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When Wade promised a sexual advance, he apparently, didn’t really shut up about it.
Logan had settled into the corner of the sofa, a blanket pulled over his lap, a second bottle of diet coke between his fingertips–though he desperately craved something alcoholic–and another romcom Wade picked out playing on the television.
His legs found their way into Wade’s lap, and while he made it very clear he would slash Wade’s fucking arms clean off if he even dared touching the bottoms of his feet, Logan only barely minded the closeness. It had been years since someone touched him like that, not afraid of him, not expecting the worst before he’d even had a chance to prove himself.
They weren’t wrong for shying away, he was dangerous.
Wade liked closeness, and always initiated it, but though Logan would never admit it, there was a certain bit of fondness that settled deep in his chest whenever Wade would reach for him.
Regardless of their relaxed evening, every few minutes, Wade threw out a whispered insinuation about his plans for later that night.
I’m going to fuck you into the mattress, Peanut.
I want you to feel it for days. Or weeks. I haven’t decided yet.
Oh c’mon, honey badger! Althea can’t even see us, and she can’t hear that well, she wouldn’t even know my dick–
Logan had taken the liberty to stab Wade in the knee with the last one. Wade was such fucking desperate little prick.
When Althea had gone to bed, and Mary Puppins had settled down in her little bed in the corner of the living room, Logan felt the piercing stare of Wade from across the sofa, even with his eyes half shut from drifting slightly during the film.
“What are you looking at?” Logan asked gruffly, knowing exactly what the answer would be. Wade hadn’t stopped fucking looking at him for hours. It was goddamn aggravating.
“The person I’m going to fuck into the mattress in say–eleven minutes?” Wade said, dipping his chin and flicking his tongue over his bottom lip in some terrible attempt at seduction.
Logan raised his eyebrows, shifting his feet out of Wade’s lap and setting them on the floor, stretching his arms out. He wanted Wade –of course he wanted him, the man’s tongue had been inside of him not even four hours earlier–but Logan had grown tired, body still aching from the usual after effects of a migraine.
He rubbed at his eyes, elbows digging into his knees, a sigh releasing from his lips because he assumed Wade would be disappointed and probably fucking vocal about it if Logan said no–
“Hey, Peanut? All good over there? Lost in barbie land, baby girl?”
“I’m–Wade I’m fine.”
Logan lied, as he tended to do when he was asked about his feelings. Wade shifted around, sidling up next to Logan and breathing right down the neck of his t-shirt while attempting to hug him from the side. Annoying little prick.
“The last time you told me you were fine you were coughing up a hairball in the toilet, and that was, in fact, earlier today. Don’t even bother trying that one.”
Correction: annoying, persistent little prick.
“I’m just tired, Wade. Lay the fuck off of me,” Logan snapped, forcing himself to look at Wade, even if his eyes were a little glassy and his hair was all out of sorts.
Wade produced a very slow blink. He didn’t look hurt, but there was some unreadable expression painted across his features; Logan hated when he couldn’t tell what Wade was thinking, so for once, he kept talking instead of falling into an uncomfortable silence.
“And I don’t want you to take that the fucking wrong way, asshole. I want you– fuck this– I do want you to fuck me,” Logan paused to take a shaky breath, averting his eyes in some half-assed attempt to hide his embarrassment, “But I’m just–I’m tired.”
Ah fuck, Wade kept looking at him with those wide eyes.
Logan bit down on the sides of his tongue wishing he’d kept everything he said to himself. He felt like an idiot, Wade wasn’t a goddamn therapist–not that Logan would see one anyway–and they certainly weren’t in a relationship where negotiating the time and place of sex was acceptable.
In relationships you could be honest and the other person probably gave a shit. But they fucking weren’t, and Wade didn’t need to give a single shit.
Logan braced himself for rejection, because that’s what happened every other time he’d tried to back out of fucking or fighting all the same.
“Hey–Logan.”
He was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of his name. Wade’s voice was low and free from all the usual gimmicky shit, “Of course we don’t have to tonight. Fuck –jesus– I’m sorry.”
Logan didn’t dare look at him, instead focusing his blurring vision on where he picked at a loose string on his pants.
It was strange to hear the word sorry from Wade. In fact, it was the first time he had apologized, and Logan hardly understood what for, because as far as he could tell, it wasn’t Wade’s fault.
“For what?” He asked, finding that his hands shook slightly in his lap, and his chest felt a little tighter than usual.
