Work Text:
“Wade!”
Logan’s yell echoes gruffly through the apartment. Wade always coos and teases (and has other, more fun reactions) over the morning roughness of his voice, but it’s late afternoon right now, they’ve been up for hours, and Logan’s just laying it on a little thick because that’s the only guaranteed way to make the idiot listen. His “DILF voice” (Logan showed Blind Al how to make Deadpool-kebab when he first called it that) makes Wade stand to attention like nothing else – all parts of Wade, as he’s well aware.
“Wade!” he shouts again, almost a growl this time. A crash and a distant yelp inform him that the fuckwit has at least heard him, although who the fuck knows what he’s been doing in his room for the past hour.
“Wade, we’re outta bread!” Logan lets him (and probably all their neighbours) know. Wade doesn’t yell back, but Logan catches some exasperated muttering about “Marvel cutting the budget again”, and nods in satisfaction.
Well, there goes his half-assed try at a nutritious lunch then. The fridge door creaks pathetically as Logan shuts it, but not before grabbing his favourite meal – a beer. Or four, as the case may be. As an afterthought, he also takes one of the little pink frosted cupcakes Wade’s been making as part of his newest hobby. Frankly, they taste kinda crap (Logan’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be that sour or that hard), but makes Wade happy when Logan’s been eating them, and all that.
Contrary to popular belief, Logan can cook – it’s him who puts all the food on the table after all, since Wade’s impassioned attempts at gourmet meals can only be safely consumed by Logan himself – but sometimes he just can’t be assed, and today’s one of those days.
Logan lounges with a happily snoozing Mary Puppins long enough to make it through the cupcake and two cans before Wade decides to destroy the silence, popping his masked head past the doorframe to greet way too gleefully for comfort, “Miss me, big guy?”
“Couldn’t have left me in peace longer?” Logan grunts, taking another sip.
“I would, but I know kitty-cats get restless without anything to do.” Wade drawls, the eyes of his mask crinkling with his annoying-ass smile.
“And what, I’m supposed to be doin’ you? Thought you’d have better lines than that.” Logan feigns disinterest, although they both know he’s never said no and likely never will.
“Gasp! My lines are impeccable, old man, like you know anything about flirting. Guess you don’t wanna see what I’m wearing, then.” Wade sing-songs, only his head still visible from the doorway.
“Not really.” Logan shrugs, although his curiosity’s just slightly piqued. But annoying the mouthy asshole is more important than instant gratification. “Is that what you’ve been wasting time on all morning?”
“One, yes it is, and two, I can guarantee you’re gonna appreciate it, and three, you didn’t even consider it!”
“Hang on. Considering.” Logan pauses, “Considered. Nah.”
“Aww, don’t be like that.” Wade pouts. “Do you wanna see my outfit?” he sings, then looks to his left and says, “And Disney can’t sue me for that! Hey, why don’t we get Rapunzel saying Avengers Assemble next live-action? Make a real crossover. And while we’re talki –”
Before he can ramble any more nonsense – it’s kind of cute, but Logan would rather die than tell him that – he interrupts with a groan, “Fine, bub, you can show me your little outfit.”
“No no, I mean, you don’t have to do this just for my sake, I won’t show you if you don’t wanna –” Wade backpedals just to annoy Logan, and he knows that’s what he’s doing but it’s working, dammit.
“Get here, Wade. Show me what you’re wearing.” Logan growls, impatience getting the better of him. Wade starts to say something again, and he cuts him off, “I want to see what you’ve got on. Now.”
“See? Was that so hard?” Wade’s voice is smug, but Logan knows him well enough to know he likes being ordered around, would drag this out longer if he wasn’t impatient too.
And then Wade finally reveals himself, sashaying dramatically out of the doorway and preening in an exaggerated pose, and all thoughts in Logan’s head collectively decide to go on strike.
“Wh – why the fuck do you even have that?” is all he can manage to rasp out, when Wade looks at him expectantly.
