#poolvertober

Althea barks out a hollow laugh. “You keep calling the damn thing a spy machine—”

“Because I don’t trust it!”

“—but you keep it right there anyway.” She scoffs, making her way to the fridge. “Fuckin’ hypocrite.”

“Well, it’s also convenient!” Wade argues. “Do you miss when I used to shoot the lights off?”

“What the fuck?” Logan says again, but for a completely different reason this time.

“Listen,” Wade starts, and from his tone Logan can tell some bullshit is about to leave his mouth, “sometimes a guy just wants to pass out after walking in at ass o’clock in the morning without having to get up when he forgets to deal with the lights!”

“So you shot the damn lights out?” Logan guesses. “Is that why all the light switch panels are just exposed? Because you shot the fuckin’ plates off?”

“Alexa, tell peanut to stop bullying me!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that command,” the device says. “Would you like to—”

“Alexa, shut up.”

The cylinder goes quiet with a beep.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” Wade says before Logan gets a chance to berate him more. “Did your world not have Echos?”

“We did,” he admits, “but they were called Alexis.”

“Like Texas!” Wade shoots him a wink before chuckling to himself.

(Presumably to himself, because Logan has no clue what the fuck he’s talking about, as usual.)

Before either of them can elaborate, Althea yells from where she’s bent over in front of the open fridge, “Wade, did you put the fucking milk carton back empty again?!”

Their attention quickly shifts from there.

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The next time Logan notices, it’s over something equally innocuous.

He and Wade hate talking to the authorities when they finish a mission, but none of the X-Men who are way better suited to dealing with humans made it in time to stop their target. He and Wade finished the job before those asscracks even left the X-Mansion, which meant the two of them had to deal with the aftermath until someone more qualified arrived.

“I’ll play you for it!” Wade finally suggests after five whole minutes of arguing over who should talk to the police chief.

He sticks his hands out, a fist over a flat palm. Logan rolls his eyes but dutifully mimics the gesture.

“After three, okay?” Wade clarifies. “No cheating!”

“Let’s just get this the fuck over with.”

Wade nods once.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” he counts as Logan simultaneously chimes, “Paper, scissors, rock, bang!”

They don’t even look to see who won. Instead, they mirror each other’s expression: one of total confusion.

“Mr. Deadpool? Mr. Wolverine?” a voice calls behind them—Logan recognizes it as one of the younger detectives Wade was speaking to earlier. “We need one of you now, please.”

He and Wade finally both look at their hands.

Fuck.

“Ha ha, sucker!” Wades hollers, his rock crushing Logan’s scissors. He only grunts in response when Wade quite literally skips away after slapping Logan on the ass. Logan turns around with a flat expression and follows the detective to where the police chief is giving a statement to some reporter.

Whatever. The sooner this is done the sooner he and Wade can go home.

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Another time it happens, Logan’s not even sure if he even remembers the reference correctly.

He and Wade are at the X-Mansion for another mission, catching up with Ellie and Yukio inside the Blackbird jet while Colossus to grabs more a few more people. Logan’s not quite paying attention to the conversation’s details, more enamoured by the strange friendship the two girls have with Wade.

At some point, Ellie says something that makes Yukio giggle and shove her shoulder, causing Wade to cackle out, “Weird flex, but okay!”

Logan furrows his brows but doesn’t comment because Wade’s already pivoted the topic to something else.

He could swear that the saying was odd flex, but very well. If he actively recalls the kids from his old universe, that was what they used to say, right?

(Most days, he usually tries his best to not remember them. The pain may not be fresh anymore but it still hurts all the same. He’ll never be able to hear Kitty, or Jubilee, or Rogue, or Bobby cracking jokes he doesn’t understand but finds amusing nonetheless. Never again.)

Apparently, he’s still deep in thought by the time Laura walks up to him. Her face looks remarkably similar to one he sees on himself all the time—brows pinched, eyes narrowed, lips turned downward. At least on Laura the expression looks like a cute pout compared to Logan’s usual, unimpressed glare.

“What’s wrong?” She looks to the other three still caught up in their conversation, not paying Logan any mind. “Did they say something?”

Logan shakes his head. There’s no point in dwelling over the kids’ memes from his old life. He’s poked at those memories like an old bruise more than enough now.

“Nah,” he says, mostly telling the truth, “just remembered something.”

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He finally catches on by the following incident.

A song has been driving Logan fucking crazy for the past four hours. The goddamn earworm simply refuses to get out of his head, even with Wade’s incessant rambling at his phone in the background. What he’s blabbing about right this moment, Logan has no clue, because lyrics are on loop in his brain and he can’t hear anything above it.

Time for a replay session, he supposes, taking a seat in the living room. Hopefully making his ears bleed from the melody on constant repeat will finally get it out of his head.

