks with his eyes half closed. And that he’s strong enough to slide his hands under Wade’s ass and give him an assist. And that his belly tightens with every little roll of Wade’s hips. And that, when he breathes out Wade’s name, it’s in this high note that’s totally absent from his speaking voice. And that he knows, instinctively, when Wade’s got all he can from the position - tapping out and shifting Wade over, to fuck him on all fours, then kneeling back against him, then on his back with both legs thrown over his shoulders.

And that position is probably too much, that late in the game, because they only last about a minute before Logan's grinding to a halt and laughing shyly - looking up from where he’s hanging his head over Wade, to tell him that he’s going to need him to come if he wants to finish first. Which is fine, honestly. Wade only needs about forty seconds notice once he’s got a hand on himself. He’s a low maintenance lay at heart.

“Okay, go slow for me,” he pants, pressing his heel into Logan’s collarbone in a way that could legitimately break someone else, but doesn’t touch Logan, because Logan’s unyielding against him.

He nods and slows the pace. Holds himself against Wade as he finds the right angle and grinds into him deliberately, working against that spot that makes Wade feel like he's going to burn up, or come, or piss himself, or all three things at once. And the pressure builds, and builds, and builds until Wade breaks. And arches up. And he sees stars as he comes.

Actual stars. It’s so good that he's dizzy.

“Shit, Lo… oh shit…”

He pants, eyes screwed shut as all the muscles in his body slowly relax. One of his legs falls from Logan's shoulder. He can taste copper on his tongue.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah..." he breathes, forcing his heavy eyelids to open.

Logan leans in, pressing a soft kiss against him, drawing back to watch his face with concentration. Like he's memorising the expression there.

“Okay,” he nods, dead serious. “Got it this time.”

And Wade cracks up, laughing through the afterglow - laughing even harder when Logan cracks a smile, looking so goddamn pleased with himself.

“Oh my god…” 

“It’s a good come face,” Logan tells him, nudging his hips forwards in a way that sends a buzz up Wade’s spine. “Weirdly similar to 'blunt force trauma face', but still good.”

“Shut up…” Wade breathes (But he’s so fucking into this. He’s so fucking into him). “Ugh.” His cheeks hurt. His feet feel all tingly. Dropping his head back against the pillow, he takes a few deep breaths, then nudges the back of Logan’s head with one of them. “Okay. How do you want me?”

Logan considers him for a second, fingertips resting on his heaving chest. Then he slips Wade’s other leg free from his shoulder and adjusts his hips, picking his way back over him until they’re face to face. Belly to belly.

“Wow.” Wade raises an eyebrow. “Missionary? Really?”

Logan shrugs.

“It’s a classic for a reason.”

“You're a classic.”

Logan huffs out a laugh. “Yeah… something like that…”

And Wade is so into him, so he wraps his arms around Logan's shoulders, burying his face in the top of his head as he starts to move.

Closing his eyes, he lets sensation take over. Feels finger pads move over his ribs. Feels the hitch of hips against him, shallow little thrusts which get harder and faster until he's losing the muscle tone necessary to keep his legs hooked around Logan’s back.

Logan’s metronomic consistency begins to falter before they fall, though. His breathing gets all rough and his forehead tips forwards against Wade’s chest, and the grip on his hips gets tighter.

“Yeah?” Wade tugs gently on his hair.

“Uh-huh.” Then he mouths something else into Wade’s collarbone. His name, maybe, then something even softer. Then he drives into him three or four times and holds there, belly twitching and breath caught, hands tight on his hips.

Wade rubs his thumbs across his temples, feeling really fucking pleased with himself, feeling wildly in love.

They sit like that for a few seconds, the tension slowly leaving Logan’s body until he lets himself fall forwards onto his outstretched hands. Then onto his elbows. Wade figures he’s used to trying not to crush people. Which is fair. He’s real big and real fucking heavy. Wade’s loading limit is just short of eight hundred pounds and even he would struggle to lift him from this angle. He kind of digs the weighted blanket effect, though.

He tells Logan so, gently scratching over his head, and Logan silently gives him a little more weight. Not a lot, but a little.

Marginal gains, Wade thinks, with a grin. He'll get a full flop out of him, eventually. They just need to get over the initial hurdle of reassuring themselves that they’re not going to kill one another, first. Just fun mutant stuff, Wade thinks, yawning.

“Right..." he shakes his head, body giving an uncomfortable twinge. “This has been great, baby boy, but I’m going to need you to retreat. You're getting smaller, but not fast enough.”

Logan gives a grunt that is unidentifiable as a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but proceeds to pick himself up and pull gently out, taking a sec to awkwardly squeeze the condom off and toss it into the pile of his own discarded clothes without tying it off.

