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Logan can tell when Deadpool is trying to rile him up; can tell when his barbs are extra sharp, trying to draw out the aggression of the Wolverine. Sometimes he cuts him off, redirects his restless, violent energy in other ways.
Sometimes, he lets the grave Wade digs get deeper and deeper.
Wade has been running his mouth for the better part of an hour, and they aren’t even on a mission; they’re just sitting around the apartment, the same as they usually do when off-mission, and Wade seems particularly antsy today. Normally, Logan doesn’t let Wade’s chatter bother him -it often soothes him to sleep, actually- but he’s been making off-color jokes about Scott and Jean and Rogue for the past hour and Logan has decided he’s had enough.
He stands up, stretches a bit, and makes like he’s going to step past Wade to get to the kitchen. Instead, he slams his full weight down on the mercenary, straddling him on the couch, both hands wrapping around that scarred throat and squeezing.
“You’re talking an awful lot today, Mouth, ” Logan growls in Wade’s ear, the edge of his teeth teasing the delicate shell of Wade’s ear. He considers biting it off, a little tease, but that’s not the mood he’s going for. “Think you need some quiet time.”
Wade’s mouth is still moving, even though no sound is coming out. His voice is choked off, reigned in by the clench of Logan’s fingers, and the mutant finds he likes this. The control to cut off the other man’s air, deny him his voice, holding it carefully between his two hands. Wade feels solid, under him, squirming a bit but his hands haven’t even come up to clutch at Logan’s. They’re neatly folded in his lap, accepting the restraint.
It does something to Logan.
He places one fist carefully against Wade’s chest, staring into his chocolate eyes intently, and begins to push his claws slowly out. There’s little resistance, because Wade isn’t in his suit, and the little choked gasp he gets from the man goes straight to his cock. Wade is trembling, a fine shiver against Logan that makes the mutant’s heart kick up a notch. The scent of Wade, burnt caramel and gunpowder, is thick in Logan’s nostrils, drifting into his skull and making his cock throb impatiently.
“You’ve been angling for this all day, haven’t you?” Logan murmurs, eyes half lidded, voice rougher than normal. His claws are going into Wade’s flesh centimeter by centimeter, precise as he directs them around ribs to pierce Wade’s left lung. He can tell when he’s successful because blood wells over Wade’s scarred lips, a terrible gurgle escaping him as he gasps, stuttered words losing all meaning beneath blood and pain.
“You like the sound of your own voice, I know, but you like the sound of mine more, don’t you?” Wolverine accuses, leaning close to lick the blood of Wade’s bottom lip. The action makes Wade buck, hips rolling, but Logan was expecting that and clamps his thighs down firmly. His hand is around Wade’s throat, his claws are piercing Wade’s insides, and his thighs are bars of iron holding the mercenary down.
He has complete control, and Wade is allowing it.
“You know you could just ask, if this is what you want,” Logan murmurs as he makes the wound Wade’s side bigger, deeper; it is healing, of course, but his claws are sharp enough to keep it open. Blood is oozing slowly down Wade’s side, staining the already-stained couch, and Logan ruts his hard cock against Wade’s slowly, a slow roll of his hips perfected over centuries.
“Is that what’s hard for you, hm? Asking ?” he growls, lips brushing Wade’s ear again, and this time he nips it hard enough to draw blood. This pulls a pained whine from Wade’s throat, a high pitched thing that shoots through Logan’s core and sets fire to his blood. “Maybe I should make you ask, the next time I get rough. Maybe I should put that filthy mouth to use telling me exactly how you want to be torn apart.”
Wade is squirming under him, trying to rut up against Logan, but the mutant pulls his hips away so Wade is only bucking into air. His chest is pinned down by Logan’s claws, his throat neatly bound by the iron of Logan’s fingers; he’s helpless, or at least, as helpless as someone basically immortal can be, and Logan is enjoying every second of this power Wade has given to him.
There’s trust in it. Logan never thought he would be trusted by someone else again.
Logan has to be fast, here, to accomplish what he wants; Wade’s healing factor is kicking into overdrive, faster with the rabbit-quick beat of his heart. He retracts his claws from the wound he’s made, quickly pushing his bare hand into the hole, following the wound to his goal. His hand wraps around the pierced lung, easy, delicate in his hands. With anyone else, this would be fatal, impossible to do more than once; with Wade, he can keep his gaze as he squeezes the lung through his fingers, organs turning to viscera as they lock eyes.
“You’re a marvel, you know?” Logan murmurs, wrist-deep inside of Wade. Like this, he feels softer, more open, holding Wade’s life in his hands. He’s settled here, in a way he can’t be anywhere else, with the security that he can’t really hurt Wade. “A perfect playmate for me, especially in the silence. I should do this more often, shouldn’t I?”