“Hey, bub, can you play that ‘Vegas glowing’ song by Handsome Delight on the Alexis?” he interjects in the middle of Wade’s rant.

Wade furrows his hairless brow-line. “Come again? This time in my ear? Also, it’s still just Alexa.”

“You know,” Logan says, followed by a vague hum. “You walk in over time / ‘Cause we both know you’re mine / Fallin’ straight, don’t look down / Las Vegas glowin’ on the town,” he sings, hoping he has the correct lyrics. “That one?”

“One: Excellent singing, honey badger! Do you practice scales when I’m not listening? Because that voice is—” Wade cuts off to do a chef’s kiss with his fingers. “Two: Nope! Still no clue what that song is.”

“Stop fuckin’ with me, Wade.” Logan grunts, remembering how annoyingly often the song was playing on the radio when he was bar hopping earlier this year. Wade listens to pop music almost exclusively—there’s no way he would’ve escaped this song. “It was in the Top 40s for months. You had to have heard of this.”

Wade just blinks at him. “I really, truly have not.”

“Wait,” he pauses in realization, “does Handsome Delight not exist here?”

“Never heard of them!” Wade confirms, shaking his head and starts typing away on his phone. “Aaaaand Google here only pulls up a very adorable cake when I search that name.” He shows his screen to Logan, who grumbles in frustration after squinting at the results.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Why? What’s up, buttercup?”

“Shit. The damn song’s stuck in my head but I only know that stupid part.” He groans at himself, throwing his head back onto the couch, miffed that he can’t scratch the song’s itch like he thought. “I was hoping I could put it on repeat so I’d finally get it out of my system.”

“Sorry, peanut!” Wade pats his shoulder. “If it helps though, I can sing anything you want to rid you of the earworm plaguing you! I’ll be your personal jukebox!”

His answer is automatic. “I’d rather chop my ears off.”

Wade, obviously, starts singing anyway.

“You are! My fiiiire—”

Logan promptly sticks a claw into each ear. He might have pushed a little too far and nicked his brain a bit on both sides, which is just fine because the injury causes him to briefly pass out, a good solution as any at this point.

The last thing he sees is Wade’s comically dismayed face.

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Logan accepts that this universe is just weirdly different after one more incident.

He and Wade made it home too goddamn late last night after finishing a job that took way too fucking long, which meant they both pass out for a solid eight hours and wake up well past noon for their first meal of the day. Althea had already left to do her own business (Logan never asks her what she’s up to, and he’s probably better for it) and took along Mary Puppins, so it’s just him and Wade in the kitchen.

Wade’s already sitting at the table, digging into something from a silvery packet when Logan shuffles by.

“Mornin’, peanut.”

“Hrm.”

“Figured I’d get some real food later, but I’m too damn tired right now, so, y’know—” he lifts up what Logan finally sees is a Pop-Tart, “—Pop-Tarts.”

Logan assesses that he is also too damn tired to actually cook himself a meal, but also too hungry to ignore his appetite. He combs through the cupboards with a quiet hum until he can kick his ass to get some real food. He eventually decides to follow Wade’s lead to eat something now and order more food later, going to the cabinet and bypassing Wade’s stock of sugary children’s cereal for the Special K.

“Not digging into the Raisin Bran, old man?” Wade teases.

“I may be old,” he tosses right back, “but I don’t need to act like it too.” He grabs the milk (a new carton because Althea chewed Wade out last time), a bowl, and a spoon, bumping the utensil drawer closed with his hip. Then, he makes his way to the kitchen table to sit across from Wade.

As always, he pours the milk first.

“Logan,” Wade says slowly, his eyes growing wide with what looks like concern, “why the fuck are you pouring the milk before the cereal?”

“Because that’s how you’re supposed to do it.” Logan shoots him a bewildered look because that’s how everyone does it? He’s pretty sure it’s common knowledge to pour the milk first so you get an even distribution of crunch. He’s adding the cereal in when he asks, “What the fuck are you on about?”

Wade’s horrified gaze flickers back and forth between Logan and his bowl. “That’s so fucking cursed.”

At this point, Logan doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response, digging into his bowl with a dismissive grunt and shake of his head. He very purposefully ignores the implication that people on this planet pour the cereal first.

Now that’s fucking cursed.

Logan may have been engineered to be a wild animal, but he’s not a goddamn savage.

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&1

Logan finds out that Dolly Parton is still alive on this planet.

He considers forgiving the cereal before milk bullshit just for that.

——————————————

He pulled the covers back over his head.

“Oh no you don’t.” Said Wade, pulling at the blanket.

Logan pulled back. Wade yanked harder. When he heard the telltale sign of threads ripping, Logan let go, which sent Wade flying into the drywall.

“You two morons are fixing that!!” Al screamed from another room.

