Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Logan only has one rule when he moves into the extra bedroom in Wade's apartment: don't get comfortable. 

Comfortability leads to dependence. He can't be dependent on a shithole apartment with a boarded up window, home to a well known mercenary and his blind roommate. He can't depend on Wade fucking Wilson. He's got a reputation, and not a good one.

It's nice of him to help Logan get on his feet, but it's his fault Logan's even here in the first place. He moves in with a solid plan, already set in stone. He's going to get a job. He's going to clean up his act, and he's going to move back to fucking Canada. Somewhere boring. Somewhere he can disappear completely. Start over. 

He’s ruined one life already. Second chances don’t come often, he won’t ruin this one. 

He won't settle into a routine. Settling means he's getting comfortable, so he avoids communal time. Wade and Al eat together most nights, Logan retreats to his bedroom. 

Sometimes Wade knocks on his door and starts wisecracking, then he starts flirting, then he starts laughing, and Logan leaves his room for a little bit to heat up a tv dinner and squeeze between them on the couch, but it's not a routine. 

When Logan comes home from work Al barks at him to take his shoes off, even though he always does. There's been a pair of yellow crocs sitting next to Wade's blue ones ever since he moved in but he won't put them on. He told Wade not to buy the things in the first place, but it didn't stop him. He even got the goddamn jibbitz. 

He gets in the shower and scrubs himself down until he can't feel the office on his skin anymore. Al yells at him about using all the hot water. Wade, if he's home, will try to hop in the shower with him and Logan will have to wrestle him out. If he's not home he'll stick his head in Logan's room later with his bottom lip sticking out. “Showered without me, peanut? who's gonna do my back?” 

Not a routine. Starting to become a habit, maybe. But it's far from a routine. 

Lately Logan's been getting sick. He wakes up in the middle of the night and has to run to the bathroom, shaking and sweating and gripping the porcelain. His face feels hot despite the shivers and he has to press his forehead to the toilet bowl to try and cool himself down. It feels nice, but it doesn't stop him from vomiting. Withdrawals are a bitch. The puking he could tolerate, it’s the clear head that’s hard. He remembers everything so much better with a fogless mind.

A pin dropping two rooms over could wake Al up and Wade never sleeps. The walls in the apartment are paper thin. Logan learned all this the hard way, god forbid he tries touching himself in the apartment he pays rent in. But unlike that incident, no one mentions him being sick over breakfast. They ignore it, for the most part. 

Wade keeps catching his eye over a bowl of cereal then looking away quickly, but for once he keeps his mouth shut. It's kind of unsettling, but Logan would never complain about him talking less. 

When he comes home from work Wade's Yugo is out front. It sours his mood instantly, partially because that means Wade's home which means he won't get any personal space. Mostly because it's an eyesore of a car. 

“Take your shoes off!” 

“I know Al, thank you.” Logan kicks them at the ugly fucking yellow crocs. 

He gets a glass of water and sees that the bottle of fireball that usually sits next to the sink and has been slowly dwindling since he got here is gone. 

He drinks his water and tells himself Wade must’ve finished it off last night. He doesn't open the alcohol cabinet to check on the rest. He's been so good about keeping out of the alcohol cabinet since he got here. 

Alcohol is comforting. He's got his eyes on the prize. He slinks back to his bedroom and tells Wade to sit on a knife when he comes knocking with a dinner invite later. 

A few days go by and there's another knock on his door. It's after dinner, so he isn't sure what either of them could want with him. 

Wade opens the door before Logan tells him to come in. “Wolvie? You decent?” He catches sight of Logan, fully clothed and his smile falls. “Damn it.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Your hand in marriage.” 

“No.”

“Fine, a blowjob.” 

“No.” 

“You drive a hard bargain. Footjob. And one finger up the fudge factory. Final offer.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan groans. 

“I'm taking that as a yes.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Wanna go up to the roof?” 

Logan could use a cigarette. The company he could do without, but he's already getting out of bed and fighting to pull his sneakers on without undoing the laces. 

“I'll go grab your crocs,” Wade says. 

“I'm not wearing the crocs!” 

Logan didn't even know they could get on the roof, but there's a service door with a busted lock and a rickety metal staircase that leads all the way up. The apartments are only a few stories tall, but when you're right on the edge it feels like you could touch the sky. His stomach falls to his feet just looking over. 

Wade passes him a cigarette and they stand in silence for a moment. 

“You haven't been drinking,” Wade says, uncharacteristically serious. 

“I'm trying to keep this job.” 

“I could get you a better one.” 

Logan shakes his head. “I'm done with all that.” 

“It's a little late to become captain morality.” 

They don't say anything else. 

The second night they talk more. Logan tells Wade about his piece of shit boss, Mark. Wade offers to take Mark out. Logan tells him no, because Mark is an asshole, and he always gets the cheap coffee for the breakroom, but at the end of the day, it's him who's signing Logan's paychecks. 

The third night Wade tries to sing him a Skrillex song from memory, including all the beep boop lazer noises. Logan threatens to push him off the roof. Wade doesn't shut up so Logan grabs him by the front of the shirt and dangles him over the ledge.

“Yup, I'm hard,” Wade says when he's back on his feet, and even Logan cracks a smile. 

On the fourth night Wade starts talking about Vanessa until his voice cracks and he needs to stub out his cigarette early. 

It's not a routine. That would be counterproductive. It would be comfortable. 

On the fifth night Wade's working late. Work is a strong word for what he does. He's killing people for money, but he's running behind. Logan heads up to the roof by himself and stands on the ledge. His stomach plummets. He's never liked heights. He needs to close his eyes when he steps over the ledge. 

He wakes up very much alive with Deadpool standing over him. He must be off to work since he's got the mask on. 

“Whatcha doin’ down there, peanut butter?” 

“Nothing,” Logan grunts as he peels himself off the concrete. All his bones are already back in place but it hurts like a bitch still. 

“I myself am no stranger to falling off the wagon and waking up in the front yard. There's nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Logan stomps back into the apartment before he loses it. 

He still sees Wade up on the roof again that night. He's back with a cigarette between his lips, snorting at something ridiculous Wade's saying like nothing happened. It's still not a routine, though. 

Six months later. 

“You seem tense, baby.” 

The words don't relax him. If anything his shoulders climb closer to his ears. She puts her hands on his shoulders and starts digging her fingers into the muscles. He lets out a low, rumbling groan and drops his head onto the sticky bar. 

“That feels good, doesn't it?” she asks, with an airy laugh. 

Logan groans again in response. He carries all his stress in his shoulders. She presses her thumb into a spot by his neck and it feels so good his arm spasms. He drops his glass of whiskey. It falls on the bar but doesn't spill.

“Let me take some of the stress off, baby,” she purrs in his ear. 

It's humiliating how quickly he turns to putty at her words. It's been a long time since he's had someone rubbing his shoulders, calling him baby. She scratches at his scalp with her long nails and goddamn it he almost starts crying. 

He knows what she means when she says let me take some of the stress off but Jesus, what he wouldn't give to take her home and have her do more of this. Maybe she would let him take his shirt off and drag those same nails down his back until he falls asleep. He isn't sure when he turned into such a loser. 

She keeps scratching his scalp, then trails her fingers down and scratches the back of his neck.

Logan knows he doesn't deserve any of this, but as is the way of the selfish bastard. He takes and he takes some more. 

He doesn't remember her name. In his brain she's just she. She's got pink lips, dark hair, lots of dark eye makeup. She can't be over twenty five, which means she's got no interest in him outside of telling her friends she slept with The Wolverine. He keeps forgetting he's a hero in this universe. 

He doesn't usually get like this when he drinks, it was probably the tequila shots he had earlier. Tequila makes him desperate. Tequila makes him crave someone's fingernails on his scalp. Makes him want to be somebody's baby.  

Horny and sappy. And drunk. The worst combination one could have. Jesus Christ, why did he drink tequila? 

Logan spins around on the stool so he's facing her. He needs to look up, since she's standing and he's still sitting. 

“What can I do for you, baby?” she asks. She looks down, then looks back up from under her long lashes. Her hands move to cup his chin, thumbs playing with the stubbly hair of his beard. “I'd do anything.” 

You'd have to be an idiot to misread a signal like that. He slips off the stool and hooks an arm around her waist. He's not particularly in the mood, but he could be convinced. It's been a long time, after all. 

“Take me back to yours?” she asks. 

Logan shakes his head. “Roommates.” One deadly roommate, one blind roommate with crazy hearing, paper thin walls. He could never bring a girl back there. “Bathroom?” 

God bless her, she nods. 

Logan's unsteady on his feet. He used to be able to drink twice what he's had tonight and still have his balance, but it's been a while. He would've been ten months clean tomorrow, but here he is. 

She keeps him steady, keeps him on his feet all the way to the dingy men’s room. It's cramped and awkward, but she shoves him into a stall and bolts the door. She doesn't waste any time, goes right for his belt and tugs his jeans down his thighs. 

He's half hard already. Interested, but he's been drinking. He's been drinking for the first time in months, and damn it, his body won't cooperate.  

When she pulls his boxers down and his cock springs free her eyebrows shoot up. “You're big,” she says. 

It used to make him feel good, but it's been two hundred years and he's tired now. He's a six foot two mutant, did she expect him to be small?

She wraps her hand around him and strokes him a few times. It feels good, but not good enough to make any difference. There's a heat between his legs, but his cock remains stubbornly at half mast. 

“What's wrong, baby? You don't like me?” 

Logan lets out a dry laugh. “It's not you, sweetheart.” His voice is low and gravelly. 

She grins at him and gets back to work. Logan’s never felt like more of an old bastard in his life. She holds his pathetic, uncooperative dick in one hand and wraps her mouth around the head without warning. 

“Oh, god,” Logan groans. He tips his head back until it hits the stall. Now they're getting somewhere. There's a hopeful twitch in her mouth. She swallows him down as much as she can, works the rest with her hands. 

His hips stutter forward and he pushes her hair back off her forehead, grabs a handful to hold it out of her face. She pops off and he has to bite back an irritated huff. They were getting somewhere. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

He just wants her lips back. “Sure.” 

“Do the claws hurt when they come out?” 

He should've seen it coming. He knows he's a gimmick, but god forbid he tries to forget. Tries to feel like maybe someone was interested in him . Not the hunk of metal sitting below his skin. 

“Yes,” he says. 

She smiles shyly. “So I can't see them?” 

He takes a controlled breath in through his nose and speaks slowly. “If I can't get my dick up, I can't get my claws out.” 

She must be eager to see them, because she's back on him. He closes his eyes and tries to turn his brain off. To focus on her lips and her tongue and not the voice in the back of his head telling him he doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve this either, really. He should get out of the bar before he can make any more terrible decisions. Wade's probably getting ready to meet him on the roof right now. It's not often either of them miss a night. 

Wade is out late sometimes, with work. Or women. Men on occasion. Logan hasn't touched anyone since he got to this universe. Not until now. Sure, he's stretched pretty thin, and the release would feel good right now, but he wishes she was scratching his scalp with her long nails again. 

He doesn't feel anything between his legs but a warm heat that grows slowly but never really becomes anything gripping. He's too drunk, all the sensations feel muted. Distant. 

She hollows her cheeks and– fuck. Okay. That's something. He tips his head back again, tightens the fist in her hair and urges her forward. She swallows around him, her throat constricts and it's tight. 

“Fuck,” Logan says with a heavy fall of his chest, followed by a string of breathy moans.

She takes him down and he holds her there, right at the base. 

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It's been over a year. Easily over a year, probably pushing two since he's had anyone other than his hand. She keeps trying to look up at him with her big, watery eyes, her mouth stretched around his cock. It probably works on a lot of guys, but it makes Logan feel like an asshole. He closes his eyes again. 

She taps him on the hip and he holds her hair tighter. “I'm close,” he grunts out. “Please, doll, I'm right there.” 

She taps him on the hip again and he lets go of her hair. She pulls off of him, spit dripping down her chin. “I still need to breathe, Jesus,” she says petulantly. 

The buildup is gone, along with any hopes of climax. She looks like she's ready to try again when he shakes his head and tucks himself back into his underwear with a grimace.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “This isn't working.” 

She wipes her mouth and gets up off her knees. “That's alright. Are your claws still broken?” 

He sighs. With a shink his claws come out, breaking through the rough skin of his knuckles. She oohs and aahs, running her finger along the blade. “This is so fucking cool,” she whispers. “Let me give you my number, okay? We'll try again when you're less drunk.” 

Shame washes over Logan like a wave and he tugs his jeans up. She digs through her purse until she's able to find a pen and a gum wrapper to scrawl her number on. “Text me, Logan,” she says. 

He had never told her his name. 

It's not a long walk home, but it takes nearly double the time it usually does. He needs to stop halfway there to throw up outside a little Italian restaurant. 

When he makes it back to the apartment he goes straight to the roof, and isn't surprised to see Wade there, sitting crisscross, already halfway through a cigarette. 

“You're late, peanut.” He says. 

Logan collapses next to him. “Long day.” 

Wade's eyes widen. “Holy shit, you got laid.” 

“No I didn't,” Logan says quickly. 

“You reek of post-coital regret. And alcohol.”