“You’re not the only one who can have a comic-accurate costume, mutton chops!” Wade waves a delighted, accusatory finger at him, cocking his hip provocatively, and – motherfucking baby daddy of Jesus –
“Uh huh.” Logan’s too dumbstruck to even question his bullshit, which is frankly embarrassing, but he challenges anyone else to do better when confronted with Wade – well, Deadpool – in a fucking maid dress. Where he got it, why he’s wearing it, why he looks so fucking good in it – Logan doesn’t believe in God but he doubts the guy would have known either, anyway.
It's a delicate, sweet little thing, more coquettish than anyone would expect form a man built like Wade, but if you actually know him it makes perfect sense, and looks twice as good. Goddamn holy shitting fuck, those puffy white sleeves all airy and soft over Wade’s broad shoulders, the white top cupping his ample pecs – for all Wade loves admiring Logan’s chest, he’s not wanting in that department either – and the black corset cinching his waist, making his hands itch to grab it. That frilly black skirt fluttering over his thighs, just covering his ass, and that white lace and little apron adding to the pretty softness. His holstered guns and katanas finish the whole ensemble, adding that hard, sharp edge of danger that’s so him, the whole mix of dramatic silliness and sluttiness and danger that’s all so hot and so Wade.
Wade’s skintight suit does precious little to hide the muscles in his arms or his plump, annoyingly perfect ass or his beautiful, delicious fucking thighs on even a good day. Today, though, it’s accentuating everything so fucking gorgeously, the red bright and goddamn pretty against the white and black frills; inviting, begging even, for Logan to sink his claws into the corded muscle and rugged skin and hot blood underneath, and rip and own and bury his scent into and taste and take –
“I know you’re all silent and rugged and gruff and lone wolf-y, Lo-Lo, but jeez, I’m almost offended. I didn’t know this was gonna be so unappreciated. Spidey at least –” Wade begins, and doesn’t get to complete his petulant sigh before Logan tackles him bodily.
“Shut up.” Logan grabs at that slutty little waist, too impatient to even balk at the nickname, too far gone in general as he wrestles Wade down onto the couch. Everywhere, he needs his hands fucking everywhere, every inch of him, every perfect hot precious stupid infuriating part of him that exists –
“Fuck –” Wade makes an absolutely ungodly sound somewhere between a groan and a whine, and he needs it, Logan needs it like a dying man, and he bites down on the flesh under his teeth hard, taut and delectable and ripping under his teeth, until the iron tang is flooding his mouth, and Wade mewls.
Something prickly and wound up in Logan’s chest purrs at the sound, at the taste of his blood in his mouth, Wade’s, both Wade’s, and he pulls back to survey his job, satisfied. His self-control is hanging by a rubber band about to snap, but he refuses to let Wade pin any allegations of not appreciating it on him.
And appreciate he does. The delicate skirt rucked up messily, corset straining with Wade’s panting as he’s bent in half on the couch under Logan’s weight, splayed out all pretty for him to drink in the sight. There’s a ring of scarlet teeth marks bled onto the white over his right tit, blooming like a poppy even as his skin stitches itself back together, and Logan has the urge to leave a whole field of them over his body.
“Shit, dude – Logan – didn’t know this would get ya all wound up like this, old bones –” Wade wiggles, hips canting for friction Logan refuses him just yet, locking his legs and waist with an unyielding grip.
“Shut up, Wade.”
And his breath hitches, yep, he sure does love being ordered around.
“You could pay me to shut up. You know, I’ve been thinking, killing people isn’t paying enough in this late-stage capitalism economy, so how about this: you can subscribe to my silence for 500 dollars a day –”
Won’t ever obey, though.
Well, there’s other ways to make him shut up.
Wade’s throat is hot and soft and fluttering with life as it bobs under Logan’s mouth, the startled squeak vibrating through his lips, his cheek, and then the warm blood is gushing into his mouth, the satisfying meaty muscle snapping and tangling in his teeth as Logan bites. Wade’s vocal cords taste like life and iron and fire, and it’s familiar and makes Logan grin as he sinks his teeth into it, ripping and spitting it out, and Wade looks at him with indignation and arousal all rolled up in one, briefly robbed of his words. The sight goes straight down Logan’s system like a shot, coalescing in the hot, feral thing gnawing at the inside of his abdomen, aching to bury itself under Wade’s skin and stay there forever. Skin and bone and blood and muscle, all torn and bitten and sliced and snapped by Logan’s hand, those brief flashes of Wade, so electric and hot with life, filling his mouth and pulsing around his claws and against his chest, that’s the closest he’ll get. The adrenaline of the pain kicking in makes it all the better, a tangy chaser.
