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When Wade wakes up on his side of the ratty pull-out, the first thing he feels is the dull ache behind his eyes. He keeps them closed in hope of falling back asleep, but it’s no use. The tiny man in his skull keeps hammering tirelessly at the bone, trying to break free from his forehead.
“Oh, fuck off,” Wade groans. The rest of his body feels hollow, like he’s just skin and nerves, and when he tries to move his legs to stand pain jolts through his lower back. For a minute he wonders how long it would take for his spinal cord to grow back if he tore it out.
He can already hear Al and Logan in the kitchen feeding Mary Puppins hushed praises and- is that cinnamon raisin toast he smells? Getting out of bed might be worth it.
He fumbles around under his pillow until he feels the cool metal of his dab pen, bringing it to his lips eagerly. It’s sweet and artificial, and the vapour pours out from his mouth in a haze above the bed. Glitter Bomb fucks hard.
“Wade’s up,” he distantly hears Logan tell Al.
Wade takes another hit, longer this time. It tastes like candy. He pulls on the cart until he physically can’t and the light on the pen flashes red, and it all comes tumbling back out with a forceful cough. His lungs rattle as they expel the air, and Wade’s suddenly aware of Logan leaning over the back of the couch to watch him.
“Take a picture,” Wade tries to croak, and Logan just hits him with a raised eyebrow. Wade groans again. He can hear the vine boom echo in his head like it has its own tween Discord mod with a soundboard. Maybe him and that hammer dude will get along.
His head still hurts like a bitch, but his body doesn’t feel like one big bruise anymore. It’s more like his organs are wrapped in barbed wire and they’ll pop like water balloons if he even breathes wrong. It’s a rude reminder of the friends-with-benefits thing he has going with death, as if he'd forget a lover like that. Motherfucker’s been edging him for years.
“You sick or somethin’, bub?” Logan asks. His voice is soft, and Wade wants to curl up in it. “Can you even get sick?”
“Nah,” Wade says, sighing. His head feels light and his limbs seem to be melting into the mattress. “Flare up. Healing’s not up to speed with the cancer today.”
Logan nods like he understands, but his eyes widen just enough to tell Wade that the old man’s out of his depth. He’d told Logan about the pain early on, but this is easily one of the worst days he’s had since Logan moved in over a month ago. At least he doesn’t have to staple a wig to his head and go sell cars now.
“I’ll be up soon so you can have the couch back,” Wade says to the ceiling. He turns his head back to Logan when he hears him scoff.
“I’m not gonna make you get up, dumbass.” Logan runs a hand down the side of his face. “There’s breakfast, wait here.”
“Fuck! I’m on at Cirque du Soleil in five,” Wade nearly shouts, and he gets a growly ‘shut up!’ from the kitchen. He picks at a loose thread in the comforter. It’s not like he’s helpless. Wade’s pretty sure Deadpool can canonically sustain physical exertion for a week straight because of the whole mutation thing, but fuck, the comedown is exhausting. Spending it rotting in bed had become a habit.
When Logan returns, it’s with a plate of toast and a glass of juice that Wade eyes hungrily. “Peanut,” he says in awe, “we didn’t buy any juice.”
“No, we bought oranges.” Logan sets the dishes down on a little table, then reaches across Wade to grab the pillow from the other side of the bed. Wade knows then and there he is god’s strongest soldier because he bravely resists the temptation to smack Logan’s pajamaed ass as he bends over. It has nothing to do with the fact that his arms still feel a bit jellowy and he thinks he might be a part of the shitty mattress now. Glitter Bomb fucks hard, guys.
“You juiced the oranges? For little ol’ me?” Wade starts, and Logan slides his arm under Wade’s shoulders to help him sit up. He puts the pillow on top of the other and Wade manages to scooch back and lean on them. “If I was a mattress, would you sleep on me?”
Logan tilts his head like Wade just said the Earth is round. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He drops the plate of toast in Wade’s lap, and Wade was right, it is cinnamon raisin.
“A bit of everything,” Wade says through a mouthful of toast. He watches Logan walk toward the TV and groans when the man squats down to pick out a DVD from the cabinet beneath it. “You’re killing me here, J-Log.”
