Chapter Text
~
Wade
~
Everything hurts and nothing is beautiful. The sun should probably just fucking implode, because there’s no reason to exist today.
Wade can’t even peel himself off the couch for a long time after he wakes up. He’s stuck in place like a corpse with psychological rigor mortis. He manages to sit up after some careful stretching and very quiet complaining, if only because every sound feels like it has the potential to split him in half. Every movement is agony.
No one is home to hear his grumbling and joints creaking but Mary, who trots over and sits by the side of the couch to stare at Wade until he’s mobile enough to take her outside.
Even the sunlight is too bright, making Wade’s eyes feel like they’re being peeled back layer by layer. His hood and sunglasses do nothing to protect him from it. The sounds of the city pierce his tender brain, a thousand unrelenting white-hot needles blinding him with pain. He realizes he’s crouching with his hands over his head when Mary paws at his knee and whines softly. Even her little noises hurt him. He scoops her up with a pained grunt and carries her back inside.
Wade chews a handful of painkillers and washes the bitter taste down with the dregs from a bottle of whiskey Logan had left on the table. Wade’s never been a whiskey guy before, but the taste invokes Logan in his brain, and that’s more than enough for him to acquire a taste for it.
He’s struggling to get comfortable on the couch. It’s all hard angles and lumps, not quite long enough for Wade to stretch out fully. He shifts and grumbles until his eyes land on Logan’s bed.
Big dog wouldn’t mind too much, right?
He pulls back the neatly made covers and slips under them. The smell of Logan is comforting, wraps around Wade’s throbbing head like a gentle caress. Between that and the pills, Wade manages to get to sleep relatively quickly for once.
~
Logan
~
Logan comes home wet and cold, soaked to the bone from his walk back from work. Construction isn’t ideal, but it’s easy money for Logan and he’s gotta earn his keep somehow. This week it’s even close enough to walk to. He’s trying hard to focus on the positives in this universe. He picks little flecks of dried concrete out of his facial hair as he trudges up the stairs. Each one creaks and groans in complaint under his weight.
Oddly, the sound isn’t annoying anymore. (Lots of things that were once insufferable seem to be softening as of late.) Logan’s not sure when this rickety, mildew-laden excuse for a goddamn building started sounding and smelling like…well, safety. Not exactly a home…but close. Scarily close. Especially when he exits the hallway and slips inside the apartment, where the scent of himself, Wade, Althea and Mary permeates his senses. Familiarity.
The door clicks shut and he shakes the water from his hair with a huff. He contemplates a shower first, but he’d much rather get some rest, so he kicks off his work boots and heads right to the corner of the living room that’s been deemed his. All he has is a twin-sized bed and a plastic set of drawers Wade insisted on buying for him, even though he promised he wouldn’t be here long. Just long enough to get his feet under him in a new universe, that’s all.
Not luxurious, but it’s what he’s got and it’s far more than he had back home.
He’s only set one rule: Don’t touch my shit, Wade.
Well, there Wade is, touching his shit. Sleeping in Logan’s bed. Soft and serene, curled up in Logan’s blanket like a cocoon. Logan wants to carefully peel the covers back and slip in beside him. He wants to hold him there like that all night.
Heartbeat hammering, Logan does no such thing. He grabs a fistful of the blanket and yanks it off Wade with a furious snarl. Wade sits upright with a mumbled threat, reaches under the pillow and pulls out a gun. Recognition clicks into place on the merc’s face and he lowers the weapon.
Wade smiles. Logan glowers.
“Morning, sunshine!”
“The fuck’re you doin’ in my bed?” Logan spits.
Wade shrugs. “Al doesn’t like when I sleep in her bed, which is fair considering last time—”
Logan’s claws are out and brandished at his right side as a warning as he growls, “Shut the fuck up.”
“Come on, are you really gonna kebab me over a little siesta?” Wade asks with a heavy sigh.
He makes no move to get up, so Logan grabs him by the throat with his other hand, dragging him to his feet. Wade grunts and kicks at him a little, but mostly he just laughs. He can’t take anything seriously. The little shit should be fucking scared. Logan can’t stand his stupid smirking mouth.