“I didn’t mean to make it…I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t have a choice.” Wade didn’t drop the serious tone, and for whatever reason, it only made Logan’s chest constrict even more.
“But I agreed.”
Wade blinked at him again and Logan dared a glance in his direction to find the man’s mouth ajar, “It doesn’t matter if you agreed, cupcake, that was hours ago. My prior statements still stand –I am absolutely going to fuck you into the mattress– but only when you are ready. We can reschedule.”
Logan’s stomach clenched–because rescheduling a quick fuck sounded fucking absurd– but he felt himself sigh in relief, even if the look on Wade’s face was hardly relieving to look at.
He looked, well, a bit taken aback.
“Tomorrow then? Before you go to work?” Logan offered, voice wobbling in his mouth. Shit, he hated that.
Wade smiled softly, so sickly sweet that it made Logan want to cry, and not in a positive way.
“Only if you want, Peanut. But I will caution you, my dick is exponentially larger, manlier, and down to fuck in the morning.”
Logan glared at him, albeit with a hint of amusement on his face despite the unfallen tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes, and headed to the bathroom, “I’ll bring a ruler.”
Logan blinked awake before the annoying jingle of Wade’s morning alarm to find he was no longer on his own side of the bed, but rather, tucked into Wade’s side, head resting on his chest, and their legs tangled together with the sheets.
He didn’t remember any dreams, which was a welcome change, and his shirt wasn’t soaked in a bucket of sweat. Logan felt…good. Maybe even well-rested for a change. His muscles were far less sore than they usually were a day after a migraine, the massage Wade gave him clearly having helped.
A glance at the clock revealed it would still be another hour before Wade woke up, and Logan considered trying to fall back asleep, but the sunrise was slowly drawing more light into the room, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Logan felt a pang of fondness in his chest as he slowly lifted himself up onto one elbow and glanced at Wade’s relaxed face, watching as he exhaled little puffs of breath. Wade looked good like this, and Logan couldn’t get enough of the fucking silence.
But there were times when Wade was better with words than Logan would give him credit for, and Logan couldn’t help the knot in his stomach that appeared when he thought about all the little things Wade said that he did like.
Wade could explain his feelings, and was never afraid to spill out a compliment as easily as he did insults. He had no qualms about inserting himself in uncomfortable situations, never allowing himself to be stepped over or looked past.
Hell– Wade wasn’t half bad at comforting a grown man.
Logan had the sudden realization that perhaps he liked Wade. He really liked Wade, in that way that made his skin feel too hot, and made his heart beat just a little bit too fast. And fuck– that made Logan want to run himself through a meatgrinder just a little bit.
Instead of looking up where the nearest butcher might be, he extracted himself from Wade’s hold, tucked him back under the covers, and made for the living room in Wade’s loose gray sweatpants he’d left beside the bed.
Wade deserved something nice. Maybe deserved was too strong of a word, but Logan was just willing enough to do something nice for him. This time.
Logan started by walking the damn dog even if it was a little chilly and he wasn’t nearly dressed warm enough for the weather.
When he returned, he decided to make breakfast.
The waffle maker was tucked away in the back of the bottom cupboard, but Logan persevered, sifting through what seemed like a disorganized mixture of plates, cups, and bowls that Wade had thrown in there on a whim during the move.
While he was no expert on cooking, he did know how to make waffles, and he knew Wade liked them. The one time they went out for breakfast the week before Logan had watched him order possibly the most complex set of toppings for his stack of waffles in bewilderment, wondering if the waiter would finally just say fuck no when the number reached a certain threshold.
The waiter never did, and Logan only found out later that Wade was a regular, and they let him order waffles like that once a month in exchange for on-call security services when there was a break in or a customer was acting like a piece of shit.
Of course, Logan sure as hell wouldn’t be dumping a pound of sprinkles and whipped cream onto Wade’s breakfast in exchange for any favors, but he was willing to make a regular, simple waffle. That was as nice as he was willing and able to be.
It didn’t take very long for him to find all the ingredients, mixing them together by hand and making enough to offer Althea a plate if she wanted some. By the time the time he had gotten the first few batches of slightly burned waffles–the waffle iron was at least thirty fucking years old, it was hardly his fault–the first sounds of movement came from behind the closed door of Wade’s bedroom.
Their bedroom, really. Logan’s cheeks grew warm at the very concept of that.
Minutes later, Wade wandered into the kitchen with his robe wrapped loosely around his shoulders, and his boxers hung distractingly low on his hips.
