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It had started with a joke, Wade running his mouth too fast for his brains to keep up, like so many times before.
The job had been easy enough and Wade losing his right hand wouldn’t have been a big deal at all had he not fooled around with it on the way back home instead of instantly reattaching it. And then he’d gone ahead and lost it in fucking traffic. Clown that he was, he of course had to wave it around in front of Logan’s face while skipping backwards — in broad daylight, no less, fucking lunatic — until he stumbled. Logan had been quick enough to grab him by the upper arm and prevent worse, but he hadn’t been able save Wade’s hand from flying onto the road and getting run over by a passing truck before either of them could get to it. The poor driver had looked terrified.
So now Logan has to deal with a whiny, devastated Deadpool mourning the loss of his beloved “Righty the Fifth”. Because of-fucking-couse he’d named his hand. Idiot.
But Logan’s come to like that idiot. Stands his rambling, even thinks it’s funny, charming at times — but kill him if Wade ever finds out that’s how he feels about it. Wade’s an immature prick, but he can be surprisingly sincere and serious when it counts. Gave Logan a second chance when nobody else did and he’d long since given up on himself. Is even trying to hep him stay sober now, or at the very least drink less, as annoying as that can be at times.
So Logan only tells him to shut up twice as they stumble home and up the crooked stairs to their apartment, and merely rolls his eyes when Wade tries and fails miserably to get the key in the lock. Logan is 99% sure it’s on purpose. 1% Wade’s much worse with keys than he is with katanas.
Grumbling a little, he shoulders past Wade, grabbing the key from his fingers to unlock the door himself.
“After you, princess,” he mocks, holding the door open for the other man to step through.
“Aw, thanks, Lo!”
Logan gets his boots off and is ready to race Wade to the bathroom and call dibs on the shower, just to be ornery, but Wade’s still stuck in his own shoes, seemingly unable to get out of them.
“Motherfucker!” he curses, and Logan can’t help his lips twitching as he watches him struggle.
“Should I take you back to kindergarten, bub? Usually they teach you how to get into your shoes and tie them, but maybe they’ll make an exception for you and help you get out of them instead.”
Wade regards him with a slightly annoyed expression.
“You try getting out of these cursed things one handed,” he bitches, “if you think you’re so much better, why don’t you show me how it’s done?”
Though amusing, it’s almost painful to observe, and after about a minute more of Wade futilely trying to get open his blood-crusted zippers, Logan takes pity on him. With a heavy sigh he kneels down in front of Wade.
“Alright, princess, that’s enough. Hand off. Let me do it.”
Wade looks a bit stunned, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he watches Logan undo his boots with a growing sparkle in his eyes, lifting one foot after the other to assist him in taking them off.
“Fuck, Wolvie, you look so hot down on your knees for me. Wanna suck my dick while you’re at it?” Wade teases, then keeps going, and Logan very stoically ignores Wade’s comments as he puts his boots to the side to be de-crusted at a later time. When he looks back up at Wade, the man is actually swooning a bit. It brings a sharp and vicious satisfaction to Logan’s chest, knowing he’s having such an effect on Wade. That he’s got power over him in that way. He grins up at him, victorious, and can hear the little click as Wade swallows.
“No joke, peanut, you look so good like this, taking my shoes off for me. I hope you are aware that I expect this treatment every time we get inside, now. No exceptions.”
“What, you want me to help you out of your shoes like a little damsel?” Logan asks, his brows raised in amusement as he accepts Wade’s hand pulling him back to his feet. Fuck, he always forgets about how strong the other actually is.
“Yeah. Promise me?”
Logan shakes his head with a little chuckle, assuming Wade will have forgotten about it the next day already, anyway. “Sure, princess.” Fucking hell.
And that should have been it. Only it wasn’t.
It’s the next day and they've just returned from their afternoon walk with Mary Puppins. Logan has already kicked off his boots, hung up his jacket and is about to return to the living room, his lukewarm beer and the same old news when Wade quips behind him: "Aren't you forgetting something, peanut?”
Logan turns back around, honest confusion written all over his face.
“What do you mean?”
His jacket is up on the hook, shoes tucked semi-neatly to the side, the key’s back in the lock from the inside. What isn’t he remembering?
Wade puts his hands on his hips and regards him with a little pout.
“Seriously? Forgetting your promise already, failing on the first day? I'm disappointed in you.”
Logan rolls his eyes at him, finally getting what Wade’s referring to and ignoring the little sting at his expressed disappointment.
“Come on, Wade. That was a fucking joke. You can’t honestly expect me to take off your shoes when you’re perfectly capable.”
“Humor me?” Wade pleads, attempting and failing to make puppy eyes at him and instead ending up looking like a total idiot. Well, nothing new there.
