Archive of Our Own ^beta

Things were looking up for Wade, which was a way they hadn’t been looking in a very long time. 

He moved out, for one. Just across the street, mind, he couldn’t go too far from Al for lame sentimental reasons he doesn’t want to get into. Just know that he’s a supportive and caring friend at heart, and also living with an old crackhead felt unreasonable the second he was trying to get any play again. 

He also had a solid job. He wasn’t an Avenger, and honestly fuck that anyways, if he wasn’t going to get retconned into being a phase one or two Avenger where he could live in a swanky penthouse in Stark Tower and fuck with Hawkeye living in the vents, then what was even the point?  Instead, he and Logan were contracted on to deal with the aftershocks of the TVA mess, which mostly meant killing versions of himself, a job cathartic for him and for Logan in its own ways. 

And it was on the DL by its very nature, which, again, was good for Logan and was good for Wade. It kept Wade from pissing off shitty people who liked to kill loved ones for revenge, and it meant Logan didn’t have to become the public face of a ghost. And it was also right outside his apartment— not having a commute in this city was always a big win. 

What else? He wasn’t sleeping on a pull out couch for the first time in years. He had an honest to god mattress and a bed frame and a bathroom inside his bedroom and he had a kitchen full of food and a ugly little dog and again he’s not bragging, this is all to say that things were really looking up. 

And Wade was looking up too, as much as he can anyways, up up up the veiny flex of Logan’s arm where he had Wade by the neck and into his face as Logan plowed him. It was fa-a-ar from the first time he’d taken the Wolverine in any hole, but the joy of regeneration meant he was always nearly as tight as the first time, the stretch making his eyes roll and his body shudder. 

He hesitated to say that he was dating Logan, but they were definitely fucking and playing house and also working together, and Wade had never been one for labels anyways. And his knees were next to his ears, his calves on Logan’s shoulders, his throat actually collapsing under Logan’s grip. Come was smeared on Wade’s chest—Logan had already fucked one orgasm out of him— and there were burnt chocolate chip cookies cooling on the stove that Wade had messed up. 

“ Fuck ,” Logan grits, his face flushed deep red as he hangs over Wade, hips pistoning with bruising force. He never gets any less sexy with time, don’t worry. The snarling and teeth gnashing, the little cowlicks that never go down, the sweat slicked glistening muscles… With his airway restricted and his vision fading in and out at the edges, Logan almost pulses like one of those sexy-celebrity-video-edits that Wade definitely does not watch on TikTok. 

The hand that Logan isn’t using to choke Wade is wrapped around his thigh to keep him folded in half. He can feel the bruise forming and healing and forming again under his grip, more intimate than a stab wound and way less messy. Wade tries to moan around his collapsed trachea— that’s half the fun—the aching, wheezing rattle that escapes him is the only thing keeping him conscious. 

It’s freeing to be off the hook from dirty talk for a brief time, because if he could talk, Wade would say something like, “ Careful that you don’t permanently damage my neck, babydoll, how else am I supposed to wake you up with a deep throat surprise tomorrow morning? ” or maybe even, “ Y’know they call this position a mating press, right? Are you trying to fill me up with a litter of little Wolverine pups—“

“I can feel you thinking,” Logan spits, and not just metaphorically; saliva hits Wade’s face and, fuck , it’s so hot. “Can’t bliss out without some claws in you, huh?”

Wade will take full credit for the mouth that Logan has developed in the last few months, thank you very much. 

He can’t talk, obviously, so Wade squirms, just to force Logan to fight him back down into position, and Christ, just a little shift and he’s hitting that spot every time—

“There you go,” Logan coos, and oh god , oh god, yes, “That’s it, you fucking whore, that’s more like it.” 

Wade wants to see him so bad but he can’t keep his eyes open and he can’t fucking breathe and he only stays conscious because it’s so hard to knock him out so he floats in a haze of his other senses as he tumbles towards his next climax. Logan smells like fancy cigars and less whiskey than he used to but just enough to linger and sweat and the laundry detergent they share. Wade can see his face by the way he sounds, growling and groaning and open mouthed panting, all teeth and eyebrow and a bead of sweat dripping off Logan’s nose and falling onto Wade’s cheek. And his hand spasms on his throat and nails dig into his thigh and his cock slides in and out and in and out and holy shit—

Logan laughs, deep and dark and if Wade wasn’t already coming, this would do it for him. “Yes, good,” and the praise mixed with insult makes his heart do something every time, “That’s it.” 

He’s milked for all he’s worth, which only occurs because Logan is chasing his own climax and that so happens to involve Wade’s prostate, and even when Logan lets his throat go to get a better grip, Wade still tears up from the overstimulation. 

Logan is usually loud when he comes but today he puts his mouth onto Wade’s calf and bites, hard , teeth sinking past scars and making Wade sob. His stupidly sharp canines break skin, and his other teeth bruise horribly and he gnaws his way through his orgasm, grunting and growling anyways. 

They hang there as long as their aching bodies will let them and then a moment longer. Logan separates his mouth from his leg with a click of his jaw and Wade can feel his skin trying to smooth out teeth marks with whatever energy it can spare from repairing his crushed windpipe. Logan’s cock slips free of Wade and they both hiss, and then his big hands are on the small of Wade’s back to help him down to the bed and unfold him. 

“Will you eat a cookie,” Wade croaks before he’s fully healed just so Logan can appreciate his handiwork, “just to humor me?” 

“Have you not been humored enough?” Logan counters, affectionately, right into Wade’s ear, with all the rumbling cadence of a very content cat. “Get up and clean up. And then we can try to gnaw our way through those bricks.”

“I can tell you from experience that your bite-force can handle it. Can you lock your jaw, pretty boy?” Wade calls back to him through the open door of the bathroom, because they’re getting to that point now. It still feels so fancy: on suite bathroom, removable shower head, rent is four times what it should be but they’re living good on that government hush money. 

There’s a thwap of a clean comforter and the soft crumple of the soiled one landing in the hamper. (Re: rent four times what it should be: in unit laundry!) Logan laughs softly, “Do you want to find out?”

“Yes.” Wade reappears in the doorway to watch Logan disappear through the other one, and he tumbles into bed with urgency so he can see Logan’s firm little ass clad in tight little boxers meander into the kitchen to get water and cookies and a bottle of beer. 

The cookies are inedible, and Logan does a Paul Hollywood joke that makes Wade double over with laughter and there’s something bright and glowing in his chest that he hasn’t had in a long time. It’s not long before he falls asleep on Logan’s chest, gently jostled by his deep breathing as he finishes his cigar. 

Wade flies out of bed two hours later— and it has only been two hours because they didn’t go to sleep until almost three and the sun isn’t even up yet— and scrambles for his ringing work phone. Logan is hot on his heels, retracting his claws, and Wade spares a glance to the bed to see if any linens were shredded this time. 

“This one isn’t a Pool, at least we don’t think. It’s big and it seems mechanical,” the agent is telling them over speaker phone as they scramble into the second bedroom that they’re using as a costume closet. “I hate to get you up so early but it’s already destroyed a warehouse and the amount of damage if it gets out—“

“Got it, got it, okay. Send us the coordinates,” Logan growls, all business, catching Wade’s hand by the wrist as Wade tries to smack his yellow and blue ass. (It doesn’t stop Logan from smacking Wade’s ass so hard he trips while he’s preoccupied sliding weapons into holsters.) 

The warehouse is around the corner and underneath a CVS, “the perfect place for a Spirit Halloween in a couple of months, don’t you think?” 

Logan grunts in noncommittal assent and sniffs like he can smell a giant evil robot. 

The work phone buzzes and Wade sighs as he tries to fish it out of his pocket. “Really ruining the lines of my suit...Do you think we’re high enough profile to get an AI assistant periphery? I mean like Jarvis style, not GPT.” 

“It’s suspicious that the TVA uses an Android, don’t you think? They’re whole vibe is kind of serving retro Apple and yet…” Wade thumbs up the message anyways, knowing full well the feature doesn’t work over SMS. 

“There’s something here that isn’t mechanical,” Logan says, still sniffling. 

“It’s insane that you can do that, I feel like it’s a really underutilized part of your powers. What do I smell like to your delicate senses? Cedar and pine? A hint of gun-smoke, a waft of cocaine?”  Wade presses the phone into Logan’s hand, partly so he can read the message but mostly so Wade can draw his pistols. 

Logan looks up from the screen and levels Wade with a glance that just oozes “shut the fuck up,” but his nostrils twitch and he makes direct eye contact when he says, “You smell like me.” 

Wade full body shivers. “ Wow . I think I just came?” He giggles and dodges a shove. “C’mon, you menace, let’s get ‘er done.”

Finding three twelve foot tall robots isn’t difficult. Weaving between abandoned shelves wide enough to hold huge metal crates under thematically appropriate green flickering fluorescents, they can hear them long before they see them, whirring and crashing and stepping thunderously. 

It’s the man’s voice that makes Logan stop short. 

Wade doesn’t realize right away, he’s too busy squinting between a gap in the shelves to where they are. Two of the robots pace and patrol, scanning the shelves, and the third sits slumped over and powered down. A man sits up on a shelf to peer into its open back cavity, fiddling with wires and motherboards. 

