Chapter Text
Wade calls him all sorts of shit. Logan assumes its a bonding technique he picked up as a young man - either in high school, or the army, or while he was in whatever sports team he was in that led to the ‘Unsolicited Stick Pics' group chat on his phone.
Whatever the reason, Logan gets nicknames from dawn to dusk. It's near constant and nearly always annoying. He gets ‘Pass the sugar, sugar,’ at breakfast, when Wade's leaning past him to get to the condiments. He gets 'Sweet moves, Babycakes’ when they’re fighting back to back, surrounded by guys who want to rip their fucking heads off. Late at night, when he’s trying to concentrate on some show he didn’t even want to watch to begin with, he gets Wade’s bony toes pressed against him and, ‘the thing about this guy, kittenwhiskers, is that everyone thought he died in season three'. And ‘This part’s crazy, sweetcheeks’. And ‘Honeybadger, watch this!’
Complaints about the nicknames have led to nothing.
Logan can be stalking around the apartment, threatening Wade with a clawing for eating the last bowl of his favourite cereal and not replacing the box, and all he gets in response is a little ‘hold your horses, pumpkin’, or-
“Come on, Wolvie, it’s not that deep,”
It’s Logan’s first instinct to stab him in the leg - just a flesh wound, something that would heal up in a minute - but Al’s only just swept the floor and the last time they shed blood inside Logan got an earful, so he restrains himself. He shuts his mouth. He turns the other cheek.
Wade tests his patience with a whispered ‘good boy’ as he walks away.
They go to the mansion, to pick up kit before a mission, and Logan’s on high fucking alert. It would be a damn stupid place to wind him up, but Wade can’t seem to resist. Logan thinks its some kind of power move - some way of asserting dominance. Wade waits until they’re in a tense situation, somewhere where everyone will hear him, and calls him ‘sweetie’.
Logan punches him in the thigh right before they get out of the helicopter at the mission site. Wade limps into battle, but he does so with a dumb fuck grin on his face.
He doesn't take the hint.
He doesn't let up.
He calls Logan ‘honey’ on front of the delivery driver; ’killer’ when Logan wakes up drooling on his shoulder after a Star Wars marathon; ‘lethal weapon’ when he steps out of the shower wrapped in just a towel; ’baby boy’ just… all the time. All the fucking time…
After a few weeks, Logan stops reacting to the nicknames. After a few months, he kind of stops noticing. After half a year, Wade has pretty much stopped using his real name at all. And then he starts again. And Logan’s not dumb. He spots the correlation. The moments that Wade uses his real name- well, they’re memorable.
The first time it happens, they’re standing in some drippy, dirty-ass warehouse, and Wade’s got his hands locked around Logan’s hips. They’re not fighting.
They’re on a mission, keeping an eye on the building across the road through a long range camera, and Wade’s been irritating the ever-living fuck out of him all day long - has been all up in his space, close enough to make his skin prickle. He’s been teasing, and pushing, and being altogether to much, which has led to some wild tension in the air.
(And maybe there’s been some other stuff in the run up, too. Maybe there was a thing on the sofa, a couple nights ago. And another time Logan cornered Wade against a kitchen counter. Maybe there’s been a bit of mutual innuendo - a bit of kissing, and touching, and a handjob or two - but Logan’s been trying to categorise all of that as something they do when they’re home, and alone, and bored, and messing around. It’s fine. It’s cool. It doesn’t mean anything). So it comes as a surprise when when Wade turns towards him, in the dark warehouse, and shoves him up against a wall.
Logan has barely caught his breath before Wade’s hands are on his belt, tugging it open, sending three ammo packs and a gun clattering to the floor. He barely has time to get his hands on Wade’s shoulders before he's dropping to his knees. Then Wade’s hands are around his hips, and his nose pressed against Logan's belly, and he's sucking him off loud and wet, sounding like he’s having the time of his life, which - fuck it - really does it for Logan.
Fuck. It really does it.
Collapsing back against the wall, he tries not to let his legs give out. He’s whining by two minutes in, trying to smother the sound in the back of his fist. Making so much noise that Wade pulls off him, chin covered in spit to throw him a crooked grin.
“Those are some good noises, Logan.” No nicknames. Just ‘Logan’. “I’m gonna need you to give me some more of those. Help a hero out.” And, honestly, Logan doesn’t have time for many more before he comes, but he does his best.
