Chapter Text
Wade is definitely getting fucked tonight.
He’s like, at least ninety-nine percent certain.
Not only has he peeked at the author’s notes, but he knows You’ve been wanting this as well.
Even if you have been blue-balling him. Just a little. Taking a little detour for the ol’ Big Blue Boyscout - his finger waggles, with the click of his tongue.
But he can’t blame you. Wade knows inspiration tends to strike where it may, and he can’t pretend that David Corenswet doesn’t make him Corens-wet - call him Lex Luthor with the way he might have a bit of an obsession, too.
He supposes it doesn’t really matter, just as long as you know where your true loyalties lie.
(Because the DCU? Really??)
Another shake of his head, but then he’s getting himself back on track. Not about to let his fans down.
Or - more importantly - his boyfriend.
Because besides all that, he knows that Logan’s been thinking about this as well.
The man is as subtle as a gun. He’d watched him yearn for weeks - yes, count them, weeks - over their girl.
Over him - he’s dead certain about that, too.
He might have taken advantage, even. Fucking you a little harder, in those early days after Logan moved in.
Encouraging you to cry out as he made you come again and again, knowing his little roomie was listening. Jerking off in secret to you screaming Wade’s name.
Freak (affectionate).
Wolvie wasn’t the only one with super senses around here. His were a little different, but he’d always got the job done.
And maybe he’s begun to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for his boyfriend to follow.
Big, neon-sized ones, in the shape of his ass pressing against Logan’s dick the last three mornings.
He’s been pleased about his new sleeping arrangements. Amazing how much space the apartment truly has, when he let you rearrange a little, Sims-style. Enough room made to swap the narrow twin in his room for a full-ass queen.
To partition off the nook in the living room for Al, with a well-placed and delightfully tasteful Murphy bed.
She’s only gotten stuck in it once, and goddamn it, that wasn’t his fault. If anything, it was her own shoddy craftsmanship.
And yes, despite the aching weight in his balls, it has been capital-W, Worth It to see the scowl on Logan’s face when he’d rolled away each morning.
The languid, fully-body stretch that those eyes raked over - the hand that he swore twitched outward after a full night of accidental grinding, almost reaching for him.
Knowing he’s imagining it.
How it would feel. How Wade could take it - he’s already jerked himself dry thinking about it, himself.
Knowing that he wants it just as much as Wade does, but is being oh so stubborn. Thinking he has the upper hand with his teasing touch and gravely promises, even if that couldn’t be less true.
And it’s not that you’re not a champ.
You are - truly. Unmatched strap game, a goddamn ten outta ten. Knows just how hard you’ve been good to him, and it’s just one out of a million things he loves about you.
It’s just that you don’t quite have the stamina of a two-hundred year old mutant that fucks like his deep-seated breeding kink is going out of style.
That sometimes, you need to get dicked down so hard that you feel it next week, enhanced healing powers be damned.
And he knows out of everyone, that you’d understand that.
(Make it a million and one things he loves.)
He just has to admit, his patience has just worn thin since last time. Too many nights spent apart as life took them on a whirlwind. That lingering promise to do things together, which kept his hands from wandering too far.
Wade could be a good boy, when he wanted to be.
But you were coming over tonight, so that was that.
He was done waiting.
Which made this morning his final pièce de résistance, pardon his French.
His phone left out on the kitchen counter, unlocked. Their shared Amazon account cart cock chock full to the brim.
A 3000ml bottle of lube.
A to-scale replica of Steve Roger’s national anthem, from his brief stint dipping his toe into American’s other favorite pastime.
Glittery plugs and nipple clamps and something that looked like a vibrating tongue.
Everything that says ‘If you don’t fuck me, I’ll do it myself. Probably loudly. Pathetically. Grammatically’.
Because in spite his aloof appearance, his honey badger is a nosy little fucker. Knew that he’d take one look, and consider it a personal affront and challenge.
Wade had clocked that right away, even back in the void. That’s what had given him the idea in the first place.
Could imagine Logan, eyes fixed on the screen. Ears pricked to running of the water. Scowling at the thought of Cap’s (albeit-silicone) cock getting dibs on Canada’s Ass first.