He’s wearing tactical gear, but the paramilitary type that comes in dark colors and with extra buckles and straps just to be a little goth about the whole thing. A lot of Nova’s collected mutants dressed that way, but this guy looks the type to call himself a general without the position to back it up. Extremely punchable supervillain type if Wade ever saw one, probably with some sort of ridiculously on the nose name like Gunner or Sniper or—

“Ah-hah,” the guy muses around a screwdriver in his mouth, whatever he’s tinkering with lighting up orange. “If this is working, then that means that we have company.” 

The other two bots orient in unison towards where Wade and Logan are hiding, and Wade’s heart jumps into his throat. This looks like it’s going to be a pain in his ass, and not the fun kind. 

“God damn it,” Wade hisses, shifting his weight to make a getaway. They should run down the aisle to their left, this makes the absolute most sense, but as he pivots to go, he slams full force into Logan. 

Logan has on a face that Wade has not really seen. There is no grim determination there, no teeth gritted snarl, no, his eyes are wide and afraid and staring wobblingly into the middle distance. Wade tries to grab him and pull him along, but Logan recoils forcefully, aggressively, and Wade stumbles, unsure what to do with a suddenly useless Wolverine. Not to sell himself short, but he’s like half the team, and Wade can’t really die but that doesn’t mean he can’t get really fucked up in the process. 

Making up his mind, Wade scales the shelf. The robot further away turns towards him, but the other continues around the aisle towards Logan. The guy looks around wildly, a little alarmed at the sudden motion, and starts slamming bits and bobs closed on the bot in front of him, trying to get it running. 

He’s got to get the attention off of Logan, at least until he recovers enough to go into a blind rage, and so Wade springs off the top shelf and unloads a clip into the robot heading towards him. It’s easy enough to get its attention, and he saves a bullet just for the man, who through sheer dumb luck manages to get the third robot functional enough to block his face before Wade’s shot can give him a forehead piercing. 

Wade tucks and rolls when he hits the ground, (he’s not going to kill his knees superhero landing when you can’t even see it, what the fuck?) and draws his katanas. All three bots are focused on him now, and he on them, and he knows the guy is scampering away and that’s just going to have to be a problem for later. 

Bullets seemed to be minimally effective. Six adamantium claws surely would be helpful, considering when Wade sinks a katana made of the same metal into the nearest bot, it actually crumples under the attack a bit. He flies into motion, slicing and stabbing and dodging and doing his whole bit. Despite carving these things up and ruining their cute little retrofuturist exteriors, he can’t seem to fuck with their mechanisms, and they recover every time he damages them. 

He takes a hit. It’s a tried and true Deadpool strategy; get knocked down harder than you should be able to handle and plan while the baddies assume you’re down for the count. Wade gets knocked directly up in the air, which does suck when he collides head first with a light fixture and assumes he has a cartoonish little bump and duckies circling his head as he falls. But it does give him perspective, a perspective directly into the still open cavity of the third robot where its computer innards all glow and whirr vulnerably. 

Hitting the ground harder than his shins would like, Wade stumbles out of the way of another attack. These things have guns but apparently no ammo, thank god, and have settled for trying to beat him into a pulp. Swinging himself onto its arm, Wade clambers up onto its back, and lets it stumble clumsily around until he can leap from one to the other to the other.

The open back panel of the robot creaks under his weight as he lands on it, and he peers down into the gaping wound of its mechanics. He’s not really techy like this, but the bot is giving Clear Glacier Game Boy Advance with all its colorful wires and oversized hardware. This thing couldn’t be smaller if it wanted to, their bodies made up partly of huge vent fans meant to cool the components, and Wade has milliseconds to fuck this thing up and ooh , what’s that?

A cream-white bobble stands out to him, shaped kind of like a really chunky teardrop with orange light up lines on it, and it jumps from four lights to five as he reaches for it, and that seems important. It’s kind of nestled into the rest of everything, and so Wade does what he does best, and he plunges both his blades down into the thing and does his best impression of a food processor. 

Hardware gives under the adamantium like butter, and light displays flicker out in a satisfying shower of sparks. Wade stabs the bobble directly and it sputters out, and even though the robot isn’t completely out of commission, it powers down into an idle state. 

“Okay, alright, we can work with that. Just gotta find the g-spot, easy enough. If I can handle one thing–”

His monologuing is interrupted by a surprised laugh from the human guy, a little alarmed and a lot coming from where Wade left Logan. He says something and Logan says something back and Wade can’t hear it over all the soloing these fucking robots he’s doing. Springing from one bot to another, he does a fancy flippy reload midair and lands piggyback style onto its back, presses his pistol into the panel and starts firing blindly. 

He doesn’t have a good foothold and so it doesn’t take much for it to buck him off. Wade is flung back down an aisle unceremoniously as it swings its gun-arms back at him. When it pivots, its eyes still glow orange, and Wade curses, diving into a gap on the shelf and tumbling out into another aisle. 

Logan is standing there, some twenty yards away, unmoved from where Wade left him. His claws are out at least, but the human guy reaches for them almost in wonderment. He looks like he’s seen a god, and not in the way Wade did a few hours ago, and maybe less of a god and more like a ghost, and he’s stroking a finger down Logan’s claws and Logan just lets him, and Wade feel sick. 

As soon as Wade gets his feet under him, running on all fours for a split second before he finds his footing, Logan finally moves. But it’s not the movement Wade wants or needs, no, he brings his hands up to clutch his head and he stumbles backwards, groaning as he digs his fingertips into his eyes like he’s trying to get to his brain. 

The guy had the dexterity to get out of the way, but he still looks down his nose at Logan, like he has some sort of power over him, like he knows him–

“Oh, a Deadpool!” The guy laughs and points at him when he notices Wade. The robots finally catch up, one thundering up the aisle behind Wade and the other coming around the corner in front of him. Holding up a hand, the guy stills them, and they freeze, threatening and ready, attention split between Wade and Logan. 

Wade slows only because Logan falls backwards against the shelf with a howl, eyes clamped shut, and the bot behind him moves to put himself between them. “I’m the Deadpool, actually, thank you so much. What the fuck did you do to him?”

“I dunno!” the guy laughs, “He saw me and just started freaking out. I mean, I have a hunch–”

“Hold on, I can’t keep calling you ‘the guy’, that title is reserved for Elijah Wood– What’s your name?” Wade asks this like a question, but he also levels his gun at his head. 

“Stryker. General, if you wouldn’t mind, but I suspect you would.” He doesn’t flinch from Wade’s threat. On hearing his name, Logan whimpers again, continuing to claw at his head. 

Wade looks back over his shoulder at you and says, “Told ya’ it’d be on the nose,” before turning back towards Stryker and demanding, “And why does just hearing your stupid name make him act like he’s getting tased directly in his nipples?”

“Because I made him. Or, a version of him, at least. This one has seen better days, hasn’t he?” Stryker looks at him almost fondly. “He’s acting like that because this one never got his memory back, not fully. I can’t speak to exactly what happened to him. Or you. There are versions of me that made you too, y’know.”

“Okay, wow, I’ve heard enough. Time to get Sugar, We’re Going Downed.” Wade puts a bullet right in Stryker’s knee, and then his shoulder, and he has one ready for his chest (slow, painful, lots of blood and begged apologies), but the bots haul into motion before he can get it off. Wade leaps to the side, causing the robot behind him to slam its fist into the shelf instead of his squishy body, and when it sticks for a second, Wade uses it as a step to clamber on up towards his back. 

This is the one he’s already shot, and the bullet holes in its back panel act like convenient little perforations for his katana to slice through. The metal falls away in a jagged piece, and Wade wastes no time in rearing back and skewering the white bobble first before giving it the ol’ katana scramble inside. 

“Did anyone get my joke?” Wade asks to hide his utter relief that Logan has enough awareness to stumble out of the way of the other robot taking a swing at him. “Logan, babe, did you hear me? Get it, cuz’ it’s like, a loaded God complex, cock it and pull it.”

“What the fuck are you doing to my head?” Logan growls, and even though he ignores Wade, just hearing him come back to himself is enough to satisfy Wade’s need for an audience. 

“Of course, it’s only funny if you actually can understand what the fuck he’s singing,” Wade tells the dying robot as it stumbles to a stop beneath him. Logan tries desperately to get at Stryker, but the final robot runs enough interference to enrage him. Wade leaps to the top of the shelf to run down the aisle, and that gives him the perfect view of Logan dropping to all fours and galloping at the robot before launching at it, claws extended. 

The flurry of activity when Logan connects with the robot is reminiscent of the Tasmanian devil. (Wade made this comparison once before and was quickly humbled by Google. Tasmanian devils are marsupials, and wolverines are mustelids. There’s a tertiary connection here about the continent most marsupials come from, but Wade has yet to find a better way to pack all that information into a joke with enough punch to land.) Logan doesn’t have any strategy, he just slides and tears and stabs, and Wade knows if he waits his turn, he’ll damage the back enough to give Wade his opening. 

With his claws dug into the gut of the thing, Logan manages to swing the robot over his head and slam it onto the ground, and it’s wildly fucking sexy. Slow motion, face twisted with an exerted scream, thighs planted wide and rippling with power, arm flexed six ways to Sunday, Wade only wishes his shirt disintegrated for that one because holy fuck. Time catches back up as the robot hits the ground with a clatter, and Logan flings himself at it again, clawing blindly at its back. 

