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This is how it always goes: “You’ll call so Mary can hear your voice, right?”
It’s always for the dog’s benefit, of course. Never Logan’s own.
“Of course I will, peanut. Put your ringer on so you don’t miss me when I do,” Wade promises every time, out the door with a wink and grin.
—
It started as a joke, like most things with Wade do. He’d been away a few nights for a job and had decided to fuck with Logan and call him late the second night, claiming he wanted to say goodnight to Mary Puppins in case she couldn’t sleep without hearing his voice. Really, he’d just missed Logan so much it almost unnerved him, the way he’d wormed his way into Wade’s heart so completely already that being away from him felt a little bit like dying.
Logan had grumbled and bitched but begrudgingly held the phone near the little dog for Wade to talk to. Wade could hear her little sniffs on the other end, and laughed when Logan complained about her licking the screen.
He considered it a great success, all he’d wanted to do was fuck with Logan a little bit, ruffle his carefully groomed wolvie feathers and he had. Logan didn’t need to know that it was solving two problems with one call. The innocent need to hear Logan’s voice and soothe the ache in his chest and the not-so-innocent need to annoy him. It wasn’t until they hung up on the third night in a row when Logan gave him a soft, “get home safe tomorrow, bub” that Wade started getting other ideas. Ideas that got out of hand quickly.
Since then, he’d called every night he was away on any job and Logan always reminded him to do it before he left. And eventually, he never ends up talking to Puppins during those calls, just spends an hour or so chattering with Logan about how the job is going, what his Wolvie’s been up to at home.
The longer this goes on, the more Wade starts to notice things about the way Logan gets on the phone.
When Wade calls late enough, he knows Logan will answer the phone in bed, sometimes he can tell that Logan was sleeping and woke up just to talk to him — like he really did put his ringer on for Wade’s call. All sleep soft and raspy voiced, still nuzzling a pillow with the other half of his face that isn’t pressed to the phone. Moving out of Althea’s place didn’t afford them another bedroom, but it did mean that it was the two of them sharing the bed instead of Al and Wade anymore.
Tonight, Wade hears the shifting of skin across their scratchy, cheap sheets assuming Logan is sitting up and imagines the way the fabric pools at his waist.
Though they sleep in the same bed every night, Wade’s never touched him in it, always hyper aware of his skin and not wanting to gross Logan out. Because they’re just best buds, and Wade knows that’s all that he’s ever going to get.
He knows to be grateful for it now, because once Logan gets back on his feet and reestablishes himself, Wade will miss his warmth emanating from the six strict inches between them every night. And he’ll miss these calls like a lost limb.
“Hey, bub,” Logan rasps when he answers, a little strained, perking Wade’s ears. He hears a click of a plastic cap next and would know that sound anywhere as Logan unsubtly opens the bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. What the fuck?
Has he died on this job and gone to heaven? Wade wonders if he’ll wake up halfway through this incredible little fantasy reprieve to the gory sight of his dismembered body as he’s just half healed enough to regain consciousness.
He decides he doesn’t care, he’ll linger and let the post-death reprieve play out as long as it can.
“Hi, Lo,” he answers, deeper on purpose, wanting to drown in the barely audible gasp Logan lets out at hearing him. There’s a wet noise, muffled by Logan balancing the phone against his shoulder and chin, hands free to coat his already hard cock with copious amounts of Wade’s lube.
He tries so hard to be quiet, to not let Wade know how affected these calls make him, but he’s been hard since the clock struck 11 and the possibility of Wade calling to say goodnight ramped up with every minute.
His brow pinches as he runs his lube coated fingers across himself, just barely teasing, “How’s this one goin’?” Praying to whoever the fuck will listen that Wade can’t tell what he’s doing. He wants him to talk, to ramble and joke and tell a stupid never ending story. Just needs to hear Wade’s voice so bad it almost hurts.
Oh, Wade thinks. This might just be fucking real and his Wolvie wants to play this straight.
“Where’s Mary, sweetie?” Wade croons on the other end of the line.
Logan bites back a whimper, moving his hand faster over his slick length, fist tight “She’s uh, here,” he lies through his teeth. She’s dead asleep in the living room, locked out of their bedroom while he does this. Wade hasn’t asked for her in weeks.
“Mm I don’t think she is, angel baby. I think you’re my only puppy listening right now.”
There’s a high whine that he can’t fight this time, completely clear over the phone. Caught entirely. Wade plays along, though.
“Wolvie? Are you okay? Sounds like you hurt yourself,” faux concern laces through every syllable, “something going on over there? I thought you’d be sleeping.” So perfectly sweet, and just on the right side of condescending, walking the knife’s edge of being the same damn voice he uses on Puppin’s when she sits for a treat.
Logan would sit for a treat, he thinks, deliriously hard and wanting. He’d do anything if Wade said it like that. And promised to cuddle him after. Fucking hell, he’s got no shame left at all. Not when it comes to Wade, at least.