Logan braced himself, nodding his good morning and pouring the next batch of batter into the waffle iron.
“Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Logan probably shouldn’t have stopped considering throwing himself in a meat grinder–
“Have I died in my sleep? Is this yet another whimsical dream where I have a house husband to take care of my every need and whim whilst I labor away every fucking single day, with so little appreciation, just to feed our child–”
“Shut the fuck up,” Logan muttered, feeling the stain of red warmth over his cheeks.
“I don’t know what I have done to deserve this, Peanut, but I am so fucking turned on right now. I might come in my pants. That happens when people are nice to me.”
“Wade, it’s waffles–”
“Don’t be a kink-shamer, baby girl. Benevolence and breakfast foods get me going. Don’t even get me started on sausages.”
“I’m not–” Logan couldn’t find even one sentence that was good enough to say as a retort, “Just sit the fuck down at the table.”
“Alrighty, princess, I’ll try not to trip over my absolutely massive, throbbing dick on the way over.”
Logan considered fully tossing the waffles in the trash for a moment, just to prove a goddamn point, but then–
“Motherfucker, if I hear one more detail about your dick, I’m going to cut it off and donate it to the nearest medical facility so they can hand you a detailed report on what their thoughts are about it.”
Althea stepped into the main living area, shaking her head and drifting toward the kitchen table.
Wade, having not seemed to hear any of what was just said to him, beamed at her, “Our pal Wolvie made breakfast.”
“Good,” Althea chimed, “Now stop swooning over him before I lose my appetite.”
Logan didn't think his cheeks could get any warmer.
The second he placed the finished stack of waffles on the table with a bottle of syrup, Wade took four of them on his plate, moaning over the first bite like he’d just tasted a Michelin star dish for the first time.
“Oh shit, Peanut. Now that's what I call fine cuisine.”
“It’s a waffle,” Logan deadpanned and Wade gasped, drawing his hand to his face.
“It’s not just a waffle. It’s waffle made by the most beautifully off-putting, yet sexually appealing hands–”
“What did I say about swooning?” Althea hit her cane against Wade’s chair, which really didn't do much to shut him up.
Logan listened to the two of them banter while he ate his own waffles, taking the first ones he had initially burnt. Eventually Wade got up to make coffee, and brought Logan his cup with just the right amount of cream and a glimmering smile.
It was heartwarming, as much as Logan loathed to admit that.
“Thank you for the waffles, Peanut,” Wade said, very lightly running the tips of his fingers over Logan’s shoulder in a way that absolutely did not fucking make a shiver run down his spine.
“It’s no problem,” Logan stuttered out, not sure how to respond to a regular compliment, much less a regular complement from Wade.
Althea made her exit claiming she was going grocery shopping while Logan cleared their plates and Wade flitted around him talking about something or another and wiping up the slight mess Logan had left behind on the counter.
When Logan placed the last plate in the dishwasher, he looked up to find Wade standing close by, leaning over the counter watching him.
“What are you looking at, bub?”
Wade smiled, and not in a sarcastic way, but a genuine fucking smile that lit up his face and nearly made Logan lose his grip on the dish soap.
“The person I could potentially be fucking into the mattress after a quick shower? I’ve got another two hours before work. Is that what you want, Logan?”
Logan’s stomach turned, because he did fucking want that, and he wanted it right the fuck now. Wade’s words practically went straight to his dick.
“I– yes,” Logan said, forcing himself to offer Wade a smile, even if it was subtle, “Shower?”
He followed Wade into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself as Wade turned the shower on and pulled two fresh towels from the closet.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Wade said over his shoulder as he grabbed a fresh bar of soap from under the sink.
“It’s like eight in the morning, the day just started.”
Wade scoffed at the suggestion.
“I thought about you in my dreams, baby girl.”
Logan shook his head with a snort, picking up the lid of the toilet to have a piss, “I’m honored.”
He’d only just shucked his pants down enough to pull out his dick when he felt Wade’s chest press against his back, arms curling around Logan’s stomach and a chin resting on his shoulder.
“Commando? In my sweatpants? Very naughty. And dirty.”
Logan shook his head, “You go commando in them.”
He took his piss like that, with Wade’s hard-on pressed into his back, his own cock threatening to harden when Wade’s lips ghosted over the skin on his neck, causing gooseflesh to spread over his skin with a shiver.
“You’re distracting,” Logan muttered, clasping his hands over Wade’s, not bothering to pull his pants back up.