“Perfect, yes, get his top off!” Wade calls to deaf ears. Logan is doing damage to the computery bits, Wade can tell from the flickering lights and sparks, but the bobble is the most protected and all Logan has done is shred the shell. There’s a solution, elegant and cruel, and Wade is ready to wrap this bit up and get into the hurt/comfort part of this whole thing, and so he solves it. 

Closing one eye down the barrel of his pistol, Wade plays four dimensional Charles/Erik make up sex chess in his mind and fires. The camera is on the bullet now, and we’re back in slow motion. The warehouse is speeding past, and you’re thinking, oh shit, he’s going to miss, because Logan’s big meaty body is in the way, but then again, you’ve already forgotten: elegant and cruel. You cover your eyes, oh no! The bullet goes right through Logan’s shoulder in a spray of too-red comic book blood, out the skin on the other side, and threads the needle through a claw gash in the robot, right into its metal carapace and cleanly, impressively, bullseye! destroys the little 70s off white cream and orange mutant sensor. 

Wade spins the pistol around his finger and blows the gun smoke off the barrel, posing triumphantly as Logan whips his head around to glare at him for a split second before the robot lurches and gives out beneath him. 

“Autobots, roll out!” Wade laughs mockingly, voice echoing off concrete walls. “Or don’t, because you can’t. God, it’s so freeing to be released from IP restrictions!” 

He jumps off the shelf and superhero lands, but sexy lady superhero style: one leg fully extended with the toes pointed and the opposite arm out, fingertips tented on the ground, and that’s just for you, baby, because Logan is not looking. No, he’s stalking over to where Stryker is bleeding out in a pathetic heap on the floor to threaten him with his claws. 

“What did you do to me?” Logan growls, his whole body heaving with breath. His face twitches, eyes half scrunched, like he’s still fighting a wicked migraine off, and Wade hangs back, knowing full well he has to let him have this. He’s locked and loaded and ready to shoot this guy dead if he does anything to hurt Logan, but everyone will sleep better if Logan gets this kill. 

(They’re not required to kill their marks. The TVA likes them back for questioning, if possible, but they also contracted the messiest, revengiest bitches to deal with their fuck ups, and they don’t complain if the occasional void-escapee beefs it.) 

Stryker coughs up blood, which is wack because Wade did not hit anything vital, that’s just some over dramatic bullshit. “Not me, but your version of me got a hold of you one way or another and pumped your body full of adamantium. Big, human sized pool, a bunch of needles, ‘there’s no way he’ll survive this,’ ring any bells? Sometimes your brother is there, sometimes your girlfriend, she was a double agent by the way, you really don’t remember any of this?”

“Jean?” Logan asks wildly. Wade valiantly pretends like hearing her name isn’t like a bitch slap full of claws. 

“No, before her, you brute. Lots of women die for your pain, it’s kind of a universal constant for Wolverines. Your version of me at least got the memory-erasing right. Hey, Wilson, are you gonna call your fucking guard dog off, or are you just going to stand there?” Stryker looks past Logan and the claws under his chin towards Wade, who looks behind himself as if there’s a person who gives a fuck. 

“Why the fuck would I let you go?” Wade laughs. “You’ve gotten more lines than we usually let the baddie of the week get in.”

“Because I can get his memories back,” he says, looking back to Logan. “I can fill in the gaps and iron out all the foggy bits of the story. Who knows, you might like that guy better than the one you became.”

Stryker coughs blood into Logan’s face, and Wade’s blood boils. Only he gets to do that. 

“Doesn’t matter either way. I just had to get the sentinels into this timeline again. Even broken, their technology will corrupt your future, and this time there’s no way for you to stop it.”

Wade groans. “God, don’t start with this shit, the timelines are already so fucking confusing. Kill this fool, babygirl, and let’s get back to our burnt cookies and multiple orgasms.”

“You really are just his attack dog, aren’t you–” Stryker is cut off with a wheeze and a gurgle and an actually valid splurt of blood as Logan claws his throat out. 

“God, I fucking hate when they try to get the last word!” Wade stomps his foot petulantly. 

Logan sits back on his haunches, retracting his claws with what seems like great effort. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs, deep and longsuffering and not at Wade for once, and Wade slides up behind him and runs a hand soothingly through his hair, scritching right behind his cowlicks like they’re ears. 

“I was having… visions. Flashbacks, or something, I dunno. It was awful, like I was back there, being tortured again. I couldn’t breathe, or move, I was pinned down and…”

“Hey, hey, peanut, it’s all good.” Wade pulls his head back against his leg in an awkward type of hug. “Let’s get these hunks of metal through the rift so they don’t make us Days of Future Past a second time, although you fucked in that one so everyone’s loss really, and then we can get bagels on the way home and sort through your brain in the privacy of our house.”

Logan nods, and it hurts Wade to see him so defeated even covered in the villain's blood. He might have to sneak a text off to Ellie or Colossus and let them interface with some X-man they haven’t cameoed in (Wade has assured them that he can be trusted with Hank McCoy. He’ll only flirt with him as much as he flirts with everyone else, which is so much) and have them confirm that this timeline’s Stryker has been sufficiently dealt with. Logan even accepts his help up to his feet, and Wade is thankful the mask doesn’t betray the vicious scowl plastered on his face. 

They drag their marks towards the southwest corner of the warehouse where the space-time gets a little bit wibbly wobbly. (Timey wimey, if you will, did you really think he’d miss that one?) Wade pats himself down for the TVA portal device thingy, and pats himself down again, and panics a little, and pats himself down again , checking pockets: tits, thighs, ass, oh no!--

“I remembered it,” Logan snickers as he pulls it out of his pocket. The laugh is halfhearted and sad but he’s making jokes and crinkling his cute little crows feet for Wade’s sake, and oh god fucking damn it, he’s in love. The portal opens rectangularly and they start kicking things through, having to maneuver the sentinels a little bit awkwardly to fit all their retro-curvaceousness past all the right angles. 

Wade makes sure he desecrates Stryker’s corpse as much as possible on the way through, letting his head smash on the corner and then briefly considers decapitating him with the portal before his body falls the rest of the way through with a distant thwump. 

Logan shuts the portal once the grim work is done and pockets the device. He looks tired, but even tired he manages to cock his head at Wade and look worried too. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m fucking pissed,” Wade spits out viciously enough that it even seems to shock Logan. “And my momma always said if you don’t have anything nice to say–”

Logan laughs and puts a hand on the small of his back to guide him towards the exit. “Yes, and you always practice kindness and temperance.” 

Wade doesn’t mind being seen in his costume, but Logan tries to avoid it, even though he keeps the blue and yellow despite offers to make him a more inconspicuous one. The solution is tying the top part of his suit around his waist like a middle schooler with a sweatshirt, and just wearing his undershirt out. What Logan doesn’t fully appreciate, and what Wade is not going to tell him, is that the sweaty white tank top screams Wolverine more than the suit ever could. Why ruin a good thing when everyone in the bagel shop can ogle his arms as he unfolds them from across his chest and demands more cream cheese? 

It’s seven o’clockish when they finally stumble home, and they both know to step over the doormat when they come in because Mary Puppins has absolutely already peed on it in their absence. (“We should get her a kennel,” Logan suggests. “I’m not putting that sweet baby angel in a cage!” Wade scoffs as he tries to wash dog shit off of his chewed up slippers.) Logan tosses their food onto the table and beelines for her bowl before even bothering with his costume, flipping the water to warm up on the way. 

Wade kicks his boots off and unceremoniously tosses his cowl onto the floor, sinking into a chair and ripping into the bag. He’s halfway through his bagel by the time Logan has rehydrated kibble and added special gravy from the open pouch in the fridge and made her wait for the bowl before he puts it down. “And you wanted to leave her with Al,” Wade teases.

“Al loves her, but she’s too much work for someone with her disability.” Logan wrenches his gloves off with his teeth before unwrapping his bagel. Wade opens his mouth with food in it to say something catty, but Logan cuts him off, “Don’t tell me I’m being ableist, I once watched her almost feed her a bowl of dry lentils instead of kibble.”

They all eat in silence for a minute, which includes the delectable sounds of Mary Puppins shlupring and shlorping around her bowl with her infinitely long tongue. 

“I think I need to take a nap,” Logan says, rubbing his head again. “I feel like I’m not going to get anything in my head straight until I sleep.”

“That seems mature. I was going to offer you a drink, maybe a hit of something.”

Logan snorts, pushing to standing to start fighting his costume off. “I won’t turn you down. For the drink, at least.” 

It’s so easy to fall into routine. Wade watches Logan struggle and finally stands to help him, reaching around him to help unclip buckles and undo zippers. Logan insists on undoing the back zip of Wade’s costume even though he can do it himself, which always leads to Logan kissing over his shoulders and down his back as he wraps an arm around Wade’s front. Wade lets his head fall back onto Logan’s shoulder, grinning up at him, and Logan smiles and rolls his eyes. 