He aches, stripping his left hand even faster, squeezing his thumb and forefinger just under the head the way he likes best, the way he hopes Wade would like to do to him.
A low grunt and the mattress springs squeaking under Logan’s weight is the only answer Wade gets. He settles down on his back, spread out and relaxed.
“Logan.”
“F-fuck, fuck. Yeah? What is it?” He bites his lip, fangs cutting and drawing blood, hips shoving up into his fist. He doesn’t want to talk, just wants to listen.
Wade’s voice scratches every itch he never knew he had. The way he’s grown to crave it when Wade’s not around. Something must have changed underneath that Time Ripper; rewritten the patterns and idiosyncrasies in Wade’s voice into something vital, something specifically to drive Logan crazy. The lilting cadence engulfs his senses entirely, makes him desperate and needy for more, more, more.
The desperate whine in Logan’s response has Wade on cloud nine, confidence skyrocketing from the distance and separation. This is easy and comfortable and he’s still fully clothed. Suited up like sex on legs. He feels, for a moment, like he has a chance. “Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?”
Logan moans like pure sin, right in Wade’s ear, long and unabashed suddenly, like he’s given up every pretense. “Might be.” He scrubs the pad of his thumb across his slit once, twice until it’s too sensitive, precome weeping across his knuckles. “What if I was?”
Wade’s mouth goes dry. He struggles to answer.
“You never touch me, Wade,” Logan moans, pained. “I want you to touch me.”
Wade’s heart cracks a little, underneath the heat and sexiness of the situation. Logan’s been right there the whole time. His for the taking within reach.
“My poor wolvie. You wanna know what I’d do if I were there, peanut?” Wade asks breathless and wild. Air rushing from his lungs in a manic haze. He doesn’t wait for an answer, letting Logan’s keening cry be enough. “I’d lay you out on your stomach for me, face down and ass up like a good wolvie. Put that extra fluffy pillow under your hips for you and open you up with my tongue before I fuck you senseless.”
“Wade, Wade, Wade.” He thinks about what he’d do if Wade were with him, wants to bury his nose in the hollow of Wade’s throat, to feel his voice from the source. Place a hand against his chest to steal its warmth from inside his sternum.
Wade’s got him right where he wants him. “Shh, slow down, angel baby, are you listening? Do you wanna be good for me?”
He’s so close, stroking himself rougher at Wade’s tone, unable to form a coherent thought let alone sentence. Barreling toward the edge, he feels his balls tighten, cock nearly purple from the abuse. He knows he’s whining into his phone, soft and desperate little uh, uh, uh’s in Wade’s ears.
“You sound so pretty, Lo, bet you look even more gorgeous right now.”
It’s almost too much; the praise, the sound of Wade’s voice so warm and fond washing over him. Exactly what he wanted when he planned this.
“But you’re always so pretty, baby,” Wade admits quietly, “can’t ever stop looking at you.”
“M’gonna— Wade, I wanna come, please,” Logan begs, needing more of his voice. Wanting to drown in its depth. He hears it in his dreams sometimes, echoing through his mind at his most vulnerable, waking up to know he could reach out and have the reality in front of him if he asked for it. Wade was always talking to him just to talk.
“Yeah? Gonna make a mess in our bed? I’ll come home to sheets that smell so much like you, won’t I, Lo? Will you show me how you did it when I get back? I’m gonna want an encore, I need to see your face when you come for me the next time. You can show me just how you like it, I’m a quick study, peanut. I’ll know all your little buttons of pleasure so fast, I promise. Can take you apart and put you back together as many times as you want.”
Halfway through Wade’s little tirade there’s a sharp cry followed by a quiet sob as Logan comes hard, white hot streaks painting across his chest and stomach.
“Good boy,” Wade purrs as Logan pants through the aftershocks. “That was dirty, peanut, did you plan this? Couldn’t wait for me to leave just to beg me to call you and use my voice for your own pleasure?” He tisks.
“You…” Logan breathes, still coming down, “—we both needed to get our heads out of our asses. Distance felt… easier.”
Logan makes a soft noise, “did you— I didn’t hear you, uh…”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, peanut. I’m the hardest I’ve ever been in my life. Jesus fuck, could cut diamonds with this thing. I’ll never run out of spank bank material ever again after this, either, you know—”
“Alright, alright,” Logan chokes a little, coughing as his face heats with embarrassment. Still covered in his own come, he shuffles the phone against his shoulder again. “When are ya comin’ home, bub? Miss you.”
Wade’s heart melts again, ridiculously smitten, “soon, honey badger, I promise. Maybeee, eight or so more hours? Then I can leave to get back to you. And you’ll be sleeping for a good amount of that, so, really no time at all.” He hears Logan’s answering purr over the phone, cracks his own grin.
“Good. That’s good. I’ll be waitin’ for ya,” he promises, groaning when he sits up. Sticky and overly warm. But relaxed and satiated and dare he say, a little hopeful. “Goodnight, Wade.”
“Goodnight, peanut.”