His own horniness makes itself known, the slick, hot pulsing between his legs, maddening, and he refocuses on the man in front of him before he gets too distracted.
“There we go, princess, that’s a good boy. Let someone else do the talkin’, hmm?” Logan growls, and he can feel Wade’s full-body shudder under his hands, his throat not yet ready to moan again but trying its hardest anyway, “That do it for you, slut? Being a good boy?”
Wade manages a whimper through his regenerating voice box, and Logan chuckles, hand tracing up his body, squeezing the handfuls of his chest.
“Yeah, that’s it, pretty boy. Fuckin’ pathetic, really, how desperate you are for a cock. Such a fucking whore, if you could talk right now you’d only be begging me to fuck you anyway, wouldn’t ya?” Wade nods enthusiastically, he’s trembling, and Logan swipes his tongue through the blood on his chin, considering, “You are pretty, you know? All dolled up, all special just for me. So goddamn precious. My pretty little bitch. My Wade.”
And he melts at that, he always does, these rare moments where Logan can praise him and mean it and Wade can come apart in Logan’s hands and Logan can sink his teeth in and never want to let go, and then they can go back to cussing each other out and shitting on each other like none of it ever happened.
Logan bites another, matching mark into Wade’s left pec, muttering about “What do you need to talk for when you got such pretty tits, slut?”, and distantly he wishes Wade didn’t have the suit on, craves that fiery contact of skin-on-skin, the salt of sweat and the blood and muscle closer to the surface, but Wade has his moods of when he wants the suit on and when he wants it off and he always deflects questions about it so Logan doesn’t ask.
Then he finally graces some attention lower, to the very obvious tent in Wade’s short skirt, and Wade finds enough to whimper, “Come on, please, slow fuckin’ jackass –”
And the self-control is divorced from his body as Logan bites and scratches his way down Wade’s body, settling on his knees, the impatience back in full force and almost knocking him out with it. He’s the desperate one, really, not that Wade’s going to complain, nor is he in any position to turn it down.
The skirt is pretty and flouncy and the suit is Wade’s signature red and shaping his thighs deliciously, but Logan can’t be bothered to give a shit past how they’re all in the fucking way, his near-manic wildness isn’t playing well with his hurry to get them off at all, he needs to touch his skin, pierce into his muscles and get his mouth on him and –
Logan’s claws are more instinct than conscious thought anyway, and the adrenaline of the desperation has them out before Logan even registers it. They slash through the fabric like tissue, tearing the pretty white and black to ribbons, ripping the red away from those thighs, that ass, and there’s no underwear separating Logan from his cock, of course there isn’t, bless Wade and his stupid horny clothing choices.
And then Wade gasps and whines “Logan, fucking hell –”
And Logan realizes the clothes aren’t the only thing his claws have slashed up, the red not just from Wade’s suit, but also the gashes of blood dripping down his thighs and joining the other questionable stains on their couch. The skin of Wade’s upper thighs and hips is shredded and rapidly bleeding, and Logan can’t resist a taste, licking a long stripe up his left thigh, and yeah, that taste of Wade hits the spot.
“Too much, princess?” it’s phrased mockingly, but Logan wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. Wade laughs.
“Yeah, a couple of scratches is when I’m gonna tap out. Call me when you can do some proper damage, kitty cat – fuck!”
“You were saying?” Logan asks mildly, like he didn’t just put his hands on either side of Wade’s hips and stab the whole length of his claws into the meat of his hips to keep him in place (to keep him close, pulsing and hot around him, his blood slick on his knuckles, his claws snug to the hilt inside Wade’s body). Wade’s trembling and wanting under him, around him, the artery in his thigh so close that Logan just has to bite down, just barely drawing blood. “What’s wrong, cat got your tongue, slut?”