Logan turns back to the living room, shaking his head with a little amused huff. Fucking ridiculous.
“Do it yourself, Wade. You’re a grown ass man.”
“But you promised!” Wade argues, pout still in his voice, and Logan doesn’t need to see his face to know the expression he’s making. “Do I truly mean that little to you, Logan?”
That’s what stops him dead in his tracks.
It is ridiculous. But he did promise Wade.
Fuck it.
“Fine.”
Then Logan is back on his knees, silently working open the zippers of Wade’s boots and helping him out of them. Grumbles a little as Wade thanks and praises him for it. Feels nice, if he’s being honest with himself. And he’s too old not to be.
Pondering it a little while later, stretched out on the couch, Logan is more amused by it than anything else. Settles on playing along, still convinced Wade is going forget about this silly little thing sooner rather than later.
Wade doesn’t.
After a while of Wade keeping on remembering, it becomes a habit. Whenever they get home together, Logan will kneel down in front of Wade and open his shoes for him, take them off his feet one after the other and put them to the side. He doesn’t even have to be asked to do it anymore, just does it the moment they’re past the threshold. It stops feeling ridiculous around the end of the second and start of the third week, when it quits being a long-running joke and starts becoming something they just do. Wade always praises him for it, and it makes Logan feel all warm inside, like a tiny sun’s being lit in the center of his chest. He feels useful. Appreciated.
A month in and Logan gets up to do his duty whenever Wade steps through the door, even if they weren't out together. Wade's home, so he needs his shoes taken off.
Logan finds he quite likes doing this little act of service for Wade, a ritual that makes him feel at home and like he belongs.
This little habit, however, is the snowball that sets the avalanche rolling.
The mocking way Logan calls Wade 'princess' morphs into more of an endearment every passing day. He starts holding doors for him, perfectly chivalrous, even when it isn’t necessary. Opens the door and holds out his hand to help him out of the car whenever they take an Uber together, or Dopinder drops them off somewhere.
Just to fuck with Wade, at first. Just another joke in line with everything else. But jokes get told, laughed about, then fizzle out. They get old.
This doesn’t get old.
Logan doesn’t stop, and Wade doesn’t laugh. Only smiles at him sweetly. To Logan, it is obvious that Wade is enjoying the whole thing, and claiming he isn’t getting something out of it as well would be a blatant lie. So he keeps going.
There’s another thing they establish: Logan always makes the bed. He’s kind of a slob, even more so than Wade, but he will always, always make the bed. Or, well, the couch.
Wade makes fun of him for it at first. But then the whole shoe-thing happens, and the door-thing, and maybe Wade noticed how much Logan liked his praise, because he starts fucking inspecting and praising him on how well he does it. Uncertain and sceptic about Wade’s motives, Logan starts making little mistakes to see if he will notice. After all, maybe Wade is just having a laugh at his expense — Logan’s not dense, but there’s enough of Wade’s quips and mannerisms he doesn’t really get. But Wade’s really looking, commenting on the details, and after a while Logan decides that he is actually being sincere in his praise. Just letting Logan know that he did a good job. And while Logan doesn’t know why he does it or why it matters to him — why it should matter at all — he gives his best to always get that sweet praise. It is so easily earned, and he doesn't deserve praise, he's not a good man, but he can make a bed very well.
Eventually, Wade gets bolder. Starts telling Logan what to do, every now and then. Only ever when they are at home or out of earshot of possible witnesses. A “go get me a drink” here, a “take Mary out on her walk” there. Little commands that Logan would laugh at coming from anyone else. Would have laughed at coming from Wade just weeks ago. Now, when Wade says it in that very specific tone, Logan will listen. Won't tell him no, even if his requests get a bit silly at times.
“Get me a little snack, pup, and give it a face.”
Wade gets his snack, and he gets it with a face.
Wade never asks anything of Logan that he really wouldn’t do, and never expects his obedience when it isn't about something... if it isn't play. That's the only way Logan knows how to categorize it. They are playing, and he really likes the game.
Feels half like a joke, only the punchline is missing, neither of them making fun of the other for their actions. Just going with the flow. And can it really be a joke when neither of them treats it as one?
It becomes a whole dynamic. They’re grown, dysfunctional men living in a tiny one-bedroom-apartment with a mean, blind old woman and a cancerous, immortal little dog, so of course they don’t talk about it. After all, why would they? But even without them properly communicating it is becoming more obvious by the day that what they are doing is practicing non-sexual kink. Neither of them ever utters the words ‘Dom/sub relationship’, there is no negotiation, no discussion of boundaries, no safeword. It is all very unsafe and insane, but it is consensual so long as neither of them stabs the other, and that hasn’t happened since Althea made them sleep out on the street for ruining her carpet. And that had been a consensual fight, anyway. Just wanting to blow off some steam.