“Only time I want you in my bed is when you’re face down, ass up. Got it?”
“Can—can I get back in bed if I agree to—your terms and conditions?” Wade chokes out.
Still making jokes. Barely breathing, red-faced and wheezing with weak laughter, Wade infuriates Logan in a way he can’t fucking describe. So he yells and jabs his claws into Wade’s side, then lets go of his throat to extend his other set and drive them in, too. Wade jerks and spits up blood, but his smile only falters for a second.
Logan wishes he could say it stops there, but it doesn’t. Wade has no self-restraint, and neither does Logan. Put them together like this, and you end up with blood all over the walls and windows, painting the entire apartment in an eerie red streaked glow. Wade fights back and draws the ordeal out like he always does, but ultimately, Logan gets the better of him by wrapping his arm around the other man’s head and simply snapping his neck.
Wade’s heavy body falls to the floor. For a moment, Logan panics.
He’s killed Deadpool…maybe hundreds of times already. Who can count? He’s never killed Wade before, though. His lifeless face makes Logan’s skin crawl. The silence is deafening, haunting, and Logan finds himself kneeling to grab Wade by the shoulder, then gives his head a firm jerk back into the right position so he’ll heal faster. The crunch is disgusting. Logan’s chest is heaving as he searches for signs of life with frantic, darting eyes.
After his heartbeat starts back up, Wade’s eyelids are the first things to shift, like he’s in a deep sleep. Then his fingers twitch, and suddenly he’s gasping for air. He takes in his surroundings quickly before settling on Logan, wide-eyed.
“Did you—did you stuff my face in your sweaty armpit and then break my fucking neck?”
Now that the merc’s talking again, the gut-wrenching fear in Logan’s stomach is ebbing, but he’s still fucking pissed. He grunts and drops Wade’s shoulders. He lands with a heavy thunk followed by a breathy laugh.
“You did! That’s so fucking hot, Peanut. Shit, I love it when you get all aggro.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Logan spits, flipping him the middle finger as he storms into the bathroom to wash Wade Wilson’s blood off him for the umpteenth time this month alone.
He can’t escape Wade’s taunting call of, “Rather fuck you, honey badger!”
~
Wade
~
It’s no surprise when Logan exits the bathroom after a shower that he ignores Wade completely and stomps right out the door.
He’ll be back, most likely drunk, and it’ll blow over by tomorrow like it always does. Wolvie’s little temper tantrums never end well for either of them, but at least they’re quick to pass.
When she gets home from bingo or secret agent work or gourmet coke tasting, whatever the hell it is badass old ladies do, Al complains about the overpowering smell of the floor cleaner. Wade bitches right back but he does his best to clean up their mess while also smoking a bong. In the process, he accidentally fills his bong with floor cleaner, which is not nearly as lemon-limey tasting as it smells.
By the time he’s finished, it’s just past 1 AM and he’s exhausted. He contemplates sleeping in Logan's bed again, just to piss him off…but that means another cleanup and another earful from Al. He crashes on the couch, but doesn’t actually sleep, because insomnia is a bitch.
His plan is: watch reruns until Logan comes home and demands he turn the TV off, then stare at the ceiling until his eyes are dry as sandstone, and wait to see if he does or doesn’t manage to sleep—fifty-fifty odds on that one.
He does lounge on the couch and watch reruns. He even has time to relive the best parts of his scuffle with Logan earlier while he jerks off. Twice.
Logan comes home piss-drunk, as expected. However, the big guy’s thrown him a curveball with the attitude tonight. Sometimes, when Logan gets just the right level of wasted, he goes from scary guard dog to cuddly little kitten.
Wade’s on his way back to the couch with a bag of microwave popcorn when Logan stumbles through the door and their eyes meet. By the way Logan tilts his head and grins, Wade knows he’s done for immediately. Logan doesn’t even take his boots off; he just crosses the room and takes Wade’s face in his hands, claiming his mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. Wade drops his popcorn and fists his hands in Logan’s shirt, groaning softly into his mouth. He never gets to kiss Logan, let alone like this. The old drunkard bullies him into the kitchen, right up against the counter. He tastes like whiskey right out of the barrel. His blood alcohol content is yes.