With a groan, Logan pushed himself up into a sitting position. His hair was pressed flat on the side he had slept on.

“What the fuck are you going on about?”

Wade pulled himself out of the Deadpool-shaped hole in the wall and brushed the dust off his arms.

“Uh, only the best, most awesome month of the year?” He said as if the other man should have known instinctively. “October? Breathtaking foliage? Crisp Autumn air? Delicious apple cider?”

Logan gave him a blank look, until Wade added “spiked cider, in your case?”

“Now that I can get behind.”

“Yeah, I wish you’d get behind,” Wade mumbled.

“What was that?” Logan said, as if he didn’t hear everything in a twelve mile radius.

“Nothing!” Wade ran over and threw open the closet. “Which sweater do you want to wear pookie? Let’s see theres this one that says ‘I never skip leg day’ with a picture of a turkey dinner on it… this one of George Costanza saying ‘I’m shifting into Soup Mode,’ haha, classic… oh this one that says ‘DILF: Damn I love Fall,’ and who could forget the one that says ‘It’s Autumn baby, let’s bone in the Waffle House bathroom!’”

“… you’re fucking with me you do not have that on a sweater.” Logan said, still sitting on the bed.

“Ok the last one I made up but the other ones are real,” Wade said with a grin.

“Can’t I just wear my flannel?” Logan was already resigned to whatever the hell Wade had planned.

“Well you do make a sexy Lumberjack, all the tumblr reblog girlies know,” he looked in a certain direction and winked.

Logan sighed.

———

As Logan, Wade and Mary Puppins walked through the North Woods of Central Park, Logan had to admit that Wade’s excitement may have been well placed.

The trees were mid transition from their brilliant greens into the deep shades of red and orange that Autumn always promised. The red maples and scarlet oaks looked old and wizened, despite the fact that they were probably younger than he was.

Logan had an inkling that he had been here at its creation but the gaps in his memories were too great to know for sure. The artificial woods almost reminded him of a time he lived with someone, an attempt at a normal life, the splitting of wood… he shook the thoughts from his head. It was no use dwelling on those foggy thoughts. They never stayed with him.

As Wade rambled on about some movie he saw recently about a clown or something, Logan found himself staring. He watched the movement of Wade’s lips as he spoke, the way his brow moved with emphasis, how the daylight shone through his eyelashes almost illuminating them. He suddenly felt like he never wanted to forget this moment, never wanted it taken from him like so many memories of the past.

He reached out and held Wade’s hand.

Logan had spent the day cleaning the apartment, tossing away old garbage bags and tidying the random piles of stuff littered everywhere. Wade avoided him—as he usually did on bad days—leaving a room once Logan entered so neither of them would bother the other. Logan didn’t think twice about stripping off his shirt once he finished mopping the living room, already sweaty from half a day’s work. 

Of course, that’s when Wade decides to pop out of Al’s bedroom where he and Mary were hiding, immediately faceplanting into Logan’s chest as Logan’s dragging out the vacuum.

“Mmmno,” Wade hums, the sounds turning into one word. “Gotta recharge my battery. Your lovely mountains help with that.”

Logan growls, unsheathing his claws on his right hand. “Wade, I’m fucking serious.”

“Peanut, I’m fucking serious,” the moron parrots back, but there’s an edge to his voice that Logan recognizes is Wade being serious for once. Wade snuggles further into his chest, hands now kneading the flesh there, calloused fingertips occasionally brushing Logan’s nipples. “Just let me have this,” Wade sighs.

(Logan pointedly ignores the urge to preen at Wade’s easy affection and praise.)

He closes his eyes, slowly breathes through his nose, and counts to ten to stop himself from stabbing Wade through the temple.

Just because he can stab the dipshit doesn’t mean he should, he reasons. He just finished cleaning the floors and Althea would appreciate less blood stains on them, he reminds himself.

He rolls his eyes when Wade hums into his skin, mumbling nonsense that Logan doesn’t bother trying to parse out. Though he’s annoyed (very annoyed), Logan’s surprised that he doesn’t mind the contact as much as he thought he would. God knows when was the last time he had this kind of skinship with someone, how long it’s been since someone touched him without wanting to pick a fight.

Fuck. Logan must be getting soft from living here.

With a final hum and deep breath, Wade lifts his face from Logan’s chest to meet Logan’s eyes, chin now digging into Logan’s sternum. Despite the mask, Logan can tell that he’s smiling beneath the fabric.

“Thanks for the assist, honey badger!” Wade chirps. “I feel much better now.”

He grunts, rolling his eyes again. “Whatever. Now get the fuck off me.”

Wade pouts but relents, pulling away from Logan without a word.

Shit, Logan already misses his touch, what the fuck.

He doesn’t let it show on his face, jerking his head in a direction that’s vaguely out of the way of the vacuum’s direct path.

