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capitalismwasamistake · 2 months ago

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You liked "Newton's Third Law" but don't want to read a songfic? No worries! Here is just the vivisection in that fic's sequel "When The Drunks Start Singing" - no need to read 27k words of two guys singing.

It's longer, more romantic, softer, and more violent - what more could you ask for?

Warnings: blood, violence (it's a vivisection ...), sex. Unbearable amounts of softness, intimacy and tenderness (that's a warning and a threat)

Ship: Poolverine (but you knew that already)

Word count: 5.1k - open that "keep reading" at your own risk

Blind Al is at bingo.

“You grow a pair yet?” Wade asks over the takeout for lunch.

Logan grunts in the affirmative, utterly focused on his food.

“I want it on the carpet.”

“I assumed.”

“Aww, peanut, you know me so well!”

As if to emphasize the point, Logan hands him a beer.

“I was just about to ask for that.”

Last time Wade was understandably nervous. Today he’s still slightly nervous, truth be told, but mostly he’s excited.

Logan finishes a hearty lunch, then washes the dishes. Wade buzzes around him and whines his impatience for the entire building to hear, without being acknowledged or indulged once.

“It’s like you don’t love me anymore,” he complains, then curses himself mentally because honestly? He’s better than that.

“I’m in love with you,” Logan easily points out and hands him a plate to dry.

“I thought we agreed you’d give me warnings?!”

Logan pretends not to hear him.

Three minutes later Wade returns to the living room after a much-needed bathroom break and his heart inexplicably swells.

A couple of their old once-white-but-now-bloodred sheets are folded over a particular spot of carpet – where the loveseat, now under the far window, usually sits. A couple of throw cushions are propping up Wade’s bed pillow on top of that.

“You were serious about preparing this time, huh?” he turns to Logan who’s looking outside at the unusually sunny day.

He gets an affirmative grunt in response.

Wade joins his partner by the window. Caresses his arm softly.

“You still wanna do this?”

Logan looks slightly pained for a second.

“I may want it too much.”

That’s not what Wade expected.

“Peanut, I asked you to do this,” he reminds.

“I know. I know.”

“It’s not nice to edge outside of the bedroom, you know.”

Logan huffs at that, and finally turns to look at Wade. He looks happy.

Wade is also very happy when he gets a deep, sweet kiss.

“I love you,” Logan tells him when they part.

“I see why you never said it back, hearing it so often takes up all the urge, huh?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Yes, sir!”

Logan looks amused as he accepts Wade’s shirt from him and folds it neatly on top of the loveseat.

“That’s hot.”

Logan shakes his head then shrugs out of his own flannel and undershirt as well.

“Aw, peanut, giving me a view?”

(He is, but he’ll never admit it out loud)

Logan steers him by the shoulders and lays him down. The softness of the carpet is a definite improvement from last time.

“Oh yeah, here we go,” Wade mutters and shuffles to get comfortable.

Logan gives him a second pillow which he promptly shoves under the small of his back, but that creates an awkward angle and is not that comfortable.

“Next time,” he winks, and Logan shakes his head.

He caresses Wade’s hip, then reaches over to unbutton his jeans.

“Oh?”

“Got plans for this one, bub.”

“Love the sound of that,” Wade decides as he lifts his hips to help Logan push his jeans down.

And then he’s there, completely naked. It’s a miracle this apartment is not cold approaching the middle of October.

Logan’s looking at him appreciatively, and okay, Wade heard him sing that line in Undisclosed Desires (twice), but that doesn’t mean he quite believed it. He’s still him, after all.

Hard to be a nonbeliever when those eyes are drinking him in like that.

Then Logan’s bending down to kiss him, and that’s also a welcome diversion from last time.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right?”

“Peanut, there’s literally nothing you could do right here that I’d want to stop. But sure.”

That seems to be enough for Logan, who once again pulls back and considers his next move. Wade is relaxed under his gaze, transfixed by the odd mix of focus and serenity on his features.

Then one set of claws gently slips out and Wade’s excited.

Logan meets his eyes, and Wade nods.

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

Logan doesn’t immediately open him up. When he said he had plans for this one, he meant it.

He seems to have taken some experience from bedroom experiments, because he uses the full length of his claws to slice precise, curved cuts into Wade’s left arm. He follows his flesh’s natural curve, moves along with it, and leaves a pleasant sting of crimson in his wake. The cuts are deep, metal drags along bone, blood flows into the sheets and down to the carpet.