So maybe they do have a safeword, and it’s a wicked blade in the back. Somehow, it works out for them.
Althea scoffs at them for it, because of course she notices — hard to miss when you’re living together — shakes her head and makes snide sarcastic side comments to Mary Puppins about it. Logan doesn’t care. In a way, he thinks, it’s sweet. By now, he has lived with her for long enough to understand it is her way of showcasing affection.
To Logan, there is a bone deep satisfaction in being good for someone else. They’d dubbed him the Worst Wolverine, but not Wade. No, Wade had said he was the Best, capital-B-best. It doesn’t feel right, Logan knows it is not true, not with how much innocent blood he’s spilled. Still.
He wants to remain good for Wade.
Blind Al, next to him on the couch, patting his knee.
“Logan, sweetheart, you know I'm not actually bothered by you being sweet to Wade, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Logan agrees, “I do.”
Logan calls Wade ‘Princess’ the same way some men call others ‘Sir’.
It is after a few weeks of this of this that Vanessa moves into a new apartment and throws a little housewarming party that many of their mutual friends attend. There’s a few unknown faces as well, but Logan doesn’t much care for them. All in all, it is a nice get together. Good food, decent music, friendly faces.
For the first time since Wade started all of this, Logan doesn’t help him out of his shoes. There’s too many people around, too many eyes, too many opinions.
It's one thing to do it jokingly, once or twice, another thing entirely to do this sincerely, because he wants to. Because he wants to be good. Likes being good for Wade. It feels much more vulnerable. As soon as it stopped being a joke, their whole thing became much more personal, much more sacred. They haven’t spoken about it, did not define what this is exactly, but it is theirs. And Logan is a private guy. He doesn’t need the world to see.
Wade waits just a tact before he undoes his boots himself, and Logan hates how disappointed he looks for a moment, before the smiling mask comes back on. It makes his skin crawl.
As soon as they get home, everything is back to normal again, Logan down on his knees for Wade as if nothing happened.
“What was that back at Vanessa’s, huh, peanut?”
“What do you mean?” Logan asks, knowing perfectly well what Wade is referring to. Wade’s tone is mocking, light, as he goes on to say: “You abandoned your duty, Logan. Let me do all the work myself when it would have been your job to take off my shoes.”
There’s a little pause where neither of them moves, where it feels like they are both holding their breath, before Wade half-jokes: “I should punish you for it.”
The audacity of the man.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Wade.”
Logan hides his grin as he gets up off the floor, decision made, and dusts off his pants. He leaves for the kitchen, Wade trailing close behind him, then spins around to face the other man. Poker face on again, he looks Wade dead in the eyes and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Wade freezes.
“What are you doing?”
Logan raises his brows at him as he loses his flannel and undershirt. He pulls out his belt and offers it to Wade, who is gaping at him with his mouth open and is too stunned and flustered by the action to do anything else but stare at the offering.
“Thought you wanted to punish me,” Logan needles, a sneer on his lips. Wade is still looking like a fish fresh out of water, fucking hilarious. “So you really are all talk, huh?”
Wade, beet red and defiant, finally grabs the thick coil of leather out of Logan’s hand.
"Okay. If that's how you wanna play, fine. Turn around, hands on the table."
And Logan? With a smirk and a challenge in his eyes he complies. Puts his palms flat against the smooth surface of the table, then straightens his back. Offers it up to Wade and waits.
For a good while, nothing happens. Logan can hear Wade shift behind him, hears the rustling of his clothes and the quickening of his pulse. He’s nervous.
Wade’s not going to do it.
Just as Logan is about to turn around and call Wade on his bullshit, maybe laugh at him a little good-naturedly and then take the both of them to the couch for beers and some TV before bed, Wade hits. Though it is hesitant and not very hard, Logan flinches. More from surprise than anything else; he truly had not expected Wade to go through with it this time. He takes a deep breath in through his nose.
Again, there is a moment of stillness, each of them waiting out the other. They both expect it to end here. Joke’s done, right?
Only this time, when Wade makes to put down the belt, stop this before it gets out of hand, it is Logan who can’t help running his mouth, riling Wade up just because of how fun it is. He turns around slightly, hands kept firmly on the table, and raises a single, unimpressed brow at the other man, some of his former smirk lost to the unexpectedness of that first hit.
"That's all you can do? You hit like a fucking girl. What, you think I can't take it harder than that, Princess?” Logan bites out the last part, peripherally aware of what he’s doing. What he is inviting.
Doesn’t matter, because he’s almost a little insulted by the truly unimpressive hit and kind of wants to see what Wade can do. What he will do.
He turns back around, thrilling a little at the uncertainty of it all, his own heartbeat picking up speed at the prospect of getting hurt like this. When’s the last time he took a beating without fighting back?
