#deapool fic

Logan has returned late from a bar or late-night walks a few times to Wade asleep on the pullout, sprawled out and taking up all of the space, leaving no room for Logan (unless he would sleep half on top of the man). Seeing him quiet and still had been odd. Wade’s ADHD filled ass never being still when he’s awake. 

Wade also sleeps like he’s dead. Logan had discovered this when he tried to wake him so he would move the first time. It was legitimately difficult to wake him up. So after that first time where it took an eternity to get him conscious enough to move, Logan either goes to sleep in the armchair he had gotten off the street the first week he was here, or tips Wade onto the floor with a pillow if he is in a real bad mood. 

When he doesn’t give a shit, he’ll just shove him over just enough so he can squeeze himself in, and crawl onto the pullout with Wade. He tends to wake up before him anyway. The few times he doesn’t, a few claws to the guts makes Wade shut up, or at least talk about something else.

Sharing a pullout with him is just one of the many way Logan realises how casual he is about touching people, but also how much he needs and wants it.

Sure, Wade had been touched him a bunch when they first met.

But that had been to rile Logan up, to get a reaction, even if it was all negative. (The Honda doesn’t count in any positive way, the intent behind all of that had been hate and adrenaline. Even if the end result had been pleasant.)

These days though, it’s a hand patting his shoulder as they pass in the kitchen. A thigh bumping against his own as they watch shitty reality tv. Feet kicking him under the dinner table if he says something too blunt or rude. A shoulder bumping against his as they walk that damn ugly dog together.

Soemtimes it makes Logan's skin crawl, with how used to it he has become. And how he kinda, not that he will admit this to anyone except his own thoughts, likes and craves it.

It’s all become routine, a weird kind of domestic life, (Logan hates that word), that works for them.

Speaking of routine, Logan often makes breakfast for them. Wade can barely cook, Al is blind, and Logan doesn’t mind that much most of the time. He needs to eat a lot anyway, and getting something into Wade that is somewhat healthy, and not just all sugar, makes him a little less irritating to deal with during the day.

Wade, of course, likes to tease him when he cooks. Stealing bites before it’s ready. Logan has become quite adept at fighting just with a spatula, smacking hands away with a grunted ‘fuck off.’

He’s off his game this morning though, as Wade manages to snatch a piece of bacon, straight from the pan where it was almost finished. Logan knows it must be burning his mouth and tongue, but Wade crunches on his price with a grin on his face. 

He’s wearing Deadpool pajama pants, bunny slippers, and a pink long sleeve with Hello Kitty on it, and he frankly looks ridiculous leaning on the counter, extra so next to Logan who is fully dressed for the day in his flannel, t-shirt, jeans, and boots.

“Haven’t had enough coffee yet peanut?” Logan grunts, smacking Wade’s hand as it tries to go for another piece. 

“Fuck off.”

“Oh you know I love it when you talk dirty to me, even this early in the morning.”

“It’s 10 am dipshit.”

“Oh you know the saying, it’s always 5 am somewhere.” Logan snorts, shaking his head. He grabs a plate to put the finished bacon on, putting some more in the pan. He lets Wade take a piece from the plate.

“Besides, I kept waking up because my dreams were being haunted by this sexy lumberjack looking figure, and I woke up with a raging hard-on that I had to take care of every-” Logan tunes him out, he had quickly learned to filter out through what Wade is saying, letting Wade's voice become comfortable background noise. He flips the bacon, then stirs the eggs in the other pan where he’s keeping them warm on low heat.

Then there’s a hand in his hair, and that makes his focus snap back to Wade and his yapping. 

“You know, I always wonder if you roll out of bed with these little tufts.” Logan pushes his hand away, letting the claws out just enough so he knicks Wade’s skin. 

“Ouchie, someone’s a grump this morning. You’ve clearly not gotten enough caffeine in your hot bod yet. We should get that coffee that has a fuckton of it, the one with the skull or whatever, that lethal shit. Wonder if that would actually kill you, do you think your heart could give out on you? I think they even make you sign a wai-” Logan tunes him out again and wonders what it will take to shut Wade up. He is right, Logan has not had enough coffee for this. (Or booze, but he’s trying to do a little less of that.) 

Logan absentmindedly notices one of Wade’s everchanging scars on his neck looks kinda almost like an H if he squints, so he does, and his mind drifts to the Honda. Unintentional, though not an unwelcome, or unfamiliar train of thought.

He’d rather not get blood on his bacon right now, so he goes for another component of the things that transpired in that surprisingly spacious car.

He steps towards Wade and turns, leaning forward, pressing his lips against Wade’s. It’s a brief kiss, but Wade doesn’t immediately say anything as Logan leans back just enough to gauge his reaction. He's enjoying the silence as Wade's eyes are flickering all over his face.

Wade’s mouth is gaping like a fish, opening and closing before his brain is booting back up. It makes Logan snort as he leans back all the way back.

The silence lasts for maybe thirty seconds, which Logan uses to turn and flip the bacon without it being in danger of being stolen.

“What the fuck peanut? You interupted me mid-monologue, that was fucking rude you-”

“Thought it would shut you up and give me some peace this morning, but I see that didn’t work.” Logan takes a step to the side and away from Wade, but is hauled back and turned by hands twisted in the collar of his flannel.

“Oh no, you are not going anywhere until I get an explanation, or more.” Logan arches a brow, hands at his side, not touching Wade. The urge to punch or stab him is rising. 

And the urge to kiss him. 

Again. 

He knows all of those options would work for Wade.

And for himself.

“I gave you an explanation.” 

“Grew tired of using the claws, old man? Don’t wanna stab this supple fle-”