They drag themselves into the bedroom in their undies and socks, and Logan knocks back a single shot of whiskey before collapsing into bed. Wade tucks himself into his side before he can get too comfortable; “I can’t sleep right without being all tucked up into your armpit,” he says with his face mashed into Logan’s pec. 

Logan wraps his arm around him, tucking his other hand underneath his head. It’s so hot that he’s just comfortable like that, all stretched and flexed and on display and then Wade is asleep before he can comment on it any further. 

Wade sleeps hard. He’s still about thirty percent fucked out from last night, and now that he’s gotten his exercise, he’s drooling and snoring like he’s never slept before. He doesn’t really register Logan twitching right away. Sometimes Wade hogs the bed and Logan just moves him and gets comfortable and so the soft snuffling and grunting doesn’t even rouse him from his bizarre dream about unicorns that shoot lasers from their eyes. 

It’s the whimpering that eventually starts to pull him from sleep, slowly and confusedly. “Mmngh, babe, you know I’m always down, what do you need?” Wade slurs, trying to get his bearings. He’s still pressed up exactly where he fell asleep, and a quick glance down tells him that Logan is not waking him up for anything fun. 

In fact, Logan is not waking him up at all. He’s still fully asleep, twitching and mumbling, eyebrows knitted despite his eyes being closed. The arm wrapped around Wade tightens, pinning him there, and his other hand grabs the arm that Wade has slung across his torso so hard that he can feel the bones creak and complain. 

“No, no, stop–” Logan mumbles, his head thrashing. 

Wade squirms. He could overpower Logan if he wanted to, at least while he was asleep, but he doesn’t want to scare him. Logan only grips him harder, holds him closer or pins him down Wade can’t tell, and so Wade gives up, submitting to the position. 

“Logan,” he says, gently poking his side with his pinned arm. “Hey, babe, hey. Wake up.”

Logan’s body goes stiff like he’s in pain, and rage flares hot and bright in Wade’s body. Fuck the TVA, he’s going to jump into every universe and kill Stryker in every iteration–

“Stop, please, I can’t–”

“Logan!” Wade says more loudly, fighting his grip. “Logan, it’s just a dream! Come on, wake up. Log–”

Wade’s been run through with the claws plenty of times. At this point he’s begged for it more time than Logan’s done it on purpose. But this one hurts differently. Logan inhales with a shuddering start, and all it takes is a tiny shift and he’s got both sets of claws through Wade’s torso, one through his back and one through his gut. Wade grunts in alarm, meeting Logan’s wild and confused eyes, and he stops breathing and moving because he knows from experience it only makes it worse. 

“No,” Logan whispers brokenly, and for a second it’s as if he’s fully forgotten that Wade will be completely fine. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes and he tries to study where he’s sunk his blades, like there would be a way to save him if he couldn’t regenerate. 

They always hurt worse coming out than they do going in, and when he retracts them, Wade can’t keep back a wounded little keen. He barely has a chance to get his bearings; as soon as the claws are gone Logan is crushing him to his chest in an embrace, clinging to him like he’s going to run away if he lets go. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles against Wade’s head. The skin of Wade’s body knits back together like nothing, he’s developed a specific sort of immunity to Logan’s claws the way a normal body develops antibodies, and by the time Logan has finished a shuddering breath to find his voice, he’s already done bleeding. Wade thinks distantly that he didn’t know the hurt/comfort tag was going to be about him . 

“It’s okay,” Wade says at a complete and utter loss for what he could possibly say. “I’m okay.”

“I’ve done it before,” Logan says, voice thick with tears. “I did it to Rogue, I could have killed her too–”

“But you can’t kill me,” Wade argues, like that changes anything. “You can’t hurt me like that. I can be your nightmare knife block whenever you need.”

Logan deflates, loosens his grip just enough to allow Wade the chance to get his arms around him and pet his back. Stroke by stroke, breath by breath, Logan regains his composure until he’s not shaking and his inhales are measured and his exhales are bracing. 

“Do you want to tell me?” Wade asks, and then immediately feeling guilty, pivots and says, “Or maybe write it down? Or I can call Laura?”

“I don’t know… I don’t really remember. I remember going into this facility. And I let them hook me up to the machine. I don’t remember why, but I laid down and I let them strap me into this thing and…”

Logan stumbles through all the gory details. Most of what he remembers is sensation: fear and pain. From what he describes, it sounds very much like he fully died during the procedure, came back to life full of metal and with water in his lungs. He remembers Stryker, younger, cleaner, different, towering above him, he remembers that smug look of ownership, of feeling like an animal under his boot. 

“He thought he owned me. Even all those years ago I had a code name. I was a project, a number.” Logan’s grief switches to rage, and this is where Wade can meet him. 

Wade follows him as he sits up, intentionally not looking at the blood on the bedspread. (They’d argued over the color. Wade wanted red for obvious reasons, Logan wanted black. Wade will concede that black does make it even harder to see his blood staining the fabric.) Logan stares at the carpet, past it to where a bit of his suit is visible on the floor. 

Logan swallows thickly, his hands twitching with anxiety. Wade quickly fumbles to snatch his cigars out of the bedside table and push one into his hand. When he meets Logan’s gaze, lighter flame flicking between them, Logan is looking at him fondly, even with tears in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says, bringing it to his lips to pull in, hands back at rest. The eye contact lingers, and it burns . If Wade could still show a blush he’d be as red as his suit, holding his gaze as he smokes, not shying away from whatever emotion is clear across Wade’s face. 

“No problem, daddy-o, I know your oral fixation is almost as bad as mine.” Wade jokes because he doesn’t know what else he could possibly say. 

Logan graces him with a laugh, exasperated and fond. “Thank you for everything today. And, well, I imagine going forward. You know I never slept well in the first place.”

“Y’know how at Spencer’s you can get a shirt that says like, ‘cumrag’ or some shit? Yukio has a Cricut, I’ll get her to make me one that just says ‘pincushion.” 

“You’re upset,” Logan says on an exhale, quirking an eyebrow at him. ”Which is funny because this does feel like it’s about me.” 

“Listen, just because they put you in every fucking movie, killed you off and then brought you back doesn’t mean things can’t also be about me sometimes,” Wade teases. “Some of us experience this thing called empathy , you attention whore, where you feel really fucking bad for other people.” 

“You already let me kill the guy,” Logan reminds him. 

Wade groans. “Ugh, I know! And you and I both agree that revenge is medically necessary to our mental health, but I still feel so…. ugh! I’m so mad. I gotta eradicate this guy’s whole family line or something.” 

“His son was a mutant,” Logan says. 

“Fuck! The complexities!” Wade flops back down on the bed. “God, the cycle of violence is never complete.” 

Logan stays upright, smoking for a while, and Wade pretends he isn’t laying in a wet patch of his own blood. He’s content to watch him, the familiar motion smoothing lines from his face and releasing tension from his shoulders. “I’m still sorry for stabbing you,” Logan says after a while and he leans to put his cigar out on Wade’s thigh. 

Wade gasps a laugh, taking it without jerking away. “It’s honestly fine. Maybe I’ll just have you stick ‘em in me before we go to bed so they don’t startle me so bad.”

“We had this exact conversation three days ago about letting you go to sleep with something else stuck in you.” Logan shifts to crawl over Wade, sitting across his hips. His eyes are still pink and there’s a subtle waver to his voice that Wade knows that he wants him to ignore. 

“Seven for one special,” Wade jokes, running his hands appreciatively over Logan’s thighs. “And look, if you’re really so worried about it, we can just tie you up before bed.” 

“Yeah?” Logan sneers, voice dropping. “Because I’m your vicious guard dog?” 

Wade laughs low and teasing, “Yeah you are. Nasty. Did that comment turn you on a little? Because to be entirely honest, I kind of loved it.” 

The tips of Logan’s ears go pink and Wade feels his own stomach swoop. “Is that why you pet me on the head after?”

“That was a feeble attempt at comfort from a man who was not raised even a little emotionally mature, but I was also petting your ears because you’re such a good boy— “

The claws come out and level at Wade’s chest, Logan’s sneer delightfully feral behind them. “There’s already blood on the duvet.” 

Wade rolls his hips up, tries to jostle Logan into stabbing him on accident. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, babydoll. Y’know good dogs need training, right? Maybe you need a refresher.” 

Logan laughs, shifting so that the next grind of Wade’s hips catch both of their growing erections. “Yeah, and what are you going to do? Shock me if I don’t behave?”

Gasping in mock offense, Wade shrieks, “Mary, cover your ears, he doesn’t mean that! Do you think I’m a barbarian ? I wouldn’t even use a shock collar on the worst, most bad dog.”

They both groan as they find a rhythm that drags their cocks back and forth across each other, and Logan’s taunt comes back deliciously breathless. “What would you use then?” 

“I’d get you a collar,” Wade answers too quickly, too eagerly, “With a little tag that says ‘If found, return to Deadpool.” 

“What’s a collar gonna do?” 

“I was going to get you a pretty leather one, princess, but if you’re gonna be difficult then maybe you need one of the ones with the metal prongs. Regardless,” Wade shoves a hand between them to push their waistbands out of the way and wrap his fingers around their cocks. “You attach a leash to a collar.” 

“Taking yanking my chain to a whole new level,” Logan sighs, eyes fluttering as Wade touches him, twisting over the heads of their cocks and sliding back down. 

