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Wade wonders if this is a bad idea. Not like he cares or anything, because trust his perfectly sculpted ass, he does not care about the consequences of this little stint. It’s more a question that nips at the back of his head like a yipping pomeranian, asking him, Why is Wolvie’s hand halfway up your rear-end? And, How is it that your face is buried in the cheap nylon-blend of a Honda Odyssey car seat, with zero complaints? Also, How the fuck did your anger become so horny?
They’d been fighting seconds ago. Somewhere between stab 200 and stab 201, Logan had gripped him by the hip to more perfectly refine the sharp thrust of metal into his squishy insides. Wade had clenched his hands into his throat, attempting to choke him off, but the yellow-and-blue bastard wouldn’t budge. And wouldn’t you know, his nether regions just happened to press right in between Wade’s spandex-clad cock, and well. He’s never been good at hiding a raging boner, not when he’s pushing porn star inches.
Doesn’t help that Logan’s good looking. Gruff and ripped under that comic-book accurate suit, Wade just knows it. Plus there’s his thing with authority, and he’s had great sex but never with this much blood, and that’s doing something for him too. Even now, Logan is thrusting in and out of him with little to no prep, and his fingers are curling inside of him delightfully. Wade digs into nylon seating so hard that the cushions give way under his fingers. Thank God they’re putting this car out of its fucking misery.
“You’re being fucking quiet for once.” Logan says in that pack-a-day voice. A third finger joins his second one, and the painful stretch is satisfying, like a sketchy deep tissue massage.
“Trust me, sweetheart, I can dirty-talk you all night long if you want me to. I’ve got backlogs on backlogs of sexy tropes.” He pushes back on the fingers filling him up. “I can play the damsel in distress– Oh, Logan, you’re going too hard, please don’t knock me up. Or if you’re into the whole dom-on-dom thing, I’ve got insults piled up that I’ve been begging to use on you– like those little hair-spikes on the side of your head. Are those blowjob handles? I’ve always wondered why you’d settle for a hairstyle that makes you look like a wombat struck by lightning. Is that part of the whole Wolverine thing? I mean it has to be–”
Three metal spikes graze his throat with a metallic shing. “Keep talking, and I’ll cut your damn head off.”
Wade groans, mouth biting into the comfortable gray cushioning of an affordable 5-door minivan. “Jokes on you, I’m into that.” The fingers thrust inside him harder.
Truth be told, Wade’s head is almost spinning too fast to talk (keyword: almost). He should feel uncomfortable, his mouth is the only thing separating him from the bitter reality that everyone he’s ever known is about to die, but he’s being pummeled so damn good that all his rage and frustration is simmering into pure lust. Every strong push inside jostles him, sends him rocking back into the half-hinged car seat. Logan is too strong to play nice with him. It’s a breath of fresh air, a reminder that some things can be easy and uncomplicated, like allowing himself to bottom for this very hot, angry mutant. This guy that absolutely hates his guts. Wade doesn’t really mind, because this treatment is just what he deserves, and Holy Christ his fingers are huge.
The digits leave him in one swift pull, and his hole opens and closes like a yawning mouth. Wade grunts, a smidgen of his (minimal) sanity returning while he blinks against stiff gray seating. He’d like to see Wolvie’s face, but the angry asshole had turned him around as soon as they started frotting against each other. Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s been a long, long while since he’s taken it up the ass. The ache is welcome, and he’s so turned on he’s rutting against the edge of the cushioned seat, and–
Clothes rustle behind him. He wiggles his exposed ass in eager anticipation. Three adamantium blades leave his throat and trace the side of hiked-up suit, all the way down to the swell of his hips and thighs.
“C’mon, make me bleed a little.” Wade says, and his words come out a little breathy, way less taunting than he would’ve liked. “I know you want to. Look, I’m already healing up from all that stabbing, don’t you just wanna sink your claws in? It’s like a ripe peach down there, right?”