Briefly, he remembers big fists and vicious claws, bruising him and carving him open and spilling his blood. Remembers feeling helpless, and hurting, and moaning for it. Being held down and struggling against it, mostly, though not entirely, for show. Not really trying to stop the man doing this to him, reveling in his deranged, dangerous grin framed by sharp fangs.
The memory is gone before Logan can really grasp at it, a ghost of a forgotten past, and he licks his suddenly too dry lips. Waiting for Wade to make a move or chicken out of the obvious challenge. Anyway, Logan doesn’t feel helpless now. Instead, he feels drunk.
The hit comes as unexpected as the first, and barely any harder. Then another, and another, getting stronger and more confident. Logan tenses at the sudden onslaught of sharp, stinging pain, so different from the feeling of getting shot or stabbed, and groans.
Wade stops again, scoffs.
”What, this all you can take?" he parrots Logan’s earlier words, hesitant fingers tracing his corded back muscles, and Logan, who was about to turn back around, freezes. “Gonna cry for me, pretty?”
“No,” Logan grunts. "Go on. Do your worst. No way you’ll make me cry.”
And maybe Logan wants to see it come true as much as he dreads it.
There’s a tight little chuckle behind him, as much nerves as it is honest glee, and this is Wade rising to his challenge.
"Bet."
Logan would not have it any other way.
There is no hesitation anymore when Wade starts going again. Instead, there’s clear intention behind every one of his hits. Wade is thinking about where to hit Logan to really make it hurt, and Logan really should not like that thought as much as he does.
“Harder.” Logan spurs Wade on, keeps teasing and prodding and doing his damndest to make the man lose his composure. He tenses again before he forces his body to relax, unable to keep the occasional groan or moan from slipping out.
"This the best you can do?"
"Fucking pathetic, bub.”
It hurts, it fucking hurts, but Logan knows he can take more, more than Wade can dish out in any case.
Well.
Wade doesn’t notice it at first. Logan’s been quiet, or quieter, for a while now, just the occasional pained grunt, groan or breathless, whiny moan falling from his lips. He’s panting, twitching where he’s standing, hands still on the table where Wade has told him to keep them. And Wade is glad he didn’t ask Logan if he could tie him up for it, because this is so much better, watching Logan force himself to remain still for Wade. Bound only by his own will, and Wade’s.
Logan’s fucking gorgeous, is what he is, red stripes healing across his broad, strong back. There’s little splatters of blood in the places Wade broke skin, the cuts long closed. Wade wishes the lashes would stick, that he could really mark Logan up. Tries to make it true, keeps them coming faster than they can heal, doesn’t give Logan’s skin any time to knit itself back together before he flays it open again. He gets a little lost in it, the rhythm of his hits, the ever-changing pattern and color of the raising and healing welts, to notice how utterly still Logan has gotten.
It hits him like his own slap to the face when Wade notices.
He stops. Waits.
Logan is shaking ever so slightly, holding his position, remaining the way Wade wanted him. He flinches hard when Wade puts his hand to the back of his neck and squeezes, a deep, grounding pressure.
It is different than the frenzy of a fight, getting hurt like this. Still pain, but it's not the same. Just standing there and taking it, accepting the lashes and their pain when it would be so easy to make it stop or to fight back, that's different.
Too stubborn to stop Wade, too determined to win, Logan doesn’t know a lot from too much.
Wade feels like an idiot.
He pulls Logan back against his chest, unsure if he is even allowed to do that. Holds him there for a moment, his naked back scorching even through the fabric of Wade’s hoodie, then turns him around to look at his face.
“Hi there,” he says, settling his hands on Logan’s upper arms, big and warm, and squeezing tight. "You okay, peanut?”
Logan nods, words too far from his mind to attempt to speak again so soon. Wade pretends he doesn’t see how wet his eyes are, like he doesn’t hear the little hitches in Logan’s uneven breathing, and hates himself a little for how he thrills at it.
He also pretends not to notice the very obvious boner his roommate is sporting. Nothing to see there at all, his eyes are up here, Wade.
Logan seems a bit lost, standing there, just staring at Wade, so Wade doesn’t even try to ask him what he wants and instead makes the decision for him. Logan’s getting aftercare, if he wants to or not. It is obvious Wade’s done quite the number on him.
No resistance from Logan at all as Wade maneuvers him towards the bathroom and strips him down — nothing gay about helping your buddy take a warm bath, yeah? — and helps him get into the tub. He keeps a very tight lid on the myriad of flirts and comments he’d usually vomit at Logan in a situation like this, too preoccupied with his nonverbal Wolverine right now. Logan just accepts it, doesn't even try to argue. Wade marvels at that sweet, pliant man.