“Ugh, folks, he’s gorgeous and funny! What do they even need me for? If you’re gonna try to steal my spotlight, buster, then maybe I should put a muzzle on you, huh?” 

Logan’s hips jump so hard Wade has to check to make sure he hasn’t come. His mouth is open and soft, eyebrows pitched up in an adorable little pinch, his back arched and his chest on full display as he ruts down into Wade’s grip, and Christ as much as Wade likes getting pinned down and dicked down, he has got to make Logan bottom for him more often. 

“Yeah, baby, you like that, don’t you? All that time you spent in the void trying to shut me up and what you really wanted, down in your feral little heart, was for me to put a muzzle on you. You bit me pretty fucking hard last night, and you know what they do to dogs that bite?” 

“F-fuck, Wade—“

Wade’s hand works over them expertly, his sorry ass is a pro at jacking off but when he gets to flex his skills like this, well, then Logan can thank all his embarrassing nights alone. They thrust into his grip in time with his motions and Wade is a gentleman and he pays extra attention to the things that make Logan’s breath hitch and little moans spill past his lips. 

“Come on, pumpkin, I gotcha. Yes, yeah, that’s it,” Wade coos, talking Logan through the breath catch, hip stutter, full body shudder, low and growly moan that is his orgasm. And watching Logan fall apart like this— Wade loves being at his mercy, being a hole for him to fill, but watching Logan receive— oh, he’s just a vision. There’s all the obvious stuff, making a big masculine man whine and moan and shudder, but it’s more than that. There’s something about trust and submission, about breaking his defenses enough to convince this man to experience pleasure that in a more lucid state he would profess that he doesn’t deserve. 

Wade comes a moment after him, and maybe Logan is writing poetry in his mind about him too, he doesn’t know or care, but they collapse back into bed afterwards, bloody and sticky with spend and, uncaring, they sleep again. Well, Logan sleeps, fitfully, but his claws stay in, and Wade considers that a win, and Wade dozes for as long as he can tolerate and then he gets on the internet and goes shopping. 

He spends his hard earned government hush money on expedited shipping. What else is he going to spend it on? Groceries? Property? 

The remainder of the day passes uneventfully, which is a fucking blessing. When they wake up in the afternoon, they drag themselves out of bed and shower and change the duvet again and start a load of laundry. Weapons and costumes go back in the spare bedroom, Logan walks the dog while Wade soaks the blood out of the linens. Around five, the work phone buzzes with a confirmation of their hard work and a clipped apology about the nature of the target. 

“I feel like we should get a bonus for having to fight our actual demons,” Wade says, checking the ringer is still on and tossing it back to the dresser top. 

Logan grunts in agreement around the bottle of Jack Daniels. Wade has been monitoring his alcohol intake today– he’s not going to stop him from drinking but they’re starting to toe the line of having a serious conversation. 

“What are you checking so obsessively?” Logan asks him a while later. He’s sprawled out on the couch, feet up on the coffee table and arms slung wide. Wade leans against the opposite armrest, his feet up on Logan’s lap, and he peeks up from his phone screen to meet Logan’s squinty expression. 

Wade thumbs from his tab with tracked shipping to his message chain with Ellie. 

The last message was twenty minutes ago. And it was six o’clock on a Friday night, which didn’t bode well for Wade hearing back before Sunday morning at the earliest. 

“I ordered you a present,” Wade says as he manifests the little dot dot dot typing indicator appearing at the bottom of the chat. “And I’m tracking the shipping.” 

“Uh-huh,” Logan grunts, clearly not believing him but choosing to drop it. 

Saturday morning, Logan leaves early and Wade knows he won’t be back until late. He’ll walk down the street to the mechanic shop where he stashes his bike, an old thing that he lets the guys there tinker with when he’s not using it, and ride it out of the city and into the woods. This individual brooding time is vital to Logan’s well being, Wade knows, though with the recent developments, he can’t help but worry. 

His Logan isn’t going to go berserk and kill a bunch of people unless he has to. What Wade is more worried about is that someone who thinks he might is going to push him the wrong way at the wrong time and piss him off. And he’d be totally valid in gutting them, you know Wade is no saint. Don’t kick a man while he’s down unless he deserves it. 

Wade’s phone rings, and Ellie’s grumpy little face graces his screen. He answers immediately, because he’s staring at the “out for delivery” message until it changes. 

“Hey, boo,” he says cheerfully, hoping she can’t tell how anxious he is. 

“Okay, so Colossus just got back to me,” she says, right to business. “This universe’s Logan killed the guy, Stryker, the one that put the metal in him. It was part of the whole dam breaking–”

“Oh god. Man-pain flood, I know this bit. Why didn’t she fly the plane from the inside?”

“Yeah, so that guy is dead, and then a future subsidiary of his company would go on to make the batch of mutants that include Laura, and you already know he killed all of those guys.” 

“Well, shit, okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, the original Logan killed them, so in a way he’s already got revenge. And unless your Logan’s story went super differently–”

“No, I think it branched off before Last Stand–”

“He already killed Stryker. Or at least the flood did, that bit isn’t super clear.”

Wade frowns and squints at the wall. “Damn.”

Ellie laughs dryly at him. “Sorry, I guess? Though taking him on a murder-revenge field trip would have definitely put you on a watchlist.”

He hums, flicking her to speaker and tabbing back over to the shipping tracker. Delivered! “I guess we’ll just have to keep killing versions of him that tumble out of the void. Thank you for wrapping up that plot point, bestie, we really took a detour to get to the fun part of this whole thing. You might think it’s too much lore to get to the spicy bits, but justifying the kinks just makes them that much hotter, dontcha think?”

“What the fuck are you talking about–” a bunch of rustling and clattering interrupts her over the line. 

“Hi, Wade!”

Wade gasps and grins. “Hi, Yukio!”

“Oh my god, give me–” Ellie wrestles the phone back, but he can hear her laugh. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Someone knocks on Wade’s door, and Mary Puppins flips her lid. 

“Thank you for your help, honestly!” Wade shouts louder than he needs to over her yapping. “Tell Colossus not to get used to it. But you can tell Hank–”

Ellie hangs up the phone. 

Wade trips over his chair as he skids around the table to the door, peeking through the peephole and ensuring there are at least three weapons in arms reach before opening it. 

“Are you getting another dog?” Al asks, pushing an open box into his hands. 

“Did you open my mail?” Wade complains as she lets herself in, immediately tottering to a chair so she can pet Mary. “That’s a federal crime, you know.” 

She snorts, lifting Mary into her lap to kiss her head. Even blind, she’s gotten more skillful at avoiding her tongue. “I’ll let whatever poor soul is assigned to my case know, right after I turn over all the—“

Al is cut off with a gurgle as Mary Puppins finds her mark. 

“Did you just stand there on my doorstep and open my boxes?” Wade upends the package onto the counter. Any attempt at cute packaging has already been foiled by Al’s grubby paws, and his haul tumbles out in a cascade of tissue paper and Easter grass.  

“You got it delivered to my place again, stupid. And they don’t put the addresses in braille on the packing slip. That argument would probably fly in front of a judge, you know.” 

The muzzle is the most obviously interesting thing in the box, but Wade still paws through the rest of it anyways. A short leash, maybe four feet long, in a rich brown leather with gold hardware. He turns it over in his hands and snaps it like a belt. 

“Maybe it’s just an elaborate ploy to make sure you don’t forget about me, grandma.” (He fucked up; he really needs to delete her address from his autofill.) 

“So?” She demands anyways, turning towards Wade’s rummaging. “Are you?”

A prong collar with a quick release catch to make it easier to take on and off. Wade isn’t about to get into the ethics of dog training, and so he throws the little informational page away. Even pressure, shouldn’t twist around the neck, only to be used in X Y Z scenarios— he wants it to hurt just a little in a fun way, positive reinforcement be damned. 

“Am I what?” Wade asks distractedly. 

“You idiot— getting another dog!” Al splutters gesturing at the box. “And a damn big one too, it seems like.”

A dog tag, which Wade made especially sure didn’t look like actual army tags, and instead looks like a gold bone that says Wolvie on one side and if lost return to Deadpool on the other. 

Wade snorts. “Yeah, Al. Big dog. Felt like we needed some extra security, y’know. Protect Mary when we’re not home.” 

“I don’t think she likes big dogs,” Al says matter of factly. “Although, it’s hard to know what she’s barking at sometimes.” 

And the pièce de résistance, the muzzle. This thing obviously came from a different source than the rest, but the future is now and by god if you want an adult man sized dog muzzle, some furry on Etsy has your fucking back. It’s padded around the edge and has two adjustable nylon straps to hold the metal basket onto the face, and it’s really fucking cute, and Wade is getting a little hot under the collar just looking at it. 

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you.” 

“Yeah, Al. These are for my own nefarious and twisted purposes.” Wade oggles his collection for a beat longer before sweeping them (gently, reverently) back into the box. ”I’m sure your innocent and angelic constitution couldn’t even fathom—“ 

“You better drop it now unless you want me to tell you something about myself you really don’t want to hear.”

“10-4, chief.” Wade salutes and then pivots to yank open the fridge. “Cold pizza and Jeopardy?” 