“Shut – fuck, that’s hot.”
Logan would probably be gratified – it’s not every fuck he meets someone who can not only survive having his claws buried in them, but also actively enjoys it, and it’s always fun to do it with Wade – but he’s too impatient to give a fuck right now.
His hands span across Wade’s upper thighs, grabbing him and pulling him closer roughly, a fresh stream of blood elicited by the change in angle of his claws still impaling him. Wade moans in a wordless mix of the pain and Logan’s possessive touch, and Logan wants him to make that sound again, a hundred like it, even, and gives him something to prompt it.
Finally, finally getting his mouth on that cock is relief, bliss, the craving of a starved man finally satisfied. The familiar musk, the hard, impressive length weighing down on his tongue, big enough that it could choke him if he let it – Logan hums around him, sucking and bobbing his head furiously, hungrily. Wade gasps and whines and arches off the couch, his hands tangling and yanking at Logan’s hair, and he curses out a string of obscenities that even Logan might question the logistics of. Logan sucks Wade’s cock messily, licking and kissing desperately in the moments he needs to breathe and can’t just have the whole thing in his mouth, fucking ridiculous if you ask him because Wade’s reactions are all that he needs to stay alive.
The sounds Wade makes, the way he shakes under him, the yanking at his hair, the grinding into his face, into his claws, his stupid mouth perfectly fine now but too far fucking gone to form words, silenced in a way only Logan ever gets to make him, stripped and vulnerable and just gasping “Logan, Logan, Logan,” over and over.
Logan doesn’t generally enjoy giving blowjobs all that much – he’ll do it when needed, but he’s not a fan – but Wade is the only person who has this effect on him. Not just his moans or his annoyingly nice cock, but the power to shut him up, the fact that he can wreck him so easily while being relatively unaffected is fucking intoxicating.
Pain blossoms sharply in Logan’s right shoulder blade, radiating down his spine, his torso, and he grunts as he gets his bearings. One of Wade’s hands is still in his hair, tangled in a white-knuckle grip, and the other is clutching onto the hilt of his ‘baby knife’, currently buried in the meat of Logan’s shoulder.
And this.
Logan smiles, his insides warming like the blade stabbed into him is injecting vodka in his veins, and licks sloppily at Wade’s dick before deepthroating it, a gesture he definitely enjoys if his groan is anything to go by. Logan swallows around his cock, letting himself sink into the sensation, the burn and stretch of the cock in his throat and the knife lodged in his trap, the pain hot and white and a mind-numbing offset that makes him keen.
And this, the part where Wade stabs him and sometimes shoots him, and they hurt each other just as bad, this nice little give-and-take that they have. It’s easy to sink into, easy to let his mind quiet down and revel in the feeling, the ache and pain and the pleasure, the possessiveness, without having to think about any of it. The tension carried in his shoulders bleeding out with the scarlet, relieved as Wade twists the knife. Neither of them taking what they can’t give. He trusts this with Wade.
Wade pets at his hair, raking his nails, and Logan blinks up at him lazily, no intention of getting any of Wade’s cock out of his throat until the lack of oxygen forces him to.
“I’m gonna – Logan, I’m –”
Logan hums and only tries to take him in further, if that’s even possible. Wade curses, and his hand tightens in his hair and the knife twists, and then he’s biting off a scream as he cums, shooting a warm, sticky load down Logan’s throat that he swallows contently, holding Wade snugly in place. He holds him there until he finishes, panting and shivering, riding out the last waves of orgasm – and then, instead of letting go, he just pulls back enough to swirl his tongue around the shaft instead.
Wade whines, overstimulated, and Logan feels pleasure crest inside him at the breathless little sound, at the way he twists and tries to pull away and can’t. Regenerating from fatal wounds does translate to regenerating in other parts, too, and Logan has Wade writhing and moaning under him again in record time, this time with tears visibly soaking through his mask.
