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As far as he’s aware, the Logan from his universe never had this problem. Actually, it might just be this one—the Worst Wolverine, a coward and a failure and a fucking animal.
Literally, because one second Wade’s very considerately asking Logan if there’s a reason he’s being a rude little bitch today, and the next he’s bent over the kitchen table, an arm crushing the back of his neck and an unmistakable hard-on rubbing against his ass.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says, because he’s really not. If anything, this is a long time coming since that one delicious night in the Honda Odyssey. “But maybe we should consider a safe word? I’m thinking—“
“No, you’re not thinking,” Logan growls, teeth pressed against Wade’s ear, body bearing down with all that metal and muscle and shit, Logan’s really heavy, and this is the good table. “That’s the problem with you. You never think things through.”
“I’ll have you know that I think a lot. Way too much, actually. You’re just too busy being a sad, bitter, mopey asshole to notice—“
Logan somehow manages to force his arm down even harder against Wade’s neck, until his words literally get cut off by his throat crunching against the table top. “Shut up.”
As if I have a choice, Wade thinks—see, he does think!—flailing behind him to try and smack the 300 pounds of man-meat off him. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t working.
“Shit,” Logan says, and even though it definitely sounds like he’s talking to himself and not the innocent man being assaulted, he lets up anyway, backing away enough to drop down onto the couch.
“Shit is right,” Wade croaks out, flipping over on the table. “That was not very heroic of you, big guy. What’s wrong? Huh? Come on, this is a safe space. You can tell mommy.”
Logan cringes, draping his arms over the back of the couch. “Gross. Don’t call yourself that.”
“Then don’t be a little bitch.” Wade flops down onto the couch beside Logan. Actually, he flops down right beneath Logan’s outstretched arm, trying to grapple the muscly goodness into wrapping around his shoulders. When Logan refuses to budge, Wade groans, loud, kicking at his equally muscular leg. “Fine. But if I don’t get to be mommy, then you don’t get to be daddy. It’s only fair, although I will say, it’s a shame—“
He’s not surprised, this time, when he gets body slammed into the couch.
Well, he’s maybe a little surprised. Enough to squeak out daddy! before Logan’s claws obliterate his vocal cords, pinning him to the cushions.
“You really wanna know what’s going on?!”
Wade struggles to nod as blood gurgles up from around that tangy metal and fills his mouth. Turns every inhale into a very wet experience down in his lungs.
“You just had to go poking your nose into it, didn’t you.”
Wade chokes down another inhale of blood, even as he feels his skin beginning to heal around Wolverine’s claws. He hopes that reference to his nose doesn’t mean Logan’s planning to remove it—he needs all the help he can get in the face department, and having a nose tends to be one of the less difficult beauty standards to achieve.
“Fine. You want to know so badly? Here it is. I got more than the claws in that little experiment they ran on me. I got…instincts, too.”
Yeah, you got the instinct to gel your hair into little kitty cat ears every day, which, by the way, very cute. Wade doesn’t say any of that on account of his throat being occupied by three metal spikes, but he does think it, and he tries his best to give a little lecherous smile without completely severing the muscles in his neck.
“Every couple of years or so,” Logan continues, “I—it’s—I just need to fuck something, alright?!”
Suddenly, the claws are gone, tearing their way out of Wade’s neck more painfully than they went in.
“Happy now?!”
Wade sits straight up, mouthing the words when nothing comes out of his mouth but more blood. Oh my god! You’re in heat!
“It’s not heat,” Logan says, surprisingly adept at reading lips. “It’s—I’m not a bottom.”
Well that’s not very impressive, Wade mouths, and then his neck makes a really sick crunch noise, and suddenly he can talk again. “Big strong guy like you can’t even take it?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“Please,” Wade begs, snagging Logan’s wrist before he can get up and walk away. “Seriously, how many other people do you know that would still be here right now? I mean, after the whole stabbing thing—“
“Most people would be dead.”
“Exactly! Not only am I not dead, I’m also still talking to you about your insecurities and your weird sex stuff! I think that earns me a little more than getting ditched one-night-stand style after the worlds worst throat fucking.”
“It’s not that I can’t bottom,” Logan says, which is crazy because, genuinely, why is he even still here right now? “That’s just not what this shit is.”
“Hey, look, I get it. Sometimes you just wanna put a baby in someone, am I right?”
Logan’s face is one more wrinkle away from eating itself, but he manages to nod. “Yeah. Something like that. Now, you gonna let me go?” He glances down at where Wade is still gripping his wrist. “Or am I going to have to cut this hand off.”
“Wow. I mean, hot, but I really wish you wouldn’t. That shit takes forever to grow back, and I feel like my having a little tiny baby hand while you attempt to impregnate me is probably a bit of a mood killer.”
Logan blinks hard. Shakes his little kitty cat head. “What?”
“I don’t judge!” Wade snatches his arm away just in case, holding his hands up in surrender. “You need someone to go all alpha wolf on? I’m right here, baby. Take me. I’m yours.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’ve said before that I’m not a natural bottom, but, you know what they say!” Wade leans in, grabbing at Logan’s shaking, meaty thighs. Wondering how he didn’t notice the massive boner in between them until now. “Never trust a man in head to toe leather when he claims to be a top.”