Okay, so maybe Logan’s more like a blind baby bear than a kitten, but the energy is the same. He’s kind of cute, really—all sad soft features, flushed face and warm hands that travel down Wade’s arms and find his waist, pulling him closer.
Kinda obvious where this is going.
Look—Wade really isn't the type to go to the bar and pick up random drunk floozies to take advantage of, no matter what his old writer’s fucked up kinks were. And while Logan is definitely drunk as a fucking skunk and arguably a floozy, he's not random. This isn't the first time they've railed while one or both of them is less-than-sober, and god willing it won't be the last.
He tries not to think too hard about how the only kisses he gets from Logan taste like alcohol and regret. That would be depressing, and this is supposed to be hot, damnit! Go watch Brokeback Mountain if you want a gråtrunka.
Wade knows how this all goes, but he still tries. “You’re hammered,” he sighs into the kiss. “Like, Mjolnir levels of hammered, babygirl.”
Logan only growls, leaning in and sinking his teeth right into Wade’s throat. It’s pretty clear he doesn’t give a shit. Wade’s eyelids flutter and he hisses in pleasure, tugging at the hem of Logan’s tank top as those fangs sink deeper into him and a hand dips into his pants, cupping Wade’s semi-hard cock and giving a firm squeeze. Wade groans, rolling his hips into the sensation as he quickly swells to full arousal, and Logan begins stroking him clumsily. He releases his bite and showers Wade’s throat and jaw line with broad swipes of his tongue and eager, bloody kisses.
“Jeez,” Wade gasps, “No foreplay, huh?”
“Need t’fuck you,” Logan slurs, “Needa get inside you…”
“I hate to break it to you, Lo, but uh…” Wade shifts his leg forward, where there’s a distinct lack of hardness. Logan’s barely half-mast, clearly interested but struggling. “Looks like you’re experiencing a little bit of whiskey dick of the claws…of the dick.”
“Bet y’can fix that, doll,” Logan whispers with a low chuckle, slowing his strokes to run his thumb over the head of Wade’s cock.
Of all the things happening to him, it's the pet name that makes Wade shudder and whimper. Logan’s movements are uncoordinated and gruff but gentle, and the way he rubs his fingers across Wade’s scars, lingering in all the irregular areas feels like it’s less for Wade and more for Logan’s pleasure.
“Y’wanna fuck me?”
There’s no shame or reservation, just hot, desperate breath against his neck. Wade’s leaking worse than their building’s shitty plumbing at the thought of sliding between those hairy cheeks.
“Yes,” Wade breathes, trembling. “Yeah. Abso-fucking-lutely. Does a wild bear shit in the woods? Yes please.”
Logan pulls away from him slightly and gives him a wolfish grin, an evil little glint in his eyes as he gives Wade a couple more rough tugs, then he lets go. Logan’s belt clatters on the kitchen tile as his pants drop, then he bends over the goddamn counter, presenting himself. Wade feels like he’s in a fever dream as he steps up behind the other man, almost hesitant to touch. He runs his hands up Logan’s thighs first, encouraged by a low hum. Wade takes Logan’s cheeks in each hand, spreading him open with an approving whistle.
“You are just shittin’ through a wicker basket, aren’tcha, Peanut?”
“Thatta problem, bub?” Logan asks with a dangerous look over his shoulder.
“Fuck no,” Wade grins, playing with the surprisingly soft hairs between his fingertips. “Can you wait sixty seconds, or are you gonna gut me if I go grab lube?”
“Gonna gut you either way,” Logan laughs. “Go.”
Wade scurries off as fast as he can without snapping his dick clean off.
Logan’s still there when he gets back. Some small part of him expected to wake up from a months-long mushroom slurry-induced hallucination and find out he’s been having freaky sex with a figment of his overactive imagination this whole time, but nope. Logan is there, ass out, looking at him over his shoulder expectantly. He even took his boots off while Wade was gone.