Wade is nodding frantically, his eyes wide and starstruck as he looks up at Logan, and the mutant sinks back down, rolls his hips again. Wade lets out a choked moan that’s mostly blood bubbling up from his lips, and Logan lets out a breathy sigh at the sight. He leans down, takes Wade’s mouth in a kiss, licking out the gurgling blood. The taste sets urgency up his spine, copper and iron and Wade, a growl rising up in Logan’s chest.
His fingers are kneading Wade’s lung like a kitten, blood and viscera coating his digits as Wade’s healing factor attempts to pull the lung back together and, when that proves futile, begins to regrow a new lung. Wade’s whimpers and whines are muffled, as if heard through a closed door, and Logan revels in each one.
He takes the hand wrapped around Wade’s throat and uses it to undo the buckle of his jeans, and then Wade’s; takes them both in hand after swirling his fingers through Wade’s dark blood, and sets a frantic pace. He is burning up, feels as though his blood has turned to gasoline and Wade is the match. His hips are rolling, and if he had the wherewithal he might consider taking Wade for a ride, but he’s too frantic. Too hot, boiling up, heat curled around his gut, in his mouth, where he’s touching Wade’s innards.
It’s all too much, too hot, too good.
The sensation of Wade’s scars had always felt particularly good to Logan, but feeling them on his cock while he’s nearly elbow-deep is electrifying, sparks running up and down his spine. The feeling of his hand brushing against ribs, against other organs, against Wade’s heart is doing something to him, changing his brain chemistry in a way he knows will only lead to problems later. Logan can’t quite stop himself though, hips rocking with surety as he licks the blood out of Wade’s mouth.
“Fuck, ” Logan groans, lips shiny and slick with Wade’s blood and spit, eyes black with lust. “It’s like you were made for me. You keep talking about authors and shit, maybe you were. ”
Wade jolts at that, his cock sliding against Logan’s sinfully, and his hands are suddenly gripping the mutant’s waist, digging in painfully. He’s making that breathy little noise that means he’s about to come, only it’s split with gurgles and wheezes and blood as his body attempts to regrow a new lung with Logan’s hand in his chest. The fire spreading around Logan’s blood burns brighter, hotter, and he’s biting down through Wade’s bottom lip, tearing it off with a vicious growl.
It’s the taste that does it; Wade’s flesh, so uniquely flavored, different from any other meat he’s ever had. Logan thinks maybe it’s the fact that Wade’s power is derived from his own, and taking little bites of him like this feels like coming home. Comfort, derangement, reclaiming himself one piece at a time; whatever the feeling of euphoria rushing through him is caused by, he cannot help how it sends a thrill up and down his spine.
He clenches his fist tightly as he comes, pleasure like a punch to the gut as it wraps around his middle and makes him growl like the engine of a classic car. Logan shudders through it, his mind blanking out for a moment as the euphoria overwhelms him. His ears ring, his vision goes blurry, and when he comes back it’s to the wheezing voice of his lover.
“Good God Above, that was so fucking hot,” Wade gasps, his grating voice even higher than normal as he attempts to speak with one lung. Logan’s hand is still clenched around the ruined one, the flesh of Wade’s chest attempting to heal around his wrist, and so he pulls it out. His hand is covered in blood and viscera; he tilts his head as he examines it, and then begins laving his tongue over it to clean the blood. “Holyfuckingshit, nevermind, that’s way hotter. Do you like the way I taste, babygirl? What’s it like? Gamey?”
Logan huffs a soft laugh, his eyes heavy lidded as he keeps Wade’s gaze. He continues to lick his own hand clean, maintaining eyecontact with his lover the whole time. Wade’s incessant babbling washes over him as he does; it’s almost like rain noise to him, with how relaxed and sleepy the dialogue makes him, and he settles firmer over Wade, letting his muscles loosen.
“You know, sensual cannibalism hasn’t ever been my thing -I do it for shockvalue, sometimes- but for you, pookie? I can change. I can develop new kinks, especially since this is a third rate fanfic written by a Hazbin enjoyer,” Wade says, and Logan isn’t really paying attention because, after his hand is (mostly) clean, he settles into Wade’s lap and pushes his nose into the crook of the mercenary’s neck.
“Oh, you are cuddly after your longpig snack. Do you just like it raw, or are you open to cooking it? OH, what if we did that japanese thing, what’s it called? N something? Where I get to be naked, and you get to eat little bits off me like a yakuza member!”
Wade keeps talking, but it washes over Logan, a bizarrely comforting background noise that makes him want to curl up and nap. So he does, and Wade is stuck under him, bloody with cooling spend on his shirt.
It’s an
excellent
nap.