Wade sucks him down and swallows him, then leans his head against his thigh and finishes himself off, hard and fast, across the floor and Logan’s boots. When he's done, he uses Logan’s arm to pull himself up, gives his chest a slap, then stumbles away into the room with a little;
“Wow… fuck me.”
Logan watches him go.
Watches him rearrange the suit, wiping his hand clean on one leg and rolling the mask down over his chin.
Fuck.
Striding over to the window, Wade dips his head down and checks on the long-lens aimed at the building across the street, making sure nothing has happened while they've been occupied. Then he shoots a grin back at Logan and makes some tasteless comment about getting cum out of leather.
Logan stares, feeling like someone's snuck up and clubbed around the back of the head. Like a cartoon character. Or a seal pup. His eyes probably twice as big as either.
.
They don't talk about it, but it continues to happen.
The second time, (or the fifth, depending on which acts Logan’s counting), they’re on the pull out mattress on the floor of the living room, and Wade’s got him in a headlock.
It starts out as idle harassment. Wade wanders through after his evening bath and finds Logan still awake. He drapes himself over the sofa and asks him about his book and, when Logan tells him to fuck off, starts bothering him about it. So Logan swats at his hand. So Wade slaps him around the head. So Logan tries to kick his leg where it’s draped over the arm of the sofa. So Wade rolls down on top of him and their argument becomes a scuffle (gentleman's rules - no knives, no claws) which leads to a wrestle, which leads to them breaking the front legs off the pull out.
It ends with them wrapped around one another, Logan's blunt knuckles pressed menacingly over one of Wade's major arteries as Wade grinds against him through their clothes.
And, yeah, maybe the fact that it starts out as a fight is part of the rush. Maybe Logan had been kind of hoping it would go that way as soon as Wade strolled in, full of fake nonchalance and already nursing a semi. Maybe Logan had kind of been asking for it by leaving the door open and the light on. But, despite the fact they’ve done this a few times, now, Logan is not prepared to hear his name whined out at the back of Wade’s throat.
“Oh, fuck, Logan,”
It strikes a match to something deep inside him. He barely has time to slip a hand down, between their bodies, before he’s coming.
Wade shakes apart in his hand shortly after. Gets some on Logan’s pillowcase and has the audacity to fuck off without offering a replacement.
The prick.
.
The next time’s the kicker, though.
“Oh shit, Lo-”
There’s no pretence about it, this time. It's not some stolen moment. It’s planned. Deliberate. Intentional. Al heads out to bingo at six and both of them intentionally stay in. Both of them intentionally turn up on the sofa 'to watch a movie’ at the same time, freshly showered and changed, Logan with a condom in his pocket. And - fuck, fine - maybe they’re starting to make a bit of a habit out of this, but it’s all still under control. Logan’s handling it. At least, that's what he thinks as he sits beside Wade, waiting to make the first move.
“Yeah, yeah there,”
It feels different once he’s on his back, Wade’s strong thighs wrapped around his waist. It feels different with the hot slick feel of Wade, rising and falling around his dick. It’s harder not to get carried away, like that.
“Fuck, peanut, right there.”
And, man, Logan could bitch all day about the nicknames but he'll always let ‘peanut’ slide… He kind of likes ‘peanut’…
“Logan...”
His hands tighten against Wade’s sweat-soaked hips. He arches his back, pressing one foot into the arm of the sofa. (The new one. The one he and Wade bought together, decimating their savings, after Al yelled at them for breaking the last one during their ‘arm wrestle’).
"Fuck,” Wade pants above him. Logan can see the pink roof of his mouth - the little ridges that he knows intimately from the times he’s felt them against his dick.
And this had all started with Wade kneeling while Logan thrust up into him, holding him in place. This had started with Logan feeling in control, but now it couldn’t feel more the opposite.
Wade’s bouncing up and down in his lap, saying all sorts of shit - calling Logan by his name, and telling him that he looks amazing, and that he’s his best friend, and that he’s good, he’s so good. He's got one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his dick, his well muscled belly is heaving, sweat sliding down the center of it, and Logan might be losing his mind… He might actually be losing his mind…
“Shit, you’re perfect,” Wade groans. White teeth, pink tongue. “It’s insane you can even do this, Lo, you’re so fucking strong. Fuck, I love you. Shit, shit, shit-” he hangs his head back, eyes closed, skin shining with sweat. “Fuck, Logan, I’m going to- Logan-”
And Logan stares up at him, mind melting. Because nicknames he can handle, but how is he supposed to deal with this?
.