A quick squirt of lube on his fingers, and Wade’s dangerously close to coming in his pants before he’s even made contact.
Get it together, Wade! Holy fuck.
Wade takes his time rubbing his fingers across Logan’s beautiful hairy asshole, biting his lip. Logan looks about as patient as Wade feels. He exhales softly when Wade slips a single finger inside. Wade’s astounded by how quickly he relaxes, and he’s able to add a second, then a third pretty quickly. Wade hunts his prostate down, and once he’s cornered it in that dark alleyway, he pummels it like an unhinged DC hero taking out his traumatic frustrations on a purse snatcher.
If only the droves of aggressively straight men who idolize this absolute beast of a man could see him like this, taking it up the ass like he was fucking made for it.
Logan’s quiet aside from his little grunts and groans of approval when Wade crooks or spreads his fingers. Wade massages his prostate for a moment before he can’t wait any longer.
“Ready?” Wade asks sheepishly.
“Been ready,” Logan pants, “fuck me already.”
Wade tries to touch as lightly as possible as he slicks himself up. He takes a deep breath as he lines up and watches his cock sink into the other man like it’s happening to someone else. He squares his shoulders and bites his lip, consumed by the searing heat of Logan’s body. Their hips finally meet. He is going to fucking die. God in heaven, Madonna, Dolly, anyone—have mercy on his wretched immortal body.
“Yeah,” Logan breathes out.
On the drag out, Wade exhales the word fuck in much the same way. He’s borderline mechanical for those first few hesitant thrusts, so focused he’s not fully there until Logan’s voice snaps him back into his body.
“Mmnngh…Wade…”
The merc shudders, his perfect rhythm shattered by that resonating rumble of pleasure. He runs his hands up Logan’s lower back, which is just as hairy as the rest of him, a soft blanket draped over rippling muscles. He leans over the other man and his hands find their way around to his chest to cup his pecs, bunching his shirt up over the muscles. They’re so satisfying to squeeze, pillowy and firm all at once. Logan moans deep in his throat when Wade grabs hold of him, like he thoroughly enjoys having his giant hairy tits fondled.
Goddamn.
Wade’s thrusts gain speed and power, and he’s panting against Logan’s back, pressing his forehead into it and squeezing his eyes shut.
“Awfully…quiet back there,” Logan grunts, and Wade realizes he hasn’t uttered a word since he slipped inside. His vocabulary’s gone AWOL.
“F-feels…good,” Wade manages, nodding into Logan’s back. “Trying…not to—unh—”
“Stop tryin’,” Logan moans, pushing back into him. His hole clenches and Wade whimpers, thighs trembling with the effort it takes not to lose it. “Know y’can go another round…cum inside me.”
“SweetMarymotherofMarvelJesus—”
What might’ve been an embarrassing sound for anyone else pours out of Wade; long and shuddering, gasped out little cries of ecstasy. Utterly feminine.
“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Logan groans, rolling his hips back into Wade’s, riding him. “Keep goin’...got me so hard, sweetheart, s’good…”
Wade rides out his orgasm, pressing his cheek to Logan’s back and groaning at his praise. He keeps thrusting, even though it feels so fucking good it’s almost agony.
“M’gonna make you make that sound again,” Logan pants, and Wade can hear the smile in his honey-thick voice.
Wade nods again, mouth hanging open as he finds his voice. “You’re so t-talkative when we fuck. I love it.”
Logan’s laugh is weak, strained, and dissolves into a pleased groan. Wade’s thrusts have evened out again and he’s regained control for the most part. He runs his hands down Logan’s stomach, then encircles his dripping cock with one hand. Logan wasn’t lying; he’s hard as hell, hot to the touch like the barrel of a gun that’s just gone off. He grunts and bucks into Wade’s grip, his arms twitching where he rests his head on them. Wade watches Logan dig his nails into his own arms as Wade zeroes in on his prostate once more and starts stroking his cock in time with deep, controlled thrusts.