Logan’s surprised by how perceptive he is. Whenever Wade has sex Logan can smell it on him all day, courtesy of his mutant nose. Wade doesn’t have that, though. He just notices things. Logan takes a cigarette from Wade's pack and lights it up. 

“Nothing wrong with falling face first off the wagon, sugar plum. Now tell daddy what happened.” 

Logan lays back so he can look up at the sky. There's too many lights in the city to see any stars. “I got fired.”

“Oh good, that place sucked.” 

“That place paid my bills. It paid my share of rent.” 

“You need help with your bills, punkin?” Wade's grinning. “This sounds like the start of a really awesome porno.” 

“It doesn't sound like the start of any porno. It sounds like I need a new job.” 

Wade takes a drag and looks out over the skyline. There's a nice view of their shithole little neighborhood from the roof. Wade's curled up in a pair of pink pajama pants and a hoodie with the hood pulled up. He's got his stupid crocs on his feet. There's something comforting about his presence now. Familiar. It's been so long since Logan's had an honest to god friend. 

“What happened, anyway?” Wade finally asks.

“I lost it. Flipped a desk.” Logan doesn't need to elaborate. Wade knows he's prone to these fits of rage. 

“Was it because of Mark?” 

It's the first time Logan's been able to think about it all day without getting angry. “Yeah,” he says, with a dry laugh. “He was being an asshole. Dumped the workload of like, three people on me then started talking about deadlines.” 

“You could put all that anger to good use if you worked with me.” Wade isn't looking at him, he's still staring into the night. 

“I've killed enough people for a lifetime.” 

“There's always more sons of bitches who need to die. Plus, the money's great.” 

“Is that why you live in a crack house and drive a Yugo?” 

“It's not a crack house!” Wade says defensively. “It's a crack home. Where I'm a caretaker for the disabled and elderly.” 

“Al doesn't need you. I think she's more of your caretaker.” 

Wade lets out a snort of laughter and they fall into another stretch of silence. This time it's Logan who breaks it first. 

“I don't know how to control it. The anger.” 

“You need an outlet.”

“I'm not going to work with you.” 

“I'm not saying that. You need to, like, run. Or go to the gym, or something. It looks like fucking worked nice for you, you going steady now?” 

Logan shakes his head. “It was a one time thing. It was barely even a thing at all.” 

“She pretty?” 

Logan isn't sure why the question bothers him, but it does. He stubs out his cigarette and climbs to his feet. He gets, like, half a blowie after nearly a year of being in this universe and all of a sudden he's getting the third degree. 

Wade gets laid all the time. He reeks of it when they're up on the roof some nights. It's awful. It makes Logan's head spin. 

Wade grabs for his hand before Logan can storm away. Logan flinches away from the contact on instinct, shoving his hands deep in his pockets where they can't be touched. 

“Seriously,” Wade says, “come work with me.” 

“I'm not gonna be a fuckin’ merc.” 

“You don't need to do the killing, work at the bar. I've got connections. I've got friends there, and you'd get to hang out with me all day. Can you imagine anything better, Wolvie?” 

“I slip up one time and you're already trying to get me to work at the bar? I'm trying to kick old habits, not make them worse.” 

“You smoke like a chimney still. Don't care about that habit then?” 

Their little rooftop meetings aren't about the cigarettes. He'd quit those tomorrow if he felt like it. The habit he can't kick is Wade. It's not like he can tell Wade that, though.  

“Colossus has been very persistent about you joining the–” 

“Stop,” Logan interrupts. That part's still too painful. He's avoided the X-men of this universe as much as he can help it. Every few months Wade gets sappy and invites them all around for dinner. 

Logan is nice when they're over. He says hello and asks how they're doing, then he excuses himself to his bedroom and spends the next few hours hugging his knees to his chest and trying to keep his breathing even. 

He knows Wade's jealous. He's got some sort of wanna be superhero complex, but he's got no idea how far off Logan ever was from being a superhero. 

Logan’s no hero. He's more like Wade than anything else. He's a perfect weapon, and Jesus Christ, when he gets a taste for blood… The only difference is Wade leans into that side of himself. Made it his armor while Logan made it his cross to bear. 

“I should shower,” Logan says. Wade doesn't stop him this time when he gets up to leave. 

He uses all the hot water in the apartment and he doesn't feel bad about it. He needs to rid himself of the sweat, the alcohol, the girl. It was a one time thing. He doesn't need the comfort of a drink after a hard day, and he certainly doesn't need the comfort of a nameless woman. He'll be back on track tomorrow. 

The following morning Wade barges into the bathroom while Logan's sitting on the counter in his underwear with his head tipped back, chugging the bottle of mouthwash. 

“Morning breath?” Wade asks. 

Logan flips him off and drinks until the bottle is empty. “Fuck you,” he says. “There's nothing to drink in this house.” 

“There hasn't been for months.” 

“I wouldn't know. Never checked since I wasn't drinking.” 

Wade's got his suit on already. He cocks his head and even through the mask Logan can see the stupid little smile on his face. “You need a ride?” 

Logan throws the empty mouthwash to the floor. “Fuck no.” He slips off the counter and stumbles, Wade has to catch him and prop him back upright. 

“You are so cute when you're being all pathetic,” Wade says. “You wake up drunk, peanut?” 

“I might've gone a little too hard yesterday.” 

“Get in the car. I'll drive you.” 

The passenger seat of Wade's Yugo is quickly becoming one of Logan's least favorite places. The AC blows around the same hot air, the whole thing smells dusty, and it bounces over every little bump in the road. Logan needs to rest his forehead against the glass and take in deep breaths through his nose to keep from being sick. 

Wade doesn't seem to mind, he's got the radio on and is bobbing his head around to some horrible electronic song. 

He drives right to Sister Margaret's and runs around to open Logan's door for him before he can do it himself. “You look terrible. Just awful,” Wade says.

Logan doesn't say anything, just scowls in his general direction. 

“I mean you truly look like someone who went on a bender. Your best bet is to come get a job with me. I know these people.” 

“I'd rather chew off my own foot.” Logan gets out of the car and slams the door. 

“Cranky,” Wade snarks, but Logan's already heading down the street. He doesn't mean to snap at Wade, he's just on edge. His head is pounding. His stomach's turning. He wants a fucking drink. 

Wade doesn't follow him, so Logan's free to go job hunting on his own. Wade's words sit with him though, he stops in front of a store window and tries to fix his hair in the reflection. It sticks up on either side of his head no matter how much he tries to flatten it, but that's the least of his worries. There are deep, dark circles under his eyes. He looks gaunt, and aged. Wade, as much as he jokes, wasn't kidding. He looks awful.  

He slinks down the street and walks into the dingiest looking restaurant he sees. A rundown little burger joint with boarded up windows. It's a piece of shit. He'll fit right in. 

A tired bell dings when he pushes the front door open. “Hey,” Logan says, walking up to the big, burly man standing behind the counter. “I need a job.” 

-

Wade's sitting on the roof with his legs stuck out in front of him. One hand behind him to keep himself propped up, the other holding a cigarette. Logan's laying down with his head resting on Wade's thighs. He's usually the one who needs to keep the distance between them, but right now it's the only thing that's calming him down. 

“How do you get fired on your first day?” 

Logan sucks on the end of his cigarette with vigor. “You have a rage fit.” 

“You seem to be having a lot of those lately.” 

Logan squeezes his eyes shut. He hates being a mutant. He hates the powers. Hates his nose, hates that Wade's showered twice and he can still smell blood on him. Some his, but mostly someone else's. He can smell the fear, the fear he felt before Wade fucking killed him. He hates the urges, the pull deep in his stomach. 

The animalistic instincts he can't separate from his own. The white hot anger he feels, the kind that starts in his gut and warms his insides, tightens his muscles, leaves his jaw clenched so tight it's aching. 

It's The Wolverine. He can't control it, can't stop it. All it does is leave him so angry there's nowhere left for the anger to go but out. 

“It's worse when I'm drinking,” Logan says. 

“You should try blow instead.” 

Logan lets out a breathy little laugh. A second later there's a hand in his hair and his whole body tenses up. 

Wade isn't looking at him. He's looking out over the skyline like he's not even doing it consciously, while every single nerve in Logan's body has been made hyper aware of the fingers in his hair. They run through his hair absently, dull nails scratching at his scalp. 

Like the woman from the bar, but if she didn't have talons and her fingers weren't so skinny. 

After a moment, when he realizes the hand isn't going anywhere, Logan relaxes. He closes his eyes and shifts, letting his head fall back even further where it's resting on Wade's thigh. He can feel the anger leaving him, like it's all being pushed away with Wade's slow scratches. 

“I should warn you, your head is like two inches away from a stiffy right now,” Wade says. 

Jesus Christ. He always has to go and ruin the moment. Logan brings his hand up and smacks him hard between the legs. Wade groans and draws his knees up, knocking Logan off his pillow. 

“Fuck you, man.” Logan says. 

“Fuck you!” 

-

Logan stares into the fridge, one hand on his hip the other scratching his hairy chin. He hasn't shaved in a week. He hasn't had any reason to. 

He kicks the fridge door shut with his bare foot. When it's just him and Al at home he walks around in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “There's nothing to eat in this fuckin’ house.” 

“Maybe if you got a job we could have more groceries!” Al yells from the living room. She's high out of her mind, melted into a corner of the couch listening to the television. 

“I don't see you working either, Al!” He snaps. 

He hasn't gotten another job since his day at the restaurant. That must've been three weeks ago now. He hasn't been drinking, but god, he wants to. He's been home all day with the anger bubbling up inside him, waiting at the door like a fucking dog for Wade to come home. 

The roof has become his outlet. He spends all day twitching with rage, holding it in until he's up with Wade, a cigarette hanging between his lips, his head in Wade's lap, Wade's fingers in his hair. It's the only place he can breathe anymore. He doesn't even mind when Wade comes home reeking of blood. 

He's about to stomp back to his bedroom when the front door flies open right on cue. “Woah, woah, why are we fighting?” Wade asks. 

He's in the red suit, but the mask is off. He's a little red in the cheeks, but he's smiling. His shoulders are loose, there's a little pep in his step, and then Logan smells it. 

The musk, the sweat. Dear god, he can still smell arousal wafting off him. He wasn't out on a job, he was out having sex. Maybe both, Logan can definitely still smell blood.

Logan grips the counter until his knuckles turn white. He isn't even sure why it bothers him so much. Everything's bothered him lately. 

“We aren't fighting,” Logan snaps. 

“He's complaining there isn't any groceries when he hangs around my apartment all day in his underwear,” Al supplies from the living room. 

“What does it matter if I'm in my underwear, you're blind!” 

“You're in my apartment all damn day. I let you move in here as a favor to Wade, but I was under the impression you'd go outside every now and again.”

Logan jabs a wild finger in Wade's direction. “As long as he's paying for the place it's his apartment.”

Wade had stepped up when Logan lost the restaurant job and covered his share of rent for the month. Logan saw him writing the check in the kitchen and noticed he had covered Al's share too. He waited around until Wade left and flipped through the copies in his checkbook. He had been paying Al's share for a long time. Since before Logan got to this universe. 

“You're better than me, Wade. If I were you I'd throw him out.” 

Logan turns to Wade. Mary Puppins had come running into the room when she'd realized he was home. Wade has her hugged to his chest, smiling like this was all a very entertaining interaction. 

“Are you going to fucking say somethin’?” Logan barks. After all those nights on the roof he kinda thought they were friends now. At least something close. 

“I am having way too much fun watching. Please, please, pretend I'm not here.” 

“This is bullshit,” Logan says, and slams one of the cabinets so hard it falls off the hinges and clatters onto the floor. Mary Puppins cries at the noise and Wade hugs her closer. 

“What the hell was that?” Al asks with a start. 

“Logie knocked the cabinet door off. He's prone to bouts of wolfish hysteria. It's kind of sexy, Al, too bad you're blind.” 

“You need to learn to control yourself, Logan,” she says, settling back into her indented spot on the couch. “This isn't a goddamn halfway home.” 

It washes over him in a wave. It's cold at first, like all his blood has turned to ice, then it's hot. It’s burning him up. He grabs the nearest thing he can reach, a bowl on the counter, and throws it hard into the living room. 

It goes whizzing past Al's head and explodes against the wall behind her. She covers her ears and flinches. “What the fuck was that?” she shouts. 

It's all quiet after that. She feels around her head to make sure she wasn't hit. Even Wade's eyes go all wide and horrified for a second before he realizes Logan didn't hit her. 

He wants to scream. He threw a bowl at the wall, he's not a fucking monster. If he wanted to hit her, he would've. Lots of people throw bowls at walls. Wade put three rounds in the wall a few nights ago when he was pissed and no one batted an eye. 

“Fuck you guys,” he says, and storms down the hall to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

It's a shitty fucking room. They had been using it as a storage closet before he showed up, but it was a roof over his head. He could fit a twin bed and a little nightstand inside. There was a metal rack against one wall for his clothes. Everything that didn't hang got shoved in a cardboard box. 

There was only one thing hanging on the walls, a photostrip he and Wade had done at the mall when he first moved in. He needed some clothes, Wade needed to drive him. 