Wade’s teeth scraped over his neck, his tongue laving over the piece of sensitive skin that sat right below his earlobe.
“That’s very much the point.”
Logan let himself drift under roaming hands, rutting backward as Wade’s fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, trailing over the hair just below his navel.
“Actually, I decided I want to do more than just distract you.”
“Yeah?” Logan’s dick grew harder at the insinuation, and Wade’s hand dipped even lower, toying with thick coils of dark hair, touching everywhere except where Logan wanted him to.
“I want to be the only thing you can think about, Logan.”
Logan would have loved to dissect why exactly the sound of his name on Wade’s tongue made him so fucking horny, but he didn’t have time, because Wade’s hands moved his hips, steering him to turn around.
Wade’s lips were glossy and red, pupils blown wide.
“Mission accomplished, bub.”
Logan didn’t hesitate to draw Wade in by his neck, lips parting. He paused before their lips touched, breathing in Wade’s exhales, praying the man wouldn't open his goddamn mouth to spew out some useless shit.
Wade didn’t, for once– instead, his lips pressed into Logan’s softly, experimentally, almost as if they hadn’t kissed before, and Logan wanted more. Needed more.
“Fucking kiss me,” Logan demanded, voice already shattered, arousal brewing in his stomach.
“Oh? Now look who won’t shut up? Never thought I’d have to say this, princess, but maybe you should pipe down–”
Logan shut him up with a hard press of his lips, teeth biting at Wade’s bottom lips, hands forcing Wade’s bathrobe off of his shoulders.
Wade tasted like coffee and syrup, and Logan licked into him harder, tasting everything Wade had to offer. It felt good, almost freeing, to let himself feel and let himself touch the same skin he’d ripped apart with his claws not long before. Equal passion, different circumstances.
Logan only maintained control for a short while, pressing into Wade, pinning him against the wall, his hands tugging the other man’s boxers down until they were on the floor. Wade took control back seconds later, pushing Logan toward the sink, sweatpants pooling on the floor.
“I’m going to suck your dick,” Wade purred, tapping the top of the sink, “Up you go.”
Logan wasn’t sure he wouldn’t break the sink if he tried to sit on it, but for a moment, he chose not to care. Actually, he was fairly certain he would do anything Wade asked at that moment, so he sat back, heels of his hands pressed into the spaces on either side of the sink while his legs dangled.
“Oh, fuck yes,” Wade muttered, smile wide on his face as he sunk to his knees. Logan’s thighs widened without his permission, giving Wade’s shoulders space.
The first pass of Wade’s hand over his dick felt like heaven, firm but not too tight of a hold, and so fucking warm. It sent Logan’s legs bucking upward, searching desperately for more. Wade gave him just that, leaning forward, eyes cast upward, searching for Logan’s gaze before he wrapped his lips over just the tip, only for a second.
A strangled moan died in Logan’s throat, and his hands found their way to the top of Wade’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Logan wanted– fuck.
Wade cocked an eyebrow, running the very tip of his tongue over Logan’s slit just so.
“If you want something, princess, you’re gonna have to use your words.”
Logan hated him for that, because words weren’t his fucking strong suit, and he wasn’t entirely sure what ever he could say would come across as sexy.
“I–Wade –please. ”
“Please, what? Hmm?” Wade was such a little bitch for that, he knew exactly what Logan wanted.
“More. Wade–” It came out as a whine–a fucking embarrasing high-pitched sound–and Wade took him, all of him, into his mouth in one motion. For a moment, Logan forgot to breathe, overcome by the sensation of every flick of Wade’s tongue, every ounce of suction, every slick drag of swollen lips over his shaft.
“You know, I could always get you off right here, get our sink all covered in bodily fluids.” Wade suggested, nipping at Logan’s thighs.
“No –fuck no,” Logan bit out, almost panting on the words, because Wade’s mouth was back on him again, fingers teasing around his balls, “I want it proper. In the bed.”
“Alright, alright, no need to get all feisty, daddy’s dick is coming, don’t worry.”
“How many times do I have to say it, don’t fucking call yourself that.”
They showered like it was gym glass, and it was fucking unsexy as shit, but Logan didn’t mind. Wade stole kisses as they moved around each other, washing themselves down quickly and rinsing the shampoo out of their hair.
By the time they reached the bedroom, towels left discarded in the bathroom, Logan felt need crawling up his spine again, dick achingly hard, blush still staining his cheeks because Wade was fucking looking at him again with those wide eyes–
Wade pushed him down on the bed, flat on his back, crawling over top of him, pinning his arms above his head, holding them there with a gentle grip as he hovered over top. Logan let the very ends of his claws out as a warning, but Wade didn’t seem to care, grinding down on top of Logan, swollen dick rubbing across Logan’s stomach.