Thumb scrolling through the cart as Wade worked himself open in the shower, getting himself ready for later. The slap of his skin against tile, the panting breath he only half tries to hide.
A groan, that almost sounds like a name, as his legs turn leaden.
Leaving his toys out afterwards on the shelf that Al doesn’t know about, for Lo to see when he brushes his teeth.
He’s turned to edging into goddamn work of art.
And sure.
It would’ve been easier, more mature, to just ask. To use his words like the big boy he was, and maybe Logan would’ve been perceptive.
But Wade never liked easy.
It was too boring.
He liked the chase. He liked messy.
Poking the bear, sticking his fingers in deep. Pushing and prodding through muscle and viscera, until Logan snapped and did something stupid - like fucking Wade’s (now their) girlfriend in front of him, just to prove a point.
Eagerly waiting for the Wolverine to sink his canine teeth into the metaphorical carrot that he’s been dangling for weeks.
No one ever gave him enough credit.
And… it works.
Unable to help the smirk, lucky that his mask covers it while they’re out on their mission.
Senses catching the eyes that have been glued to him all afternoon. How they’re heated beneath the cowl, paired with a gritted jaw.
An inhaled breath, with each over-exaggerated movement.
Bending and snapping, Elle Woods-ing his tight little ass off.
Lining up a kill shot that rivaled the one from his first movie. His adamantium katanas held at his waist, doing their best impression of his too-hard cock, nudging full-mast against his suit.
It’s all just foreplay.
A hand clamps on his shoulder, after. Smudging red that’s darker than his suit. An inhale, and Wade wonders if Logan can smell him the way he smells you.
The day-long damp smear against the inside of the leather.
White eyes narrowed as his head turns, and he’d bet some good good money that the pupils beneath are blown wide.
“I know what you’re doing.”
It‘s growled out. Gravel-low, and the tone almost makes him shiver.
Wade grins.
“Good.”
The evening starts as it always does after a long mission.
Your kiss against their cheeks in greeting, already waiting at home for them. Heated glances, some serious eye-fucking in the few moments it took to make their way inside, and the bedroom locking neatly behind them before they even make it to dinner.
Bodies splayed out across the bed, his back pressed into the mattress as your tongue sweeps between his lips.
It feels like he’s been hard all day. A near-constant throb. A heart-beat pulse of need soaking into the cup of leather.
His mind split neatly between the mercenary work and the hazy memories of this morning. Eyes screwed shut as he had made a mess against the shower tile that would put Jackson Pollock to shame.
Taking one too many bullets with how distracted he was, but the sharp bite of metal tearing through flesh only made him groan. Skin knitting together, purpled neatly bruises easing their way back to pink.
Foreplay, for someone like him.
Too eager to feel your body against his now, a soothing balm to the heat that’s been alight inside him all day. The briefest flicker of disappointment that Logan didn’t take his bait - but he’s persistent, if nothing else. Tomorrow, maybe.
Because in the end, Wade always seems to get his way.
The flicker eases fully, as your tits crush against his chest. The red suit half undone - the top half stripped down to his abdomen. Mask tugged up from his mouth the second you stepped in the door, eager to greet you.
Lost fully somewhere next to the cuck chair that’s still tucked against the wall, from their first night together.
Maybe they could share your mouth again, tonight.
He’d liked that - the sticky-slick slide of Logan’s cock against his. The curl of your tongue - all of it shooting right to the top of his library-of-congress-sized spank bank.
But it changes, here. Everything shifts - the layered press of bodies unifying, as you slip back to Logan’s side.
Strong hands grasping at his ankles, man-handling him until he’s spread open like a thanksgiving dinner.
The knowing look you shoot Logan from over your shoulder, as you kneel next to Wade’s hips.
Maybe he should protest.
But instead, something inside him thrums. A jolt that shoots down his spine and right to his cock.
“You gotta loosen the belt.” Your head dips towards his waist, though Logan’s hands are already working.
Your allegiance changes before his very eyes, your own heavy and wanting as you watch the dexterous way the leather unfurls.
His tongue finally catching up, a rough chuckle rattling in his throat, “You two ganging up on me again?”
There’s an admission in the bite of your teeth against your lip, a hidden smile.