It was Wade who dragged him into the photobooth and Wade who tacked it up on the wall later. Four whole photos of Logan scowling while Wade made increasingly obscene gestures. The last photo he even tried to kiss Logan's cheek, but all they got was a blurry picture of Logan shoving him off while Wade laughed. 

“Appreciate that, Peanut,” Wade had said while he hung it on the wall. “I don't do pictures.” 

Logan rips the photostrip down then kicks his bare foot through the drywall. He had pretty decent savings. Not enough for a nice place, like he had been hoping, but he could probably find a little shithole in the same neighborhood. He’d cough up firsts, lasts, and a security deposit to get the hell out of this place. 

He didn’t even drink today, damn it. 

Logan’s about to go snatch Wade’s keys from the little hook next to the door and take the Yugo to the bar, but there’s a gentle knock at his bedroom door. Logan sits on the edge of his bed and drops his head to his hands. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. “What do you want, Wilson?” 

Wade opens the door a crack and slips inside. He must have left Mary Puppins in the living room, it’s just him now. “That was heated,” Wade says. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole lately.” 

“Yup,” Logan says. 

“You should apologize.” 

Logan scoffs. “Not gonna happen, bub.” 

Wade sits on the edge of the mattress next to Logan. It’s old and yellowed, doesn’t even have sheets on it. “Blind Al’s a bitch, I get it. But she’s my bitch.” 

“I had one slip up and I’m back to square one.” 

“You’re not at–” 

“I’m a fucking loser,” Logan says, running his fingers through his perpetually messy hair. “I sit at home all day, I can’t keep a job. I just can’t get this shit under control.” 

“You need an outlet,” Wade says. He’s said it before, it’s still not helpful. 

“I don’t need an outlet I just need… fuck, I don’t know what I fucking need.” He tightens his fists in his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s so angry. All he really wants is to let the claws out and take a swipe at Wade. Everyone else's blood makes Logan’s stomach clench, but Wade’s smells like candy. 

His eyes don’t open until he feels two hands on his shoulders. 

“Jesus Christ, peanut, your shoulders are like rocks. Do you ever relax?” 

“No,” Logan says. He considers shoving Wade off the bed and onto the floor, but he digs his thumb into a knot and Logan’s eyes roll back. “Oh, holy shit.” 

“No wonder you’re wound so tight, I would be too if I walked around this tense all the time.” 

“Less talking, more rubbing.” 

“Funny, that’s exactly what scoutmaster Kevin used to say–” 

“Less talking.” 

Wade keeps rubbing his shoulders, Logan closes his eyes. It’s not like Wade. It’s not like either of them. They have their talks on the roof. They smoke, they laugh, sometimes Wade says obscene things, but that’s just Wade. 

Then Wade started playing with his hair. Now Wade’s sitting crisscross on his bed rubbing his shoulders. Christ. 

Wade massages his fingers over a particularly painful knot and Logan drops his head down with a groan. “Fuck, Wade.” 

Wade’s fingers falter. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “you can’t do that anymore.” 

“Do what?” 

“Make those noises. I like these pants, don’t make me ruin them.” 

Logan rolls his eyes and tries to stay quiet. He needs to bite down on his bottom lip a few times to stop himself, but he manages to silence most of his groans. Just a few escape, mostly sharp exhales through his nose. 

“You feel better?” Wade asks when he’s done. 

There’s a new slump to Logan’s shoulder. He feels like a ragdoll. “Mhm,” he says vaguely. “Feel great.” 

“Good,” Wade climbs to his feet. “I need to go take an ice cold shower, you should tell blind Al you’re sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait around to see if Logan agrees or not. 

He supposes it’s the least he could do, though. Since Wade just gave him a religious experience in the form of a shoulder rub. 

He slinks back into the living room and sits on the couch next to Al. She doesn't move. 

“I'm sorry I threw a bowl,” Logan says, trying hard to sound sincere. He hasn't had to apologize often. Never had people he felt like apologizing to. 

Al doesn't say anything, just keeps listening to the tv. 

“And I'm sorry I sit around your apartment like a fuckin’ bum.” 

“You don't need to apologize to me, sugar,” she finally says. 

Logan raises an eyebrow, then, when he remembers she can't see him, “what?” 

“Apologize to yourself.” 

It's Logan who falls silent now.

“You need to apologize to you for giving up on yourself.” 

“I haven't–” 

“I mean I have never seen a more pathetic, depressing, waste of potential–” 

“Okay,” Logan interrupts. “I get it. Thank you. I'll get a job tomorrow.”

“Where do you think is gonna hire you with an attitude like yours?” 

“The bar. The one where Wade goes.” 

Al huffs out a laugh. “You're going to work at a bar? At least you're nicer when you're drunk.” 

Logan disagrees. He thinks he's nicest when he hasn't freshly relapsed after being clean for months. 

“Goodnight, Al,” he says. Her focus is already back on the television. 

-

Logan wakes up early and showers. He tries to comb his hair flat but it keeps sticking back up on both sides. He used to not think much of it, but Wade started calling them blowjob handles and tries to grab them every time they wrestle, so now he tries to comb them down. 

In his bedroom he stands in front of his rack of clothes and frowns. He's got maybe four outfits, none of them really scream employment. The only nice shirt he had was the one he wore at the office, but he ripped it when he went berserk and started flipping desks. He throws on a flannel that he usually wears open, but when he does up the buttons looks passable. 

That and a pair of jeans leaves him feeling more put together than he's felt in a month. He tries not to make a big deal of it, just grabs a bowl of cereal and eats it by the counter until Wade comes into the kitchen, already dressed in the Deadpool suit. 

“Peanut!” he sings. “Look at you, where are you going all dressed up?” 

“Work,” Logan says through a mouthful of Cheerios. 

“You got a new job!” Wade pinches his cheek with a gloved hand and Logan has to smack him off. 

“Stop doing all that, will you just drive me?” 

“Drive you, fuck you, whatever you want, pookie. Just let me know.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan grumbles. He tosses his bowl in the sink with unnecessary force and follows Wade to his car. 

It's a short drive to Sister Margarets, but it's a shitty walk. Shittier than riding in the Yugo, which says a lot. 

Wade's listening to his awful electronic music and driving ten miles under the speed limit.  He says it's because he's got precious cargo (he pinches Logan's cheek again when he says this), but Logan thinks the Yugo just isn't capable of going 45 anymore. 

He gets out with Wade at the bar and walks up to the door with him. He holds it open for Wade, who freezes in his tracks. Logan can tell he's smiling through the mask. 

“Peanut…” Wade says slowly. “You better not be fucking with me.” 

“I'm not fucking with you, get the fuck inside.” 

Wade lunges forward and throws his arms around him. “We're going to be coworkers! Well, sort of. I'll do the killing, you'll do the pouring, what a pair!” 

“Get off me,” Logan growls, shoving Wade off. Wade does a happy dance then slips inside, Logan follows him with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

He falls onto a bar stool next to Wade and taps the counter with two fingers. The man standing behind the bar turns around. His eyes go wide behind his glasses and he drops the glass he was drying. “Holy shit,” he says slowly. “The Wolverine.” 

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Wade says, much louder than the guy with the glasses had been. “The Wolverine is trying to keep a low profile.” 

At his words nearly every eye in the place turns to him. An eerie silence follows while the patrons try to get a good look.  

“Whiskey,” Logan says. 

“Honestly, Mr. Wolverine, I'm a big fan,” glasses says. 

“Whiskey,” Logan says again. 

“You sure that's a good idea?” Wade asks in a low voice. 

“Don't worry about me, bub.” When glasses sets a whiskey down for him Logan tips his head and throws it down the hatch. 

Wade clears his throat. “Weasel, this is Logan. Logie, this is Weasel.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Weasel says, sticking out his hand. 

“That's a stupid fucking name,” Logan says, he puts his empty glass in Weasel's hand instead of his own. “Another whiskey.” 

“You're not making a good impression,” Wade hisses when Weasel turns around.

Logan shrugs. 

Weasel sets the glass down and Wade starts up again. “Logan here needs a job.” 

“Does he,” Weasel says, unamused. He goes back to drying a glass.

“He does. And he's going to work here.” 

“No he's not,” Weasel says. 

“You need someone to make drinks, don't you?” 

“I make the drinks.” 

“He can clean up! Mop the floors.” 

“Dopinder mops the floors.” 

“Come on, Weas. Help me out here.” 

Weasel gives Logan a once over and shakes his head. “No man. I'm sorry, you found, like, the worst Wolverine ever.” 

“Hey!” Wade shouts. “This is the best Wolvie ever. Give me a blowjob.” 

Logan almost spits out his whiskey, but is relieved to see Weasel sigh, turn around, and start making a shot with a little swirl of whip cream on top. 

“Now,” Wade says in a whisper when Weasel brings it over. “I want you to give it to that guy,” Wade points at the biggest guy in the bar, “and say it's from that guy,” he points at the next biggest guy in the bar. 

“I fucking hate you,” Weasel says. “You ugly motherfucker, I hate you so fucking much.” 

He delivers the blowjob. Logan can't hear what they're saying from across the bar, but he gets the jist. 

The first big guy walks right up to the second big guy and socks him in the mouth. There’s a meaty thud when his fist hits skin. Weasel jumps back like he's afraid he'll get caught in the crossfire.

“Fellas,” he says weakly. “Be careful guys, you're getting blood on the floor.” 

Wade gives Logan’s shoulder a nudge. “Go get ‘em, peanut.” 

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Logan grumbles. He kind of wants another whiskey. He’s considering hopping over the bar to pour himself one if Weasel isn’t back soon. 

Wade shoves him off the stool. “Don’t be an idiot, this is how you get your job.” 

Oh. Right. He walks over to the guys, who have resorted to brawling on the floor. Logan stands next to Weasel. “Take it outside, gentlemen,” he says. 

They ignore him and keep fighting. 

Logan sighs. He didn’t want to have to do it. He grabs one of them by the shirt and hauls him to his feet. “Hey, jackass,” Logan snarls, holding him still. The man’s not taller than Logan, no one ever is, but he’s close. He’s twice as jacked since Logan stopped hitting the gym. “You’re getting blood on my friend’s floor. You want to take it outside yourself? Or you want me to throw you out the door?” 

The man laughs, loud and abrasive, right in Logan’s face. “And you think you could throw me out, do you?” 

His friend scrambles to his feet, blood soaking the bottom half of his face and laughs with him. “Who are you? Wilson’s boyfriend?” 

“No,” Logan snarls, “I’m the fucking Wolverine.” Shink. 

When the claws come out the men stumble over each other backing away. “What the fuck!” one yelps, and they scramble to the alley out back. 

Logan turns to face Weasel, claws still out. “Can I work here, man? I owe Wade rent.” 

Weasel’s mouth is hanging open. He nods slowly. 

Logan nods and slips behind the counter, pouring himself his next whiskey. 

“Can I drink for free?” Wade asks, leaning his elbows on the bar. “Since the new bartender likes me so much?” 

“He’s not the new bartender,” Weasel says, still rooted to the spot. “He’s my new security.” 

-

Logan needed to take a long shower when he got home from the bar. He had been drinking steadily all day, just trying to make it through his first shift. 

Maybe it's pathetic he needs the crutch, he doesn't care. A whiskey in his hand makes things tolerable, even if he knows it'll make the anger worse later. 

It's hard for him to stay drunk for long with his body constantly healing and regenerating, but if he drinks enough he can beat his healing factor. He’s been mastering the skill for decades, and he's still got an unpleasant buzz by the time he gets home. 

He needs to keep one hand on the wall when he showers so he doesn’t tip over. His stomach churns uncomfortably and the hot water does nothing to soothe it this time. Wade doesn’t try to barge in, which is nice, because Logan’s been sitting around snacking for a few weeks and not doing much else. He’s gotten soft around the middle. He isn’t itching to give Wade one more thing to tease him for. 

When he gets out Wade isn't around, which means he's already up on the roof. 

Logan looks for his shoes, but he can't find them. Not his sneakers, not his boots, which he always leaves by the front door. He knows he left them by the front door because Al yelled at him to take them off, like she always does, the minute he stepped through the front door. 

The only shoes that remain are the bright yellow crocs he still hasn't worn. Fucking Wade. Logan stomps up to the roof in a pair of joggers, a half unzipped hoodie, and his bare feet. 

Wade’s already up there, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, peanut, who let the dogs out?” 

“Where are my fucking shoes?” 

“Haven't seen ‘em,” Wade says, with a self satisfied little grin. “I know where your crocs are, you might want to try them on.” 

“You hid my fucking shoes,” Logan's breathing has gone shallow, the white hot ball if anger back and forming in the pit of his stomach. It's been a long fucking day. He's still got the spins. He just wants a smoke. And Wade, but not the annoying, hiding his shoes, bugging him about the fucking crocs Wade. 

He wants the Wade who's stupid jokes genuinely make him laugh. The Wade who's a surprisingly good listener when you can get him to shut his mouth, the Wade he's become good friends with the past few months over this little nightly ritual. The problem with Wade is you never know which version of him you're getting until you're there. 

Logan supposes he's the same way. How tolerable he is directly correlates to how bad the anger is, and that changes by the minute. 

“You have no evidence,” Wade says. “This would never hold up in a court of law.” 

Logan lunges forward and lifts Wade up. Snatches him right from where he was sitting until he's raised high above Logan's head via six claws through the ribcage.