“Are you gonna be a good boy for me, Peanut?”
Logan nodded through a suppressed whimper, because to say anything aloud would be too fucking much.
“Fuck– that’s fucking hot. You’re so perfect, angel,” Wade muttered, leaning in, taking his fill of Logan’s tongue as he basked in the sweat-slick friction between them. With every panting breath, Wade kept talking, reminding Logan of how perfect he was, how perfect he looked pinned down on the bed.
Logan loathed the way he thrived under every word, licking into Wade’s mouth, fucking up into the skin of his thigh.
Eventually, the electricity that rippled through his veins became too much, reminding him that he needed more. He needed Wade’s dick splitting him open, and lips on his neck, and rough hands holding his hips in place.
Logan wrenched his way out of Wade’s loose grip on his wrists and shoved the pointed tips of his claws into Wade’s sides.
“Ow–fuck! Someone’s getting impatient.”
Wade pulled back, lips swollen and–
Fuck if Logan didn’t want to shove his dick back between them–
“Wade I need you to fuck me,” Logan whined, eyes fluttering when Wade’s fingertips trailed down the coarse hair on his stomach, then dipped lower, toying with the skin at the crease of his thigh.
“I will. Shortly. Need to open you up first, Peanut, get you all wet and begging for me.”
He wanted that, more than anything, but he didn’t want to wait.
“No–I need–” Logan gritted, but one of Wade’s finger’s pressed over his lips, shushing him.
Wade clicked his tongue, “No-can-do, Peanut, I’m taking my sweet time with it too. Now, open your mouth baby girl.”
Logan hesitated, unsure of where Wade was heading with his demand, eyebrow cocked questioningly as he dropped his jaw.
Wade wriggled his finger, resting it just inside of Logan’s mouth right on his tongue, “Suck on it.”
Logan did as he was told, tentatively licked at the digit once before wrapping his lips around Wade’s index finger, making a show of taking it deep in his mouth, swallowing. It was weird, but so fucking weird that it was hot.
“I’m gonna come from just watching this.”
“Don’t,” Logan warned, pulling Wade’s hand away and kissing down the center of his palm instead, eyes half-lidded.
Wade grabbed the lube, then trailed his fingers down Logan’s body, paying special attention to the little pool of wetness dripping down on his belly just under the dark red, drooling head of his dick.
“So wet for me, honey badger.”
“Don’t fucking –stop calling me that.”
“That’s only encouraging me, sweet cheeks. It’s hot when you talk back. Makes my dick giddy.”
What the fuck did that even mean?
Logan was going to fucking stab him again, remind him that violence was, in fact an option, but Wade was distracting, lips sucking over his inner thigh, biting at the sensitive flesh, even drawing a bit of blood.
Wade gathered some of the precum on his fingertips and pressed lower, a single exploratory digit tracing his still slightly raw rim from the events of the prior day. He dipped inside easily, Logan still stretched out.
“Oh my,” Wade whispered, adding a second finger after a few thrusts. Logan gripped a tight hand over his mouth, suppressing a whisper when Wade’s fingers curled upward, searching for that spot inside him–
“Fuck!”
“That’s what I’m talking about, that little button that makes Logan scream –my favorite.”
Logan would have slugged Wade in the mouth for saying such weird shit while he was trying to enjoy himself, but there was a second set of fingers cupping over his balls, then moving to that space just below them, somewhere Logan had never thought to explore, skating over the sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make Logan shiver under his touch.
What the fuck?
“That’s–what the fuck is that?” Logan panted, breath caught in his throat as Wade rubbed his fingers over that spot over and over again.
“It’s my new favorite place to touch you if I want to make you squirm.”
Wade twisted the two fingers inside him right over his prostate at the same time as he rubbed over that spot just below Logan’s balls, and it was torture. Logan felt his abandoned dick leaking all over his stomach, aching for touch, and felt Wade’s rough drag of teeth over his inner thighs. It burned too good , like electricity and morphine exploding through his veins at the same time.
Once Wade had pulled a shattering moan from Logan’s lips, his fingers disappeared.
“I think,” Wade said, pressing Logan’s thighs apart, exposing him, “I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Fucking finally,” Logan gritted, hands clamping over Wade’s hips as he lined himself up, mouth biting down on Logan’s exposed shoulder.