Wade takes a sip of juice from the side table and sets it back down when Logan sits against the back of the couch next to him. It makes him smile, seeing Logan cross one leg over the other and noticing how much longer his own are stretched out on the bed. Such a cute peanut.
“What movie is this?” he asks, taking another hit of his pen. The production company intros aren’t helping him narrow it down much, and Wade honestly has no idea what his and Al’s stash looks like. It’s always been a mess of way overdue Blockbuster and thrift store finds. “Damn, Blockbuster? Really aging yourself.”
Logan doesn’t bother with his antics, only snatches the dab pen and takes a hit himself. “Armageddon,” he answers, “and this shit’s gross.” Then, because he’s a show-off, Logan blows a few smoke rings at him.
“That shouldn’t be hot,” Wade feigns annoyance and gets the tiniest smirk in return. He’s turning the other way to grab his juice when he feels a sharp pressure in the back of his head. The pain runs down his neck into his left shoulder and he freezes with a wince.
“What’s wrong?” Logan’s hands are already on him when he asks, guiding Wade back into the pillows.
“Logan,” Wade says, dead serious. “I think I might have cancer.”
Logan doesn’t bat an eye. “Fuck off, you know what I mean.” He’s moved all the way over to sit directly beside Wade now. He takes the cup of juice off the table and brings it to Wade’s mouth, using his other hand to gently hold his chin. “Drink.”
Wade lets the hand tilt his head back slowly as he swallows, and Logan keeps his gaze fixed on where the glass meets his lips. No eye contact, then. Damn.
“Holy shit, I forgot how this movie starts,” Wade says once the glass is empty. The opening credits roll and the camera pans over 1998 New York, and he slaps Logan’s arm. “It’s- LOOK! It’s the fucking Twin Towers! I never forgot you, Mary-Kate and Ashley.”
Logan misses it. He’s still looking at Wade, eying him with an almost angry, mostly confused sort of look. He takes the glass and walks out of the living room, and Wade’s left to watch asteroid bits blow up the city alone.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Penjamin Danklin,” he says to the cart. A few more blinkers and Wade is made of candle wax the way he softens and melts onto the cushions.
“I’m taking Miss Mary to the park,” Al announces sometime later, and Wade can’t tell how long he’s been sleeping. He’s cold despite the blanket and he shivers slightly. The lights are off in the apartment, but the windows bathe the room in a hazy light and Wade’s starting to think he might still be asleep.
“Bye, Al,” Logan calls from the kitchen, and Wade hums his acknowledgement. The slight drag of Al’s slippers are accompanied by Mary Puppins’ bouncy trot on the hardwood, and within a few minutes they're both out the door.
The oil-drillers just started learning how to be astronauts, or at least Wade thinks that’s what’s happening on screen. His eyes are real heavy. He keeps them open just long enough to see a familiar blond make an appearance in a NASA spacesuit.
“Didn’t know Mobius was in this one,” Wade mumbles, and his eyes crash shut.
When Wade feels Logan’s weight shift the bed, they’re at a different part of the movie. “Fuck, I fell asleep again,” he whines.
“Yup. Here.” Logan hands him… a sock? At least it was one, but now it’s stuffed full of something and sewn together at the end.
“Um. Thanks, big guy.” Wade takes it in his hands. It’s warm. “Is this that thing that cats do? You know, when they kill birds and bring the bodies to their owners? Look at you, being creative. You brought papa some dead laundry.”
“Will you shut up?” Logan looks like he wants to smack him upside the head. It’s fucking hot.
“Oh, you horny bitch,” Wade says to no one in particular, and Logan’s not impressed.
“It’s for your neck, dumbass. Just let me, okay?” Logan takes the sock back and tucks it behind Wade’s neck, and warmth seeps into his muscles, his shoulders. He’s kind of melty again, and when he sinks into it, Wade hears the contents of the sock move around.
“What’s in it?”
“Rice.”
“Oh.” The pseudo-astronauts on TV manage to drill into the asteroid that’s racing toward Earth. They did it, they’re going to blow it up and save the world. Wade never thought he’d know what that feels like. “You made it,” he says.
“Yeah, so what? You didn’t have a heat pad or hot water bottle.”