—
They end up with Wade bent over the arm of the couch, because fuck it, neither of them feel like moving very far.
He really can’t imagine any other Wolverine tearing his pajama pants off him like he’s starving for Wade’s scarred ass.
He tries to speak—to something to the effect of sorry, I know, I haven’t gotten a call back from any underwear modeling gigs since the accident, no idea why—but all he manages is a strangled sounding moan when Logan’s big, stupid fingers push into him with no prep whatsoever.
Wait, scratch that. There is prep! Logan’s collected some of Wade’s throat blood off the back of his neck, and is now using that to push two fingers into his asshole.
How considerate.
“You’re taking reduce, reuse, recycle to a whole new level.”
“Shut up.”
Wade shudders, his entire body screaming. Every nerve ending crawling beneath his skin, trying to get away from the white-hot epicenter of his ass meeting Logan’s third finger. “You do know I can still feel pain, right? Also I live here, so there’s lube pretty much everywhere.” To prove his point, he digs around in the blood stained couch he’s being fingerblasted into, coming back quickly with two separate bottles of lube, both half empty—not to be a pessimist about it. “See? Lube.”
“Is that a hint, Bub?”
“A hint? No. That’s me telling you to use this before you tear me in half, you animal.” Then, because nagging isn’t seeming to get Logan’s attention, he puts on his best mommy voice. “Wolvie, you want me nice and wet, right?”
Logan’s responding snarl in his ear feels a little more receptive.
“Gonna be pretty hard to knock me up if you can’t even fit.” Wade’s gone all breathless, leaning back into Logan’s weight. “You do want to knock me up, don’t you, daddy?”
Logan’s hand shoves itself down between the back of the couch and Wade’s body. “Give it to me.”
“That’s the spirit!” Wade sighs, pleasantly not-surprised at how getting fingered gets one million times easier once there’s lubrication not consisting of mostly-tacky neck blood.
“You’re going to regret this,” Logan says.
“I certainly hope so.”
—
Wade rocks back on Logan’s fingers, shoving his ass as high into the air as it’ll go. The angle forces him up on his tiptoes, his face smushed into the sofa and his own forearms. It feels so good, not just the finger-fucking—although he’s certainly not complaining about that, especially with the addition of an egregious amount of lube—but the really good part comes from Logan’s reaction.
He’s opening Wade up like he’s hungry, gone totally animalistic with his noises and his movements and the hand that isn’t inside of Wade holding him down between his shoulder blades until Wade starts to shake. Say what you want about this whole alpha male fuck-or-be-miserable shit; it’s working for him.
And then, Logan’s fingers go still. Thick and buried in Wade’s body, yeah, but not moving. “Hey, listen…”
Great. Unfortunately, it seems Logan’s animal brain hasn’t fully taken over. Wade would doubt if he had one, but he knows for a fact that, when pushed far enough, Logan is a really good fuck. Totally brutal. Destroyer of Hondas everywhere, and, more importantly, Wade’s ass.
“What I said back there, about you not thinking…I know it didn’t make a lot of sense, but—“
Wade pushes back, trying to get the fingers to go deeper and to rile Logan up all at once. “Oh, no, I get it. It’s just the author shortcutting an actual argument. Happens in Marvel movies all the time.”
“…What?”
Wade growls, his best imitation of Logan. “Just fuck me already!”
Logan punches down into the cushion right beside Wade’s head. That’s it, just a little closer big guy. “What I was trying to say was—“
“I don’t care,” Wade sing-songs. “Look, you have a problem with how much I think? Then do something about it!”
Logan snarls, “Fine!” And then pulls his fingers out, the blunt head of his dick pressing urgently against Wade’s hole.
Yes.
And then Logan’s fist connects with Wade’s temple, forcing his head painfully to one side before—
Fuck yes!
Logan’s not the only one who gets to be lost in abstract, carnal horniness. His claws slide easily through Wade’s skull, pinning him to the couch. It’s actually the last proper thought Wade manages to have—that they’re going to have to buy a new couch.
After that, the world is hazy and beautiful. There’s a monster of a dick in his ass, but all he can feel is want. He wants it so bad, needs it, made to get fucked like this: bent over the arm of his favorite couch, now ruined. Both of them torn to matching shreds.
He thinks of a good joke—that being, what does Wade have in common with a sofa? Sit on my face!—but it slips away from his brain as easily as it came in. All that comes out of his mouth is a pitiful whine.
It’s difficult to describe the feeling of getting stabbed through the head. For Wade, at least, it’s a delicious cocktail of pain and horniness and something close-ish to nostalgia—rose tinted glasses forcing their way into the present, although that could just be blood getting in his eyes. He feels fuckin’ good. Like all the cheesy infomercial taglines in the world have suddenly come 100% true. Like every thrust of Logan’s dick inside him, jostling his brain against the razor edge of those claws, is filling up something more substantial than his skull or his ass.
But mostly he’s just horny.