“God, that is super gross,” Wade comments, hurriedly wiping himself off with a handful of tissues while Logan's back is turned, for modesty. “If I stand on that, in the night, I reserve the right to stab you.”

“Fair,” Logan yawns, collapsing face down beside Wade. He lies very still for a few seconds, before reaching a hand towards Wade. “C’mere.”

“Oh my god!" Wade grins, flinging his tissues away and crawling over. “Are we going to snuggle and talk about our deepest darkest secrets?!”

“No.” Logan growls, tucking an arm around his waist and pulling him flush, in a move that is indistinguishable from a snuggle. “We’re having a nice time. Don’t ruin it.”

Wade chuckles, squirming closer as Logan rearranges their blankets. They lie there for half a minute in silence, Wade enjoying the sound of rain on the windows and the empty buzz that fills his head after getting off a couple of times. He could probably manage a third, if he's honest, but it's late, and they’ve had a long day, and there’s always tomorrow.

He spends a moment getting excited about going out to buy a huge box of condoms. Like, an absolutely huge, industrial sized box. Just to make Logan laugh.

Beside him, Logan lets out a long sigh.

“I do actually feel better.” He says it so lightly that the confession catches Wade off-guard. He actually lifts his head off the pillow to get a better look at Logan. Finds his eyes still closed and his forehead creased. “About the storm." He licks at his lower lip. Maybe a little nervous about sharing. "Think you rewired my brain, or somethin’. Can still feel it, and the pain in my arms, but it's… further away.”

“Good distraction, then?” Wade asks him, careful to keep it light.

“Yeah.” Logan's mouth twitches up at the corner. “Real good.” A couple seconds pass, then he opens his eyes. He doesn’t seem surprised to find Wade watching him. “Thanks.”

His expression is so sincere that every single one of Wade’s instincts immediately tell him to run away, or joke, or hit him. He resists, though. Leans in, instead. Takes a chance on them being safe enough, in the afterglow, to have a little kiss without it being a whole thing. Logan meets him happily, so it must be a good guess.

It’s just a nice little kiss, Wade tells himself, allowing himself to sink into it. Just two buddies having a nice little kiss after swapping fluids, for the purposes of stress relief. Just normal Saturday night activities.

They kiss for a while, listening to the rain patter against the windows. Then Logan pulls back with a yawn.

“Man, I'm wiped.”

“Same…” Wade stretches, limbs pressing into Logan. All soft flesh and hard bone. Hot skin and heartbeats. Logan doesn’t pull away. “So... are we going to do that every time it storms?"

Logan breathes out real slow.

"If you want.”

And that's as a good as a 'yes please' from Logan, Wade thinks, because Logan is unbelievably shit about asking for what he needs. He spent the first two days in the apartment air drying himself because he didn't own a towel. He didn't tell Wade that he didn't like scrambled eggs for a week, even though Wade made them every morning. He didn't mention that he was colour blind at all, until Al noticed him squinting to read the text on the back of cereal boxes - Al, who is literally blind.

A guy like Logan is hardly going to suggest they start fooling around on a regular basis unless Wade suggests it first, or there's an easy out.

Fortunately, Wade can give him both.

"Well, I think it's a great idea," he says, with confidence that goes no more than skin deep. "Also, I figure you might be secretly scared of all sorts of shit, so we should probably do it sporadically on nights it's not storming. You know… Just in case.”

Logan's face is half pressed into the pillows, but Wade can see his cheek gather in a smile, telltale lines appearing around the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah?"

"Yeah. And maybe a couple times during the day," Wade continues, emboldened, "to even things out."

Logan turns his face fully into the pillows, hiding his smile, but his hand grips on a little tighter around Wade's side.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Feeling pretty fucking impressed with himself, Wade wriggles around until he's feeling comfortable. Then reaches over and runs a hand up over the back of Logan’s neck, squeezing him gently.

“And about the whole confessions thing… ”

He feels Logan’s muscle tighten, slightly, under his hand. Hears the cadence of his breath change, going purposefully deep and even.

“Yeah?” He asks, after a few seconds, voice very controlled.

“I want that,” he gives Logan's neck another squeeze. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

Logan thinks about this for a few seconds. Then nods.

“‘Kay.”

“Okay,” Wade breathes out. “Soon, though, okay?”

“Okay,"

Outside, the sky grumbles distantly and Logan gives a little flinch, then an annoyed grumble of his own, rubbing his ear deeper into the pillow.

Guess that’s how long a distraction lasts, then…

Wade shuffles closer, sliding his hand up to place the palm over Logan's other ear. Nudging his fingertips into the soft hair behind it, scratching softly. Stimulation and muffling. A powerful combo.

“Got you, bud.” He rests his head down, getting comfortable beside him.

.