Wade studies him; the worn lines in his face, between his brows and by his eyelashes. He thinks about how much 200-year-old eyes could have seen. So what. So that’s the fucking sweetest thing anyone’s done for him in a long, long time, and there’s only a few inches between them but he knows even that is infinitely too far. “I get it, you’re trying to bribe me. What do you want, peanut? You need some money? New clothes? A blowjob?”
“Quiet,” Logan flicks him in the forehead and turns to the TV, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would it be so bad if I just wanted to take care of you?” A moment passes and Logan doesn’t look back at him.
“Guess not,” Wade says, and he tries to focus on the movie. The astronauts are drawing straws now, but he can’t remember what for. “What’s happening?”
“Someone has to stay behind to detonate the bomb,” Logan tells him, and Wade glances over at him just fast enough to catch his jaw clench.
The youngest guy draws the shortest straw, go figure. Him and the team’s leader head down to the asteroid’s surface, and Wade knows he’s seen this movie before but he’s also lived this shit. They both have. Certain death for only a chance at saving the world?
“That’s rough, buddy,” Wade whispers. He grabs Logan’s hand and squeezes so tight that letting go isn’t an option.
The young guy’s crying now, and he’s trying to hold it together while he steps out of the ship. ‘Do me a favour, will ya? Just tell Grace that, uh. That I’ll always be with her, okay? Can you do that?’ he asks the other man, and his shaky voice fills their living room. Oh, fuck, now Wade’s going to cry. Talk about déjà vu.
‘Yeah. Okay, kid,’ says the captain, and suddenly he’s grabbing the oxygen tank off the guy’s spacesuit and yanking him back into the ship. They swap places, he slams his hand on the airlock, and it’s done. Noble sacrifice: Spock-style, Deadpool-style. All the cool guys did it, now it’s Bruce Willis’ turn. The young man bangs his fists against the glass as he sobs, and that’s when Wade notices the hand he’s holding is squeezing back.
Logan’s watching him when Wade looks over. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself in that position,” he says, and his tone is firm but honest. “If I wasn’t able to get in that room with you—”
“Everyone would have been wiped from existence. Wouldn’t even be here to worry, honey-buns.”
“I mean it, Wade.” Logan stares at their hands in his lap, fingers intertwined, and he runs his thumb across the scarred divots of Wade’s skin. “If you died and I lived, again,” his voice wavers, and Logan growls in frustration as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, eyes teary. “I know I wouldn’t be able to do it. To see your family and have to tell them that this is what they get instead of you.”
“You don’t have to do it,” Wade says, and he pulls Logan’s hand over into his lap so he can cradle it with both of his own. Logan’s hands are bigger, but Wade’s fingers are long and slender, curling around Logan’s like they belong there.
“Yeah.” Logan takes a shuddering breath and moves closer to him, resting his head on Wade’s shoulder. The weight is comforting and Wade leans into it.
“It’d be pretty shit for me, too,” he says, and Logan huffs a laugh.
“Oh, sure. The guy in the movie gets to live ‘cause he’s got a girl back home. So did you. An’ I can name at least eight other people who you’ve got to live for, too. I told you then and I’ll tell you now—I got no one.”
They watch in silence as the asteroid explodes in a shimmering white light, stretching across the backdrop of stars in a shape Wade can’t geometrically define.
“You got me, peanut.” Logan’s head shifts to look up at him, and Wade thinks the words might spill across the sheets if he lets them fall out of his mouth any faster. “You had me the second you booped my forehead in that shitty bar. Then again when you leaned into my gun, and fuck, that was insane, by the way. You had me in the TVA, the void, New York,” he waves his hand around the apartment. “And I know I had you in that fucking Honda, you bitch, don’t even try to deny it. It would be worse than ‘shit’ if I let you walk in there and die, ‘cause I would’ve failed. I’d have only saved nine-tenths of my world. Mathematically, 90% is probably alright, but I’m an all or nothing kind of guy and math is not something I have a lot of faith in—”
Then Logan’s kissing him, wrapping an arm around Wade’s shoulder, using his other hand to stroke Wade’s cheek. His lips slide across Wade’s, drinking his air until it feels like Wade’s heart is leaping around his ribcage, barbed wire be damned.