“Can I get back to vacuuming now, princess?” he taunts, but even he can hear that he doesn’t mean the insult.

“Excuse you!” Wade gasps dramatically, a hand lifting to clutch his chest. “The only princess here is my little Princess Puppins!”

At the sound of her name, the dog dutifully comes skittering into the living room with a bark. Logan sighs at the hair she’s already leaving everywhere.

(For a dog with almost no fur left, the little she does have scatters around the apartment, unending and always in places Logan thought he already cleaned.)

Wade picks up Mary and partially lifts his mask to immediately cover her face in kisses, cooing nonsense and praise. With the bottom half of his face exposed, she licks into his mouth (fuckin’ gross, but whatever), and Wade looks visibly more at ease than he did not even ten minutes ago.

Logan tugs the cable of the vacuum to move it out of the way, only turning it on once Wade and Mary are back inside the bedroom.

And if he turns his back to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

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The mission went sideways faster than Wade could make an innuendo about it. There were casualties that didn’t need to happen, body parts Deadpool didn’t need to lose, places where Wolverine’s claws didn’t need to go. The official X-men (that is, the losers that lived at the X-Mansion) handled the PR shitstorm headed their direction while Wade whisked Logan and himself away from the pesky news cameras already on their heels.

The two of them came home to an empty apartment, and once Wade was dumped into the pull-out couch he and Logan shared, Logan took off. Wade probably shouldn’t have let him leave—knew all too well the kind of spiral one could fall into after a shitty mission like that—but he also knew better than to push Logan before the man was ready.

Besides, he had six fingers, half a leg, and a nose he needed to grow back.

Logan, the asshole, only shucked off his own uniform once they arrived home and didn’t help Wade change before he left, so Wade hobbles around like a ballerina unwilling to dance on two legs as he strips his suit. He manages to finally get an old shirt and a pair of black short-shorts on before he falls over, ass hitting the floor with a fuck! Blind Al arrives home when he does, Mary Puppins in tow after finishing her nighttime potty. Al’s only acknowledgement of Wade is her cursing out him and Logan for leaving her to tend to the damn dog she didn’t even ask for, but the lack of heat in her words tells Wade the truth.

“Love you too, Al!” he calls out.

“Go fuck yourself, you uncircumcised dickhead!” she barks back as she shuffles towards her room. “And don’t forget to have someone look after the dog next time!” She slams the door behind her.

Wade manages to get up and grab a spare mask that doesn’t have a hole around the nose, slipping it on as he tumbles back onto the pull-out. Even though Blind Al is blind and can’t bask in the glory that is a nose-less Wade Wilson, he still doesn’t want to see his own ugly mug in random reflections around the apartment. Mary tucks into her doggy bed at the corner of the room and falls asleep while Wade lies on his stomach and spends time on his phone, scrolling aimlessly through different apps as his body regenerates.

The fact that glueing himself to his phone means he can pick up the second Logan calls him is just a bonus.

But he doesn’t even have to worry about that because Wade’s only grown back four of his fingers and part of his shin when Logan surprisingly returns home. He is also surprisingly not as shitfaced as Wade thought he’d be. He’s still definitely drunk if the way he’s grumbling to himself and shuffling around is anything to go by, but he doesn’t smell like he went through an entire bar’s supply of liquor, and he doesn’t look near as bad as when Wade first brought him to the TVA.

“Welcome back, peanut!” he greets, and Logan only grunts in response. As Logan begins to change into his clothes for bed, he says, “I gotta say, I’m impre—”

But before Wade can finish his sentence, a now t-shirt and boxers-clad Logan faceplants into his ass.

Twisting to watch with wide, bewildered eyes, Wade goes still as stone as Logan’s hands cup his ass cheeks. He’s pretty sure Logan doesn’t need his heightened senses to hear Wade’s heart with the way it’s trying to beat out of his chest.

He’s drunk he’s drunk he’s drunk and his face is in my ass, what the flying fucking fuck is happening?! is all Wade can think.

Before he gets the chance to say anything, Logan grumbles, “Can ya fuckin’ relax, bub?” His words slur together like he can barely make his tongue move. “Yer fuckin’ stiff as a board ‘ere and I’m tryna use ya as a pillow right now.”

Wade forces himself to calm down—drunk or not, he doesn’t want to be known as a horrible pillow.

“Peanut,” he says carefully, “as ecstatic as I am that our relationship has suddenly escalated to rimming, why is your face buried in my ass while I have clothes on?”

It takes a moment for Logan to answer, but eventually he murmurs, “M’rechargin’ my fuckin’ battery, bub.”

Oh, fuck him, Wade thinks, his traitor of a heart fluttering at this hot mess of a man. How dare he throw Wade’s own words back at him like this? That is ridiculously unfair.