Once he has gotten Logan settled in the tub and allowed himself to sneak a single little smoothing back of his shockingly soft, thick hair into the mix, Wade makes to leave, wanting to give Logan some privacy after what he just put him through and fetch some food and drink for him. Logan however, it seems, has other plans. He grabs Wade’s wrist, grip strong as ever, and swallows audibly. Now, Wade doesn’t have Logan’s super-senses, but even to him it is obvious how dry his throat sounds, he should really get Logan that drink, and soon. The snack, too. Can't have his old man go hypoglycemic, after all.
“Don’t go,” Logan rasps, voice quiet but sure.
“Okay,” Wade says, a little nervous again, unsure of what to do. So he remains standing, until Logan rolls his eyes and tugs him closer by the arm.
“Just get in the tub with me, Wade. Don’t wanna be alone right now.”
“Oh,” Wade says, probably looking as surprised as he sounds, “sure.” He chuckles a little nervously, says, half jokingly: “But no homo, right?”
Logan only closes his eyes with a tired sigh and says: ”Sure, bub. No homo.”
It sound less like he truly means it and more like he's indulging a child.
Wade undresses quietly, opting against a graphic warning for his skin; Logan’s seen plenty of that already, knows what he is getting himself into. He wants to get in the tub opposite Logan, but then the man shuffles a little forward, making space for Wade at his back, and so he follows the wordless invitation and slips in behind him. Accepts Logan’s broad back leaned against his chest, and if he gets a little hard Logan doesn't comment on it. Which is a good call; after all, Wade didn't say anything to Logan getting a massive fucking boner from being beaten, practically tenderized like steak, with his own belt just minutes ago. Either way, while it doesn't seem to bother Logan he also doesn't seem inclined to act on it, so it is just as well.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Wade says eventually, and it doesn’t feel fair to call Logan that now, after what he just did to him, and nothing has ever felt so right before. For once, he considers his next words, guilt gnawing at him.
Got a bit carried away there. You looked so good, just taking it. Letting me do that to you.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you this bad,” is what he decides on in the end.
“But you liked doing it.” Logan states, not a question but a fact. He doesn’t sound perturbed by it, but Wade still feels guilty.
“I— Yeah.” It comes out in a rush, an admission.
“Just... I'm sorry. It won't happen again.” Wade mutters at the same time Logan, sounding surprisingly satisfied, says: “Good.”
Logan freezes the moment Wade’s words register, shakes his head a little.
“Don't say that,” he whispers, quiet and rough. Wade makes a curious noise in the back of his throat, and Logan adds: “That it won’t happen again. Don’t say that. I want it to.”
He drops his head back on Wade’s shoulder to stare up at the ceiling.
“I liked it.”
They sit like that for a few minutes, hot water and racing hearts and the occasional little splash. Seems like this is all Logan wants, all Logan needs, but Wade’s not that simple. He needs something to do, or he’ll go mad. So, after another short while, he tells Logan to close his eyes, sit up a little and lean his head back some so he can wash his hair. Give his hands something to do while they soak. Logan lets him put the shampoo in, massage his scalp a little, rinse it out. Doesn’t stop Wade as he keeps on touching him once he is done, petting Logan’s chest and neck and working little circles into his shoulders. And Wohoo!, but also What the actual fuck?!, Logan just lets him.
Slowly but surely, the water turns too cold to keep sitting in it comfortably. Wade gets out of the tub first, towels himself off just enough that he’s not dripping water everywhere when he grabs Logan’s towel next and holds it open for him. He gets out of the tub slowly, smirks a little as Wade wraps him into it like a burrito. This time however, when Wade makes to dry him off, Logan holds onto his towel with a bashful little expression and tells him: “I got it, bub. Thanks for the bath.”
Seems like Logan is done letting Wade take care of him. They finish toweling off, get dressed in comfortable clothes, then sit on the couch together. It feels like Logan sits a little closer to Wade, a little more relaxed than usually, but Wade couldn’t be sure.
Logan doesn’t talk much for the rest of the evening. Then again, he’s never been a man of many words.
Not a week later, Laura is stunned into silence as Logan immediately gets up to greet Wade at the door and kneel for him when he gets home, abandoning dinner without hesitation. Logan, realizing what he just did, who he did it in front of, freezes for a second, then haltingly continues untying Wade's boots. No point stopping now and pretending, not when he had already rushed to fall to his knees, when he is already down here. He’s gruff as he pulls off Wade's shoes, utterly wordless. Fucking hell, Laura.
"Aw, no 'How was your mission, Princess'? What's the silent treatment for, peanut?" Wade pouts as Logan finishes untying his boots.
"There you go, there's a good boy. Thanks, Lo."
Getting back to his feet, Logan takes a deep, steadying breath.
”We’ve got company. Laura’s over."
