Oh ho ho what if Wade and Logan and pet names 😎
Well this turned out. A length. No warnings besides the canon itself I don't think.
--
Wade will call people fucking anything in the world except their name, Logan is learning.
It’s mostly Logan and the dog who get the brunt of it, which frankly is not a fact that Logan wants to think too much about. Half of what he calls the dog isn’t even words, unless a cuntchkin is something somebody’s invented while Logan wasn’t paying attention, and it better not be. But it’s not just them. Logan only knows Peter’s name from the other Deadpools; their Wade calls him ‘sugar bear’ like that’s a normal fucking thing to call a guy you’re not sleeping with, which Logan’s about 80% sure he’s not.
The X-Men get it over the phone — who is Logan kidding, Colossus gets it over the phone, there’s no one else Wade would be calling his favorite tinfoil sculpture or a sexy sexy hood ornament or whatever’s coming out of his mouth this week. (For a guy who’ll leave the bathroom door half-open while he takes a shit and sing Britney Spears in the shower at three in the morning, Wade is freakishly, quietly kind about that whole… thing; he took a minute to warn Logan the first time Colossus came over, still ducks out of the room to take calls from the mansion, doesn’t ask questions about them even when he’s cheerfully asking Logan if he’s ever eaten ass.) (Logan is two hundred years old and he was a bouncer at a leather bar for a while, which is an answer that shut Wade up for an entire seven seconds.)
The kids get it too, the ones who Logan’s world never had a chance to teach. He hopes they’re out there somewhere, keeping their heads down, maybe living long enough to live out the hate. Ellie mostly gets musicians, Joan Jett and Bikini Kill, which Logan happens to know is four people; sometimes she’s Negasonic Teenage IED or Supersonic Adult Missile or whatever kind of bomb that Wade last saw. Russell gets ‘kid’ and ‘my favorite brat’ and more ways of getting Firefist wrong than Logan would have thought was possible in English, even though the kid apparently hasn’t gone by that in six years.
There’s exceptions, though. Yukio is just Yukio, Althea is only ever Blind Al, Vanessa is always Vanessa. No, Logan doesn’t know why he’s keeping track of this shit, or at least he doesn’t want to look at his own reasons.
And Logan? Logan’s pretty sure Wade’s just fucking with him at this point, because Logan’s been Log, Clint Eastwood, grizzly bear, knife block, jackass, and baby. If that last one made him blush like a fucking schoolgirl in the middle of the grocery store and furiously examine some beets until he got his face under control, that’s his business. It’s mostly ‘peanut,’ though, and of everyone that Logan’s ever met, only Wade Wilson could ever look at him and decide to call him something that… cute.
And then it turns out that Wade using his actual name can knock all sense and sanity right out of his head. (It’s the third time Wade’s called him by name.)
How it happens is that they’re on the building’s roof, because Logan jimmied the lock on the second day here. At the time he’d wanted somewhere to smoke; he’s since learned that Althea couldn’t care less if he smoked in the apartment, but he still comes up here often as not. It’s nice up here, in between the city and the moon.
It’s late, the night it happens. Logan is leaning against one of the chimneys, enjoying the warmth through the November chill, and Wade is — of course — hopping all over the roof, to start. He’s just Wade tonight; no suit, just jeans and a tank top that hangs low on his chest and one of those loose fuzzy sweaters of his. Logan likes him like this, a little less manic, a little less on. Logan likes him too damn much.
At first it’s just Wade talking, the steady flow of chatter that Logan lets flow over him. Great British Bake Off and the ways it compares to Cutthroat Kitchen and the best food Wade’s had in his life and all the places he’d like to eat one of these days. Then in the middle of the stream Wade adds, “Oh, and Vanessa sent me this thing for a banging good grilled cheese, like, not better than all sex but better than a decent fingerbanging — her words, not mine — so I need to give that a try,” and suddenly Logan’s mind isn’t on his cigar anymore.
“That going well, then?” He wants the answer to be yes. He does. Wade deserves to be happy, and maybe once he and Vanessa pick things back up, Logan can get himself going, get gone, shake loose this thing in his chest before it gets any deeper into him. But Wade just sighs, long and gusty, and then flops a seat on the ground next to Logan.
“Depends on your definition of well,” he says. “Compared to her being dead and me trying to blow up the building so I could go after her, it’s going great. Compared to us getting married and raising a bunch of kids, mmm, not so great.”
“Oh.” Logan keeps his voice steady; he knows how. “So, uh…”
“It’s not gonna happen,” Wade says, soft and somber in the dark, all the rest falling away like wrapping paper off a gift. “Not… in another life, maybe. Some other part of the multiverse, she could’ve been the one. But not this time. Turns out if someone dies on you and you deal with it really, really badly, and then she comes back to life, it makes it really, really hard to deal with anything else that pops up in your relationship. Funny how that works, y’know?” He tilts his head back against the poured concrete. “But the thing is it kind of is going well. I mean, I think we’re friends again. It’s not all… you know, hovering like a bad fart.” Logan muffles a laugh, can’t help it. “It’s nice. I missed her, you know? I missed being with her, but I also just missed her. It’s nice that we can actually, you know, joke around again.”
If Logan tries to say a single word right now then what’s going to come out of his mouth is something awful, something incoherent and sentimental about the way Wade loves, which is damn well. He takes a long drag on his cigar, lets the smoke fill up his chest as if it won’t leave space for anything else.
“Hey, Logan?” Wade says, bumping their shoulders together. “Thanks. I mean, for helping to save my world, big old thank you for that, but also — thanks for sticking around when I asked. Looking after Blind Al, spoiling the dog, y’know. Just… thanks.” The moon and the light pollution catch on the texture of his scars, on his eyes, on the tiny wistful curve of his mouth.
Time jumps about a second and a half, and then Logan’s half-smoked cigar is somewhere on the roof and his hands are on Wade’s cheeks and Wade’s mouth is under his.
He doesn’t pull back. He probably should. He strokes his thumb across Wade’s cheek, the leathery ridges of it, and catches Wade’s lip gently between his, and keeps kissing him.
When the kiss breaks, they’re still close enough that he can feel Wade’s breath against his mouth. Neither of them is breathing easy. Logan can’t think of a single thing to say.
“I don’t —” Wade is ragged, rough, and Logan aches. “Hold on, I’m very confused, that — is this some kind of multiversal culture clash? Are you feeling okay? That was, that was an extremely cinematic kiss, ten out of ten, very romance hero, definite bonus points for the moonlight, God your hands are big, but I really don’t think I’m supposed to be in this scene, I think somebody screwed up, I’m not — why did you do that?”
“Why the fuck do you think?” It’s hard to speak. Logan wants to run like hell and to punch him and to put his claws through his own head and to kiss him again. “I’m feeling fine and I sure as hell wasn’t trying to kiss anyone else. I.” He gives in to it, lets his forehead fall against Wade’s and curls one hand over the back of Wade’s head, just over the ridge of his skull. In for a penny, in for a pound. “The way you are with the people you love, I.” I want that. I wanna try and love you half as good. “I want to stay.”
Wade blinks furiously, eyes glittering. No tears quite fall, which is maybe good, because Logan might do something fucking stupid like try to kiss them and then he’d just plain have to shoot himself. “Aw, peanut. You gotta be — are you sure?”
“Yeah, darlin’.” Logan has to force the words past the lump clogging his throat. “I’m sure.”
Wade’s eyes go very, very wide, and then Logan is being kissed breathless against the chimney, while the cars honk on the street below and the moon gets outshone by the city.