Wade tries to stifle a moan, fails. A smile splits Logan’s focused face.

He finishes below the wrist, the last cut just dipping into Wade’s palm, and moves back to observe his work. The wounds heal quickly, but the blood remains, a swirling picture of bright red – Wade’s the canvas.

Logan leans down, presses their foreheads together, closes his eyes, and purrs.

“Yes,” Wade gasps because he can understand what his partner’s asking. “Holy mother of wolverines, Logan, yes.”

And just like that, he continues. First the right arm, a mirror image of the left. He’s thought this out – the angles so that Wade sees it too, the depth so just the right amount of blood pools and drips down, the intersections, the places that hurt the most. The world’s most intricate art composition.

Wade can’t even think, he can only watch and feel and try to beg for more, only words are not quite on the menu for him, Logan must be glad, and the blinds are open this time so he can see sunbeams dancing off of his own drying blood and that shouldn’t look appealing but it does.

Man, Wade is messed up. It’s fine – he’s got another messed up freak right there with him. Two is enough for company.

Logan moves across his sides and to his belly – he leaves the centre of his chest suspiciously clear, as if bringing attention to it, and Wade can imagine why he may want that.

He wants to say something along the lines of ‘you’re insane’ or another love confession, but what comes out is a whimper. Logan pauses and comes up to nuzzle his cheek.

“Peanut,” Wade manages to whisper and nuzzles him back. “I get that consent is hot, but if you don’t get back to it right now you’ll make me sad.”

Logan scoffs, but pulls away with one final caress to Wade’s cheek. Then he gets going on his legs.

The visual of one of his ankles hooked over Logan’s shoulder while adamantium claws carve a swirling red pattern into his calf was not on Wade’s list of most intimate experiences, but quickly makes its way to the top of the lot. Logan bends his knee and caresses the skin before he cuts it, slow yet self-assured.

Wade can’t claim he’s ever been happy to be butchered but as they say, there’s a first time for everything. Just his blood flowing steadily over Logan’s claws, onto his palms, his wrists, his forearms, even over his shoulders and chest, is doing things to his mind he’ll never come back from.

It’s the most pleasurable eternity, the hour and a half they spend there, until the sheets are soaked and Wade is boneless with ecstasy and Logan is panting handsomely with the effort. All the wounds have closed within a minute from being carved, yet the intricate red lines remain, the points where they flow and mix and twist about each other.

It’s beautiful, and that’s something Wade hasn’t thought about his own body for a long time.

Logan sits next to him, stretches his legs out until his knees pop. The old man joke is on the tip of Wade’s tongue, but he’s not quite back to the talking stage yet.

They take a couple of minutes to just exist together, to bask in the closeness and the warmth.

Logan looks at him and tilts his head.

“Ready?”

After all that? What a stupid question.

“Open me up, baby!”

Logan starts the same as last time – one collarbone to the other, then two parallel cuts to form a rectangle. Wade sinks into the familiar feeling and lets his eyes drop half shut in preparation for the fun stuff.

The still bizarre sensation of air hitting his internal organs bright him back to full awareness. He looks down, and his lungs look exactly the same as last time. You almost can’t see the cancer, which just not fair. He just had to end up hideous on the outside only.

Logan’s busy – he cuts off Wade’s flesh this time, allowing his body to start regrowing the missing chunk immediately. That sets them on a time frame of about ten minutes until it closes completely, which kind of disappoints Wade. Just a bit. Not that last time lasted more than ten minutes no, but last time they had a job to do, can’t they just have their fun with it now?

Logan kneels above him and hesitates.

“Let me guess,” Wade takes pity on him. “Plans end right about here.”

Logan shrugs.

“Alright …”

Problem is, Wade also has no idea where to go from here. He’d rather avoid another lung amputation, cause that was uncomfortable as hell, but just sitting with his insides on display while his flesh regenerates is boring.

Good old-fashioned stabbing?

He’s just opened his mouth to suggest it when something catches his attention – his own heart, which he can now literally see jackrabbiting in his chest (you never think you’ll say these sorts of sentences until you say them, eh?). It’s a small red clump of muscle beating stubbornly despite all odds. God’s perfect joke.

Looking at it transplants a vision in Wade’s head all telepath style, and he frantically tries to wave his arms to get Logan’s attention (he can’t really, because his pectoral muscles are torn to shit, and it’s good that his abs are too because he unwisely tries to sit up, and having stuff spill out of him now would be a nightmare).