Wade’s still stewing when Logan lifts his head to glare at him. “Ya got a problem?” he asks with a frown, the clearest he’s sounded since coming home.

Wade immediately shakes his head. He may be ticked that karma’s working herself beautifully right now, but he’s not about to waste the opportunity of having The Wolverine using his ass like a pillow.

“Absolutely not!” he reassures Logan with a grin, desperately hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s about to flip his shit. “But I was hoping we’d be naked when we finally hit third base.”

He has to joke about it, he has to. Or else his own stupid feelings will choke him to a death that would be more merciful than whatever the hell this is.

“Nah,” Logans says around a yawn, head falling back down to Wade’s ass. “Just want’cha like this.” Wade tries and fails to steady his rapidly beating heart when Logan moves to wrap his arms around his waist.

At the silence that follows, he thinks Logan passes out on him, but just as he turns around to focus on his phone again, Wade hears him.

“Just...” Logan whispers, voice unguarded and overwhelmingly soft, “just wanna hold ya fer'once...”

Wade swallows the lump in his throat. He doesn’t have the freaky super-hearing Logan possesses but he’s pretty sure he hears that.

He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he’s drunk, he reminds himself, it doesn’t mean anything.

Logan now practically straddles Wade’s leg, his knees bracketing Wade’s right thigh in the backseat of this godforsaken vehicle. He sheathes his claws on one hand, opting to simply smash his knuckles into Wade’s face. The arm not dealing blows (haha, blows) shoves his claws into Wade’s shoulder and onto the seat. Wade is effectively pinned down, but by now he’s only halfheartedly stabbing Logan’s side with baby knife until Logan finally realizes why.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Logan pauses his fist’s tirade against Wade’s face.

“Whaaat?” he asks innocently, drawling out the syllable. Even though he knows Logan can’t see it right now, a shit-eating grin grows beneath his mask.

Logan scoffs in disgust. “Seriously, bub?” He presses one of his thighs to onto Wade’s very obvious erection.

“Hey, at least this time I’m awake for it!” Wade reasons. “And the only thing keeping me all nice and close is you, old man.” He squirms a little to prove his point, several areas of his body rubbing on Logan.

Logan grunts another noise of disgust. “I don’t understand why you don’t wear a cup, you goddamn lunatic.”

“I’m glad that’s the only issue you have about this, honey badger!” Wade happily quips back. He shifts his hips up, dick deliberately rutting into Logan’s thigh, not even bothering to stifle the pleased moan stuttering out of him. “Can’t say I miss having one on right now.”

With a growl, Logan grabs Wade by the mask and smacks the back of his head hard into the backseat. Wade thinks if he didn’t have whiplash or a concussion before, he definitely has both now.

Pain echoes in his skull as he yells out, “Fuck!”

Logan repeats the action, knocking Wade’s head onto the seat several times in quick succession, his grip on Wade’s mask pulling it halfway off and exposing his mouth. Wade can feel all kinds of bodily fluids—blood, drool, sweat, maybe some snot—dripping down his chin and onto his neck now that his mask isn’t catching the filth.

His body is then slightly jostled from Logan’s manhandling, which allows him to also feel (oh, fuck yes, that’s it) something else.

Logan lets go of his mask, bringing his arm back to unleash his claws with a snikt! He points them right in front of Wade, close enough Wade can basically breathe and close the distance.

“You,” Logan pants hard, nostrils flaring, “are a repulsive piece of shit.”

With his mouth exposed, Wade beams another nasty grin at Logan. It’s the only response he gives before licking one of the claws not even half an inch away from his lips. He cuts his mouth on it, of course, blood flooding everywhere and onto Logan’s claw. But he pays no mind, tilting his head slightly and immediately gliding his tongue down the smooth side of the blade while he meets Logan’s appalled glare.

“You’re a fuckin’ freak.”

Wade’s grin only widens. “And yet.”

He bucks up his hips to meet the growing tent in Logan’s pants. Logan hisses at the contact, looking down at his crotch in what Wade assumes is betrayal before meeting Wade’s gaze again with a sneer.

Because for all the beating he’s being served, there’s no way Wade would let Wolverine’s boner escape his notice since the fucking hypocrite doesn’t wear a cup either. Not that Logan’s dick is possible to ignore in the first place, considering how his clearly generous size is doing its damndest to break free from the jock he’s got on.

Fuck, Wade hopes that claws aren’t the only thing inside him today.

He mouths his way back to the end of the claw, staring Logan in the eyes as he begins to suck the tip into his mouth. He’s slow, actually trying to be careful for once because he doesn’t want to accidentally slice his tongue clean off. He’ll need it when he gets Logan’s cock into his mouth.

He pulls away with a muted pop!, a thin string of blood-tinted spit still connecting his lips to the claw.

“Seems like we match, kitty cat,” Wade croons, lifting his hips up to grind on Logan again. “Maybe my freak just matches yours.”