“Judas.” Wade hisses, though it pitches soft, “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Oh, I am.” Your grin widens, “What do you think this is, baby?”
Logan hum of agreement comes low, as he yanks - the expensive fabric creaking in a tight fist.
Part of him should complain about this too - that he’s not about to let his assets get squeezed again, if they rip his suit - but then it’s tangling around his ankles and the torn to the floor, a hand wrapping around his cock.
“Fuck. Did I die today?” It comes out breathless - a groan, with the squeeze of Logan’s fist. “I think I died, because this-”
You laugh, the sound sweet. Fingers flexing against his hip, a kiss pressed against his stomach.
“You didn’t die.”
The fist pumps, and he chokes out another sound.
The little smile on your face turns wicked, “Just thought it was time to take care of you.”
Wade doesn’t know how to explain that they have.
That yes, maybe he’s been mentally bitching about Logan taking his sweet-ass time - but each moment they’ve had together seems to erase the sharp edges of everything he’s been through, as fucking sappy as that sounds.
That he’s never felt complete before he met you, and now with Logan, his heart is full to the brim. Spilling over, sloppy-style.
“Finally.” Is what he says, instead. Stamping all that gushy shit down, as Logan’s lips part and spit drips against his aching cock. Hot, where it slips down the shaft.
The sweep of his hand this time sends bliss flickering up his spine. Tiny electric sparks that bloom when your lips press against a hipbone.
Your fingers joining, guiding Logan’s hand down. A thumb tracing along the seam of his sack, then pressing against his rim.
Wade does jolt then, hips lifting. There’s the flash of white teeth, a pat against his flank with the hand that isn’t teasing his hole.
“Easy, Red.”
“Did you just pat me like a horse-“ His words break off on an admittedly-pathetic sound, as the tip of a spit-slick thumb teases. Just barely inching inside, as Logan’s palm curves against his scarred ass cheek and squeezes.
Your fingernail catching under the lid of a bottle fished out from the bedside table. A yelp as the thumb wiggles deeper, wet and slick and cold.
“Fuck,” Wade whines, “Warm it up first, you heathen. If this is how tentacles feel, then I do not get the hype-“
Logan’s hand slips free, and he’s loosening a whine of loss - the sound suppressed as two of his fingers push part parted lips.
Pressing down on his tongue. That thumb tucked beneath his chin, digging into the giving skin.
“Shut it.”
He’s sure it’s meant to be growled out, but it comes out closer to a purr. A different kind of heat in the words - one that match the way his boyfriend’s eyes darken, when his lips close around and suck.
He’s sure he’s leaking even more, as your fingers trail down his length, his mouth blissfully full. More lube squeezed on your fingers - smaller, familiar, in the way one eases into him.
“You have fun earlier?” You coo, inching deep.
None of the teasing, and he’s thankful for it. A muffled groan in answer, tasting the salt of Logan’s skin, swirling around the pads of his fingers.
Drooling, as you work him open again.
“You saw it?” Logan huffs, lips turning down at the thought of the toy, still suction-cupped to his secret Al-proof shelf in the shower.
“Mm.” You hum your answer, “Hard to miss. Pretty desperate, isn’t he?”
Wade’s teeth clamp down on the fingers, as they try to withdraw. A rattling moan as the thumb presses harder, dents left on healing flesh.
Logan’s hum is low, fingers twitching against the pad of Wade’s tongue, “Like a dog in heat. Been damn near humping my leg every night.”
You grin, and Wade wonders why he likes it so much that they’re talking to him like he’s not there. Logan’s tongue tucked between his teeth as you work in a second.
Examining him like he’s a piece of meat, as he opens around you.
Well - he’s willing to be a graded USDA prime as long as you both keep looking at him like that.
You brush at something tender inside him, a spot that has his legs hitching higher. Only to withdraw just as you rub up against his reset button, the only thing that shuts up the running voice in his head.
A wordless swap with the fingers that tug from his mouth when his lips part to complain. The ache when Logan’s index and middle push into him, that protest rumbled out in an undignified “fuck.”
The contrast has the liquid heat inside him turning to a boil. None of the soft touches you have - the ache of thick fingers burnt away from the way Logan’s are quick to push deep. Curl and pull.