Wade tries to lean in closer, wants to become him, but the angle’s all wrong and his neck is already straining. He groans, placing a hand on Logan’s chest—holyfuckingshit Wolverine tits—and pushing them apart. “My neck,” is all Wade has to say, and Logan’s already pulling back covers to reposition himself.
Logan throws a hand to the back of the couch, holding on as he moves to straddle Wade. “This okay?” Logan asks, and it is definitely more than okay. At some point during the movie he’d taken off those slutty pajama pants and is now in Wade’s lap with only briefs and a tank top.
Wade just kisses him. His hands slide up Logan’s bare thighs, almost making it to his waist before realizing the muscles are tense beneath his fingers. He breaks away from the kiss long enough to say “Just sit, don’t worry about me.”
So he does.
Logan’s heavy and Wade feels overwhelmingly real. He doesn’t believe in fate, but there must have been some divine intervention weaving their paths together because there’s no way this isn’t exactly how it’s supposed to be. He presses closer still.
Logan cups the back of Wade’s head with the hand that’s not gripping the couch. He’s making these small, pretty sounds in the back of his throat and Wade wants to devour them, taste them on his tongue and trade them for his own.
They break apart, gasping for air, and Wade just admires. He admires the rise and fall of Logan’s chest as he catches his breath, the way his whole body is haloed in light from the screen behind him. Wade barely registers the final wedding scene. He can hear the opening chords of that fucking Aerosmith song, though, crooning from the TV while the credits play. Every person alive the summer that movie came out knows it forwards and backwards, and Wade’s no exception. He hums along with the first verse, slipping his hands under the hem of Logan’s top. Logan crosses his arms and helps to take it off completely.
“Oh, you’re gorgeous,” Wade whispers. “-in this sweet surrender, I could stay lost in this moment forever,” he sings under his breath. He runs his hands across Logan’s chest, through soft curls, out to broad shoulders.
“Wade,” Logan says after helping him out of his t-shirt. He’s searching Wade’s eyes for something specific, something Wade hopes is there for him to find.
“Yeah, peanut?”
“Thank you.” Logan’s voice is low and his mouth is turning up in a smile. Wade reaches out and traces the seam of his lips with his finger. Logan snorts. “You’re fuckin’ stupid,” he says, and it’s sweet.
“You’re with stupid,” Wade points out, and he pokes one of Logan’s titties.
Logan takes Wade’s hand back up to his mouth and slowly licks up the side of his finger. Full eye contact.
“Oh my fuck,” Wade gasps dramatically. He straightens his middle finger and lets Logan take both digits into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as his lips slide past the first knuckle. Wade tentatively pushes down on the man's tongue and almost short-circuits when Logan moans around his fingers. He’s about to pinch himself and wake up from this insanely detailed wet dream when Logan takes the fingers deeper and rolls his hips into Wade’s. They’re both so hard and the friction is damn near heavenly. Wade sighs into it, using his free hand to grab Logan’s ass. Nevermind, that’s real.
“I just wanna stay with you, in this moment forever,” Wade sings, doing his best Steven Tyler vocal fry, “foreva and evaaa!”
Logan laughs, an actual, full-chested laugh, and Wade’s fingers swipe saliva across his bottom lip as they slip out of his mouth.
“I don’t wanna close my eyes,” Wade continues, and Logan’s beaming.
He leans forward to kiss Wade again, a wet peck on his lips that Wade tries to keep singing through. Another kiss to his jaw.
“’Cause I’d miss you baby,” Wade holds Logan’s face in his hands as he plants a few more down the side of Wade’s neck. He tries to finish the refrain but gasps when Logan sticks his fucking tongue in his ear.
“This isn’t karaoke,” he teases, and his tone makes Wade shiver. “I’m tryin’ to fuck you.”
“Stop, that tickles!” Wade giggles and Logan just hums as he licks the skin behind his ear. “I knew you’d be a fucking brat,” he squeaks. Logan bites him for it, and he stutters a moan as his hips roll upward to meet Logan’s.
“Yeah, and I knew you’d be into that shit,” he says, biting so hard now Wade’s certain Logan’s teeth are individually rearranging his muscle fibres.
“Wish I could fuck you right now, put you in your place,” Wade sighs. He doesn’t have half the energy he needs for what he wants to do to this man.
Logan hums again. “Maybe tomorrow,” he says, and then he’s leaning back with wicked grin.