Logan growls, teeth bared as he digs the claws still in Wade’s shoulder even deeper. Wade unashamedly lets out another moan, and at this point he honestly can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure. Probably-most-definitely both.

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snarls, his other hand still threatening Wade with a lobotomy and then some.

Wade licks the tip of another claw.

“Then fucking make me.”

Logan hisses, pulling his claws out of Wade's shoulder. Wade gasps at the new pain now blooming in his shoulder wounds when Logan cups his hands on Wade’s cheeks and kisses him.

Though, it’s less of a kiss and more like Logan using his mouth to punch Wade’s.

Wade yelps at their teeth clacking together, the sound turning into a long moan when Logan shoves his tongue into his mouth. The kiss immediately turns dirty once Wade’s brain catches up to what’s happening, and Logan shifts to straddle his lap properly. The low groan that escapes Logan’s throat when he sinks into his lap and rubs their clothed boners will make an appearance in Wade’s spank bank for years to come, he’s sure of it.

His hands move to Logan’s waist, halfway to groping Logan’s ass, but he gets distracted by what Logan’s doing with his tongue. Apparently, Wade’s aborted attempt to grope his butt seems like hesitation, because Logan pulls away from Wade’s mouth long enough to growl, dropping a hand to push one of Wade’s onto a pert cheek.

“Either grab it or don’t,” Logan snarls. “None of that half-ass shit.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Wade smirks up at him, both hands sliding to Logan’s ass and gripping.

Logan gasps softly, arching his back to push into Wade’s palms. “Fuck, yes.”

Wade dives in for another kiss, their noses just barely avoiding an accidental, very un-sexy headbutt. Logan tugs at Wade’s mask and pulls it all the way off. Wade would protest because he already knows what Logan thinks of his appearance, but his entire brain is kind of focused on the taut muscles of Logan’s ass beneath his fingers and the taste of Logan’s mouth when he sighs.

“Off, off,” Logan pants, pawing at Wade’s pants after using his teeth to bite his gloves off.

He nods helplessly, removing his own gloves and unbuckling his utility belt, immediately going for his fly right after. His cock springs free from where it was trapped, aching and flushed red, and Wade can’t help but smile at the heated look he catches on Logan’s face.

“Looks like not wearing a cup was a good thing after all, huh, Wolvie,” he says smugly.

Logan rolls his eyes, working on his own suit and shoving the jock down to free his own dick. Wade’s mouth literally starts salivating at the sight of Logan’s fully hard cock, long and thicker than he expected. At the base is a jungle of wiry hair that Wade can’t wait to bury his nose into once he gets Logan into his throat.

Logan frowns at him. “Quit starin’, bub.”

“Can’t help it when you’ve got a baby arm down there,” he replies easily. “How the fuck did you even fit that in your pants? The poor thing must’ve been suffocating!”

Logan unsheathes his claws on one hand, grazing the tips on Wade’s cheek. He’s pretty sure Logan breaks the skin there if the warmth dripping down his face is anything to go by.

“Shut the fuck up before I chop your dick off, Mouth,” Logan warns. Wade only laughs.

At Logan’s confused expression, Wade leans in to kiss him again, short and quick, before bucking his hips up. They both hiss when their cocks brush together, and Wade bites down on Logan’s bottom lip. With one hand he grabs Logan’s shoulder, the other slipping down to take both their cocks into a loose fist. He begins stroking slowly, heat pooling in his stomach when he feels Logan’s hips twitching into his grip. Wade moans again, mouth pulling away to kiss his way down Logan’s jaw and onto his neck.

“Fucking hell,” he gasps, “can barely get my hand around you, you’re fucking huge.” Logan groans into his ear, biting at Wade’s lobe.

At this point, Logan’s hands have snuck underneath Wade’s top, palming at whatever he can reach. Wade’s breath stutters when Logan rubs his nipples, which he clearly notices because the motherfucker starts to pinch both of them at the same time, rolling them in his fingers.

“Fuck!” Wade shouts at a particularly hard pinch, hand abruptly pausing mid-stroke.

“Yeah?” Logan pants, doing magical things to Wade’s nipples, and Wade can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Keep that up and this is going to end a lot sooner than we both want, honey badger,” he warns, nipping at the corner of Logan’s jaw.

“S’not my fault ya got sensitive nips,” Logan grumps but he releases Wade’s nipples anyway. His hands continue their earlier exploration of Wade’s skin, his breath catching in his throat whenever Logan’s nails scratch him.

He catches Logan in another bruising kiss, tongue licking the palate of Logan’s mouth. Wade begins stroking again, using his thumb to gather the precum leaking from both their cocks. It’s not enough, the friction still on the side of too dry, but Wade does not give a fuck and it seems that Logan doesn’t either. When he begins to rock his hips, Logan does the same, their rhythm already frantic and frenzied, and Wade closes his fist into a tighter circle.