Logan snorts, and grips his asscheek with his dull fingers instead. Lame. “More like a rotting honeydew melon. You’re lucky I’m desperate right now.”
“Desperate, or accepting our obvious homoerotic tension?” Wade cuts in, his tone cranked up full snark again. The dig at his appearance cuts deep. “C’mon, you wouldn’t be fully chubbed up if you weren’t at least a little attracted to me. What was it, the knife play? Or my incredible shooting skills? You gotta admit, I almost had you good when we first got here–”
Sharp, piercing pain shoots through his upper thigh, and hot red blood trickles down his leg. “Shut up. I might be attracted to you, but you’re still an annoying little shit.”
“But you’re attracted to me.” Wade grins under his mask, and he feels more pain spread to his glutes. Logan is not holding back with those claws.
“I said. Shut. Up.” Logan’s other hand, his right one, is spreading his ass apart. The tip of his thumb just brushes the edge of Wade’s flickering, hungry hole.
“I will when you stick that huge angry dick inside me. I don’t know about you, but I’m sporting a major hard-on right now, and Deadpool Junior won’t go away without some rough anal penetration. So stop fucking teasing me.” This time, to punctuate his point, he kicks his right foot back and lands a brutal jab at Logan’s chest. He hears a sharp snap, maybe a broken rib. Then a resounding growl that makes Wade, and the entire Honda Odyssey, tremble.
“You wanna get fucked that bad?” Logan wheezes, still recovering from that kick. Good. Wade likes him better like this, refusing to pussyfoot around the real reason they’re here. To fuck each other so loudly and so brutally that the entire empty purgatory they’re stuck in doesn’t feel like a drawn-out nightmare.
“Oh, yes sir.” Wade taunts, wriggling his ass in the air. Blood continues to dribble from his leg onto the crumb-infused minivan floor. “What about the demure schoolgirl? Actually, I’m not sure if that one will look good for either of us, ratings-wise. People tend to tap out when smut falls into predictable tropes.”
“I have–” Logan grabs him by the neck, hard enough to bruise, “No fucking idea–” His other hand grips him by the hip, “What you’re yammering on about.” He feels the smooth head of his cock prod against him.
“Finally.” Wade can’t believe he actually got the other mutant to listen, for once in his stubborn, alcohol-saturated life. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to penetrate me.”
His own cock is throbbing against his stomach, leaking like the faucet in Blind Al’s apartment that she refuses to fix. Damnit, if his universe survives all of these time-hopping cronies and washed-up superheroes, he needs to hire a plumber. Or look up one of those Youtube tutorial videos that a brain damaged toddler could follow. He’d probably still manage to fuck something up, but at least they’d save the money.
Maybe that’s why this sex is so good. He hasn’t gotten any in a good year or two, forced to jerk off to pictures in magazines like some gross perv, and Logan just fits. The guy is an asshat, but he doesn’t hold back. Not even when he eventually presses inside, filling Wade up almost halfway on the first plunge, painful and pleasurable in equal parts.
“Fuck.” He can’t help but moan. “Fuck, yes.”
Logan is panting at the back of his neck, and Wade would kill a million TVA soldiers to see his handsome, angry-at-the-world face contorted into something more fucked up and vulnerable. Whatever. He’ll twist him around and ride him later. Right now he’s focused on the huge cock spearing him. Like, really huge. Logan isn’t even all the way in, but he already feels split in two. His body is shifting and rearranging and healing just to be able to take all of him.
“You’re tight, Wade.” Logan says it like he’s narrating a nature special on mating animals. Cold and direct. Wade, on the other hand, is whining like a bitch in heat.
“And you’re… you’re big.” For once in his life, he feels like all his quips are melting from his head, leaving behind only one feral thought. Sex. Sex with this big, burly man in a goofy yellow-and-blue spandex suit. Why is it always spandex? Always so hard to peel off, especially when it comes to sex. Even now, red and black plasticky material is restrictive where it’s gathered around his chest and knees, cutting off the circulation to his extremities. All of his blood is rushing to his cock.
