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There’s a moment in every romcom where the protagonist man has to decide whether or not he’s going to go after the girl. Now, this is already a problem on multiple levels: one, both of them are men, and Logan certainly isn’t going to do anything. Two, this isn’t, technically, a romcom. Three, Wade is currently holding the world’s smelliest dog, and nothing is more of a boner killer than poor, sweet Dogpool.
But there are solutions for these. One, that has never stopped Wade before. Two, that has never stopped Wade before. And three, that has never stopped Wade’s boners before.
“Logan!” he calls, standing up. Logan stops, miraculously, and turns around.
Now, Wade has weaknesses. Small animals. An insane amount of tranquilizer darts. Videos of dogs being reunited with their soldier parents. One that he’s just recently discovered is the Wolverine standing a few feet away from him, face the most calm and open he’s seen in the past God-knows how long they’ve been together, waiting for him to say something. This one’s lethal.
So, he blurts, “I ain’t quittin’ you.”
Logan laughs. Not an exhale through the nose, not an exasperated single grunt, but a full, glistening-belly laugh. Wade could just float away, like Jerry smelling a delicious cheese. “Jesus Christ,” he says between laughs.
Wade tilts his head back a little, gesturing over his shoulder. “Are you just going to walk that way until you’re inspired, or do you want to meet B—Al?”
Logan looks at him for a moment. A long moment. Shifts on his feet a little bit. Really makes a fucking meal out of it. But it’s enough for Wade to feel the sweat on the back of his neck before Logan sighs, steps back towards Wade, and mutters, “Sure, why not.”
The first few minutes of the walk are normal enough. They bicker, Logan mostly tells Wade to shut up, Dogpool gets set on the ground, there are a few lapses into comfortable silence. The most recent bout of silence has been stretching, only for Wade to interrupt with: “Do you come pre-oiled, or was that all natural?”
Logan scoffs. “You’re obsessed.”
“We all are! Only a psychopath would see damp abs like that and not want to lick them just to see if it’s fucking canola oil.”
Wade makes the bad decision to look at Logan at the end of this tirade, and instead of the vaguely pissed glare he’s expecting, Logan’s mouth is a little bit open, and he’s smiling in disbelief. Seriously, the matter or antimatter or whatever was going on with that time ripper must’ve horrifically wounded Logan, or Wade, or both of them.
Logan mutters, “I think I was just sweaty.”
“Licking statement still stands,” Wade says with a shrug, and keeps on trucking.
He doesn’t notice Logan hasn’t kept moving, because from just a beat behind him, Logan simply says, “Okay.”
Wade stops. Turns. Stares for a beat. “I beg your pardon?”
Logan shrugs. “Okay.”
The only thing in Wade’s ears is TV static. Not racing thoughts, not questions about how the hell he’s supposed to just go for it in the middle of a New York street, even though weirder things have happened in Times Square. His mouth opens and closes like broken Big Mouth Billy Bass—and then Logan starts laughing. That same belly laugh, and he crumples in on himself a little, holding his own waist like a damn cartoon character. He even stomps his foot a little bit, the absolute dickhead.
“I can’t believe—” Logan says, wheezing, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye, “I finally figured out a way to shut you up.”
Wade blinks. “Kiss me, my fool,” he breathes out, taking a slow step forward. Ready to be stabbed. Wouldn’t be anything new.
And because Logan is full of surprises, he swallows his leftover chuckles and repeats, “Okay.”
“Oh my god thank you Jesus,” Wade exhales in one quick breath, and then he grabs both sides of Logan’s shirt to pull him in for a kiss.
There is nothing soft about it. Logan is all sweat and whiskey and scruff and it’s absolutely beautiful. Logan grabs Wade’s hips and steers them, to the best of his ability, into a nearby alley, but instead just ends up slamming Wade into a wall and forcing the breath out of him. Wade groans against Logan’s mouth and pushes them properly towards privacy, Logan grunting when his back lands against another wall (hopefully) further into the alley.
“This also works,” Logan mumbles against his mouth, hands warm even through the suit (and also all the holes from places where Logan had previously, of course, stabbed him). “You’re unbelievably predictable.”
“I am not," Wade argues, even though he totally is. Instead of try to crawl out of that labyrinth of lies he would have to create about how he totally has been flirting with him in an ironic, funny-to-insecure-straight-men-in-their-thirties kind of way, he opts for moving a gloved hand up to cup Logan’s jaw and kiss him again. With the momentum, he pushes them towards the opposite wall, Logan’s feet clattering against errant garbage. Not the most sexy first make out spot, honestly. It’s fucking perfect.