He hasn't fought with Wade like this since the Honda Odyssey, when they went at it for nearly eight hours before they passed out. Logan had never been able to fight anyone like that before, someone who was on his level. Someone he couldn't break. It was the best fight of his fucking life, and by the time they were finished, they were both breathing heavy, and hard in their suits. Straining against the spandex. Neither of them acknowledged it. Logan wasn't even sure Wade noticed, but he had no choice. The car reeked of arousal. His own, Wade's. He wasn't sure what that said about them. Probably just that they were disturbed psychopaths. 

Logan almost kissed him in the Odyssey, Somewhere between the fourth and fifth hour of the fight. It scared him how natural it felt. How it took more effort to resist the urge than it would've taken to act on it. 

“I've usually got no problem with a little penetration, boo bear, but it's common courtesy to give a guy a little warning,” Wade says, dangling limply. He spits out a mouthful of sweet blood. 

“Where are my shoes?” 

“I didn't consent to this.” 

“I'm not wearing those fucking crocs to work tomorrow.” 

“I'm trying to help you here, peanut. You'll get canceled by the woke mob.” 

Logan takes two big steps until he's right on the edge of the roof and he can dangle Wade over the edge. He yelps and grabs at Logan's arms, his shoulders. Anything he can reach from where he's stuck, impaled on the blades. 

“They're in my closet,” Wade screeches. 

Logan brings him back to safety and retracts his claws so Wade collapses in a heap on the floor. He bleeds profusely from six puncture wounds for a few seconds before they heal and he's able to climb to his feet. 

“Ow. Asshole,” Wade says, searching the ground for his cigarette that was lost in the skirmish. “I thought you'd be in a better mood after I got you a job.” 

“You didn't get me a job, I got myself a job after I got rid of those two meatheads.” 

“I got you that job,” Wade says, giving up and lighting a new smoke. “You're probably the most naturally unlikable person who's ever walked into that bar. No offense, baby, I think your devil-may-care attitude is incredibly sexy. Don't change on my account.” 

Logan loses it again. He shoves Wade hard on the shoulder so he falls back on his ass. “Can you stop with the motherfucking pet names?” 

It's been a constant for months. Peanut. Snookums. Angel face. Pookie. Cutie pie. But baby? It just makes him think about that girl from the bar. The one with her fingers in his hair. He thinks about how bad he wanted to fall asleep next to her, next to someone. 

“I thought you liked them, you always get all quiet and hot when I call you something cute.” 

“I'm not quiet because I like it, I'm quiet because I'm trying not to kill you.” 

“Noted, peanut. Won't happen again.” 

“Peanut's a nickname.” 

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry. They just slip out of me, baby, I can't stop it.” 

The claws come out again before Logan can stop them. Wade's face breaks out into a grin. 

“That's the one, isn't it? You've got a problem with the b word.” 

“I have a problem with you running your mouth,” Logan snaps. He’s not anyone’s fucking baby. His head’s going to explode if he has to hear it again. 

“I can’t stop, ba–” Wade’s words are cut off when Logan takes a swipe at him. 

His claws are wet with blood and Wade’s dripping heavy, red droplets onto the roof. He caught him right through the stomach, Wade needs to hold some of his intestines in before his skin knits back together enough to keep everything in place. Wade’s got dark blood spilling from his mouth, and the maniac smiles around it. 

Logan swore off of this. Of hurting people. Of using the claws. He should have seen this coming. He should have known he can’t keep a promise to anyone, let alone himself. 

He’s debating the best way to tell Wade sorry when he tips his bald head back and laughs toward the sky. “You are so crazy,” Wade says. He sounds a little deranged. He stops and spits out another mouthful of blood. “It was a little unfair of you to pick a fight with me when my knives are inside, but you know I can’t resist a little action either way.” 

He lunges at Logan, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing him down into a headlock. The only reason he was able to get the advantage is because Logan was caught so off guard. If Logan was sober Wade would never stand a chance.

As drunk as he is, the claws are still working, that's a good sign. “You got a fuckin’ death wish, bub?” 

“Death fetish,” Wade corrects. He's still got Logan trapped. “Good luck killing me, though. I'm like a cockroach. Heavy on the cock.” 

“What are you even saying?”

“I don't know, I'm nervous. I know whatever you're about to do is going to hurt.” 

“You're damn right,” Logan says. He shoots the claws into Wade's side and retracts them right back. Just enough to puncture, just enough for Wade to let go so Logan could get out of the headlock.  

“You fucking suck,” Wade gasps, grabbing Logan by the shoulders. For a moment Logan thinks he's going to kiss him. His heart drops to his stomach, he's not sure if he should keep his eyes opened or closed. Closed, right? Definitely closed. 

He closes them, but the kiss never comes. Instead Wade's skull crashes hard against Logan's nose and sends him barreling backwards. 

“What the fuck,” Logan gasps, cupping his nose. 

“You wanted to fight dirty,” Wade says, a crazed look in his eyes, all wide and wild. “You can't be dirtier than me, baby. Show me what you've got.” 

It's easy bait, but Logan rises. He's never seen Wade fight like this with the mask off. He likes the determined set to his jaw, the psycho in his eyes. 

He makes sure the claws are tucked away, even though it takes more effort to keep them in than let them out when he's this angry. If Wade wants to play he'll keep it fair. No knives. Just his 500 pound metal skeleton against the fearless, scrappiness of Wade's sparring. 

Maybe it wasn't completely fair, but Wade didn't seem to mind. Logan was just happy to have something to play with. Something he could sink his teeth into that wouldn't break. 

Logan pounces on him like the animal he's always been. He pins Wade to the cold concrete of the roof and draws his fist back. He's only able to get in one good punch to the nose before Wade brings a foot up and kicks Logan hard between the legs. It's a dirty move. The little bastard did it in the Honda too. 

Logan loses the upper hand and Wade gets on top of him, legs on either side of his hips. Logan tries not to let it do anything for him. Tries hard not to rut up against Wade even though it's a near perfect angle. He's been worked up since that run in with the girl at the bar. He should've never let himself try. 

Wade socks Logan right in the nose, then right in the jaw. He grins, and Logan can't help it, he tilts his head back and laughs. Wade laughs too, for a second, before he realizes he's the butt of the joke. 

“You shouldn't have done that, bub.” 

And it turns into an all out brawl. Logan keeps the claws away with great effort, relying on the adamantium to make up for the advantage he usually has. He's stronger than Wade, can throw a better punch, but Wade fights like no one Logan's ever fought with before. 

He fought with the X-men, before he found them dead. He'd fought with the Avengers. With the worst men his universe had to offer. Even without the claws he isn’t a bad fighter. But god, Wade is something else. The way he jumps and flips around, dodges every punch Logan throws. He climbs Logan like a tree and gets an arm around his neck, pulling him to the ground. He never had claws to rely on, if he didn’t have his guns or his swords all he had was his reflexes, and goddamn it, it’s exhilarating. 

A playmate he can’t kill. A challenge. 

Wade gets on top of him again, pins him to the ground, and grabs Logan by the front of the hoodie. He shakes him, slams his head back into the concrete a few times. Logan can smell it before he feels it, the ghost of musk under the sweet smell of adrenaline. 

Then Wade shifts the wrong way and his hard-on is digging into Logan’s hip. 

“Peanut!” Wade says enthusiastically. “I’m not the only freak around, huh?” 

Logan frowns, then looks down and– fuck. He hadn’t even noticed that he’s no better off than Wade, a feeble little tent pitching in the front of his joggers. It’s only natural, Logan tells himself. With all the adrenaline, and the thrill of it all. There’s more than one way to be aroused, isn’t there? And it’s not like Wade would make it weird. Not weirder than usual with him, but he didn’t jump off of him and spit in his face or anything. 

On the contrary, Wade angles his hips and rocks right up against him. Logan can’t stop the groan that falls from his lips. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Testing something,” Wade says, and he does it again. 

Logan’s ready this time, he’s expecting it and his glare doesn’t waver, his hips stay stubbornly still even though he’s itching to arch up, to chase the feeling. “What are you testing?” 

“You,” Wade says. He hasn’t moved, he’s still on top of Logan, a knee on either side of his hips, his hands pinning Logan’s wrists down next to his head. Logan could throw him off if he wanted to, but he lets it happen. Wants to see where Wade is going with this. 

Wade’s confusing like that. Logan doesn’t want to watch but he can’t look away. 

“I’m not your science fair project, you don’t need to test me. Tell me what you’re doing.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Wade says. 

“That’s my line.” 

Wade rolls his hips again and Logan sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, letting his head fall back. His hips rise to meet Wade’s against his will. 

“That’s what I thought,” Wade says. 

“What were you thinkin’?” 

“You want me.” 

Logan laughs, short and dry. “That’s not what’s going on here, bub.” 

Wade's eyes rake down his body and rest right between his legs. “It looks like that’s what’s going on here.” 

“That happens when I fight.” 

Wade doesn’t mention the days they spent fighting together in the Void, how many people Wade saw Logan kill. How this happened in the Odyssey, when it was just him and Wade, close enough to be covered in Wade’s blood, to be bathed in his hot breath. If Wade notices that this only happens for him, he’s at least kind enough not to say it. 

Wade’s looking at him with his big, dark eyes. He looks serious, a look Logan’s beginning to recognize on him. Wade isn’t a smart ass all the time, he’s got his moments. Usually up on the roof where it’s just the two of them. He acts like a real person more and more these days. It’s jarring, but Logan’s learning how to navigate this Wade the same way he learned to navigate the merc with the mouth Wade. 

“If I wanted to, would you let me?” Wade asks slowly, quietly, like he’s feeling embarrassed for the first time in his life. 

“Would I let you what?” Logan licks his lips. Holds his breath. 

Wade shows him instead of telling him, slips a hand down between his legs and cups him through his joggers. Logan’s hand curls into a tight fist. One is still being held in place by Wade’s but one is free now, it falls to Wade’s shoulder, squeezing him tight. 

If he forgets how weird this is, forgets that Wade is his roommate, his only real friend, even if they still pretend they hate each other most of the time, then it feels nice. Of course it does, it feels good to be touched by someone. Especially someone who he knows is attracted to him beyond the gimmick. 

It’s not like the girl in the bar. Logan knows Wade well enough to know he isn’t just trying to sleep with The Wolverine. 

Does Wade have the hots for Logan because of his winning personality? Obviously not, but Logan’s not an idiot. He’s seen how Wade’s looked at him since their very first meeting. He’s seen how Wade’s eyes wander when he wears his little white tank top around, or he wanders the kitchen in just his boxers. He was hot once, back in his universe. Hell, he had gotten around those two hundred years. He doesn’t mind being objectified as Logan. As long as he gets to be Logan, that’s all he wants. 

Wade squeezes a little and Logan doesn’t care if Wade’s using him. He doesn’t give a damn if he can’t ever meet Wade’s eye again, he just doesn’t want it to stop. “You really want this?” Logan asks. 

Wade looks so fucking sincere when he nods his head it makes Logan’s blood run cold. 

“Go for it,” Logan says. “Do what you want to do, Wilson.” 

He half expects Wade to kiss him, just because he seems like the type, but he doesn’t. He grins, gives him one last good squeeze, and then his hand is gone. Logan hardly has time to whine at the lack of friction before Wade is scooting down his body. 

He grabs the waistband of Logan’s joggers and tugs. Logan lifts his hips to make it easier, and Wade gets them down to mid thigh. His eyes go wide when Logan’s on full display. 

“The Wolverine doesn’t wear underwear?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” He’s been drinking since noon, he can’t stay hard indefinitely. He isn’t one hundred anymore. 

“I don’t either,” Wade babbles happily. “I hate going to the laundromat, I’ve learned to conserve where I can.” 

Logan gets a hand on the back of Wade’s skull. “We’re either going to do this, or you’re going to pull my pants back up.” 

Wade blinks. 

“I can’t take the teasing, Wilson.” 

“You are so hot when you’re pushy,” Wade says, and he wraps his fist around the base of Logan’s cock. 

“Oh, god,” Logan says, fingers digging into Wade’s shoulder. His hand is rough around him, as scarred as the rest of him, but Logan doesn’t mind. He kind of likes it, he’s never liked anything too soft. 

The concrete roof doesn’t feel great on his back. It makes him feel old, the pain in his spine and his shoulders. He’s getting old, too old to be screwing around like this, but he’s certainly not about to invite Wade down to his bedroom so they could do it on his mattress on the floor with no sheets and Al hearing everything through the wall. 

He would rather nobody know about this but them. He’s sure Wade is in the same boat. 

“I always knew you’d have a huge dick, Wolvie, holy shit. I’m gonna need to learn to unhinge my jaw like those snakes. You ever seen one? The ones that can swallow deers and shit.” 

“I told you to stop talking.” 

“Is that why you’re only half interested in me?” 

Logan curses the useless dick between his legs. “It’s not you, Wilson,” Logan says. He doesn’t get shy very often, but he’s starting to wish he was back in his bedroom. That he skipped the roof tonight. “I’m old. I’ve been drinkin’.” 

“It’s more common than you’d think, baby. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

Logan could kill him. “It takes a lot to get me off, don’t be all offended if it doesn’t work out.” 