Another rattled out “fuck” that has his eyes rolling back, a countdown clock akin to a new years eye ball drop ringing somewhere above his shoulder.
“Guess you’ll got what you wanted. Huh, pup?”
It shouldn’t do anything to him, but it does. A drawn out sound of interest, two sets of eyes catching the tongue that traps between his teeth with his grin.
“Pet play, Logan? Really?” His eyes find yours, “Did you peg that one, gorgeous?”
Logan scoffs, “Wouldn’t say no to a muzzle, Wilson.”
“Sounds like you’ll just have to try harder to shut me up.” Wade winks just as your fingers wrap around him and squeeze, and he knows that with just a few strokes, he’ll be teetering on the edge.
Breath catching in anticipation as Logan’s fingertips stroke inside him - but then, his other hand is closing around your wrist. Cruelly drawing you away.
Wade huffs out a protest, but it comes out as a whine. Punishment for talking back, he supposes. Caught on the way Logan’s eyes narrow - smug, almost, in the curve of his mouth.
“He can come like this?” Logan’s knuckle-deep - fingers curling over and over, “Can’t he?”
Again with the talking over him - though he supposes his conversational skill have suddenly taken a massive debuff. Negative ten speech, at least, his clever tongue caught between his teeth.
There’s a kiss against his shoulder. Your layers slowly stripped off as you consider - and that’s another torture in itself.
“I think so.”
“Baby.” Wade inserts himself in, now. “Gorgeous, please-“
He missed the Good Top, Bad Top routine you were playing at, now that you’re tipping over to the dark side. The titillating drag of your nails against his abdomen, the jerk of his cock as something wordless catches in his throat.
Wade needs your fucking hand on his cock.
Not going to last, with the teasing press. The pressure winding up so tight that his pulse is thundering in his ears, as he leaks a mess across his abdomen.
Wade gets shushed, instead. A wicked grin, Logan zeroing into the movement that makes his thighs tense. Fingers unyielding - the muscles jumping beneath the warm palm of his left hand, one that pushes his thighs a little wider. Opening him up further.
Wade’s arm is thrown across his face. Head tipped back when he realizes the immediate relief he wants isn’t coming. That goddamn stubborn determination pushing to the surface, but there’s a flash of pride at the way Logan’s hips move against his, with each pump of his fingers.
Still imagining it. Picturing how Wade would feel, wrapped around him - and that’s enough that a ragged sound is loosening in his chest.
He reaches for you. Where you lean over him, where your mouth makes useless marks against his neck - the flicker of pain the kindling to the orgasm that’s about to bash him over the head, loony tunes-style.
It’s rougher than he means to be. Teeth sharp against your lip, fingers close to bruising, where they wrap around your bare shoulder. You moan into his mouth, and there’s the scrape of stubble from the press of a kiss against his knee, and then - his vision is whiting out.
When he comes, it feels like he’s in the chamber again, the electricity crackling through every inch of his body - starting where Logan’s buried deep inside him.
Those goddamn fingers.
From old rumors, he had thought that Logan had spent decades sneaking around, playing Scotty Doesn’t Know.
But as they work him through, mercilessly stringing out his orgasm - it becomes painfully evident.
That Scotty fucking knew.
And benefited from it. Often.
He was wrong, earlier. This is what dying must feel like. A jerking pulse. A sticky mess of heat pooling across his abdomen, splashing across his chest. Tendrils of bliss following, as a cumpilation plays out in front of his eyes.
Your face appears often, weaving between the others. Logan’s flickering into view, teeth flashing white. Flashes of blue and red. A cybernetic eye, and metal. The shadow of a skull, hidden beneath a robe.
He’s just typing in some initials into the high score table, the double-S following an A, when his eyes are opening - chest rattling with a breath.
“Fuck.” Wade wheezes, “Top ten, for sure.”
An amendment, as your brow lifts, “Top five, even.”
There’s a curl of a lip. A low scoff - the fingers pulling from him, leaving him empty.
Coming up to stroke through the mess splashed across on his chest and stomach, gathering it up. Wade’s cock giving a limp jerk as he realizes just where it’s going - Logan’s other hand loosening his own belt this time.