He rubs his aching dick into the rubbery car seat. “Keep it moving… c’mon. Use all that super strength on me.”
The grip at his throat becomes even tighter. “I’ll move when I want to fucking move.”
“O-okay! Okay then.” Wade needs this stubborn idiot to move, but he can barely breathe. Deep, shuddering air enters his lungs in sporadic bursts. He braces his arms against the seat and pushes back.
Yep, there it is. Fireworks fill his head and his chest and his eyes like he’s at a cheap Fourth of July barbeque. Logan’s cock is perfect inside of him. Warm, filling him to the brim, so big and thick and steady. Dependable, but also brutal. Did he already mention perfect?
And then Logan moves. Dear God, he moves with all the strength and assuredness of a two hundred pound bear, his body wrapped over him like he’s swallowing him. Wade isn’t even smaller than him, (they’re the exact same height, thank you very much), but he certainly feels smaller than him while he’s shackled against this rickety car seat. His mouth hangs open, and he tries to breathe against the spandex at his mouth and the hand around his throat. He honestly might suffocate.
“Oh, I like you like this.” Logan presses into his ear, every word emphasized with a sharp thrust. “You’re actually listening for once.”
“Nice… try… Wolvie…” He sucks in air, and pushes back with all his strength, until Logan crashes against the car’s console and crumples to the floor. His cock slips out, depressingly, but that won’t be a problem for much longer. Wade whirls around, sticks his fingers in Logan’s mouth to quiet him, and hovers over his spread legs.
He’s going to ride him like a goddamn stallion.
Logan is taken aback, of course. His hands clench into useless fists in midair, now that he doesn’t have a free throat or scarred asscheek to cling onto. He also spouts off a bunch of insults. Not exactly his best work, if Wade is being honest. He’s also a lot less scary up close– his Hollywood-actor face is red and sweating, chest heaving desperately with every breath he takes. Even his claws are retracted.
“That’s right, kitty. Put those paws away.” Wade coos, before cackling at how mad Logan gets. He’s an easy one to get all worked up. In fact, he’s about to retaliate with some form of violence, his hand raised in midair, before Wade sinks onto his length.
“Oh.” The moan punches out of Logan’s chest, his midsection rattling under Wade’s hands.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Wade fumbles for his mask and lifts it up above his lips, just so Logan can see his shit-eating grin. “I’m about to give you the best orgasm of your life. Free of charge, although I am taking tips.”
Logan tries to form the syllables for the words shut up, but Wade still has three fingers shoving into his mouth. His very irresistible looking, spit-stained mouth. Wade rocks back and forth, searching for that ever-so-famous male G-spot, while he leans in closer. Eyes to mouth. He pulls his fingers away, and drags them into a violent kiss.
It’s fast and rough, just like his pace. Their teeth bump into each other, and Wade feels like a teenager again, clumsy and giddy with hormones. How is this some of the best sex he’s ever had, with a variant of Wolve-fucking-rine? It’s ridiculous. Insanity. Even weirder than running into Charles Xavier’s bald, mind-fucking (literally) twin a few hours prior. This day (Week? How does time pass in purgatory?) couldn’t get any stranger.
Except it does, because Logan is almost gentle, with the way he cradles Wade’s hips as he bounces up and down. His moans are still few and far in between, but his sharp intakes of air betray his arousal. He’s close. Wade wants to bring him even closer.
So he releases him from their kiss and really focuses on riding him. His knees bend, thighs quivering with so much leg-bouncing action, but it’s worth it for the expression on Logan’s face. Gone, fucked-off, out to lunch. His eyes are shut and the lines on his forehead are deep with desire and his mouth is wide open. The fucker even whimpers.
Okay. This was totally worth some gouged-out guts and a few broken bones.