“Oh Feige’s not gonna let us stay together,” Wade mutters against Logan’s lips, hands scrambling desperately to tear the buttons clean off that God awful TVA shirt.
Logan just grunts and flips them so that it’s Wade’s turn pressed up against the brick of the alleyway, a thick leg forcing its way between Wade’s to spread them wide. Praise be.
“I’m serious, this is not flying in China,” Wade gasps, the melodious sound of buttons pinging off the shirt and off various bits of wall, floor, and supersuit. Dogpool probably eats one, but she’ll be fine. Wade hopes she got bored and wandered off, but if she’s just a variant of him, well, he’d be staying to watch.
“We’re not in fucking China,” Logan grumbles, forcing their lips back together.
After a few blissful, mind-swimmingly gorgeous moments, they have to break apart for air again. Wade thunks his head back against the concrete while Logan makes himself useful along his jawline. “They got us $42 million last time, and I was blatantly trying to fuck Colossus the whole time. But this? I can feel the Disney snipers closing in, and the only thing that’s going to bust is my brain all over this brick—”
Logan slaps a hand over Wade’s mouth and bites hard on the side of his neck—ow, ow, pointy, what?—and Wade does very nearly bust in his spandex. He groans into the meat of his hand, and Logan lifts his head. “You are making this very difficult for me.”
Wade shakes his head immediately. “I’m done,” he says, muffled, before Logan moves his hand away. Wade almost misses it. “I’m done, seriously, I’m done. I’m not going to blow this on half-assed box office jokes. I don’t think any other Wolverine would let me do this, and I am not wasting the opportunity.”
Logan, oddly, chuckles. “I think you’re wrong about Wolverines,” he mumbles, before kissing Wade again.
What? “What?” Wade grabs Logan by the waist (shiny, naked, world-saving abs on display once more) and pushes him back enough to look at him. Logan’s somehow still smirking. “What the shit did you just say?”
Logan shrugs. “I don’t know how the multiverse works. But if I’m going for it, then surely others…”
“Oh my god I fucking knew it,” Wade says, whispering the last bit.
Logan chuckles again (!!) and goes when Wade tugs him close. He’s trying to figure out how to either take the belt off or get it out of the way—Wade barely knows how this suit goes on, let alone how to instruct someone else to get it off. And he really doesn’t want Logan to slice through it, even though the mental image alone is to make his knees weak (weaker than they are with the sudden presence of Logan’s tongue, Lord have mercy).
“As much,” Wade gasps as he pulls his head barely an inch back, immediately mourning the loss of tongue, “as I want to get a handjob from Wolverine in an alleyway, and I cannot stress enough how much it pains me and my dick to say this, but Al is very much home and she’ll kill me if I bring a fuckbuddy over.”
“Is that what we are?” Logan asks, and Wade whines.
“It’s like you’re trying to get me so hard that my dick falls off. Seriously, I can’t jerk off around her. Last time I tried to take care of the ol’ wonky donkey, she started yelling at me before I could even think about taking my pants off. She’s fucking scary, man.”
Logan just chuckles. A noise that somehow, Wade has managed to hear multiple times over the course of the past hour. Is he dead? Did he finally manage it? He can feel his pulse in his balls, so that crosses that theory out. Logan shakes his head and says, “Here’s what we’ll do.”
“Elope to Cancun and spend the rest of our days luxuriously fucking under one of those straw umbrellas.”
Logan furrows his brows slightly. Wade presses his lips together and gives a shake of his head immediately. “Let’s cool down, go meet Al and drop that fucking dog off, I leave—” Wade whines again, “—and we both sleep for a good, long while. And then we’ll see where that takes us. ‘kay?”
“As long as it takes us to me getting absolutely ravaged in an Al-less home then I literally couldn't care less as to what you were making me do,” Wade admits, and Logan smiles.
“Good. She’s been licking my boot for the past five minutes,” he grumbles, and without so much as a warning, pushes off of Wade and starts walking down the alley.
Wade takes a moment to take a large breath into the air, head leaned back to smile up into the sky. He whispers, “And she didn’t even kill the boner,” before crouching down and pointing a finger directly in Dogpool’s face and continuing, “Do not blow this for us.”
He scoops Dogpool into one arm and, while jogging to catch up, tries to tug at the crotch of the suit in a mild effort to make it any more comfortable. As he slows, he slaps Logan’s ass with a triumphant, “Let’s go!” and doesn’t even protest when he’s immediately stabbed in the side in retribution. Fucking worth it.