“Is that it?” It’s growled out. A hand wraps around the drawn-out cock and stroking, a groan bitten-back as Wade’s release smears across his shaft.
“We can do better,” You smile at Logan, “Can’t we?”
He’s yanked forward in answer, legs hitched higher.
“We sure fucking can.” A brow arches, “You ready, bub?”
There’s the press of the swollen head against this hole, and he’s already clenching in anticipation.
“You really asking?” It’s wheezed out, “I’ve prayed to god every night since-, since, like 2016 for this to happen.”
Wade would be offended, if he wasn’t still riding out his high. He was about to get his shit rocked by his cartoon crush and finally, everything was coming up Wilson.
Logan’s laugh is a low, rough thing, and suddenly - he’s full.
Their twin groans are something he tucks away. The bared teeth and flexing fingers - already tugging, making him take another inch, splitting him open.
A missing piece that fills two parts of him at once.
Wade has to admit - he loves teaming up to take you apart.
But he’s greedy, deep down. Always enjoying a bit of attention, and now - the hunger in his partners’ eyes and the prick nails that bite into his hips as Logan inches himself deeper-
It had him thinking that he might be able to come, just from this.
“He’s a lot isn’t he?” You coo, as if reading his mind. Head nestled on his shoulder, his arm still snaked around to crush you against him, “You’re doing such a good job, baby.”
“S’right. You can take it, Princess.” The low rasp joins your praise, layering into an audible sandwich that would make bank on Quinn.
“That emasculation routine till doesn’t work on me, peanut.” His chuckle comes out as a pant, eyes threatening to roll back as Logan finally bottoms out - the sharp slap of hips against the underside of his thighs.
The burn feels like heaven - the hiked-up stretch of his legs, the way Logan’s cock skims against this place his fingers already know so well, with his next thrust.
Another whine, when there’s the drag of rough fingers down his shaft. The circle of a thumb where he drips, the flash of sharp teeth and dark eyes that seem to bore straight through him.
“Seems to be working just fine.” The next thrust sends him bouncing against the mattress, “Been wanting to take it, haven’t you?”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been wanting it too.” You coo, nails scratching across his chest. Lips against his jaw, until your eyes flick to Logan’s.
A slow drag down, to where the hands leave his hips, knuckles curled against the sheets. Setting a pounding rhythm that sends his heart skittering a beat.
“Mm. Was hard as a fucking rock when we were beating the shit of out each other.” He admits, eyes still on Wade’s, “Wanted to fuck you then. Put that mouth of yours to better use.”
He wants to crow how right he was.
A pointed finger and a “called it!”, but he’s helpless to take another opening when it’s thrown his way.
“Funny.” Wade’s teeth sink into his lip, biting back the grin, “All I can remember about that trip was thinking I was finally gonna meet Cap.”
Hazel eyes narrow, and there’s a mental high-five as Logan takes the bait again, even if he’s absolutely lying out of his delightfully perky ass.
“Is that right?” There’s an edge to his voice now, “You really think that pretty boy could do this?”
Another sharp snap of his hips, and it feels like Logan’s in his guts. Maybe further - like if he’d open his mouth, he’d choke on the thick head that spears him open.
Wade really needs to give you more credit.
“What?” You shoot him a lost look, but it only makes him laugh, and the way he tightens makes Logan groan. Hips stuttering from the brutal rhythm he’s set.
“Alright. I’ve had enough of playing nice.” Logan’s voice dips to a growl, fingers crooking in your direction, “Come on, honey. Just like we talked about.”
Wade can feel his cock tapping against his stomach with each thrust, sticky with cum and sweat. The tightening in his core, the jolt that zips up to his brain each time Logan hips slam flush.
Unsure how this was playing nice, exactly, but he can’t pretend that isn’t down for just about anything right now.
Leaking, again. Fingers twisted in the sheets - a groan, when your fingers trail across his dick. His eyes shut, lips parted - only to snap back open when he feels the weight that settles across his hips.
Clarity floods through him.
“Oh fuck me.”
Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin.
“That’s the plan.”
And it sends his head spinning, realizing you’ve really been in on this. Content to wait, to tease and watch - all those sweet and encouraging texts over the past week, bolstering his ego as he worked on his little plan - all while having your own little ruse mapped out with Logan, set to ruin him.