His daughter barks out a surprised laugh as Logan returns, then blurts out: "Fuck, you're kinky!”
Because nothing of this had been in any way subtle, and she didn’t need her super-hearing for Wade’s words to carry over. She shakes her head with a little chuckle, amused by the deep red color of Logan's cheeks and his sheepish look as he sits back down at the table, embarrassed.
"Hey, kiddo,” Wade greets her, making a quick trip to the bathroom to dispose of his Deadpool-suit and replace it with something a lot less blood-soaked. When he returns, he sits down at the table with them, wide grin on his face, “How’s my favorite baby badger doing?”
Laura scrutinizes them both, head to toe, Wade entirely nonchalant while her father looks like he’d rather sink into the ground than explain himself to her. But Laura’s a smart kid, and she’s Logan’s. No need for big words and lengthy explanations.
"You're adorable,” she assesses, then her focus is back on her food. Wade shrugs at Logan’s indignant expression, what are you looking at me like that for? She’s clearly got her priorities straight!
And what the fuck is Logan supposed to say to that?
It is the same night Logan realizes he's fucking whipped for that loudmouthed idiot.
The realization hits him with a grim finality, waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming of their first fateful meeting in that little bar all the way back in his universe. In his dream, Wade never kidnaps him from his reality, just leaves when Logan tells him ‘no’, and he hates every moment of it. Is so fucking relieved to wake up from that nightmare to Wade on his chest, snoring lightly and drooling onto his skin, clinging like an octopus. It is annoying, and disgusting, and Logan thinks it is the most at home he has ever felt.
So he is sweet on Wade, big fucking surprise.
It is right, Logan reasons. Wade saved him, gave him a second chance, he was the Worst Wolverine and then Wade called him his Best Wolverine and then they went to die. Together. To save the world.
Wade already came and took him, from his universe at first and then home, like a stray.
Wade's his home. He owns him.
The thought should freak him out, but it doesn't.
Logan is old, so fucking old, and in all his years, the ones he forgot and the ones he remembers, those that were taken from him and those he got to keep, he has learned to accept the truths of his heart. So instead of the realization driving him into an existential crisis, it fills him with longing instead: For Wade to acknowledge that fact, to accept Logan as ‘his’. To call him it, too.
Logan doesn't think Wade has realized it yet, just how much power he holds over Logan, and he isn't sure if he is relieved by that or a little disheartened.
Wade decides when they go out, and he decides when they go to bed in the evening. It is mostly practical, in the beginning, they share the pull out couch, after all. And then it is just another one of those ‘Wade’s call’-things. Sometimes they’ll head to bed straight after a job, other times Wade’ll wake Logan where he’s fallen asleep on the armchair and tell him to come to bed with him. Logan goes without complaint, every single time. Wade fucking loves it.
Once, Wade tries to bake them bread rolls for breakfast and almost sets the kitchen on fire. Logan jumps in, saving the day with perfectly cooked pancakes, and Wade decides that they should have his magic pancakes every Sunday morning from now on. Of course, Logan has to make them. So he does.
There is a simplicity in taking orders, in not having to think about things, everything really, too hard. And Wade’s orders, they are not like what he was made to do in his past. To Wade, he is neither a weapon nor a human shield.
Wade just wants him. And his obedience, whenever Logan is inclined.
Wade puts out clothes for Logan to wear to bed after a shower. He had done it that very first evening Logan slept with him on the pull out and is picking it back up again now. But instead of laying out Logan’s own clothes, Wade starts putting out his own shirts for Logan to wear, every now and then. And where Logan used to roll his eyes, walk out half naked and yeet it into Wade's face while he went to fetch his own clothes from his drawer, he now puts it on without making a fuss about it, all the while refusing to acknowledge what he is doing.
Wade thinks he’s just adorable.
The next time Logan ‘fucks up’, he doesn't make any excuses.
He gets angry on a job, a little because of Wade, a little because of the stupid henchmen, a lot because of himself. Slams two doors in Wade’s face instead of holding them open for him and heads home alone, bristling and tense and tired.
Wade, when he comes home, doesn’t press. Gives him time and space, until Logan comes to him of his own accord. Just slips out his belt and hands it to Wade, utterly without comment because he is not sorry for what he did and is not going to pretend that he is. Wade wraps it around his fist with the buckle gripped tight while Logan takes off his shirt.
No table to support him this time, Logan merely clasps his hands together in front of him and offers up his back, hunching in his shoulders to give Wade more space to work. Wade warms him up to it, tells him how many strikes he is going to get, then hits Logan hard, making him count. Twenty lashes, and not one more.
And Logan fucking thanks him for it, calls Wade ‘Princess’ again.
Once done, Wade puts the belt away, steps up to Logan to wrap him in his arms from behind and kiss his neck.