It’s right about the time that they find the second Daily Double that Wade really wishes he could track Logan’s phone. But his own personal DILF was just tech savvy enough to realize what Life 360 was and delete it (“You know how fucking dangerous it would be if we made it that easy for just anyone to track us?”) and so now Wade was stuck hoping he was looking out dramatically over a scenic vista long enough to reply to his text. 

He doesn’t reply until Final Jeopardy, which neither Wade nor Al gets right. 

Wade walks Al home and takes Mary for a spin around the block while he’s out. When he gets home he orders dinner, double checks the address, and hides and rehides and hides again all his new toys. He’s nervous, suddenly, that running his big mouth in the heat of the moment was one thing, and buying a bunch of fetish gear was another. 

But Wade has committed to worse jokes harder, and maybe worst case scenario it’s his ass that gets muzzled.

Dinner arrives at the same time Logan does, and he deposits the bag of Indian food on the counter along with his keys. He looks good, all windswept in his leather jacket and boots, and it’s very masculine and a little dominant and Wade’s brain is fourteen and a half steps ahead of him as he pictures breaking him down to nothing. 

“How was the great outdoors?” Wade asks him as he upends his curry over his rice and drips a bunch of it on the table. 

Logan opens a beer, (tasteful, appropriate, boding well for his mental state) and sinks down into his chair. “It got kinda cold out there. Fools‘ fall, this early, but still nice.”

It’s usually so easy to follow their routine, but Wade feels manic. He keeps the shit about Stryker to himself, he doesn’t want to ruin a nice evening, but it leaves him at a loss for what to talk about. It’s easy enough to bat back and forth with Logan, teasing and taunting and saying insane shit that makes him frown in utter confusion, and Wade makes it as far as the dishes before he caves. 

“I’m gonna—“ Logan starts. 

“I got you—“ Wade says at the same time. 

They both freeze and look at each other. 

“Go ahead, ladies first,” Wade concedes, making a show of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“Just gonna shower,” Logan says, squinting at him suspiciously. “Can you make it that long?” 

Wade pretends to gasp in pain. “Wow, mean.”

Logan steps into his space, crowding him against the counter. “You’re acting jittery. Either you broke something, or…” 

Wade is weak to the arch of that damn eyebrow. “Can you blame me? I like a bad boy.” He pretends to tuck hair behind his ear and blink coquettishly up at him, which would be easier if they weren’t the same height. 

“I thought you were going to train me?” Logan says hotly and directly into Wade’s ear. “To be a good boy.” 

Wade feels that one in his soul. His grandkids are gonna feel that one. And Logan probably won't have even aged a day, they’ll say damn grandpa, get it—

Logan laughs, deep and rumbling from his chest at Wade’s stunned silence, and it only makes it worse. Letting his head fall onto Logan’s shoulder, Wade grabs handfuls of his shirt at his waist and drags him even closer. “‘re you sure you have to shower?” 

“Yeah.” He presses a kiss too tenderly to the shell of Wade’s ear. “If only to torture you.” 

“God, okay, go, go! Before I cream my pants—“ Wade shoves at his snickering, immovable chest. Squeezes his tits through his shirt and okay, yeah, that’s what finally gets him to back off. 

Wade makes up his mind right then, flinging his shirt off as he practically sprints into the bedroom as soon as the bathroom door closes, that he is no longer worried about Logan’s reaction to his present. He spends the entire length of Logan’s shower breaking his nails trying to get the tag onto the collar, fiddling with it in his hands and pressing it against his skin. 

(He obviously already tried it on earlier, taught himself how to pinch the links on and off to change the length, curiously tugged on it to make sure it only hurt a little.) 

He still tucks it behind him when he hears the water shut off, watching the door eagerly. It should be so familiar to see Logan step out in nothing but a towel around his hips, but it still dries his mouth out and makes him bristle in suspense like he’s going to get caught ogling. 

“I got you a present!” Wade blurts in a rush of breath, and then, trying to find any composure at all under the weight of Logan’s bemused expression, says again in a more level voice, “I got you something.” 

“Let’s see it, then.” 

“Get on your knees and close your eyes,” Wade bats back, the flush already high on Logan’s cheeks and the impish little expression he’s trying to suppress only egging him on. Logan even looks like he’s debating disobeying him, and the energy is electric as he steps up to the foot of the bed in front of Wade. 

But he kneels, studying Wade with a wary expression. 

“There’s an actual present, like a physical object, I’m not just gonna—“

“Okay, okay,” Logan laughs, and he shuts his eyes. 

His breath hitches as soon as the cold metal touches his neck, and Wade doesn’t even have to take any links out to get it to sit on him just right. It snaps into place, each point of the collar pressing ever so slightly into his neck to keep it from hanging loose, and when Wade hooks his finger in the ring at the front and tugs, it tightens all at once, not spinning or shifting. 

Logan bites his lip and grunts a small noise of confusion, his hands twitching in his lap. When Wade tugs again, just a fraction harder, he exhales a noise with just enough voice in it to make Wade giddy. 

“You can touch it,” Wade says. 

His eyes flutter open, pupils blown even as he tries to look perturbed, and he fumbles to inspect the collar without being able to see it. Finding the tag, he runs his thumb across it, pulling on it to attempt to read it, and tightens the whole thing in the process. 

“It says exactly what I told you it would,” he says when Logan makes another grumble of frustration. “Do you like it?” 

“It’s pokey,” Logan says quietly, like speaking louder will jostle it more. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“This, for starters,” Wade says, hooking his finger in the loop again and dragging Logan up to kiss him. Logan’s mouth meets his with a breathless gasp, and he follows the pull back onto the bed, crawling over him as he continues to lick into his mouth. Tongue trailing across Wade’s teeth, towel abandoned, erection pressed against Wade’s hip; he’s exactly where Wade wants him for the next bit. 

Logan is too preoccupied with Wade’s mouth to notice him groping underneath the pillows. The clumsy clip of the leash to the ring of the collar, however, makes him grumble another little noise of confusion. 

“Wade,” he tries to say, muffled against his mouth, and when he tries to pull back, Wade twists the leash ever so slightly in his fingers and keeps him in place. 

Logan is strong, and it's easy enough for him to force Wade’s hand into a place that lets him pull back. He’s trying to look perturbed or upset or like he’s not completely into it, but he’s twitching his hips against Wade’s and panting so harshly and most importantly, not stabbing him. 

“This is pretty fucked up,” Logan breathes, wrenching the leash out of Wade’s hand to inspect it. “Even for you.” 

“You’re the one who’s so into it that you’re soaking wet,” Wade retorts, unabashedly reaching to slide a hand over Logan’s weeping cock. The shudder of pleasure gives him just enough leverage to roll them, and he lands astride Logan’s torso, sitting high to evade the kick of his legs. 

“What’re you gonna do, huh?” Logan taunts, and they’re dangerously close to the claws coming out and that only thrills Wade even more. “You wanna fuck me like this?” 

“If you behave, you can have whatever you want, big boy.” Wade grabs the leash lower than Logan is holding it away and yanks. “If you don’t, well then I have another present for you.” 

“That makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t need to.” Wade tugs him up into another quick kiss. “Now, good dogs stay very still while I suck them off.”

This is a tall order, and they both know it, but Logan grinds up against him nonetheless. He tries to still his squirming, and even goes so far as to offer the handle of the leash back to Wade. Wade teases him from the very jump, shifting so that he can kiss his way down Logan’s body, teeth testing the give of his muscles and tongue sticking hair flat. Sealing his mouth over a nipple, Wade sucks hard, teeth scraping along with the pressure, and Logan jolts. 

“Ah-ah,” Wade chides, giving the leash a quick yank in correction. “Stay still.” 

Logan scoffs, rolls his eyes at him and he also trembles with the effort of staying still. Wade can hear his heart hammering in his chest when he flicks his tongue over his other nipple, his body twitching but not enough to earn another punishment. 

Slipping between his legs, Wade looks up his body, smug and thrumming with mischief. One hand twisted in the leash, the other gently, feather-softly guiding Logan’s cock to rest on his lips, he looks past rippling muscle and hair to meet his eyes. (He looks at all that too, on the way, the topography of Logan’s body is not something to be glossed over.) 

They exchange a look. Wade gives excellent head. This is such a blatant and obvious fact it should go on his wiki under “powers and abilities.” Part of what makes him so good is his eager and utter willingness to let his partner use him, and he does all the convincing of that with his tongue, missing gag reflex, and devastating bedroom eyes. Logan staying still is out of the question. 

Wade doesn’t tease much. He just suckles the tip into his mouth, swirls his tongue over the head, and then sinks down to the root. 

“ Fuck ,” Logan bites out, and even though he fights it, he twitches up into the heat of Wade’s mouth. As much as Wade would love to just bliss out and let Logan buck and writhe underneath him, he has a dog to train, and so he pops the leash again, drinking in his strangled grunt. 

When he pulls off for air, Wade hangs over him, letting drool roll down his chin as he breathes. Logan pants harshly, propped up on his elbows to lessen the tug of the leash. “Stay still,” Wade repeats the command, sternly, mockingly, and sinks down again. 