The first press inside burned slightly, but not unpleasantly and Logan let out a string of curses and hiss while he adjusted to the stretch. Wade paused, “You want me to stop?”
Logan shook his head with an animalistic growl, “No– just fuck me already.”
Wade kept going, thrusting in once, twice, then on the third stroke, the angle was just right. It took the breath right out of Logan’s lungs.
“Look how good you take it,” Wade rasped into his neck, snapping his hips forward, hitting that spot again mercilessly.
Wade worked through a series of shallow, metered thrusts, testing the waters, probably seeing how long it takes Logan to fucking beg for it. But Logan didn’t want to beg, for once he wanted to take what he was given, and succumb to whatever Wade had to offer.
Logan didn’t ask for any attention to be given to his untouched dick, or for Wade to angle himself a little to the right. Instead, he brewed in the simmering pleasure of being full, and the drag of Wade’s dick over the side of his prostate, keeping him so close to the edge, but never close enough to come.
Like a pot of water coming to a boil, Logan allowed himself to be fucked to the point where his nerves protested, and his claws split through his skin, out of his control, fingers searching for purchase on Wade’s sweat-slick back.
“Keep going –please ,” Logan stuttered out through a moan, trying to pull Wade in deeper, the points of his claws spearing Wade’s sides.
“Claws? Kinky,” is all Wade bit out–a surprising lack of words–in between two pointed thrusts that sent Logan’s head flying back into the headboard. He was so goddamn close, at the very edge.
“Logan –fuck Logan , I love you.”
Logan’s heart twisted. He drew Wade closer, panting into his neck, wanting to whisper those words back so fucking badly, but he needed to be damn sure, so he kept them shoved back in his throat.
“I want to see you, want to watch you come for me.”
And Logan wanted him to watch, wanted Wade to see him come apart at his seams. Another roll of Wade’s hips, dick rubbing into his prostate just right–
That was all Logan needed, one final, sinful slide of Wade’s cock against his prostate, and he lost control. He was gone.
The walls of the bedroom shattered before his eyes, every sound fading, the very light pouring in from the windows dissolving into a haze. Sparks of sound flitted around him, his field of vision shimmering as endless waves of pleasure pinned him to the bed.
Wade was there with him, a strangled cry reverberating through Logan’s skull moments later. He ground into Logan's hips again, brushing over his oversensitive nerves, and then there was warmth, spilling into Logan, filling him to the very fucking brim.
“Oh fucking shit, Logan.”
Hips stuttered, skin prickled, throats constricted around deep growls of pleasure.
Wade buried his face in Logan’s neck–and he was so fucking close, tucked in the vulnerable space just below his chin, closer than Logan would allow anyone else–but Logan wanted him even closer, wanted to breathe him in like a drag on a cigarette, feel his erratic heartbeat, wipe the fucking salty tears out of the corners of his eyes as he trembled.
It occurred to Logan, with his arms wrapped around Wade’s neck, dick twitching in renewed interest only ten minutes later, that it wasn’t normal to want those things if you weren’t–
Oh fuck I’m in love with him.
He was sure of it.
They took another shower, a longer one, holding each other under the water once the worst of the bodily fluids had been rinsed off.
“Holy fuck this is so domestic. I think I need to have your babies, like immediately.”
Logan rolled his eyes, stepping back and rubbing soap into a washcloth.
“We already have Mary Puppins.”
“We?” Wade tilted his head, smiling widely, “Have you finally accepted her as your daughter? If I had known earlier that sex would bring out your fatherly spirit I would fucked you right there in that bar–”
“Can you shut up, asshole?” Logan suggested, scrubbing himself down, “It’s too goddamn early in the morning for this.”
Wade stole the washcloth from his hands, then slapped Logan’s ass, “You’ve been up for a minimum of three hours. Apparently I’ve fucked the happiness and kindness out your lifeless soul. Noted.”
Logan just grumbled, rinsing off the last of the soap on his back, before stepping out of the shower and drying himself off.
Wade kept talking–he always did–and Logan felt his heart stammer in his chest, fondness holding onto him with an iron grip. As annoying and grating and absurd as Wade Wilson was, Logan could listen to him talk all day, even about their ugly little dog, or about the heinous murder of some piece of shit he’d committed months earlier.
Logan fucking loved him.
“Hey bub?” Logan called, feeling bold while he faced the white shower curtain, Wade hidden from his view, “I think…I think I love you.”