A million and two things he loves, something going soft and gooey in his chest as your hips roll - his too hard-cock tucked against the slick, dripping seam of your pussy.
“You ready?”
His head nods so fast that he almost gets whiplash.
“Yes. Fuck yes-” The words draw out as you lift onto your knees. Logan’s hand slipping up to wrap around him, guiding him into you. A ragged moan, when you take him with a sharp drop of your hips.
His toes curl.
Can you die three times in one night? He thinks he must - the vision before him something he’s never quite conjured for himself.
The span of Logan’s hand against your abdomen, setting beneath your tits. Pressing your back against his chest as you roll your hips just when his own cant forward.
Fucking him together, the pleasure looping. Sex-drunk eyes and panting lips and fuck - this is about to be over far too soon.
His mouth running again, the only attempt he has at stalling the orgasm winding tight in his belly.
“S’too bad, fuck, that god didn’t give you three dicks instead of three claws.” He’s left babbling, teeth biting into his lower lip as you clench around him, “Could fuck us both at once. Then this really could’ve been a party.”
The angle changes, a hand slipping beneath his knee to hitch it higher. Stars bursting, as Logan’s cock strokes again and again against the spot inside him.
Jesus motherfuck.
“Don’t just starfish, Wilson.” There’s a smirk, a cruel humor curling around the words, “Make yourself useful.”
He wants to tell Logan that he’d like to. He really would.
It’s just way they’re using him - a warm hole and a hard cock, at all once - that has him almost out of commission. Pegging him firmly as the middle man in this scenario, and he’s all to happy to do so.
But he supposed he’s learned to be a team player, as well. And there’s something satisfying about the way you shudder, when his thumb fits against your clit.
Giving you something to rub up against, as Logan moves you. Near-perfect teamwork, as your hands brace against his chest, skin slapping against skin.
And it builds.
He’s already almost there. Would’ve come already - embarrassingly, shamefully, blissfully early - if he hadn’t just been milked bone dry.
Panting breath and his words half-lost. Gritted teeth and a whined out “come on, gorgeous” that makes your heavy eyelids flutter.
An easy familiarity in the way his thumb works against you. Knowing just what you like. Second nature, by now, with the tight circles and the pressure that has you tighter than a vice around him.
Fueled further by Logan, palming at your tits. Squeezing and pinching at the tight buds, letting you arch into his hand. Lips against your throat, open-mouthed kisses pressed to heated skin, though those hazel eyes burn into his.
His fingers lace through yours, as your head bows. Your rhythm messy as your hips flex, chasing the pulse that tightens around his cock. Little whimpers slip from your throat, as they help bring you over the edge.
“I’m-” You manage, panting, “Oh, fuck, I’m-”
Yes.
It peters out into soft sounds. Each beat of your heart echoes with slick, clenching muscles and the thick drag of a cock nudged deep inside him, and fuck-
It’s too much.
Something senseless and exceedingly eloquent babbled out, his throat dry with the harsh cadence of his breath. Certain he’s finishing your thought.
“Oh Marvel H. Christ I’m gonna fucking come-“
“That’s it.” Satisfaction rings out. Wade’s heard that tone before, but never towards him.
It does something to him. The praise and the honey-smooth drip, the fingers that flex against his skin and the low rasp of Logan’s voice.
“Good fucking boy.”
It must slip from him. Words bitten back before, with the way Logan shoots him a look that says he might just kill him if he comments.
Too bad the combination makes him so hard it feels like his dick is about to snap off.
Too bad the next sloppy thrust of his boyfriend cock sends him hopelessly careening over the edge.
Wade is grinning, as he comes.
Giving as good as he gets, piping you full of cream filling, only to feel the heady throb of Logan’s cock as it buries deep inside him, half a dozen messy thrusts later.
The bliss crashes over him in waves, leaving his ears ringing. The chime turning melodic as his eyes close and he gets lost to sensation.
Bells.
Bells and a carpeted aisle. Logan in a Patch-esque ensemble, looking dapper as fuck. Smiling - and that’s how Wade knows this is a fucking dream but he’s sinking his nails into it, refusing to be pulled out too soon.