“Peanut?”
Logan doesn't answer. He lifts himself off of Wade’s lap and moves down the bed, settling in between his legs. Logan places a kiss on the top of each thigh, then on Wade’s stomach above the waistline of his shorts, tucking his fingers under the elastic.
“Can I?” He looks up at Wade with wide, sparkling eyes and Wade doesn’t think he’s ever said ‘yes’ so fast in his life.
Wade combs his fingers through Logan’s hair, grabbing a handful. It’s soft, slightly longer than it was in the movie. It’s giving X-Men: Days of Future Past, and fuck, it's sexy. He tugs on it slightly when his shorts are pulled down, the air cool on his skin.
Logan moans quietly, his eyes roll back, and before Wade can process it, his tongue is lapping at Wade’s leaking cock. He makes a show of licking a stripe up it’s length and Wade throws his head back with a groan.
He’s so achingly hard that when Logan closes his lips around him, Wade can’t help the slight jerk of his hips forcing the other man to take him deeper. He does it beautifully, though, leaning on his forearms bracketing Wade’s thighs, his lips shining with spit.
“Fuck,” Wade gasps as Logan’s eyes screw shut and his mouth takes all of him, sliding down until his nose hits Wade’s pelvis. “You’re so good, baby,” he says, and Logan sucks hard. “You’re so fucking good, Logan, the fucking best, oh my god.” Wade watches as Logan bobs his head, catches light glinting on unshed tears and thrusts his hips into the tight heat of Logan’s throat.
The man sputters, pulling off for a moment to catch his breath, and Wade keeps stroking his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, sorry—you okay?” he asks, and Logan nods. He’s still panting, but he leans down to suck him off again and Wade groans loudly. He grabs onto Logan’s shoulder with his other hand, scraping fingernails down his skin. “You just wanna be crying on my cock again, you needy bitch.”
Wade’s honestly surprised he doesn’t get his dick chewed off. Something flashes in Logan’s eyes at the taunt, though, something that tells Wade he’s not getting off easy for it. He feels fingers brush past his balls, then Logan’s rubbing his perineum in time with the way he’s sliding up and down Wade’s cock.
“Motherfucker,” he chokes out, and he pulls Logan’s hair again. The man groans, his tongue pressing up against the bottom side of Wade’s cock, and Wade’s distantly aware of the hand Logan has down his underwear. He guides Logan’s head in a steady rhythm as his pleasure mounts and he’s so close, “So fucking close,” he warns. He barely recognizes his own voice, but what he hears is airy and rough, heavy with desire, and he moans again when Logan hollows his cheeks. “That’s it, take it. That’s my good girl,” and it’s all downhill from there.
Logan groans deep in the back of his throat and Wade’s sure it counts as purring, which he’s going to have to add to his apparently growing list of kinks because wow. The slight vibration throws Wade over the edge and he cums with a shout, nails scratching at Logan’s scalp as he pushes deep into the man’s mouth. He watches with wide eyes as Logan nearly swallows it all but pulls off a moment too early, then cum’s smearing his lips and dripping down his chin and it’s fucking obscene.
“Holy shit, you’re nasty,” Wade mutters as he tries to breathe properly again.
Logan shakes his head with a smile and rests his head on Wade’s hip with a sigh.
Wade ruffles his hair. He starts drawing shapes on Logan’s back with the other hand, dragging his fingers over the softened muscles. The movie’s officially over and there’s a blissful silence in the apartment, in Wade’s head. He’s halfway through a portrait of Mary Puppins when Logan starts to get up.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, and leans down to peck Wade on the lips before he walks toward the bathroom.
Wade feels a little boneless. He lets Logan feed him food and water, but he can’t even tell what it is he’s eating. He’s so tired.
“You can sleep,” Logan says, and Wade must have said it aloud. Logan snorts as he helps him lie down. “Yeah, bub.” Dang it.
“C’mere?” Wade murmurs, and Logan’s lying on the pull-out next to him within seconds. His arms are solid, grounding, and Wade can’t help but feel giddy at the thought of being protected. A man can dabble in damselry. He presses against Logan’s chest, and he’s warm. So warm.
The last thing Wade remembers before he falls asleep is the brush of lips against his forehead.