Logan frowns with concern and Wade frantically shakes his head.

“Logan, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“You said you’d do anything?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely anything?”

“For fuck’s sake, Wade, just tell me what you want.”

“I need you to tear out my heart.”

Logan freezes, blinks.

“Come again,” he sounds like he’d very much like the answer to be different this time.

Well too bad, because Wade is aware of time running out and even though they could just do it again, multiple times even, a terrible urgency has overcome his entire being. It needs to happen right now. He grips Logan’s wrist, the only part of him within reach, and stares intently into his eyes.

“Peanut. Logan. I need you to get in there and dig out that tiny little pulsing thing.”

“Innuendo? Right now?”

“It’s how I communicate. Please. You said you’d do anything.”

“Of course I will, but why–”

“Because I want you to,” Wade insists. “Please.”

“Stop begging. I’ll do it.”

“You sure? Cause I kinda think you have a thing for begging,” Wade waggles his eyebrows.

Logan flashes his claws.

“Yes, here we go,” Wade grins.

With a smirk. “Here I come.”

“It’s been a year and a half, gimme a break already!”

“Never.”

And then Logan is pulling his claws back, and next thing Wade knows, his breastbone is caught in a tight grip. Oh yeah, he kind of forgot about the other unpleasant part of their previous similar vivisection – breaking his ribcage hurt like a motherfucker. Not to mention the damage to his lungs.

But oh well – Wade is willing to break an omelette to make a few eggs or however that saying goes.

Logan checks in with him one last time, and Wade nods.

Then there’s a squeeze, a pull, and his breastbone snaps off with surprising ease.

Wade still winces, then coughs, because really, the human body is not meant for any of these things to happen, but quickly he stops paying attention to it. Most of his ribs have broken tips, but they’re growing back already, and Logan’s running out of time.

He knows it too, carefully monitoring everything happening in Wade’s body. He takes one large preparatory breath, then dives in there with both hands.

The wind gets blown out of Wade as he’s reminded of the sensation of hands digging around his chest. This time he also feels them nudging against the slowly growing edges of his ribs and wonders what would happen if Logan just stayed where he is. What if he let Wade’s bones pierce his arms, grow through them and anchor them. What if his flesh grows shut around Logan. Will they be a single being then? Will they stay infinitely together?

Then he’s only thinking about a sharp, yet familiar pain – he’s been hit in the heart plenty of times, unfortunately, felt it stop beating on multiple occasions. This is not that different.

Logan’s hands emerge, dyed completely in Wade’s wet, hot blood, and in his palms he’s cradling that small red lump of muscle.

Wade’s got about twenty seconds until he passes out from the shock. But those twenty seconds are enough.

Enough to see something which will imprint itself into his memory forever. Logan, on his knees, bent down over Wade’s body and gazing reverently at that miniscule piece of him like it’s everything. Logan, who could be a god, hunched in utter devotion over his masterpiece, Wade his altar and his sacrifice and his deity, as golden light from outside halos his form, blurs his edges and renders him sublime.

Enough to see Logan bring that unbeating heart up to his lips.

Enough to hear him whisper to it. “I will love you until the heat death of the universe.”

Now that … that can just straight up kill a guy. Any guy. Wade’s pretty sure that if his heart were still in his chest, it would have exploded. He opens his mouth to tell Logan that, but then the twenty seconds slip past, and Wade surrenders to unconsciousness shrouded in mad euphoria.

-------------------------------------------------------------

He wakes to a fondly familiar sight.

Logan is lying next to him, head cushioned on Wade’s chest. Sleeping, or simply dozing. Always listening.

Wade smiles, a small and private thing, and wishes Logan were turned towards him, but alas, he can’t see his face.

A quick glance at the window confirms he hasn’t been out for long – the sun’s barely changed position. A half hour, at most. Wade takes a breath, allows himself a few seconds to check if his new heart is up to speed, then self-diagnoses as Absolutely Peachy.

Ignoring the mind-blowing intimacy, this was one refreshing experience. Ten out of ten.

Counting the mind-blowing intimacy, well …

Wade slowly brings a hand up, testing new muscles, and cards his fingers through Logan’s hair. His eyes wander around the living room and that’s when he sees it: his bloody heart is resting, whole, on top of his upturned breastbone, the literal weirdest possible platter. Someone’s developed a sense of humour. Wade looks at it, mouths you were a real trooper, but then his attention is swept away by his partner stirring.