And you’re right next to him, pretty as a picture with the way you smile just as sweetly, and it’s something he’ll truly remember forever.
The pews are full, of course. Petals drifting across his boots as the path before him shortens. Faces blurring, though his eyes snag on one, beneath the soft lace of his veil.
Holy fuck, is that Bea Arthur?
And is that Pat Monahan playing him down the aisle?
Forever can never be long enough, he supposes. Not when his life lays endlessly before him.
The scene continues to plays out, and there’s two fist fights during the “speak now or forever hold your peace”, much to his delight, and Wade’s halfway through a conga line at the reception when he’s rudely yanked back to the present.
“Train!”
He’s back in his own bed again. Fucked out and fully the butt of a loaf of bread the way the two of you are slumped against him. Taking an elbow to ribs with his outburst.
It’s really lucky he doesn’t need to breathe, because he’s too content to move. The wrung-out come-dream still fresh in his mind, words mumbled out as he drifts down from his high.
“Wade Winston Wilson-Howlett.”
It’s wistful. Exhausted, sated. Mumbled out, as it tests out the name from the dream on his tongue.
“The fuck you sayin’?” It’s grumbled out, somewhere near his rib cage.
“Just practicing for when you put a ring on it,” His answer is light - a finger booping the tip of a nose. “We’re totally hyphenating.”
There’s something close to a snarl, the edges softened between the curl of lips and teeth. Your head lifts with it from where it’s cradled against his chest, eyes peeking his way. The smile he returns is soft, knuckles dragging down your spine.
“Triple-hyphen.” Wade amends, “Sorry gorgeous. Don’t think I forgot about you.”
“If I had known that a threesome like this would have driven you to matrimony,” You yawn, voice soft with exhaustion, “I would helped you seduce Logan ages ago.”
There’s a low rumble of amusement.
His smile quirks - how wrong you are, to assume his mind doesn’t travel down that road often. That there hasn’t been a little velvet box, tucked away in his gun kit for months. Waiting for its match and the perfect moment to arrive.
But he diverts, as always.
“I just mean I think we both might be pregnant, and I hate for us to live in sin.”
Your lips curl at the edges, “Look at you. Mister responsible.”
There’s no answer, after that.
Doesn’t need to, not this time. Eyes and tongue heavy, the weight against his chest now welcome. For once, happy to sink into the stillness that has settled over him.
He had always rebelled. Never liked being told what to do unless it was what he wanted to do as well.
Now knowing that there’s some parts of his story that he can’t change, Nathan Summers and TemPads be damned. Has that self-awareness at least. Sometimes too much.
Sometimes enough that it makes his head ache, the way he can peer up through the screen. The asides, even if they’re funny as hell.
Knowing that some parts of his life were pre-written.
A pin point in a timeline.
Maybe moments like this.
Maybe he’s known it deep down, since the very first moment he laid eyes on you.
On Logan - all the way back to The Incredible Hulk #180, tight yellow suit and all.
And if that’s the case -
Maybe it’s one storyline he doesn’t mind.
He’s left sweaty, sticky - dripping.
But that’s a problem for future Wade.
Right now he’s stuck in a place between time. Eyes left staring at the ceiling.
The sounds of the city muted. Your soft hum from the other room, lilting notes an old Stealers Wheel song as you dampen a cloth for him - all the better to clean up the biohazard that’s become their bed.
Definitely pregnant. Maybe even twins, after that second round - Wade flipped onto this stomach, with you tucked beneath him. Forced into a rhythm each time Logan’s hips snapped flush, burying him deeper into you each time.
“You happy? Finally shut me up.” It’s offered, a raspy wheeze. Head half-lifting - boneless - only to drop back down against the pillow.
“Didn’t even need the muzzle, you kinky fucker.”
And he must be imagining things again, because the look he receives back is almost soft. An expression he’s cataloged often on your face. Content.
Maybe even happy.
But there he goes again - getting sappy.
“Mm.”
Hands slide up his hips, chest. Catching under his jaw, keeping his face angled to meet the hot press of Logan’s mouth against his.
“Nah.” The words growls out, with the curve of his lips.
“Think I miss it.”