"You took that well, Lo. Good boy.”
It makes Logan shudder.
They head back over to the couch for some decompression time and drinks before bed, just not the obligatory no-homo feet apart Wade never really abided by anyway. Instead, they end up with Logan on top of Wade, a live weighted blanket with an adamantium-core, as Wade pets his back lazily, successfully ignoring the rather insignificant fact that breathing like this is a bit of a challenge. Maybe it is fatigue, darkening his field of vision, maybe it is a lack of oxygen. Who fucking cares when they’ve got the Best Wolverine on top of them?
Logan took his punishment, now Wade takes care of him.
They still don’t talk about it.
Ironically, it is Althea who forces them to confront the truth of what they’ve been doing for weeks now, setting her coffee down in the morning with a lot more force than necessary.
"Motherfuckers, I wish I were deaf. Whatever you’ve got going on is some of the most perverted freak-shit I've ever witnessed, and you two don’t even fuck. This shit's gayer than sticking your dicks in each other,” she grumbles, tired as hell because her roommates came back home the day prior slamming doors and apparently thinking it’d be a good idea for one of them to fucking whip the other in the middle of the night, making him groan and count to twenty and forcing her to listen to it all. “Fuck it out already, preferably when I’m not home. If I’m home, have the decency to do it in the day and not when I’m trying to catch some shut-eye.”
Logan, the poor old bastard, always so sweet to Althea, actually blushes at that, while Wade bestows a wide grin upon her, which she of course cannot see.
“And good morning to you too, Al!” Wade trills, grabbing the salt shaker and promptly depositing some of its contents in her beverage.
Fucking asshole, Logan thinks, unable to keep the amused smirk off his face. He’d watched Althea fill it with sugar about half a week ago and was now observing Wade adding more and more to her coffee every morning, apparently wondering how she didn’t notice the salt at all. Maybe he believed she was some kind of salt goddess by now.
“I will have you know, Lady, that kink doesn't have to be sexual. It can be wholly non-sexual. And purely platonic.”
"Sure. But you do wanna fuck him. Romantically." Althea sneers.
"Fuck you, Al." Wade shoots back immediately. Logan shakes his head with a little grin. He would never dare to talk to her like this, but it’s always fun watching the two of them mouth off and needle each other. Homely.
"No, you two fuck. And leave me and the dog the fuck out of it!”
Truth be told, Logan has been wondering about that. He is used to Wade always running his mouth, making crude comments, flirting with him. Wade doesn't make any real advances though, not anymore, not while they're playing. Always keeps it surprisingly PG-13, at least when it comes to their relationship. Only out of scenes he’s still constantly flirting with Logan.
It confuses him a little bit. Logan doesn't know if it's out of respect or because Wade doesn't really want him like that. He’s pretty sure Wade does want him like that, though.
It is just as well to Logan, anyway. He’ll take all he can get, don’t get him wrong, but if this is all Wade is willing to give, he'll still die happily. Sex is nice and all, but Logan’s never relied on it to be happy.
But maybe they should talk about it sometime. Sometime else.
“You’re so damn pretty like this,” Wade tells Logan, who is knelt between his spread legs in front of the couch, his eyes only half open as Wade pets his hair. That’s all he’s doing, the order Wade had given him: Sit here and let me pet your hair. So this is what they have been up to the last few minutes. Logan finds he quite likes it.
It is not the first time Wade has called him pretty. He’s done it plenty before, with varying results. At the beginning, Logan would only growl at him or walk away entirely, deep frown on his face. Then came stage two, begrudging acceptance while rolling his eyes and muttering, if not telling Wade bluntly: “I’m not pretty, Princess.”
But Logan’s feeling playful today, soft as Wade’s fingers trail through strands of hair. He barely gets to grunt some vague refutation before Wade goes on to say: “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Only thing that’s missing is a collar. You’d look stunning in a collar.”
On Wade’s part, it is a dare and also the best thing he could have said. Logan closes his eyes for a moment, preening at the words. He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this for ages now.
“Get me a collar, Princess, and I’ll wear it for you.” Logan promises. Wade sucks in a sharp breath, fingers going tight in his locks.
“For real?!” he asks, absolutely delighted.
“Yeah.”
Wade hesitates for only the fraction of a moment, barely enough to notice.
Logan does notice.
“…you gonna wear it out, too?”
And that’s the big fucking question, isn’t it? Does Logan want this to stay private, something no one else gets to witness? Is this something their friends will get to see and know about, or are they going to hide the full extent of their dynamic?
Logan’s eyes flicker to the side for just a moment as all breath leaves him in a rush. He looks up at Wade again, knowing what he wants.
“Maybe. If that’d make you happy.” He’s tired of hiding. Of running. It is a good thing they have going, and while not entirely conventional, it is not something Wade and him should have to hide from their friends.