“I won’t be offended,” Wade says. 

“Good,” Logan sighs. It’s been a long two hundred years. He hasn’t exactly been kind to his body in the process either. When he drinks so much his legs don’t work right, he can’t expect any part of him to work right. 

“I won’t be offended because I’m going to get you off,” Wade says, like it’s a personal challenge. 

“You can start by taking the crocs off.” 

“Ignore them.” 

“I’ll know they’re there. We won’t be able to get very far if I know you’ve got the crocs on.” 

Wade kicks his crocs off and gets back in position in his socks. “My turn to make demands, close your eyes.” 

Logan shoots an eyebrow toward his hairline. “What do you need me to close my eyes for?” 

“Can’t you just trust me?” 

“No.” 

“Close your eyes, peanut. Or I’m not sucking your dick.” 

He wins this round. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and keeps one hand on the back of Wade’s head to make sure there aren’t any surprises. Wade gives him a few more jerks with his hand, waits until Logan is squirming, and then his mouth wraps around the head. 

“Fuck,” Logan gasps, drawing out the vowel. He tries not to be pushy with his hand, letting Wade swallow him down at his own pace. The inside of Wade's mouth is soft and velvety, a complete contradiction to the hand he wraps around the base to work the part he can’t quite fit in his mouth. It’s heavenly. It’s filthy. Logan’s never had anything like it. 

Wade is desperate in the way he swallows around him, working his head quickly and hungrily, letting the drool drip down his chin without any shame. Logan doesn’t need to see it, he can feel it. He can hear when he chokes, when he swallows, when he takes two deep breaths every time he pops off before taking him back in his mouth. 

It’s bliss, having Wade like this. He’s great at it, first of all. It’s clear he’s done this before, probably even prides himself on it. Second of all, he’s not talking. No snarky comments, no stupid jokes. His mouth is completely focused on the task at hand. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. 

“You are so fucking– holy shit you feel good,” Logan says. He’s not usually one to give out compliments, but his brain has liquified and started leaking out his ears. 

He opens his eyes, because he wants to see Wade like this, see if he feels as fucking blissful as Logan does, but the moment his eyes are open he meets Wade’s dark ones, like he had been expecting him to peek. He pulls off Logan’s cock and presses a hand over Logan’s eyes. 

Logan bats the hand away. “What? What the hell.” 

“I told you to close your eyes, you think I’m playing games here?” 

“I want to see you.” 

Wade’s quiet for a breath. “We can go back inside if you prefer.” He wipes the back of his mouth on his sleeve. 

“Jesus fuck, fine, I’m sorry,” Logan squeezes his eyes closed. “I won’t open them again, just keep doing what you’re doing.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

“Now,” Logan grits out. 

“You are so sexy. Oh my god.” Wade’s back on him, mouth and hands and that soft, wet heat. The break had brought Logan back a little further from the edge, but it wasn’t like at the bar with the girl. It wasn’t over, he could still be worked back up. 

And Wade tries hard to work him back up. Taking him with an eagerness Logan has never experienced. More than once he catches himself pushing on the back of Wade’s skull, forcing him down, holding him where he wants him. It’s easy for Logan to get selfish if he isn’t actively working against it. A bad habit he had picked up from his Wolverine days, when he had teetered the line of being a real superhero. Back when he lived at the X-Mansion and spent his days pretending he was too cool for all the world saving stuff.  When all sorts of people wanted to sleep with you for your body it was easy to fall into the same routine, to use them right back. At least when no one was pretending it hurt less when they were gone before morning. 

Wade doesn’t seem to mind. Everytime Logan pushes his head down until his nose brushes the curly black hairs at the base of his cock he moans, sending vibrations through Logan’s body, right down to his curled toes. 

For the first time he’s thankful rather than embarrassed that he struggles to keep a stiffy when he drinks. Not that he’s struggling now, but this would’ve been over already if it wasn’t harder for him. Wade’s stamina is unmatched, he keeps right up with the same vigor he started with. If his jaw is aching he doesn’t show any sign, and if Logan is taking too long Wade doesn't let him know it. He keeps making these beautiful, fucked out, moaning noises around him that makes Logan's head spin. 

“Holy shit,” he says, when Wade gags around him again. “I'm fucking– I'm gonna–” 

“Told you I'd get you there babygirl,” Wade says, lifting his head up with an obscene pop. Logan doesn't risk opening his eyes, but he can hear the look on Wade's face. Smug and goofy and comforting. 

Logan always gets so goddamn sentimental on the brink of an orgasm. 

He doesn't have time to tell Wade to shut the fuck up again if he's got any chance of finishing, so he feels around for the back of his skull again and pulls him down roughly, bucking his hips up. He fucks Wade's mouth, letting go of all the restraint he'd been so good about keeping this whole time.

How the hell did it take them ten months to do this? Ten months of dancing around each other in small spaces, of Wade's incessant flirting, of all their talks on the roof. Wade told him all about Vanessa. About his parents, about his childhood cat, everything. Logan hadn't been nearly as open, but he told Wade enough. More than he'd told anyone else about the X-men. About how he couldn't save them, even after he tried. How he tried to pick up the pieces of Scott's skull with his bare hands and fit them back together but the asshole wouldn't breathe again. Wouldn't open his fuckin’ eyes. He told Wade about the nightmares, and for someone who turns everything into a big joke he had really listened, eyes all big and earnest like they get sometimes. 

It makes sense, Logan thinks. He's given Wade everything else and Wade's taken it willingly. He's seen the worst parts of Logan and still managed to put them up on a pedestal. Still managed to look him in the eyes over breakfast, on the roof, in the Yugo when he's listening to his awful music. Wade still managed to think he was an alright guy after everything he knew. 

When Logan comes it's with a death grip on Wade's shoulder, squeezing so hard he might've snapped a bone. He isn't sure, he doesn't really care, he just doesn't want Wade to move. 

Not that Wade thinks about it, he stays right where he is and swallows everything Logan gives him. He doesn't even notice the claws have come out until he accidentally gets Wade, he can feel it pushing into his skin, but all Wade does is moan, the little psychopath. He doesn't move until Logan pushes at his shoulder, overstimulated and spent. 

“Can I open my eyes?” 

“Go ahead.” 

Logan blinks a few times and tucks himself back into his joggers with a grimace. 

“You actually have the biggest dick of all time. I'm posting all about this on my Wolverine fan blog. I'll leave out the part where you broke my shoulder. It's a little domestic violencey for my largely liberal fan base, but just between you and me, I was super into it. Next time you should drink a little more and start telling me how I'll never amount to anything.” 

Reality hits him like a crashing wave. This is why it took them ten months to do this, Wade Wilson hasn't even matured to fuck buddy levels of emotional intelligence. Logan's happy to close himself in his bedroom and never think about this again. The bar doesn't pay bad, he'll have enough to move out soon. 

“You didn't even try to murder me for speaking so soon post-ejac? I think we just found your outlet.”

All of Logan's limbs feel like cooked spaghetti noodles. He wouldn't have the energy to be angry if he wanted to. He hates to say that Wade is right, but yeah. It was a pretty good outlet. Huh. 

“I need to go shower,” Wade says, climbing to his feet, adjusting the front of his sweats, and slipping his crocs back on. 

Logan still can't move. He's only moderately surprised Wade can, for some reason Logan took him for the cuddling type. 

-

“I would love a blowjob.” 

Logan's hand tightens to a fist on the counter. He leans forward so when he snarls the whole bar can't hear. “You want to say that to me again, bub?” 

Deadpool cocks his head. “A specialty espresso shot, bartender. With whipped cream. Whatever did you think I meant?”

Logan's heart rate slows down but the scowl doesn't slip. “You're gonna get your ass kicked makin’ jokes like that around here.” 

Sister Margaret's is the kind of place even the cops won't go near. Weas keeps a loaded gun behind the counter, but it doesn't fucking matter. Everyone in here's carrying. Logan would be scared shitless if he didn't have six razor sharp claws and the incessant inability to die. 

“Nobody could kick Mr. Pool's ass,” says Dopinder, appearing at Wade's side with a mop. “He can do whatever he wants here, everyone is afraid of him.” He says it with so much adoration Logan wants to barf. He settles for rolling his eyes and turning away. 

Dopinder's nice. Logan doesn't really click with him, but Wade just loves him so he plays nice. Logan's made friends with some of the regulars already. Buck comes by the house sometimes, so him and Logan get on alright at the bar. 

He can't fucking stand Weasel, but Weasel fucks off a lot of the day now that Logan's here anyway. Originally he wasn't supposed to be making any drinks, but he wormed his way into a bartender role. He's not very good at it, but it makes the day go by faster. 

Logan has no idea how to make a blowjob shot, but Wade gets them so often he can take a pretty good guess. He pours in a little amaretto, then a splash of bailey's, and a big swirl of whip cream on top. 

Logan sets it down in front of Wade with so much force whip cream gets all over his fingers. 

“Could I have a blowjob too?” Dopinder asks, eyeing the drink with interest. 

Wade snorts. 

“You'll need to pay for it,” Logan says. 

“I didn't pay for my blowjob,” Wade says smugly, pushing his mask up enough to down the shot and lick the whip cream from his lips. 

“You need to pay for yours too,” Logan says, taking the empty shot glass and tossing it in the sink. 

“Dopinder's gonna pay for mine,” Wade says. 

Dopinder looks put out but reaches for his wallet. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Logan snaps at Wade. “Don't pay for his drink, Jesus.” 

Dopinder puts his wallet away. 

Logan makes a shot for Dopinder and sets it down with much more grace than Wade's. “Don't worry,” he says, “they're both going on Wade's tab.” 

“I don't pay my tab,” Wade says happily, pulling his mask back down. “Wolvie always covers for me since I'm technically his landlord.” 

“You're technically my roommate.” 

“Tomato, tomahto,” Wade says with a wave of his hand. 

Dopinder downs the shot and frowns. “I'm not sure I like blowjobs.” 

Wade snorts again. Logan can't help when the corner of his own lip tugs up. “That's alright, Dopinder.” 

His morning is actually going alright. It’s slow at the bar, so Logan can spend a few hours cleaning up and talking to Wade. 

The bar is a health hazard at best. Logan’s never worked somewhere like this before, but he’s pretty sure there aren't supposed to be sticky counters and a fridge full of rotting fruit somewhere they’re serving beverages. It’s been his little project to get the place cleaned up. When he’s got the time he pulls everything off the counters, cleans them with the strongest chemicals he can find, and then puts everything back on. He throws away all the shit that’s expired, or so old he feels gross when he touches it. 

It’s actually starting to look pretty nice. The glasses don’t smell like mildew anymore either, so every now and then he’ll gulp down a glass of water between his whiskeys. 

Wade’s upgraded from a barstool and is sitting crisscross on the counter. Logan already pushed him off, told him not to put his shoes and his ass on the bar he’s serving drinks on, but he climbed right back on and Logan doesn’t have the heart to push him off again. Wade’s trying to explain to him what all goes in a Sex On The Beach when Weas walks in and ruins his good day. 

“Wilson,” Weas says in an agitating voice, slipping him a little gold card. “I’ve got a job for you. Asked for you specifically.” 

Wade takes the card and slips it in one of the pockets of his utility belt without looking at it. 

“They need it done in twenty four hours.” Weas says. 

“I charge extra for a time crunch.” 

“I know.” 

“And I want the money upfront.” 

“That’s not how we do it here, buddy.” 

“We do it however I want to do it.” Wade makes grabby hands. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Weas sighs and slips behind the bar to grab money from the register. He tries to hand it to Wade, who shakes his head and points to Logan.  

“My malewife handles the finances now. It all goes to her.” 

Weas and Logan make similar faces of confusion. Weas doesn’t relinquish the cash. “You want me to give this to him?” 

Wade nods enthusiastically. “We’re down to food bank bread and expired refried beans at home. Logie’s gonna get us groceries and cook for me.” 

“He is?” Weas asks at the same time Logan asks “I am?” 

“That’s just what good wives do,” Wade says. “Since I’m covering his rent and everything.” 

Logan shoots Wade a look. He’s smiling through the suit. Logan can tell now. 

Weas hands him a wad of cash that Logan pockets. Weas looks him up and down with a frown. “He’s not really giving me wife energy. More like a dog that used to be kind of sweet, but then he was having too many accidents in the house and chewing up all the furniture so he got chained up outside and turned feral. Then he bit the little neighbor girl and it started a whole thing so you’ve got to shoot him in the head and it’s all very traumatic for the family.” 

“That was descriptive,” Wade says. “But really, Logie’s got a feminine touch that would surprise you. He loves baking, bubble baths, and romance novels.” 

“I don’t like any of those things.”

“And if you play with his nipples he’ll sq–” 

Logan shoves Wade hard and he falls off the counter, the rest of his sentence cutting off with a yelp. 

“Don’t get any blood on the floors,” Weas says. 

“I’m already on it,” Dopinder says happily, helping Wade to his feet and mopping the spot he fell. 

“Your wife is fucking cranky,” Weas says, turning around and grabbing a glass. There isn’t much room behind the bar, he keeps knocking into Logan’s side. 

“You can ask me to pour you something and get out of my fucking space,” Logan says. 

“My fucking bar,” Weas says, splashing sprite from the soda gun all over the counter. 