“Shit, shit—”
“Careful, gramps,” Wade whispers, “If you cum, d’ya think you’ll be able to get it up again?” he giggles wickedly, releasing his grip once his hand is slippery with precum.
“Teasin’ lil prick,” Logan grumbles without a lick of heat.
Wade grins and reaches behind himself then pops a finger inside, concentrating hard to keep his rhythm. The precum isn’t nearly enough lubricant, and it burns something awful when he adds a second finger, but that helps him maintain his focus. He stretches himself out significantly before he reaches for the lube, still lying open and leaking on the counter. Properly slicked up now, he buries three fingers in his ass, fucking himself sloppy-style while he devotes most of his attention to pounding into Logan.
“Mmm…m’ready for you to…fuck me…daddy,” Wade mumbles eventually, pressing his lips to Logan’s back between words.
Daddy shudders, pushing himself up on his forearms. Wade takes that as his cue to slow to a stop and pull out with a hiss. He wipes his fingers on his shirt as Logan’s turning around, then the man yanks him down into another kiss. Wade sighs into it, then yips in surprise and delight when Logan’s hands grab ahold of him by the ass, spinning them both around and hoisting him up onto the counter.
Logan swallows the sound and nips at Wade’s lower lip before breaking the kiss. He runs his hands up and down the insides of Wade’s spread thighs, eyeing him like a starving dog presented with a pound of raw hamburger meat. The texture of Wade’s skin probably feels pretty similar, too. Haha, gross. Hey, as long as Logan’s into it, who cares?
“Why d’you insist on callin’ me daddy?” Logan asks as he’s pulling his shirt over his head, then he removes Wade’s for him as well. “Y’know I hate that shit.”
Wade scoffs as Logan’s lining up. The heat of his cock so close makes Wade ache, empty and yearning to be filled. “Have you looked in a mirror? Grey streaks, cigars and black coffee and whiskey, work boots? You just took my shirt off for me. You’re one-hundred percent daddy.”
~
Logan
~
Logan huffs out a quiet laugh. Talking to Wade is so easy when he’s hammered. Being with him is so easy.
“S’that make you baby?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and small smirk.
Wade’s already a pretty shade of pink, but his cheeks darken at the comment.
He’s so fucking cute. How does a 6-foot-tall mercenary manage to be precious? He’s beautiful, with his half lidded, hopeful eyes, lopsided smile and—Logan can’t even finish the thought, driven to push inside him instead. He just can’t wait a second longer.
Wade cries out and his legs twitch. He scoots a little closer to the edge of the counter, and Logan’s able to sink inside him almost completely. If he were just an inch or two taller…damnit. He stands on his tip toes, shuddering as he gets that last inch buried inside Wade, who makes another ruined little sound.
Logan doesn’t ever want to feel another person against his skin in his life. He hooks his hands under Wade’s knees, helping him keep them up and spread at the angle he wants them. He sweeps his thumbs back and forth, massaging the uneven patches of skin affectionately. Logan wants to kiss Wade all over, so he does.
The merc arches into Logan’s mouth when he kisses his chest. Logan can feel his heartbeat under his lips. He growls softly as he starts to pump in and out of Wade’s hot, clenching hole slowly. He loves to fuck him slow and soft, but never gets to for long because Wade’s always begging for it hard and nasty.
Tonight, he’s gonna treat Wade like he deserves. He wants to show him he could be better…he could try to be someone worthy of Wade’s love.
It’s not long before Wade starts trying to tempt him. “Ah, fuck, yeah, use me…fuck me…” he pants, head lolling back and knocking against the cabinet. “Goddamn, give it to me harder.”
Wade’s arms shake slightly from the effort of propping himself up with them. A bit of sweat is beading on his brow bone, trickling down the paths of his scars.
“No,” Logan grunts, leaning in to press his nose to the junction of Wade’s neck and jaw just below his ear and scent him deeply.
He smells like he always smells; sweet like his body scrub, spicy from the ungodly amount of heat he adds to any dish he can, hints of gunpowder and oil from his merc work. Sickly…somehow on the cusp of death at every second, yet still brimming with life. There's nothing else on Earth like him.