Logan bucks his hips with a little too much gusto on an upstroke, nearly knocking them both off balance until he catches himself by stabbing the headrest next to Wade with his claws.

“Getting too excited there, big boy?” Wade’s lips brush Logan’s when he speaks. “Feel that good?”

“Fuck no.”

There’s a tiny part of Wade that hurts at the words but he ignores it in favour of catching Logan’s lips in another dirty kiss. He bullies Logan into lying down, and Wade slides down to finally face Logan’s cock, kissing the tip and licking at the precum that dribbles out. He grasps the base of Logan’s cock with one hand, taking Logan deep enough for his lips to meet his fist. He plants his other hand firmly on Logan’s hip.

Logan makes an unhappy sound. “What? I can’t fuck your mouth?”

Wade shrugs one shoulder, humming on the downstroke, and smiling (as much as he can with Logan’s dick in his mouth, at least) when Logan drops his head back with a drawn out groan, hands coming to rest on Wade’s shoulders. He doesn’t really pay attention to his technique, too excited to have The Wolverine’s dick in his mouth to think about pace and finesse, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind at all with the way his hips keep twitching up. There’s a reason why Wade has a hand pushing on the flat of Logan’s pelvis.

He gradually manages to open his throat, pushing himself further and further down Logan’s cock, satisfied once his nose begins brushing wiry curls. He may or may not start humming the closer he gets to the base just to hear the noises escaping Logan every time he does.

Pulling off with a filthy slurping sound, a thick line of spit and precum connecting his lips to the tip of Logan’s cock. Wade licks his lips hungrily, keeping one hand pumping Logan while the other moves down to grip his own aching dick. He sighs in relief once he starts stroking himself.

“Fuck my face now,” is all he says before swallowing Logan back down to the root.

“Shit.”

For as violent as he was not five minutes ago during their fight, Logan is surprisingly gentle thrusting into Wade’s mouth now that he has permission. It’d be sweet if Wade isn’t in the middle of chasing his own pleasure right this moment, and he needs to feel Logan hitting the back of his throat for tonsil target practice before he loses his mind.

He pulls off with a whine, frowning up Logan.

“What happened to ‘none of that half-ass shit’?”

Logan glares down at him, a low rumble coming from his chest.

“You fuckin’ asked for it, asshole,” he sneers, and before Wade can complain again, Logan grips the back of his head and shoves him back down to the base of his cock.

He begins to fuck Wade’s face in earnest, delicious noises spilling from his lips that Wade can’t help but return with his own whimpers. He moves the hand that was stroking Logan’s dick to fondle the man’s balls instead, his other hand still furiously jacking his own cock. His jaw aches in the best way as Logan relentlessly guns for his orgasm.

“M’close, bub,” Logan pants heavily. “Pull off, wanna come on your face.”

Wade whines in the negative—he wants everything pouring down his throat.

“I said fuckin’ pull off!”

He stubbornly refuses, too fucking close to coming to care about what Logan wants at the moment.

Several things happen in slow motion from there.

(Take a moment to imagine a record scratch followed by the opening plucks of the violin from Enya’s Only Time à la the second movie, dear reader.)

Wade comes while his mouth is still on Logan, his eyes clamping shut from how hard it hits him. He might also accidentally bite down a little, tiny bit because of his orgasm. (Don’t blame him for getting bitey when he comes—it’s not like he can help it!)

At the same time, Logan grabs the back collar of Wade’s suit while his other hand pushes Wade’s forehead, forcefully pulling Wade off his dick. Wade vaguely registers Logan yelping in pain, likely because he is in pain now that Wade is maybe, slightly using his teeth. Wade—rightfully upset, in his opinion—makes a pathetic, displeased noise when Logan’s cock slips out of his mouth.

For some fucked up reason that Wade would love to investigate one day, this is when Logan orgasms.

Fun fact: when Wolverine blows his load, his claws come out. Another fun fact: he can shoot far enough to reach his chin, and maybe even a little further than that.

Things rev up to regular speed from there, chaos dialling right back up to 11.

“Wade! For fuck’s sake, I can hear you leaving—don’t you dare walk away from me!”

“Don’t you dare walk away from meeeee!”

“Singing Whitney doesn’t answer my question about how the hell we’re fitting three people and a dog in here!”

“We’ve got a pull-out—haha, pull out—in the living room and an XL twin in the bedroom.”

“My bedroom, Wade!”

“Bub, are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Hey, if the fanfics can make it work, then we’ll make it work!”

“I cannot believe this shit. This dumbass never listens to me.”

“Jesus fuckin’ christ. Althea?”

“Yes, Logan?”

“Ya got any booze around?”

“I think there’s beer in the fridge.”