Wade can tell Logan is inching closer to orgasming, and with only a few strokes of friction against his leaking cock, he’s close too. He collapses against Logan’s chest and wraps his arms around his broad shoulders, allowing his knees a short rest. Then he bites into his neck like a blood-thirsty vampire.
“Augh, don’t… do that…”
Wade releases the skin under his teeth. “It’s not like it’ll stay, Mr. Claws. Healing factor. Let me enjoy myself.” And he leans over again, taking his flesh into his mouth and sucking and pulling as hard as possible.
Logan groans and thrashes until his hands find Wade’s ass, spreading him apart smooth and easy, lifting up his hips to sink into him. His cock plunges in and out easily, with filthy slopping sounds that make Wade’s head spin. He’s stuck in a porno. This sex can’t be real.
And then there it is, his cock twitching like it’s attached to a little string in the ceiling, the familiar tightening of his ballsack, and that scorching heat stuck in his lower gut. Wade again wonders if this is a bad idea. A bit too late to turn back now, but still. Sleeping with his temporary coworker has to put a strain on his ability to kick ass properly, right? Mr. Alcoholic-burdened-by-his-past doesn’t seem like the type to cuddle after sex. Would they talk about this after, or stew in familiar tension? Wade won’t let anything get in the way of saving his universe, even if the dick is other-worldly. And just to make things clear, this is probably the greatest, most violent dicking-down he’s ever had in his life.
“Fuck.” He gasps. Logan thrusts into him in and out recklessly, like a sentient pocket pussy. Nails bite into his rough skin. They’re stained with so much blood and sweat, and everything in this damn car has a sheen of grime, but it’s so good.
“Gonna… come…” Logan says, like it isn’t exceedingly obvious. His eyes trace the whites of Wade’s mask, all the way down to his lips.
Then, in a move so shocking that even Wade is thrown off his game, Logan lifts his mask up past his eyes and off his head. He throws it in a desolate, glass-covered corner of the Honda Odyssey. His eyes fill up with so much heat that it’s palpable. Desire is thick in the air, like a noxious cloud, and Wade feels like he might choke on it.
Logan is definitely attracted to him. Like, wants to look at his bald, blemished face attracted to him. Wade thought that only Vanessa was into that.
He grabs Logan by the jaw and forces him to look at his eyes. His bare, extra-exposed eyes. “Okay, big guy. Here it is. The moment we’ve all been waiting for.”
A final, vicious thrust stirs his insides. Hot come fills him up and leaves him a creamy mess. Logan’s nails rake across his shoulders, his neck, the back of his head. And for once, he’s loud. He grunts deeply, in a barbaric, masculine way that makes Wade’s cock jolt. And then he’s coming ropes too, spraying onto both their stomachs, his legs rattling and the car stirring under them. This Honda Odyssey is their own private sex cage. Wade would live in this horrible minivan with Logan, if it meant they’d be screwing like this for the rest of their absurdly long lives. This isn’t fucking purgatory, this is heaven.
He slips off his dick after they stop breathing like they’d just ran a marathon. Come dribbles out of his hole, and taints the floor of the car. Wade backs up into a seat, and tries to collect himself, but he’s whirling.
“Not bad. You do that with all the girls back on your home planet?” He breathes, tucking his cock back into spandex.
“No. Not often.” Logan mumbles. He won’t look Wade in the face anymore, eyes trained on the come staining his suit.
“Don’t worry.” Wade pats his shoulder. “They always make these suits machine washable. This kind of stuff happens all the time off-screen.”
Logan’s look of bewilderment should be permanently etched on his face, considering how often he tends to stare at Wade that way. But there isn’t a hint of anger there, only resignation.
“I can’t believe I got dragged here against my will. What a joke.”
Wade wants to tap him on his nose. He looks so damn cute, all slumped on the floor of the car, sweaty and sexed-out. But he holds himself back, because if he babies The Wolverine, he’d probably only get stabbed again.
Instead, he grins. “Round two?”
It’s a horrible idea, but he can’t really find it in himself to care.