Then Logan’s looking off to the side again, hiding even as he implies he doesn’t want to, and Wade’s not having it. He wants to see him.
“Look at me,” he orders, and Logan does, eyes snapping back up to his immediately.
As he stares down at Logan, Wade’s pupils are so wide his eyes look almost black. He smoothes his hand down the side Logan’s face until it is resting against his cheek, thumb rubbing a tiny circle into his cheekbone.
“Want everyone to know you’re mine.” Wade admits.
“Possessive much, huh?” Logan chuckles, not quite letting on just how much that gets to him, how much he wants that, too. Everything Wade is going to give him, he will take.
“What about you, then?” Wade challenges, playing again. “Practically begging me to put a collar on you.”
“Well. Is it so wrong to want to belong to the person you call your home? To be kept? And to want the world to know?” The plain truth is more than worth the awestruck look it puts on Wade’s face. Like it is the best thing he has ever heard.
“Fuck.” Wade breathes. “Logan, I think that is the best, most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me. You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”
“Maybe I have an inkling.” Logan smirks.
Wade slaps a hand to his chest, all fake-indignation.
“So what, you’re manipulating me? Naughty boy!”
“Hm. You tell me.” Logan challenges, then adds: “Maybe you should punish me for it.”
And if that isn’t Logan asking to be hit and hurt, then Wade doesn’t know what the fuck it is. A barely disguised plea for consensual violence, not even a real punishment but simply desired sensation. Logan just gave the both of them a pretty little excuse, a way they don’t have to think about their true motives.
“Maybe I should.” Wade agrees, already thinking of hurting Logan. He sounds a little breathless.
“Alright then.” Logan, taking off his belt without even getting up, unbuttoning and shrugging the flannel off his shoulders. He makes to get up, muscles tensing, but Wade’s hand, strong and warm around his upper forearm, keeps him from standing to his full height.
“Gonna take it on your knees this time?” Wade asks, intrigued, and Logan sneers at him before he hesitates and considers it. Feels like both a question and a request.
“Would you like that?” Logan then asks, still smirking.
“Yeah.” Honest, no games, no teasing.
“Then sure,” Logan settles down again, still smiling and amused by just how affected Wade looks. Wade is precious, sue him. He wants the pain he’s offering so bad. “Do your worst, Princess.”
“Logan?” Wade asks later that evening, snuggled to Logan’s chest under the covers, not quite ready to sleep.
A noncommittal hum is all Logan can offer him. He’s already drifted half off, feeling warm and heavy and comfortable. Doesn’t really wanna think right now, or speak.
“Why are you letting me do all this to you? What do you get out of it, Lo?”
Ah. So this is a conversation Logan should definitely pay at least a little attention to. He sighs heavily and opens his eyes to shake the clinging sleep off. Then he turns his head to look down at Wade, but the man isn’t even looking at him.
“I could ask you the same question, bub. Why are you doing it to me? Why do you want me to do all that?” He doesn’t know if he is referring to the punishments, the orders, Wade being all soft and sweet with him in between; maybe all of it. “It's obvious you’re getting off on it, at least emotionally. Gives you something. Gives me something.”
To say he has not pondered these same questions before would be a lie. His back aflame, wanting the pain to stop and remain just like this forever, in the tub with Wade after, while he was tying his shoes, was making Wade dinner. Asking himself why.
Logan lifts his arm and wraps it around Wade, solid against his side. Then he goes on.
“I like not having to make all the decisions. Like the structure, and feeling useful, needed, wanted. Like being good, and being told that I am. I like feeling like you own me, like feeling kept. I…” Logan falters, but if there has even been a moment for truths and vulnerability, this is it. Just push through, lay it all out plain and simple for Wade to see. “Doesn't feel like I'm going to run again, you know, like I'll loose everything good and dear to me once more. Because I belong here, with you.”
Wade has gone eerily still against him, face pressed into his skin, breath warm and humid, hands grabbing at Logan like he never wants to let him go again.
“I,” Wade swallows, fingers flexing, “You aren’t going to run again. I’m not allowing it. You have to stay here, that’s an order. Home, with me.”
He sounds a little bit choked up, and Logan can feel it in his own chest, fondness so strong it tightens painfully. He swallows around the knot in his throat, listens to Wade answering his own question.
“Having the Best Wolverine willingly make himself so vulnerable for me? You, letting me mark you up and enjoying it? Just... Letting me see you and touch you and have you like this? That's a fucking dream come true, Lo. Never though I’d get something like this. Never allowed myself to hope for it.”
“Well.” Logan says, quietly. He harrumphs. “Maybe not the Best Wolverine, but... Your Wolverine.”
“You're right,” Wade agrees. “I should have been more precise. My Best Wolverine.”