“Booze? Already? It’s not even—Al, what time is it?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Right, blind, can’t see the time.”

“If that wall clock’s right, it’s 3:14, bub.”

“It’s not even 4pm and you’re already drinking?!”

“If I have to put up with your hairless-brained bullshit, yes, I am.”

“I’d be more offended at that joke but I’m honestly impressed, pookie.”

“Seriously? For calling you bald?”

“His standards are in hell used as Satan’s spreader bar where he should’ve gone instead of rooming with me.”

“Hey!”

“Pfft!”

“Unbelievable, I can’t believe—oh, no! No no no no, Lady Leprosy With Legs, don’t nap in that! That’s where Daddy keeps his knives.”

“That’s what I’m trying to talk about, Wade! Where the hell is everyone supposed to sleep?”

“You and I can bunk together like we used to, Al. Logan can take the pull-out.”

“Oh, friggin’ hell—no. You and I will share that damn couch and Althea can keep her bed.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, sugar tits!”

“Now, what about the dog?”

“She’ll get a dog bed, duh.”

“What? D’ya just have a dog bed lying around somewhere?”

“I do, actually! But where did I put that thing?”

“Are you serious?”

“Convenient, huh! I found it in Al’s shit when we moved in together and decided to keep it. I’m guessing the author got too lazy trying to figure out a better way to include it in this fic.”

“...He just says shit sometimes. Don’t mind him, Logan.”

“I’m well aware. You’re a weirdo, bub.”

“Thank you! I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, if I remember right—SHIT!!!”

“What?!”

“The fuck’s happening?!”

“Ah, shit, fuck! There’s a rat!”

“A RAT?!”

“Althea, where did you get that gun—put it down!”

“POINT ME TO THE FUCKING RAT!”

“Al, put the fucking gun down!”

“GET RID OF THE RAT FIRST!”

“Arf!”

“Mary, don’t touch that thing!”

“Fuckin’ hell, bub, grab Mary while I—”

BANG!

“AL, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE—”

“Arf-arf! Rrrrruff!”

“WADE, GRAB THE GODDAMN DOG!”

“NO, GET THE FUCKING RAT FIRST!”

“Mary—!”

BANG!

“AH!!!”

“Althea!”

“Jack Kirby’s giant ballsack!”

“Did I get it?!”

“Fuck no! You hit me, you empty-eyed, shit-for-aim walking corpse!”

“Rrrrrrafff!”

“Logan, keep her from shooting this way!”

“Just let me aim for the fucking rat!”

“Althea, please just hand me—”

“Get your goddamn hands off my glock!”

“Then stop shooting!”

“Mary, wait—!”

BANG!

“Rrrrrragghhh!”

“Ho. ly. shit.”

“What the fuck happened? Did I get it? Is it dead?!”

“You’re such a good girl, yes, you are!”

“He better not be talking to me, I swear to god.”

“Little miss angel face here just caught our uninvited guest!”

“Grrrrrr.”

“Wade, get that thing out of her mouth before it catches rabies from her.”

“Wow, rude, she doesn’t have rabies! Also, I’m pretty sure it’s already dead. She’s got no teeth but a hell of a bite, don’t you, my lovely bundle of herpes and joy?”

“Just get the fucking thing out of here!”

“Ugh, fine, jeez louise—come here, girl. You did such a good job, yes you did! Thank you for killing that thing! Now, let’s go toss it out.”

“The dog caught the rat?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Well...I guess it can stay then.”

“Really? The dog’s already in your good graces?”

“You’re the one who tried grabbing my gun.”

“Because you were shooting everywhere!”

“And now you’re arguing with me!”

“...My apologies, ma’am. Won’t happen again.”

“Just keep your word and it’s alright.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alrighty! Time to go look for that bed again.”

“Anybody want a beer?”

“Can you grab me one, Logan?”

“You already finished that whole can?!”

“‘Course I did. All that shit gave me headache.”

“Welcome to a day in the life of Deadpool and Blind Al, peanut!”

“I did this to myself. I chose to come here. How the fuck did that happen?”

“I wonder the same damn thing all the time.”

“Your beer.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“I can’t believe it’s been less than five minutes and both of you are already ganging up on me!”

“S’not hard to.”

“My Wolvie is so mean! Aha, here it is! I knew I still had the old thing. Here you go, my fearless guard dog.”

“It was a rat, not an intruder, Wade.”

“She protected the house and killed that pest. She’s practically a guardian angel!”

“Eh, good enough for me.”

“See, Al gets it!”

“I still ain’t looking after that thing.”

“That’s fine. Logan and I will!”

“I did not sign up for that.”

“You did when you agreed to crash with me!”

“Is he always like this, Althea?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“Make yourself cozy, Logan, because it only gets better from here!”

“God help me.”

“God help us all.”