Logan makes a valiant effort, Wade will give him that. And Wade plays dirty, teasing in just the ways he knows will elicit a response, hollowing his cheeks and faking a choke when he sinks all the way down and moaning softly when he lets up to take a breath. Not being able to move makes Logan more vocal, gritted moans and harsh breathing, and Christ the eye contact is enough to even make Wade flinch. 

“You’re being surprisingly good,” Wade says hoarsely, lips pressed against the side of Logan’s cock. “I’m almost offended.” 

“Do you want me to be good or not?” 

Wade looks up at him mockingly, roughly working his hand over spit soaked flesh. “I dunno. You seem like you’re getting off on being bad.”

His eyes roll back in his head a little, both in exasperation and bliss, when Wade takes him into his mouth again. Logan falls back into the pillows with a groan and a thump, and Wade has to chase him a bit to keep him from strangling himself. He won’t admit it, but he doesn’t have to– he rolls his hips up into Wade’s mouth without warning– and even as Wade chokes on him, he snaps the lead again, keeps it taught, listens to Logan’s wheeze through the blood rushing in his ears. 

Pulling off with a spitty gasp, Wade pops the collar again and again, urging a bewildered Logan into motion. “Roll over, go, go,” Wade urges him, manhandling him onto his knees so that he can lick a broad stripe over his hole, drinking in his alarmed whimper. He doesn’t leave him neglected, he keeps working his hand over Logan’s cock where it hangs between his thighs, but not without plunging his tongue into the tight ring of muscle as far as he can get it. 

Logan is usually very reluctant to let Wade do this (see: emotionally constipated man doesn’t think he deserves pleasure) but when he does, he melts underneath the attention like butter on hot bread. Gruff grunts and groans become whimpers and moans, his body shakes and he lets himself fall down to press his chest into the bed. And as much as Wade wants to let him melt and droop, he’s got too many toys to let him, and he yanks him back up, forcing Logan to his elbows as he puts pressure on the line. 

His orgasm sneaks up on both of them. If this is all it takes to get Logan so far gone that he can’t even warn Wade, then Wade is gonna make him wear the collar full time. (He has a tangent line of thought about getting a little collar, just a plain chain, a little tighter than it should be, that he can wear the tag on even when they go out. Imagine being a stupid void escapee and the last thing you see before you die is Wolverine wearing a tag with Wade’s name on it? But he’s getting ahead of himself.) Logan moans, low and guttural, and Wade can feel it in his mouth, the way his body twitches as the pleasure rolls through him. Wade doesn’t stop, he just keeps pumping his hand over him, rolling his tongue around his rim, tightening his grip on the leash by a fraction. 

Even when he’s finished, Logan is still hard, (they both often are, thanks mutations) and he flinches away from Wade’s teasing. “Greedy little pup, aren’t you?” Wade says, teeth sinking into the meat of his ass. “Didn’t even ask.”

“Does that mean you won’t fuck me?” Logan counters, and god Wade loves when he’s a bit of a brat. Even with his voice all thin and fucked out he manages to sound intimidating, and it makes Wade’s skin crawl pleasantly. 

Wade smacks him once, hard, right where the swell of his ass becomes thigh. “Sit up.”

Logan obeys, a little mussed, a little sweaty, a lot trying not to kneel in the mess he’s made on the sheets. Wade lets him watch as he palms himself through his sweatpants, basks in the hungry sweep of his gaze up his torso and lingering on his mouth. They’ve played around with this kind of thing but never seriously and even then he still comes to rest so perfectly, hands on his thighs and back straight. 

“Are you doing okay, my little honey badger?” Wade reaches to touch the collar gently, sneering at the way Logan half-flinches half-jerks towards him. There’s no evidence of any discomfort, obviously, but Wade still cares— “Do you need me to take this off?” 

Logan catches his wrist and glares at him. “No.”

The expression that Wade makes is “ you like Krabby Patties, don’t you Squidward? ” turned up to eleven. 

Before he can get a word in, Logan flushes and releases his hand in a hurry. “I’m fine. It’s— it’s good.” 

Wade clicks his tongue. “I think they call that resource guarding.” 

“Shut up.”

Wade walks his fingers up Logan’s neck, scritching under his jaw, petting his thumb over his lip. “It’s a serious concern, you know. And for a dog with a bite history—“ 

Logan takes the bait. Wade’s hand is right there and all he has to do is pivot his head a fraction and bite. And his stupid little canines are so sharp, Wade isn’t really ready for it to break skin but it makes his dick throb anyways, and he laughs instead of wincing. 

Popping the collar, giddy and giggling, drinking in the way Logan’s eyes go half lidded when he’s jerked around, Wade grins and wipes the spit and blood onto his pants. Even with the vicious chomp, Logan doesn’t move, he just watches Wade with a vaguely disgruntled expression as he scrambles off the bed to grab his final prize from underneath. 

“Will you let me put this on you, or am I gonna have to hold you down?” 

Logan’s eyes go wide when he sees the muzzle, of course. Wade suspects for all his heyday whoring, nobody really taught Mr. Every-War-Veteran the finer intricacies of petplay. What a thrill to find out such a thing exists at the exact same second it’s about to be used on you! 

“I asked a question, peanut.” Wade unclips the clasps and holds it forward, open side towards Logan. “Easy way, or hard way?” 

The tension is thick like bacon grease, like duct tape residue, like the wet spot at the front of Wade’s sweatpants. Logan manages to look offended and wildly turned on all at once, and it’s Wade’s favorite look on him. Flushed down to his chest, skin slick with sweat, every line and crease in his face pinched, mouth bitten red and lips parted as he pants. (Thighs trembling, cock hard and curved up against his hip, leaking and inviting, hair mussed but still in perfect kitty cowlicks, hairy—) 

He shifts, shuffling himself forward on his hands and knees until he's right at the edge of the bed in front of Wade. Logan watches him through his lashes, from under the furrowed ridge of his brow, and tilts forward, slowly, until he’s pushed his face into the opening of the muzzle. 

The perimeter of it presses into the bridge of his nose, cuts across his cheeks, and sits under his jaw. When Wade clips it on and yanks the straps to tighten it, Logan opens his mouth experimentally. It shifts into place; he can still open his mouth partly, to breathe and drool and moan and maybe make some quiet and snarky remark, but he can’t bite and he can’t kiss and he can’t lick. 

“Oh, yeah,” Wade breathes, long and drawn out. “Wow.” 

It gives him the silhouette of a snout, coming a few inches off the front of his face, and Wade grabs the metal basket at the front to turn his head this way and that to look at him. Logan goes easily, eyes a little fluttery now, tension slipping out of his shoulders. He’s gotten Logan to bottom before, they switch often, but it's always a bit of a power struggle and he’s never seen Logan go down quite this easily. 

“Good?” Wade asks gently, trying to get his attention. 

Logan nods, and quietly, fighting the pressure of it, murmurs, “Yeah.” 

“Good. You still want me to fuck you?” Wade smoothes the leash between his fingers, and as soon as he sees the smallest glimmer of assent, starts pushing Logan towards the bed. “Yeah? Roll back over.” 

Wade crowds him into place and Logan only tries to fight him when he realizes Wade is trying to push his face into the mess Logan left behind. But Wade loops his fingers in between the links and prongs of the collar and presses him into it anyways, the side of his face only half protected by the metal cage. 

“Should have made you clean your mess up first,” Wade sighs as he snaps open the bottle of lube and follows Logan back onto the bed like that wasn’t the entire point. “Oh well.” 

Already half-fucked out, Logan takes two fingers easy. If the man could purr, he would, the groans and moans falling from his held-shut mouth rumbling in his throat where they get caught. It only takes a minute before Wade is adding a third, and if he wasn’t so terribly neglected himself, he might have the willpower to wring another orgasm out of Logan like this. 

But Wade is just a man, human in all the ways that count, and he’s currently got an image in front of him that would make even the most depraved fangirl swoon. He tries out a million different positions in his head while he strokes Logan’s prostate, his pleasured noises the perfect soundtrack to the porn in his head. 

When he finally makes up his mind, Logan’s eyes have slipped closed and he’s drooling. Pulling his fingers out, Wade smears the lube on top of the existing mess on his pants as he shucks them, and the fucking Wolverine just lays there with his ass in the air. 

Wade pops the leash, and Logan inhales sharply. Flinging himself onto the bed, Wade pats his lap, “C’mere boy!” and Logan crawls over him dutifully. 

“I think that jackass was really onto something,” Wade says, voice tight as Logan braces his hands on his ribs. “If he didn’t ruin your life or whatever I’d send him an edible arrangement.” 

“I’d kill him again,” Logan grumbles. 

“And I’d let you.” Wade wraps the leash in his hand, bundles it so there's no give and Logan has to arch his back over him. He gropes between them to guide himself to Logan’s hole, purposefully teasing it past him a couple times. 

It catches more firmly, and Logan takes his opening and sinks down. Wade keeps tension on the line, drags him until he’s sitting flush with his hips, and Logan wastes no time in grinding against him, hands still pressed roughly into Wade’s chest. 

“This is a good look on you, puppy, all submissive and spacey. No reason to bother with the broody motorcycle rides, I can just leash you up and fuck you ‘til you’re out of your mind.” Wade can’t hide the affect of his voice, doesn’t want to, lets Logan hear how every shift of their bodies makes him gasp and catch and moan. 