“I spent all morning cleaning this fucking thing,” Logan says, grabbing a rag and wiping up the mess. 

“You did a great job,” Weas says dully, spilling grenadine all over the clean counter next. When Weas plucks a maraschino cherry from the jar, takes the stem between his teeth, and spits it right on the counter to drop the destemmed cherry on top of his Shirley fucking Temple, Logan loses it. 

He grabs the glass out of his hand and throws it on the floor. It explodes in a mess of sticky pink liquid and glass. Logan’s claws shoot out and Weas tenses, moving his arms up to cover his face like Logan’s about to start swinging. Dopinder is on the other side of the bar, gripping his mop with white knuckles. Everyone goes quiet. 

Logan thinks about gutting Weas and having Wade help him hide the body, but Wade springs into action before Logan can make up his mind. “Logan and I are gonna take the trash out,” Wade says. 

Logan doesn’t move. Weas whimpers. 

“Peanut,” Wade says sternly, and Logan finally forces himself to step around Weasel and leave the little area behind the bar. He piled a bunch of trash bags by the back door full of rotten fruit and old food. He grabs a handful of bags and kicks the back door open. Wade follows him into the back alley and shuts the door behind them. 

“Hey,” Wade says, “what the fuck was that?” 

“I fucking hate that guy.” 

“Yeah, I can tell. Your claw boners just cut open a garbage bag.” 

Logan looks down and sees one of the bags dripping moldy fruit goop everywhere. “Fuck!” he shouts, and tosses it across the alley so it splats on the brick wall opposite them and slides to the ground. 

He tries to take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Scott used to tell him to count backwards from ten. Logan laughed the first time he said it, no amount of counting could calm him down when he was like this. 

He tries it anyway, but all it does is make him think of Scott, which makes him think of all the pieces of his skull he tried to fit back together , which makes him angrier. 

“You need some help?” Wade asks. It’s their little code. Has been since their first time fooling around on the roof. When Logan comes home and starts snapping at Al, or Wade, or starts kicking holes in the drywall, Wade asks him if he needs some help, and then they’re back on the roof. Wade between his legs, Logan squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing at Wade’s shoulder, his head, anything to keep him grounded. 

They save it for the roof, mostly. They did it on Logan’s mattress one time, when Al was out and it was raining, but it felt weird doing it in his room. Not just because the mattress is too small for him, let alone him and Wade, but it felt too… intimate. He almost wanted Wade to stay after that one, but like he always did, he ran off the moment Logan finished to shower. 

Logan knew what he was doing in the shower, he could smell it through the whole house, and he could smell it on his skin over dinner, and he was starting to be able to smell it in the shower all the time due to the amount of times it’s happened now, but Wade never asks, and he never gives Logan a chance to offer, so their little arrangement remains one sided. Logan gets a blowie. Wade jerks off in the shower. 

“We can’t do it here,” Logan says. Ten. Nine. Eight. 

“You think any of those lazy fucks would help take the trash out? I don’t think Weas even knows there’s a dumpster out here and Dopinder’s scared of the alley.” 

Seven. Six. Five. 

Wade closes the distance between them, just an arms length away now. “Come on, Wolvie, why so prudish now? It’s okay, I’m not a virgin.” 

Four. Three. 

“You can use your claws on me, I won’t break.” 

Two.

“Let me help.” 

One.

  Yup. He’s still fucking angry. He sinks his claws into Wade’s chest. 

“I’ve always wanted you inside me,” Wade says.

Logan lets loose, stabs him in the chest, the stomach, the arms. He tries to be mindful of the suit, focusing on stabbing him in the same spots rather than ripping huge chunks of it. He’s got a wad of cash Wade gave him sitting heavy in his front pocket. The least he can do is be a little considerate while he’s offering himself up as a sacrifice for Logan’s anger management. 

Wade’s regenerating fast enough to stay on his feet. He plants one hand on the wall next to Logan’s head and uses it as leverage to keep himself standing even when he sways. His face is so close to Logan’s. He’s still got the mask on. If he didn’t, Logan’s not sure he’d be able to stop himself from kissing him. 

They haven’t kissed. It’s funny, Logan thinks vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind. He’s got no problem pushing Wade to his knees, slapping his hard cock against his cheek, sliding into his waiting mouth. He’s got no problem making Wade choke around him. He doesn’t even have a problem getting loud for him, letting Wade pull any number of guttural groans from him. It was humiliating the first few times, but it made Wade so eager between his legs when he did it, Logan’s stopped being shy. 

Logan looks into Deadpool’s white eyes. “Knees,” he growls. “Now.” 

Wade complies. For someone who never fucking listens he sure does love being bossed around. He lifts the mask up enough to get his mouth free and Logan lifts his hips off the wall. It feels so natural now, it all comes to him on instinct. Wade can’t get the belt undone with his gloves on. 

Logan pushes his hands away and does it for him. “Not going to tell me to close my eyes today, bub?” 

“I’ve got the mask on today,” Wade says, so matter of factly it makes Logan’s teeth clench. It sounds like something they should talk about later. Right now he can’t bring himself to do anything but grab Wade by his favorite spot on the shoulder. His mouth is open, waiting. Logan’s cock twitches eagerly at the sight. He grabs himself by the base and shudders at the touch. He isn’t usually allowed to watch. Even if it’s Deadpool he’s seeing instead of Wade, it’s still doing something for him. Deadpool is all lean muscles and sharp angles. Taut, delicious thighs, a perfect ass. Pecs, and biceps, and his expressive fucking eyes. 

He would know it’s Wade under the mask even if he hadn’t met Wade in the suit. It’s the eyes. Wade’s got the most expressive damn eyes. 

He slaps his cock against Wade’s cheek. He’s done it before, but he’s never been allowed to watch. Logan sets his cock on Wade’s waiting tongue, pushes it past his lips that close around it. Wade’s starting to learn him, learn just how he likes it. They usually draw it out, but there’s cars passing by and that back door could open at any moment. They’re out of view to anyone walking past, but it’s not like they’re somewhere private. Like the roof, where they take it slow and time stands still. Time is very much a factor in this alley. It's working against them. 

Wade licks a long stripe up his shaft, his tongue catching under the head. 

“Not today,” Logan says gruffly. “We’re not on our roof, we’ve got to be fast.” 

“Fast isn’t your specialty, old man.” 

“It should be yours, mouth. Show me you’re good for something other than talking.” 

Wade, by the grace of fucking god, complies. He must understand the seriousness of the time crunch, because he takes Logan in to the hilt with no warning. 

“Holy fuck,” Logan says, his head falling back against the brick. He closes his eyes out of habit, then remembers he’s allowed to look and opts to watch instead. Wade’s lips are stretched around him, drool dripping out of the corners of his mouth. He’s got his hands on Logan’s hips, more to keep himself steady than to stop Logan from thrusting forward. Wade likes it when he takes control, Logan learned that quickly. 

“Fuck,” Logan says. “Fuck, fuck.” 

Wade’s swallowing around him. Doing unspeakable shit with his tongue. 

Wade tries to talk with his mouth full of cock, a bunch of incoherent gibberish coming out. 

“Don’t do that,” Logan says, squeezing his eyes shut again. “I am so fucking close, don’t try talking with my dick in your mouth.” 

Wade tries to say something else, the terrible, terrible, bastard. 

“Wade,” Logan warns. “Stop it.” 

He’s able to make out the next one, which is a nearly incoherent sorry mumbled around his dick, and then he’s back to the hilt, swallowing. Choking. Moaning. 

Wade sticks his gloved hands right under Logan’s tank top and grabs a big handful of pecs and squeezes. It doesn’t take long after that for Logan to double over, squeeze Wade’s shoulder hard and gasp his way through his orgasm. 

Wade wipes his mouth and pulls the mask down while Logan catches his breath against the wall. Wade leans next to him. “I knew you were into tit stuff.” 

 Logan punches him hard in the arm. 

“Ow,” Wade says, rubbing the spot. “Domestic violence.” 

“What the fuck were you trying to say to me?” 

“I was trying to tell you I like this domestic thing we’ve got going on. Sending you off to buy groceries and cook for me. I’ll pay the rent and get you off whenever your angry little heart desires, it’s a nice thing.” 

“You had to say all this in the middle of blowing me?” 

“Sex makes me sentimental.” 

Logan gets himself back in his jeans and fixes the buckle. He spends a few seconds straightening his clothes, trying to make it look like he didn’t just get his soul sucked out through his dick in the back alley. “That wasn’t sex.” 

“Sex adjacent.” 

“I don’t think it can count as sex if I don’t touch you back.” 

Wade’s hard in his suit, a little bulge visible just under his utility belt. “You need to get back to work, Wolvie. And I’ve only got twenty three and a half hours to pull off this hit.” He starts walking backwards out of the alley. “You can get me back at home, though. Blind Al would love to watch. Or hear. Or smell. Whatever the fuck she does.” 

“What do you want for dinner?” Logan yells after him. 

“Tacos!” Wade yells back, and then he turns the corner out of view. 

-

Logan doesn't dislike cooking. He doesn't usually do it, because it's always just been him. He doesn't need more than a six pack and a salisbury steak tv dinner. 

He's had girlfriends before, and he'd cook for them sometimes, but they always fell into their little roles. Logan always dated girls that liked to cook and clean while he worked and paid the bills. He didn't mind it. It worked for them back then. 

He's had boyfriends before too, sort of. He wasn't big on labels, and going out with other guys was always much more difficult when it came down to all the semantics. 

He cooked for them sometimes. They never made a big deal about it, but Logan didn't do it often. It felt too… domestic. Like Wade had said. 

He guessed it didn't get much more domestic than this. Living together. Carpooling to work. Awkward, one sided hooking up they haven't figured out how to talk about yet. Cooking dinner for the guy who gets you off. Logan's turned into such a boyfriend. 

Wade eats his tacos the first night he sends Logan grocery shopping and he won't stop moaning at the dinner table. He licks his fingers and then his plate and then gets another helping. When he's done with that he moans some more. 

“I had been preparing myself all day for white people taco night but this is so much fucking better.” Wade says. 

“Glad you like ‘em, bub.” Logan makes them as authentic as he can this far from the border. The amount of money Wade gave him was more than he needed, he splurged on some nice ingredients. 

“Like ‘em? I love ‘em. I wanna stick my dick in ‘em and–” 

“Thank you, Wade,” Al interrupts. She turns her head in Logan's general direction. “These are great, Logan.”

Al's approval means more to Logan than Wade's ever could in this department. He'd seen Wade grab day-old pizza from the trash and eat it for breakfast. 

Logan becomes the official chef of the apartment. He uses his money from the bar to buy any extra groceries, but Wade always tries to give him enough to keep the fridge full. Wade covers rent, too. Al doesn't do much of anything, but however she's getting money, it all goes to coke. She shares with Wade, so he still gets his fix. 

Al, ever since her comment about the halfway house, has gone out of her way to remind Logan that he's welcome in the apartment, but he still doesn't feel like he belongs. 

They've each got a bedroom and he's got a glorified storage closet. They sit together on the couch and watch The Golden Girls while Logan sits by himself in the lazy boy and doesn't know any of the characters. There's two hooks next to the door for two sets of keys, two shelves in the little fridge. Wade lets Logan use his shelf, and his hook for his house key, and they make extra room by the front door for his shoes, and sometimes Al goes to bed early so Logan gets a chance to sit on the couch and pick the channel.

But he's still out of place. Cooking makes him feel like he's earned it a little bit, his place in the house. Every penny he doesn't put toward groceries and covering Wade's tab at the bar he sticks in savings until he can get his own place. 

He starts to learn Wade's taste. What he likes, what he doesn't like. Pancakes are a hit, so Logan gets up early and makes breakfast at least once a week. 

Logan couldn't sleep last night. He woke up every few hours to a new nightmare, so around five in the morning he stops trying to go back to bed. 

He showers, pulls on a white tank and clean boxers, and slinks into the kitchen. 

He jumps when he sees Wade in the living room, sitting on the couch hugging a pillow to his chest, staring at the TV like his eyes have been stapled open. He's watching an infomercial about vacuum cleaners.

“You alright, bub?”

“Couldn't sleep,” Wade says. His voice is hoarse. 

“Me neither,” Logan leans against the wall. Part of him wants to tell Wade about his nightmares. Wade might be the only person who'd understand. 

Wade's eyes flick over to meet Logan's. They're bloodshot, with big bags underneath. 

“You need some help?” 

Logan almost laughs. Instead he shakes his head. “No, you look tired.”

“I am fucking tired,” Wade says, rubbing at his eyes.

“You want to cook breakfast with me?” 

“Guess so.” Wade clicks the tv off and follows Logan into the kitchen. 

Wade is terrible at cooking and shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a hot stove, but he's alright company. He sits on the counter in his Hello Kitty boxers and his big zip up hoodie and stirs the batter dutifully, kicking his feet back and forth. 

“Am I the first guy you've made pancakes for?” 

“I'm two hundred something,” Logan says.

“That's not an answer.” 

“I've cooked pancakes for other guys. You're by far the most annoying, though.” 

Wade dips his finger in the better and licks it. 

“Don't fucking do that.” Logan wrinkles his nose. “Ew.” 