Wade makes a soft sound of distress in the back of his throat that tickles Logan’s facial hair. “Whattaya mean, no?”
“Lemme go slow,” Logan murmurs into Wade’s neck, rubbing circles into his legs with his thumbs again, “y’won’t regret it.” He can feel the other man hesitating, so he leans into an angle he wouldn’t touch sober, “Let daddy fuck you slow, babydoll.”
Wade clenches down around him and Logan shudders with a sharp inhale, digging his nails into the backs of Wade’s thighs, which have gone hard as stone.
“Sound good? Want me t’give it to ya sweet and tender, darlin’?”
“Mmm...mnnn…” Wade manages to whimper before Logan feels the splash of hot cum up his stomach.
Logan fucks him through it just like he promised: sweet and tender. Wade feels amazing around him, muscles rippling and flexing and pulling. He kisses Wade’s neck and slides his hands back down, gently holding onto his ankles instead as he lowers the other man’s legs for him. He waits until Wade come back to him to wrap his legs around his waist.
“Hold onto me,” he orders, nose still pressed to Wade’s throat.
Thick arms loop around Logan’s shoulders and Wade locks his ankles behind his back. Logan scoops him up by the ass, pulling him off the counter and flush against him.
“Fuck,” Wade grunts quietly.
Fuck is right. Logan enjoys Wade’s heat from the new angle for a moment, fucking up into him lazily. Wade clutches at the back of Logan’s head with one hand, scraping his scalp and panting softly next to his ear.
Once he’s had time to truly appreciate Wade’s flexibility, he carries the other man back into the living room and drops to his knees at the foot of his bed, where he can press Wade down into the soft surface and spread his long limbs out. Pinning Wade’s wrists at his sides, Logan thrusts into him with new vigor.
The angle is perfect. Wade is perfect. He takes it like he was built for this. For Logan. His chest is heaving, kiss-swollen lips parted but still. The only begging he does is with his eyes. That silence is rare, earned.
Logan leans in and kisses him some more. Wade arches into him, uttering nothing but filthy little sounds that Logan greedily devours. They don’t normally kiss, because the way Wade responds to it does more than make Logan hard as a fucking rock.
“S’like y’were made for me,” Logan whispers against Wade’s lips as he’s pulling away for breath.
It makes him say shit like that, and Wade looks up at him with the most pitiful combination of adoration and longing that runs Logan right through the heart, because part of him is painfully aware he can’t give this to Wade sober, and worse, he’s gonna regret it tomorrow. He’s gonna regret filling his own head with blurry memories of Wade like this, raw and real and pleading for him. Memories that will permeate his brain like Wade’s scent in his bed.
“Don’t stop,” Wade whimpers, “fuck, fuck, fuuuck…”
“Again? So soon, baby?” Logan teases. He doesn’t slow his thrusts, but he does deliver them more pointedly, trying to drag Wade over the edge he’s teetering on.
“Shh…shhhh…k-kiss me.”
He does. He kisses Wade with the tenderness he wishes he could offer him any other time, licking deep into his mouth in motions that mirror his hips, sliding in and out of Wade’s tight heat. The merc cums again with a muffled mewl.
Logan briefly thinks about telling him how he feels. How much he loves the feeling of him, the sounds he makes…everything single infuriating thing about him. He tries to tell him with his bite instead, sinking his canines deep into Wade’s exposed throat and clamping down so hard he has to know, on some instinctive level, that he belongs to Logan…and Logan belongs to him.
He finishes with three final thrusts, one for each word he wishes he could growl without his mouth full of Wade’s flesh.
Logan doesn’t remember much when he wakes other than Wade’s pretty face looking up at him from the tangled mess of blankets and lumpy pillows. Wade’s long gone by sunrise, but Logan also swears he remembers the man begging to stay snuggled in bed with him for five more minutes. Multiple times. He’s pretty sure he said fine until they both drifted off to sleep, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
All that’s left of him is the smell of his sweat, flecks of blood and crusted semen.