“Come on, you motherfucking sadistic bastard, I’ve met wild dogs more polite, the fuck, oh my fucking –”
“You can pull away if you really want to, you know, princess.” Logan pulls off to tell him. Wade blinks owlishly as he takes stock. True to his word, Logan’s retracted his claws now, sated and more patient now that he’s had his immediate craving satisfied, and is just holding Wade spread by his thighs. At some point, Wade’s yanked his baby knife out and stabbed Logan lower in the back, and he’s left that there to fuck up Logan’s hair with both hands instead.
“Well, I always complain, get over it, fucking get back to it.” He tugs demandingly at Logan’s hair. Logan raises an eyebrow. “... Please?”
“Now, was that so hard?” Logan parrots his words from before. Wade starts bickering back, but Logan decides to tune it out, because he’s finally got a chance to properly enjoy Wade’s thighs and that’s much more important than hearing his bullshit.
By the time he’s done, there are several scarlet bite marks scattered over the sensitive skin of Wade’s inner thighs, and twice as many purpling wine stains of bruises. He looks like he’s been mauled by a wild animal – which isn’t far from the truth – and he’s already whining enough to approach the point of incoherence again. Logan decides this is enough for now.
“Hey,” Wade starts blearily as Logan pulls away, leaving him cold, “Hey! Wh – aren’t you gonna finish the job? Logan! Babygirl!”
“Don’t call me that.” Logan sighs, even knowing it’s futile. He makes it to a chest of drawers that makes Wade sit up wide-eyed and whoop.
“Gimme gimme!”
Logan doesn’t have to turn to see the grabby-hands Wade is definitely making, and rolls his eyes.
Keeping sex toys in the communal area might not be their smartest move, but they’ve long learned to keep as many on hand as they can. Blind Al would probably have an aneurysm, but she’s at a friend’s house today, and is thorough enough at cockblocking them usually that she’s never found out about the existence of the lemon yellow ten-incher and the strap harness that live in that particular drawer. A quick glance around confirms that at some point, Mary Puppins had also made herself scarce, which is good because Logan doesn’t want to be responsible for traumatizing a dog with their brand of sex.
Wade wolf-whistles as Logan sheds his shirt, and then undershirt, and makes quick work of his jeans. The air is cool on his skin, and it’s then that Logan realizes just how worked up he’s gotten too, the heat inside him almost unbearable. Taking his clothes off feels like taking off his binder used to back when he still needed it; like he can finally breathe.
Logan doesn’t drag it out – he doesn’t care to make a show of it like Wade does – and has all his clothes off and is fixing the harness on in short order.
It’s a dual-ended harness, with a marginally smaller dildo affixed on the inside, and one of Logan’s favourite things they own. It’s fun to fuck Wade with it, of course, and it’s also good to get off on while he’s too busy pegging a mouthy brat to bother about any extra effort. It’s perfect for occasions when Logan gets his pleasure from wrecking Wade as thoroughly as he can – occasions like this one.
Logan’s cunt spasms, pleasure sparking and shooting through his body as he lowers it onto the silicone dick, already soaked enough that it goes in with just a rough, satisfying stretch. He buckles the harness securely in place, and when he finally looks up from attaching the cock he’s going to fuck Wade with, he finds Wade wide-eyed and drooling and his hand palming at his own dick.
“Hey.” Logan crosses over to slap Wade’s hands away, pull them up above his head in a one-handed grip and pin his wrists to the couch back, “Hands off. Too much of a needy slut to wait, what, five minutes? Is that it, pretty boy?”
“Been almost five hours, babygirl, old age slowing you down?”
“I said, don’t call me that.” Logan wrenches Wade’s thighs apart, rubbing the head of the dildo teasingly over his skin. His own hole clenches around the dildo inside as he imagines Wade stretching around the fake dick. He considers taking him dry, letting the blood be the lube like they sometimes do, but…
“Open up, bitch.” He tugs at the bottom of Wade’s mask, pulling it up just enough to expose his mouth. Wade’s eyes are fixed on the strap-on, and he swipes his tongue over his lips eagerly as Logan brings it closer.