Wade does it again and Logan snatches the bowl from him. Even mixing is too much responsibility it seems. 

“Am I the first guy you've let suck your dick?” Wade asks, as casually as if they're still talking about breakfast food. 

“Can you shut the fuck up?” Logan snaps. “Al is home.” 

“I don't give a fuck. She knows which way I swing.” 

“Everyone knows which way you swing.” 

“Exactly. The one we're all wondering about is you, big boy.” Wade pokes him in the ribs. Logan swats his hand away. 

“I've got no interest in ending what we've got going on if that's what you're worried about,” Logan says, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. 

“I'm pretty sure when they say ‘it's five o clock somewhere' they're referring to PM.” 

“I'm thirsty,” Logan says. Wade doesn't give him anymore grief about his five AM beer because Logan adds a bag of chocolate chips to the pancake batter and stirs it up. When he’s done he holds the big spoon out to Wade, dripping batter all over. 

Wade's face lights up when he takes it. Logan rests his hand on Wade's bare knee. He doesn't process what he's doing until he's already done it, and there he is. Standing between Wade's legs in the early morning, in the kitchen they share. One hand holding his breakfast beer, the other on his knee like it's nothing. Like they're people who can walk around sharing touches like it's no big thing. 

Wade's licking the spoon, seemingly unbothered while Logan's struggling to keep breathing. 

“My second favorite batter,” Wade says, tossing the spoon into the sink. “You want to know the first?” 

“No.” 

“Your baby batter, Logie.” 

It’s easy for Logan to lift his hand from Wade’s knee and turn away after that. “Shut the fuck up,” he says, crossing the kitchen and pouring a generous amount of batter into the pan he’s got warming on the stove. 

Wade doesn’t shut up. He keeps talking the whole time, but he doesn’t say baby batter anymore, so Logan counts it as a win. 

He’s having all his friends over tomorrow. They like to gather once a month or so, but everything’s been so screwed up since Logan arrived they haven’t been able to organize it. Logan’s met all of Wade’s friends by this point, but he’s met them in passing, mostly. When Wade’s managed to get one or two of them over at a time and Logan has to sneak past the living room on the way to his bedroom, and at that point it’s only polite to stick his head in to say hi. 

Wade spends the rest of the time Logan’s cooking running him through the list of everyone who will be there. He’s nervous. Logan wouldn’t have noticed it a couple of months ago, but he can pick up on this stuff now. Wade’s not looking up, he’s tracing a deep scar on his thigh with the tip of his finger. 

Logan isn't sure how to broach the subject. He's never been good at talking, let alone comforting. He flips the first pancake onto a plate and douses it in syrup. He gives it to Wade, who cheers up marginally. 

“Do we have whip cream?” 

“You don't need whip cream on your fucking pancakes, eat.”

Wade eats. 

He uses up the rest of the batter and by the time Al’s up, Logan’s got three stacked on a plate for her. “Wade and I made breakfast,” Logan tells her, setting her up a seat at the table. 

“You two have been getting along well lately,” she says, starting on her pancakes. “It’s a nice change. Keep it up.” 

-

Logan's drunk by the time the first guests arrive. He's been drunk for the better part of a century, he hides it well. Just needed something to take the edge off. He’s happy to sit on the couch and gnaw his fingernails to the quick, but Wade’s bustling around the kitchen, trying hard to shove all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher before his friends can see the state of squalor they usually live in. When the doorbell rings Wade doesn’t stop. 

“Peanut!” he shouts toward the living room. “Get the door, would ya!” 

Logan grumbles but obliges. It’s Collosus who shows up first, Negasonic and Yukio behind him. Yukio smiles and waves while Negasonic wrinkles her nose and snaps her gum. Logan likes her. He steps aside to let them in. 

“Logan,” Colossus says in greeting. “I thought you were recovering alcoholic,” he motions to the bottle in Logan’s hand. 

“Good to see you too, buddy.” 

“I made ptichye moloko,” he says, holding up a tupperware. “Traditional Russian dessert.” 

“Have him put it on the table!” Wade yells from the kitchen. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where to put it.” Logan leads Collosus to the little wooden table and sets the container down for him. He tries to be quick, but he’s not quick enough, Colossus starts talking again. 

“Are you doing okay here?” he asks. 

“Sure am. Wade’s…” Logan’s not sure what Wade is. “Accommodating. Opened his door to me, got me a job. I’m doing alright.” 

“This is no place for a recovering alcoholic. 

“It ain’t bad.”

“You are always welcome at the X-Mansion if you need somewhere to rest. The X-men would be happy to take you in.” 

Everytime Logan’s left alone with Colossus he starts talking about him joining up with X-men. Logan tries to be polite. Wade loves his friends like they’re family and he knows they’re not going anywhere anytime soon, but just being around them makes Logan’s skin crawl. The X on Colossus’ belt alone makes Logan’s hands shake. Makes him think of Jean. And Scott. All the pieces of Scott’s skull. The smell of the blood he couldn’t fully wash off for weeks. 

“Thanks,” Logan says stiffly, and retreats to the couch. He wants to grab another beer and stand around in the kitchen with Wade. Let him take Logan's mind off of everything with dirty jokes. 

But Wade's talking to the girls in the kitchen and Logan doesn't feel much like being around X-men. He avoids them as much as possible during Wade's little events. Logan doesn't want to know who's still alive in this universe. Who isn't. 

More people start to show up and Logan remains stubbornly on the couch. Wade answers the door from now on, and the little apartment fills with all the friends Logan's come to tolerate. He even likes some of them. Buck is alright. Dopinder. Negasonic. Logan's pretty sure she has a real name but he doesn't remember it, Negasonic is cooler. 

The doorbell rings again and Wade's right in the middle of taking a frozen pizza out of the oven. With a huff Logan decides to be a good roommate. He swings the door open and is momentarily so stunned he forgets how to speak. Just stares blankly at Vanessa and the man on her arm. 

“Hi, Logan,” she says finally with a little tight lipped smile. “This is Matt.” 

The man on her arm, blonde, round cheeked, taller than her but shorter than Logan, smiles politely. “One sec,” Logan says, and lets the door fall closed. 

He goes right to the crowded kitchen and squeezes his way to where Wade's cutting the pizza. 

“We need to talk, bub,” he says, grabbing Wade by the shoulders and steering him out of the kitchen and down the hall where they can have some privacy. 

“Vanessa brought some dude.” 

“Yeah, her boyfriend.” 

Logan frowns. “You knew about this?” 

“Yeah. I invited her and told her she could bring her boyfriend.” 

“You didn’t mention that.” 

Wade shrugs. “Thought I did.” 

Logan's jaw falls open a bit. “I thought you were in love with her.” 

Wade shrugs again and lets loose a deep sigh. “If she's happy, then I'm happy. Where are they?” 

“Out front.” 

“You didn't let them in?” 

“Not until I warned you.” 

Wade purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “That is so hot.” 

“Not while you've got guests.” He shoves Wade toward the front door. 

“Right, okay,” Wade says. He smooths down the front of his shirt and goes to let Vanessa in. 

Logan watches from the hallway with a bottle to his lips. Wade pulls Vanessa into an easy hug, then holds his hand out to Matt. Matt doesn't shake it, and Wade moves his hand to scratch the back of his neck, like he hadn't even tried. 

The claws itch to come out. Logan flexes his hands and grits his teeth. He'll be a good roommate. A good friend. He won't ruin this. 

Wade's got nearly enough chairs for everybody to crowd around the wooden table in the dining room, but he's got a lot of friends and a tiny fucking apartment, so Logan opts to stand, leaning against the counter with a paper plate full of pizza in his hand. 

Wade sits himself next to Vanessa, Mary Puppins on his lap. She pets the dog while Matt talks happily with Dopinder and Buck. He talks happily with everyone, christ, he's charmed the whole table already. 

Logan gets it, because he's not bad looking, and he asks questions, and he listens and nods in all the right spots. Matt tells everyone he went to college for environmental sciences.

When Vanessa scoops Mary Puppins into her lap and asks Matt to say hello, he wrinkles his nose and pats the top of her head, then scoots his chair back, saying something about needing to wash his hands. 

Logan doesn't care for the dog either, but it makes his jaw clench anyway. 

“What are you looking at?” 

The voice next to him makes him jump. Every time she's around Logan tries to keep his distance from Laura, but she's turned herself into his sneaky little shadow. 

“Nothin',” Logan says, ruffling her hair. She smooths it back down and gives him a dirty look. 

“You're being quiet,” she says. 

“I'm always quiet.” 

“More quiet.” 

Logan shakes his head. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to explain this to anybody, especially a kid. 

He isn't even sure what he's feeling. All he knows is he's got something white hot bubbling under his skin and he knows the only thing that will make it go away. The only thing that helps with his little rage spells is wearing a knitted sweater and holding his dog in one hand, a slice of pizza with the other, looking at Vanessa with those big, dark eyes and nodding along to everything she says. 

Logan knows what it's like to be on the other side of that stare. He wants to throw Vanessa out of the seat and take her place. She's the one who left Wade broken in a million fucking pieces. Logan's the one who's been putting him back together. Slowly. Sloppily. He's got no idea what he's doing, but he's the one who's been there. 

“Do you not like Vanessa?” Laura asks in a whisper. Logan elbows her. 

“Shut the hell up, kid,” he whispers back. “She's my friend.” 

Laura grins. “You could not say that with a straight face.” 

“Well, none of these people are my fuckin’ friends, but she's alright. I like everyone Wade hangs out with.” 

Laura squints and looks into his eyes like she's trying to see right into his soul. Logan looks away. “You're feeling protective,” she says matter of factly. “Of Wade.” 

Logan throws his plate down on the counter and pushes off. “I'm going outside,” he says. He forgets how similar they are. God, she could probably smell it on him. Everything he's thinking. 

He isn't sure what he's feeling about Wade. He's been stuffing it down into the pit of his stomach where it bubbles and burns like molten lava but never takes a clear form. He knows he feels very strongly about Wade. Knows he only cares about getting sober when he's near Wade. Knows he's happiest when Wade's head is between his legs. He knows, despite everything he tried, he got comfortable with Wade. 

He slips out the front door but doesn't go up to the roof. It feels wrong without Wade, so he paces back and forth in front of the building, smoking a cigarette. He's hoping the smell of smoke will cover up enough of whatever he's feeling about Wade that Laura won't be able to sniff it off him. 

“Hey! Logan is it?” 

Logan flexes his fingers. Resists the urge to kick the brick wall. Could he not be left alone for one fucking minute? 

He spins around and Matt is walking toward him with an easy wave. “Wade said you probably stepped out for a smoke.” 

Logan doesn't say anything. 

Matt shoves his hands in the pocket of his jacket shyly. “I hate to ask, but would you mind if I bummed one? Vanessa doesn't let me smoke.” 

“The ex stripper won't let you have a smoke?” 

Matt shrugs. “She's all worried I'm gonna get lung cancer if I so much as look at the things.” 

Logan reluctantly hands over his pack. Matt lights one up and leans against the brick wall next to Logan. 

“Cute neighborhood,” Matt says. 

The sidewalk is cracked, the road covered in potholes, lined with junker cars. “Yup.” 

Matt's quiet for a moment. Logan has no interest in breaking the silence. “So what happened to Wade?” 

Logan's whole body tenses. “What do you mean?” 

“Ness told me there was some sort of accident. Won't tell me anything else.” 

Logan flicks out his cigarette. Clenches and unclenches his fists. “Don't think that's any of your business.” 

“I was just wondering. Poor guy, it looks pretty severe. He's brave though, you know? Still going outside with a full facial deformity.” 

“Don't call it a fucking deformity.” 

“Oh, no, please don't think I meant any offense.” 

Lots of words come to mind when Logan sees Wade's face. Deformity certainly isn't on the list. 

Maybe the first time he saw Wade's skin it was a little jarring, but it only took a second for all that to go away. As soon as he saw his eyes. 

“Wade's a good looking guy. He bagged your girlfriend.”

Matt takes a drag. “Do you think he's still interested in her?” 

“Are you worried?” 

“No.” He doesn't sound so sure of himself. Logan wouldn't either. 

Logan jabs a finger hard in his chest. “Stop worrying so much about the guy who wears Hello Kitty socks.” He leaves Matt standing out front and climbs up to the roof. Wade will still be down with his friends for another hour at least, but Logan doesn't mind waiting. He's always been patient where it counts. 

When the sun goes down and Logan's long since heard the voices of all their house guests fade into the distance from the sidewalk below, Logan realizes Wade isn't coming. 

He lets the claws out, only flinches a little when they break through the skin. He's been holding them in all night, he just needs a damn break. He treats himself to thirty seconds of being belligerent, slashing up the concrete roof and throwing his claws into anything within an arm's reach. 

He's able to breathe a little easier after that. When he draws the claws back in they feel a little more secure under his skin. 

The apartment feels empty when he heads back in. The table is covered with empty bottles, plastic cups, and paper plates. A few dishes are discarded in the sink. Logan hates cleaning, but he knows he needs to go check on Wade. That alone is enough for him to grab a trash bag and start picking up. 

It doesn't take him long. Maybe fifteen minutes, and then he can't put it off anymore. He takes the trash bag to the dumpster outside, then finally makes his way down the hall. He passes his room, stops outside of Wade’s. 