Now, if only he could get Logan to stab through his chest, too. That would really be perfect. The Three Musketeers of good, glorious sex—a full heart, mind, and pussy.
He can’t formulate any sort of plan to make that happen, though, so he just rocks back on Logan’s ridiculous dick and manages to think hey, 2/3 ain’t bad.
Logan’s free hand is everywhere on him at once, from his hip where the fingers dig into the grooves of his scar tissue and bruise all the way down, to back up between his shoulders, forcing Wade’s spine into even more of a pornstar arch.
Vanessa would be so proud.
Those claws corkscrew deeper into his brain tissue, and his vision becomes a blur of vaguely familiar shapes. That must be the coffee table. Those must be his Crocs. There must be an absolutely overwhelming dick fucking into him right now, and, if he’s not mistaken, he’s going to cum.
And that’s definitely blood getting in his eyes—it’s times like these he misses having eyelashes.
Logan snarls, teeth gnashing down by Wade’s ear and startling him out of his momentary lapse in concentration.
Good kitty, Wade wants to say, but when he opens his mouth he just pants instead, inhaling couch lint and coughing it back out as Logan slams into him with the force of a man with a metal skeleton. A man much stronger than him, at least in this moment.
Hot.
Wade feels pleasure creeping up on him again, that persistent you’re going to cum feeling swallowing him over and over as Logan’s dick seems to get bigger and bigger and—
Oh, shit, it is getting bigger, isn’t it.
“Wait,” Wade chokes out, his body struggling on it’s own—wriggling against the arm of the couch, trying to get away before—
Shit.
Logan’s claws rend Wade’s head to one side, and then his teeth sink into the back of Wade’s neck, and it feels like there’s rows upon rows of them—a mouth full of never-ending teeth as Logan’s dick fucks into him once more, unfathomably, painfully large.
It doesn’t come out again.
Wade can feel the unholy amount of cum pooling in his guts. He whines, sweating, struggling to see as the new angle has one of the Wolverine’s claws slicing slowly through his eye.
“How’s that feel,” Logan asks, and his voice is warm and rough and muffled around Wade’s neck.
He’s being chewed on between words.
Logan pulls back, licking, nuzzling, beard rough and making him shudder before Logan bites down again. “Huh, mommy?”
Jesus. “Not…fair,” Wade manages to squeak out. “You—came.”
Logan releases him, rubbing their cheeks together. Why does he smell so fucking good?
“You smell so good,” Wade says, voice still shaky and weak.
“It’s the pheromones.” Logan’s voice comes out so gravelly he might as well be purring. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Great. Now that we’ve established that, are you going to get me off?” Wade laughs, three little ha ha ha noises that kinda just sound like coughs. Or sobs. “I mean, I appreciate the DIY lobotomy as much as the next guy, but my dick is feeling a little left out. And rug burned. Couch burned? This fabric is not friendly on the clit, I’ll tell you that.”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“Are you ever going to get me off?”
Logan yanks his claws out of Wade’s head, and the world rushes back in bright technicolor. The inside of his skull feels cold, and then hot, and then he’s not focused on the odd-yet-familiar feeling of his brain regrowing anymore because Logan’s hauled him up to stand, his back to Logan’s chest, and there’s finally a hand around his dick.
He leans back, resting his still open, bleeding head wounds against Logan’s shoulder, the new angle forcing Logan’s freaky cock even further into Wade’s body.
Logan’s jaw moves against the side of his throat. “That good?”
“You are so considerate. And good at handjobs.” Wade hikes a leg up onto the couch, rocking as much as he can on the dick he’s stuck on. Back and forth, rutting into Logan’s hand. “I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me one last love-bite, though. Your teeth are, frankly, amazing.”
Logan chuckles, both bitter and surprisingly genuine. “Whatever you want.”
He bites down hard, harder than before, tearing into Wade’s shoulder muscle like he’s going to bite it clean off.
The pain works.
Wade clenches down around him, shouting daddy! one last time as he cums and cums and Jesus, they’ve really truly absolutely destroyed the couch. It’s covered in blood and absolutely full of holes and cum—yet another similarity between them.
He collapses back into Logan’s arms, going totally boneless as another wash of heat pulses through his stomach.
“Jesus, that was good. You really know how to fuck. At least when you’ve been sufficiently goaded into it.”
Logan leans back, lifting Wade ever so slightly off the ground until he can collapse back onto the other side of the couch, dropping Wade painfully into his lap.
“Shit! A little warning next time, huh, babe?” He can almost feel Logan’s eye roll, but it doesn’t matter. He wriggles around until he’s as comfortable as possible with a giant dick lodged in his ass, and then he drapes back over Logan’s body, content to lounge in the afterglow.
For about five seconds, anyway.
“So, uh, how long are we going to be stuck together like this?”
Logan snorts. “Last time this happened it went down after a couple hours.”
Wade makes the kind of noise he’s only ever heard before during particularly nasty car crashes. He cranes to look Logan in the eye. “Hours?!”
“I told you.” Logan’s teeth are bright and sharp and red with blood when he smiles. “You didn’t think this through.”