Wade’s just as enthusiastic about sucking dick as Logan had been moments ago, and the vibrations of his bobbing and licking make it up the shaft in Logan’s cunt too, making him grunt as it rubs and just shallowly thrusts at the sensitive nerve endings inside. He’d almost be tempted to do this for longer, but he does have a very specific goal in mind, so he mournfully pulls out of Wade’s mouth at last, the strap-on shiny with the liberal amount of saliva coating it.
Wade is trembling with the effort of staying still instead of wriggling around like his nature dictates, and Logan rewards him with a “Good boy,” as he nudges the tip of the dildo against his unprepared hole. Wade sucks in a breath, and to his credit only tries to goad Logan into hurrying up once before Logan finally slams home, punching all the air out of Wade in one short moan.
Logan doesn’t pause, neither of them want that right now, just slings one of his legs over his shoulder and sets a pace that’s not quite brutal and not quite forgiving, just this side of punishing. Wade responds beautifully, words fucked out of him yet again as he mewls and whimpers and whines with every thrust. He looks beautiful under him, too, still in that goddamn maid costume – or what’s left of it, after Logan ruined the skirt – and all spread out, bent almost in half with his legs splayed achingly apart, rocking with the force of the fucking, cock hard and leaking against the delicate shreds of the frilly skirt, tears spilling out and darkening spots on his mask yet again, arms vulnerable above his head. Wade’s eyes are fixed hazily on him too, when they’re not unfocused with pleasure, his stare at Logan’s chest and abs and face and the place their bodies slap against each other evident even with his mask.
Logan himself is losing it a bit, railing Wade with progressively less coordination and more force than when he began. The way Wade is looking at him is doing things to him, the sight of him clenching around the dick fucking him, although he can’t feel it, the stimulation of the dildo grinding against and inside him too, all of it is coming together in this perfect moment.
A whine and a spurt of blood make Logan realize he’s skewered his claws into the thigh he’s slung over his shoulder, and Wade’s broken moan of “Logan,” and the feeling of his warm blood on his wrist and the taste of it in the air and every spark of pleasure comes together in a crashing wave, fizzing sparkly and hot and almost sharp over Logan.
His hips stutter as he cums, and the stimulation if he keeps fucking Wade is just edging painful, but that’s just a bonus and so he keeps doing it anyway.
“Come on, princess, your turn.” His voice is rough and raspy, and it makes Wade throw his head back and whine. “That’s a good boy, go on, cum for me. Cum for me, Wade.”
This is one aspect in which Wade does obey, his cock spurting cum onto his already-ruined, now-completely-fucked outfit. He gasps for air as he finishes, and sighs when Logan pulls out and lets go of his hands, settling down next to him, not necessarily in a hurry to clean up just yet.
“That was…”
“Not bad.” Logan finishes for him. No point in praising him more than he already had. Not like he needed his goofy prodding for another week like the last time he made that mistake.
“Sure. Not bad. Let’s go with that.” Wade sighs contently, “First Disney princess to canonically get pegged. I’m the fucking coolest.”
“You don’t have to say that every time we do this.” Logan groans.
“Yes I do! It’s an important title! See, Belle and I both ride a beast, so that’s not unique enough, so I need –”
“I’ll clean up.”
“Noooo!” Wade immediately turned on his side and grabs Logan’s pecs, squeezing. He hums happily. “Now you can.”
Logan sighs, thoroughly used to this bullshit. He just hoists Wade in an arm, careful not to disturb his stress-ball treatment of his chest, and proceeds to remove the harness with a wince, pull on pants, wipe Wade clean with a washcloth, and figure out what lie to tell Al about the blood on the couch before remembering she can’t see it anyway.
“Your little outfit’s ruined.” He informs Wade, only a little remorsefully, when they’re finally curled up in bed together. Wade will take a nap, tired out from being so properly fucked, and Logan will stare for a while and then get up and go about his business like that never happened.
“Costume department’s problem. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Is all Wade has to say, already sprawled happily on his way to sleep.
Logan shakes his head, part exasperated, part – fuck forbid – fond. He looks away, only to meet Mary Puppins’ judgemental stare. The dog stares at him, and he has no choice but to stare back, until he realizes he’s stuck in a staring contest with a dog, which is ridiculous, and breaks it immediately.
Stupid fucking Deadpools.