He's in there, Logan can smell him. He knocks twice with one knuckle. “You alright, bub?” 

“You can come in,” Wade says, from the other side of the door. Logan slips in and closes the door behind him. Wade's already changed out of his clothes, stretched out on top of the covers on his bed in a big tee shirt with a pair of boxers. His socks aren't Hello Kitty today. They're covered in little pink flamingos. Logan likes these ones. Wade's frowning at his phone screen, thumb lazily scrolling through something. 

“You left pretty early, you okay?” Wade asks, clicking his phone off and tossing it on the bed. 

“I'm fine,” Logan says quickly. Part of him wants to tell Wade about Colossus mentioning the X-men. Tell him how it made him think of Scott and ever since then he's felt like he's drowning. “You didn't come to the roof. Thought I should check on you.” 

“Sorry, peanut. Not in much of a dick sucking mood tonight.” Wade really does sound sorry. It makes Logan's blood turn cold. 

“Hey, no, that's not why I wanted you up on the roof.” Logan sits on the edge of the mattress. Wade doesn't have a bed frame either, so it's awkward to get down. Once he's sitting he doesn't know where to look. Wade rolls onto his side to look at Logan. Logan sets his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his hands. “I never expect that from you.” 

“It's alright if you do. I'm into that. Tell me to open up right now and I'll open up, I fucking love when geriatrics start bossing me around.” 

Logan slugs his arm. Wade yelps and rubs the sore spot. 

“Tell me what's wrong,” Logan says. “It's Vanessa, huh? And that dude.” 

“Matt,” Wade says with a sneer. “When I told her she could invite her new guy I didn't think she actually would. Everyone loves him.” 

Logan makes a face. “No they don't.” 

“They do! It's horrible, he had everyone laughing all night.” 

“Well I think he sucks.” 

“That's why you're my favorite.” Wade takes a deep breath. “I wasn't ready to see her with someone else. I thought I was, but. I wasn't. I'm not.” 

“It's alright,” Logan says gruffly. He puts a hand on Wade's knee, rocks it back and forth a little. He's never been great at comforting. Wade stretches, his tee shirt hiking up a little, exposing a little stripe of skin just above his hip. 

Logan knows it's a bad idea. It's something they haven't done yet, completely uncharted territory. But Logan knows what would make him feel better if he was in Wade's shoes, and Wade's been nothing if not generous. 

“You need some help?” Logan asks. 

Wade bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. It's not the reaction Logan had been hoping for after working up all that courage to offer. 

“What's so fucking funny?” 

“Good one, peanut. You sounded serious.” 

Logan gives him a shove. “I am serious. Is something fucking funny?” 

Wade stops laughing, but he still looks amused. “You don't need to do that. I sucked your dick for the privilege, Wolvie. If I wanted a pity payback blowie I'd go visit my dad.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“You've clearly got it on your mind, though. Fuck the roof, lay down, I'll do it if you repay the favor by putting on some wide sole heels and stepping on my balls with all six hundred pounds of you.” 

“Why is this all a big joke to you?” 

“Because!” Wade shouts. He needs to take a deep breath before he regains his composure and can talk at a normal volume. “Because look at you, and look at me.” 

When Logan looks at them he sees a funny, caring, charismatic guy with a bunch of friends who would rip the world apart for him the same way he does for them. Someone who's been through so much bullshit and still came out laughing, wasting his time with a mean old drunk. 

Judging by the look on Wade's face he's not looking at it the same way. 

“You always pick the worst times to get all shy,” Logan says, hand still warm and persistent on his knee. 

“In my bedroom after seeing my ex fiancée and her new boyfriend seems like the perfect time. Next time I'll cross reference your calendar, what the fuck do you mean it's a bad time?” 

“You always get all shy when it's my turn.” 

“Your turn to what?” 

Logan's hands are shaking when he moves from sitting on the edge on the mattress to his hands and knees over Wade, hands planted on either side of his hips. He looks up, waiting for a nod. 

Wade just looks at him. “You don't want this, peanut,” he says. 

“Do I look like someone who doesn't fuckin’ want it?” 

Wade motions to his head. “I know this already looks like a horribly maimed testicle, but I promise you my actual testicles are much more maimed. The full body scab doesn't stop just below my waistline.”

“I know,” Logan says. 

“Then you should get up, punkin. You haven't permanently scarred yourself yet.” 

Wade isn't even pitching a little tent in his boxers he's so nervous. 

Logan brings his hand to Wade's knee again, moves it up his leg slowly until it's resting right on his thigh, pushing up the hem of his boxers. He rubs his thumb in soft, soothing circles. “I like your skin,” he says.

He's felt Wade's skin before, in passing moments. All the times he's dropped his hand to Wade's knee without thinking about it, all the times they've wrestled, the times he's been squished between Wade and Al on the couch during dinner and their arms kept rubbing together. He's never really gotten to feel it, though. 

It's softer than Logan expects under the tough skin of his hands. It's textured and rugged, but still soft. This close Logan can smell the fruity lotion Wade likes to lather himself in. 

“You don't need to lie your way into my bed, you've got an open invitation.” 

“My invitation seems like it's got pretty limited access.” Logan pushes the leg of Wade's boxers up a little more and presses his lips the the skin. A sweet, closed mouth kiss where his nose presses right into the crook of Wade’s hip. 

“Oh my god,” Wade says, so Logan does it again, and again, and then darts his tongue out to lick a stripe right along his inner thigh. 

Wade's interested now. Logan's face is right there, so he can tell. “Can I?” 

Wade's chest is rising and falling with deep breaths. “Close your eyes,” he says. 

“I know what you look like, bub–” 

“If you want this you'll close your eyes.” 

Logan wants it, so he squeezes his eyes shut and tugs Wade's boxers down. Wade lifts his hips to help and gets them kicked to the side. 

Logan's going in blind. He gets his hand on Wade's leg again to guide him, moves his hand all the way up his thigh until he finds Wade's cock and can circle his fist around it. 

Wade's hips spasm and Logan works him slowly at first, with long strokes, just seeing how Wade reacts. 

Wade is just as vocal like this as he always is. 

“Make sure you keep the knives away,” Wade says. “You're right around my sensitive bits.” 

“Stop talking,” Logan says.

“You'll have to make me, but I'm not sure you can in this position.” 

Logan takes this as a personal challenge. He waits until his hand feels slick, and when he runs his thumb over the head there's a pool of precum. There's a hitch in Wade's breathing. Logan needs to hear it again. 

He takes Wade into his mouth without warning. Wade's hips fly off the bed and push him right down Logan's throat until he gags a little bit. “Holy shit,” Wade gasps, “holy shit, fuck, okay, this is happening.” 

Logan moves his head in shallow bobs, working the rest with his fist. It's been a while since he's done this particular act, and his mouth is adjusting to having a cock in it. Especially one as big as Wade's, which felt smaller in his hand than Logan's own, but is easily above average. 

“The Wolverine is sucking my dick right now,” Wade rambles. “ The Wolverine. My dick. Oh my God.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan says, pulling off of him.

Wade runs his fingers through Logan's hair then grabs on tight, a fistful on either side of his head where it always sticks up. “Blowjob handles,” Wade says dreamily, then guides him back down.

Logan's in no state to argue. He opens his mouth, takes him back graciously and hums a little around him. 

“For what you lack in fine skill you make up for in passion,” Wade says, controlling the rhythm with Logan's hair. 

Logan thinks about the claws. About sticking them right through Wade's arm and taking control, setting his own pace, being in charge. But he hardly feels the urge. All the instinctual urges he usually feels, the need for dominance, the ones that belong to The Wolverine, they're quiet. Not gone entirely, but deep enough down they're easy to ignore. All he cares about is Wade, about giving him what he wants. Without fighting, without a struggle, giving it to him with open palms just because he wants him to have it. 

If Wade wants to take, fuck it, he can take. 

“Do what you gotta do, bub,” Logan says, licking his lips. God, he's drooling everywhere. 

“I get to face fuck The Wolverine? This is the plot of every wet dream I've ever had.” 

Logan pinches his leg hard and Wade yelps. “Not dreaming.” 

“Thank you god,” Wade says, and pulls Logan back down by the hair. It's sharper this time, a rougher pull. The sting of it on Logan's scalp makes him moan around Wade's cock. 

“I didn’t know you were such a whore, Wolvie, god.” 

He pinches Wade’s leg again. He grabs Logan’s hair tighter, bucks his hips up. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Wade says through gritted teeth. “You’re a respectable woman who’d never put out on the first date.” 

Logan pinches again. 

“ Ow, fine, shutting up now.” 

Logan’s watched Wade fight. Watched him put his sword through someone’s head. Smelt him when he came home covered in blood. He knows just what Wade’s hands are capable of, and when he pulls and tugs at Logan’s hair they’re harsh and tight, but they’re also gentle. 

They pull Logan down, and when he chokes around Wade’s length they rub soothingly at all the sore spots. One hand moves down his face, Wade’s thumb rubbing his cheek while he holds Logan where he is, deep in the back of the throat. 

“Baby, I’m close, you should–” Wade lets go of Logan’s hair. Stops holding him. Logan can feel him tensing, his movements less controlled. He gets his hand on Logan’s shoulder and gives a halfhearted push. “If you don’t stop I’m gonna–” 

Logan isn’t about to let Wade have the satisfaction of giving a better blowjob. He holds Wade’s hips down, hollows his cheeks, and when Wade spills into his mouth, Logan swallows around him. 

Wade tenses up, pulling at Logan’s hair, scratching at his back, anything he can reach. He’s saying nothing and everything, just a string of constant babbling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says mostly, but he also says, “oh my god, Logie, I can’t believe you kept this a secret from me. If I knew you could do this shit with your mouth I would have started buttering you up months ago.” 

Logan doesn’t pull off of him until Wade’s body goes limp and slumps onto the bed. He wipes his mouth on the back of his arm and finally, finally opens his eyes. Wade’s got his closed now, leaning back on the pillow with his lips parted, trying to catch his breath. Logan likes the view. 

It only takes Wade a few moments to smile lazily, open his eyes, and sit back up. “Holy shit,” he says. 

“You feel better?” Logan asks. 

“More than better,” Wade says. His eyes are dark. The little psycho, Logan thinks, he already wants to go again. Wade pushes Logan’s shoulder, tries to climb on top of him. “Pants off,” Wade says. “Right now, if I don’t have your dick in my mouth in like, thirty seconds, I’m going to lose my mind.” 

“Calm down, bub,” Logan says, pushing Wade back off of him. The front of his jeans are so tight it pains him. “I’m going to go take a shower.” 

“No,” Wade groans, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck you. I deserve this, but fuck you.” 

Logan gives his knee a little shake again and retreats to the bathroom. It isn’t until he passes Al’s door on the way to shower that he remembers Al lives here. 

Not only does she live here, she’s home. Fuck. Logan will need to wake up early and make pancakes again. Some sort of peace offering, so she won’t keep torturing him and bringing it up everytime she sees him.  

It feels different now, this thing with Wade. He wants to be back on the roof, just the two of them in their own little world. He strips his clothes and gets under the hot stream of water. The water pressure in their apartment leaves something to be desired, but he can always get the water scalding enough for his liking for a few glorious minutes before it runs out and turns to ice. 

Logan’s not able to last a full minute before he’s got his back pressed against the cool tile and a fist around his cock. It’s Wade he’s thinking of when he comes. Wade on his knees. Wade on his back. The filthy sounds he makes. The rough skin of his hands. Logan’s done before the water goes cold. 

He pulls on his most worn in pair of joggers and a zip up hoodie. He tugs his sneakers on, glares at the crocs in the hallway, and is back outside Wade’s room, knocking twice with one knuckle. “Roof?” he asks softly through the door.

When there’s no response, Logan opens the door. Wade is asleep already, mouth hanging open, snoring softly. He didn’t move from where Logan had left him, on top of the covers and everything. 

Logan grabs one of the little blankets from the couch and creeps back to the mattress. He throws it over Wade, who grumbles a little and rolls over. Logan bites back a smile and flicks the light off, shutting the door behind him. 

He goes to the roof anyway. No way in hell he’d be able to sleep right now. He’s on his second cigarette, picking at the label on a bottle of beer. Logan’s always been a lover. A little desperate, if he’s being honest. He’s no stranger to love at first sight. It’s taken hardly more than a brush of the fingers for him to know before. And when he knows, he knows. It’s like his whole world gets brighter. Sunny days are sunnier. Music sounds better. Like the first sip of a cold beer in the morning. He chases the feeling whenever he gets it. He’d rip a hole in the damn universe for someone he just met chasing that feeling. 

He didn’t feel that with Wade. He didn’t even like the guy at first. It took some time, but when Wade asked him to stay, Logan couldn’t say no. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

But here on the roof, looking over the shitty neighborhood he shares with Wade. Wade’s car parked in the alley, where Logan’s got a pair of sunglasses sitting on the passenger seat. He can still taste Wade on his tongue, and he feels it. It isn’t a crash like it usually is. A touch of the fingers followed by a big explosion. It’s slow this time, and gentle. It feels like coming home after a long time away. 

He takes a drag and scrubs his face with his hand. Goddamn it, he's got feelings for Wade.