“What happens when I remember that I can claw the shit out of you?” He grits, finding a rhythm that is approaching aggressive. 

“Is the training not working?” Wade pops the collar and Logan grunts a moan that Wade is already addicted to. 

“You wouldn’t stop me from cutting you open and fucking you stupid.” The pinch of his jaw makes his voice gravelly and it gives Wade’s ears the same lucious burn that Logan’s stubble leaves on his chin. 

Wade drags him down until the front of the muzzle is pressed into his own nose. This hunched, he has space to fuck up into Logan, meeting him half way, and Logan fights to maintain his eye contact against the sensation. “You’d like that, huh, me clinging to the leash for dear life while you had your way? Huffing and puffing into my back because you couldn’t bite?”

Logan moans, Logan’s eyes roll back a little as his mouth falls open as Wade hits his prostate, Logan drools, the saliva catching on the wire basket before dripping onto Wade’s face. 

The tag with their names on it jingles in Wade’s periphery and he loves it in a fucked up way, his crazed heart beating mine, mine, mine in time with his hips. He’s right where he likes to be, under Logan, running his mouth, having crazy fucked up sex that the Avengers probably have to sign an agreement not to have, the fucking prudes, and yet their whole weird relationship comes to a searing point with this dynamic between them. 

Ownership and play, violence and consent, there is no universe where this is supposed to happen and so Wade cobbled it together brick by brick without even realizing what he was building. 

“Gonna come in you,” Wade says, and in their movements Logan has settled back into place, a little slack has snuck into the line, and Wade can’t stop staring at the way the muzzle makes his eyes even more intense. “But don’t stop.”

Logan grunts in assent, head lolling on his shoulders even as he tightens his core and balances himself to take the stuttering of Wade’s thrusts. It’s un-fucking-fair how perfect he is, even if he falls asleep every night latched onto his body like a parasite it never dulls the thrill of seeing it, every muscle engaged with the sole purpose of getting fucked. Vein in his arm where he braces it on his thigh, the gouge of his hips the swell of his thighs the flex of his forearm when he reaches to touch himself— 

Wade loses sense of his volume when he comes. Al probably hears it, Ellie probably feels a disturbance in the force and frowns at nothing, Strkyer’s dead fucking corpse probably rots a little faster knowing that the most obnoxious motherfucker on the planet has what he could only wet dream about. Logan is hot and tight and pulsing around him, and the friction catches up with him and milks him for all it’s worth. 

And Logan doesn’t stop. “Good boy,” Wade wheezes, doesn’t let up on the leash from where he yanked it in his stupor, lets Logan see the tears in his eyes from the overstimulation and thrills at it. 

After he’s determined Wade is good and fucked out, he slows his hips to a dirty grind, and when he tilts his head in question it’s so achingly cute that Wade can’t help it. 

“Can I touch myself?” Logan says, and it’s not quite a whisper but it’s only the lowest tones of his voice and it makes Wade shiver. 

Wade takes the pressure off the leash, watches little red marks on his neck disappear instantly. “You’re so good for asking permission this time.” 

Somehow the praise still feels like humiliation and he knows that’s why Logan’s eyes flutter. “That isn’t an answer,” Logan replies carefully. 

“Do you think you’ve earned it?” Wade will come again, and he can’t help a tiny twitch up into that gripping heat even if it almost hurts. 

Logan grumbles a noise of impatient distaste. “I think I’ve humored you more than I’d ever care to admit.”

“Yeah and you fucking loved it. My little puppy. God .” Wade laughs crazed and breathless.  “Tell me what you are, and you can touch.”

He knows this will be the thing that Logan balks at, and he uses the several seconds of pride-swallowing to hold his hips down and grind up into him, feeling the slick side of his mess against his walls. Logan has stamina in all things: fighting, fucking, long and grueling silences— and Wade doesn’t really have stamina as much as he has enthusiasm. Enthusiasm means that it doesn’t take much for him to be tottering up that cliff, he knows as soon as Logan’s body reacts to his hand on his cock he’ll be a goner. 

“I’m a good boy,” James ‘Logan’ Howlett mumbles. 

“Ye-a-ah you are, here,” Wade yanks him down to undo the muzzle, tossing it to the bed and soothing the already healing dent on the bridge of his nose with his thumb, “Lemme get that one more time, nice and clean for the audience.” 

“I’m your good boy,” the fucking Wolverine says, looking right into his eyes. 

“ Yes ,” Wade moans, and means it as permission and Logan takes it as permission, his hand cramming desperately between their bodies. “Fuck, I love you, come here—“ 

He uses the leash to pull Logan down to his mouth but he does not need to. It’s less of a kiss and more of a mouth-to-mouth moaning panting drooling situation and it’s so fucking hot. Wade abandons the lead to hook his fingers in the collar, his other hand clawing at Logan’s arm. Logan tightens around him, follows the erratic thrusting of Wade’s hips and somehow Logan comes first, utterly vindicating Wade that all the teasing was worth it. 

Logan’s orgasm pushes Wade over the edge a moment later, and he seals his mouth more firmly over Wade’s to drink in his cry. When he backs off for air and rests his head on his shoulder, he pants exhausted and rough into Wade’s ear, and if he still had goosebumps to get, he'd be covered in them. Wade kisses the side of his face, pets down his arms and back, inhales the scent of sweat and shampoo and spit off his skin. 

They barely separate as they fall to the bed, Logan slipping off of Wade with a grunt before collapsing onto his side and dragging him into his chest. Wade can’t quite get to the clasp of the collar but he pinches a link loose and lets it fall open, carefully extricating it from Logan’s neck before sinking into his embrace. 

They don’t sleep yet, but they do lay there in a haze, breathing slowly returning to normal and their bodies healing the burn from their muscles. Logan tips his chin to kiss Wade’s head, and Wade squirms up to meet him, blindly finding his mouth. This kind of slow making out they don’t often do, no teeth or seeking hands, just the hot slide of their lips and the lazy press of their tongues. 

“You already killed that guy in this universe, by the way,” Wade says eventually, when the kissing becomes breathing each other's air, and he can’t bear to have any more secrets. “I made the X-people upstairs check. Old you made sure he drowned a horrible death.” 

Logan grunts a laugh. “Yeah, I mean, I figured. You do know that’s where I ride my bike out to, right?” 

“Christ, you’re emo. Do they teach you to brood like that somewhere or does it come with your supersuit?” 

“It is a relief, though,” Logan says, and Wade is relieved to think he actually means it. “It’s nice to know some things are the same— that he could do something like that and be good in this one.” 

Wade feels his heart break a little. “What, you mean they added that to your rap sheet?” 

Logan shrugs minutely, seems to think about rolling over but stops at the slightest pressure from Wade’s hand. “After I did everything else, it just kind of got tacked on. It didn’t matter what he did, it was just another death added on to my list, proof that I was always going to fuck up.” 

Wade never knows what to say. They don’t talk about her , Logan never does and so Wade doesn’t either, but he knows her name hangs heavy over them like a laser scope from the building across the way. Just hearing it in the warehouse yesterday felt like someone was finally ripping the rug out from underneath him. Wade flounders for a joke to make to change the subject but comes up dry, he wonders if he should ask about the sex or get up to clean off, the silence is excruciating and— 

“Thank you. For checking.” Logan says. “It’s nice that you’d do that for me.”

“I mean, I wanted to give you a chance to maim that shrimp dick a second time, if you wanted. Or possibly to maim him for you so you didn’t have the trauma flashbacks again.” Wade grins up at him. “But what’s dead is gone and we found a better way to work through that.” 

“Real opposite take on the whole thing.” 

“Yeah but you got so-o-o into it. I haven’t seen you that enthused by something since I made you watch Gone Girl.” Wade puts a finger over Logan’s open mouth to shut him up so that he can keep talking. “Sh sh sh, I have rejection sensitivity, so if you have any critiques I need you to mail them to me on official letterhead—“ 

“I liked it.”

Wade sneers just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I didn’t, uh, well I wouldn’t have known. But I think you knew that.” Logan picks up the collar to thumb over the tag. “I’m gonna put this on my keys.”

“Wow, usually guys get down on one knee first,” Wade jokes like this open display of affection isn’t rocking his whole world. “But I’m glad. I was worried you were actually gonna kill me about it. That today would be the day you actually found a way to make it stick.” 

“You know once I figure it out, it’s over for you, bub.” 

“I chose not to get the butt plug with a tail attached.”

“Wow,” Logan chuckles, face crinkled and so close to Wade’s. “Didn’t know you had that kind of self control.” 

“I don’t. They were out of stock.”

Logan shoves him as he sits up, still snickering. “Are you going to shower with me or not?”

“Ugh, yes, but if that fucking phone rings rings tonight I’m throwing it out of the window.” Wade hauls himself into motion, trying to get his legs to work to follow Logan into the blinding light of the bathroom. “Hold on, boy, heel!” 

He isn’t quite off the bed, his feet barely touching the floor, when Logan stops short and turns, catching Wade’s jaw in his hand. “If you do this shit in public, we’ll never do it again,” Logan deadpans. 

“Okay, puppy,” Wade replies in a sing-song tone, looking up at Logan.