Logan groans softly as he lifts himself on his elbow and turns to look at Wade. A few flecks of dried blood stick to his cheek, though it’s worth pointing out that he’s quite bloody in general, and Wade feels warm knowing he, once again, did not leave him for a second.

“Hey,” murmurs Logan, eyes half-lidded.

“Hey,” Wade agrees.

Logan smiles, cups the back of his neck, and bumps their foreheads together. He doesn’t quite purr, but it’s a close thing.

“Five minutes,” he requests. “Then aftercare.”

“I’m feeling magnanimous. Five minutes you’ll get.”

Logan pecks him on the lips and stands up, stretching on his way to the bathroom. Wade watches him go bathed in unusually golden light for midday October, and contemplates how lucky he is.

Three minutes later (how expedient!) the now mostly clean Logan returns with the wash basin Blind Al insisted they buy her, and a collection of towels. The water in the basin is steaming and Wade shifts a little in anticipation.

“Oh yeah, spa day,” he whispers to himself.

Logan, of course, hears it and flashes him a self-satisfied grin on his way to deposit his cargo by the couch. Then he returns and sweeps Wade up, sheet and all, into his arms.

“You’ll make a swooning maiden out of me yet, peanut,” Wade sighs and relaxes against his favourite chest in the world.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Logan nods, and carries him to the couch – much softer and less spring-leaden than their previous one. Also cleaner, but that’s neither here nor there.

Wade settles down reclining against a mountain of pillows and throws a look at the carpet – the bloodstain is huge, and that delights him. He’s got no way of knowing if their unfortunate non-asshole downstairs neighbours got a blood shower from this but oh well, shit happens, and he’s quite happy with the mark of his accomplishments.

Logan doesn’t permit his attention to wander for long (he’s got a possessive streak, alright): he sits by Wade’s side and starts on cleaning his arm.

When Wade jokes that everything the Wolverine does is hot, he’s actually not joking at all.

Logan holds his hand and drags the wet towel across his arm, smearing his beautiful blood lines yet looking more than happy to do so. Whenever he makes a clean spot, his lips follow, reverential in their exploration, and Wade’s lungs must be going bad again because he can’t seem to find his breath.

Logan is taking such obvious joy in lavishing Wade’s ruined skin with his affection that it’s hard to see it as anything but deserving of it. He gets lost in it, his eyes slip shut and he forgets to open them, gets careless in his motions, ends up on still crimson skin and gets a red dusting on his beard. He doesn’t even seem bothered by it, tongue dashing out to skin to steal a taste, and Wade supresses a curse in his mouth.

By the time Logan’s diligently kissing across his collarbone, Wade starts thinking up wedding vows. Not that he’ll ever grow the pair to propose, of course, but he will be imagining it for the rest of his life.

As Logan caresses his second elbow before washing it, Wade discovers speech.

“Oh my god.”

Logan grunts to indicate he’s listening.

“Holy fucking shit. Sweet baby unicorns. Peanut, you’ve ruined me.”

Logan glances up at him and hums, right into his skin, then his eyes slip shut again and he continues his meditative pace.

“You hear me? You ruined me. I’m ruined. For everyone else. I’ll never fall in love again.”

“Good.”

Possessive streak indeed.

Wade’s utterly boneless as the tender ministrations continue. His body is too tired for much of anything at first, but he’s always bounced back quickly. And Logan could get a geriatric terminally heterosexual blind and deaf guy to full mast just by looking like this – nosing, mouthing and licking at Wade’s navel like it’s the sweetest drug and he’s hopelessly addicted.

Did he plan this from the beginning? Hard to say. Wade’s not complaining.

His dick eventually is, when it gets achingly hard with no prospect of relief, but for once in his life Wade just tells it to shut up because he wants to enjoy this to the fullest. There’ll be time for sex on their new mattress with the new headboard later. Preferably when his new heart can handle the strain.

Logan is so focused it takes him ducking to Wade’s inner thigh to notice his predicament. He pauses where he is, considering, then glanced back up to Wade.

“Want some help with that?”

His voice is so fucking husky – Wade curses as his cock gives a painful twitch.

They negotiated beforehand to leave sex for two hours after being done at least. Wade’s flexible, but he likes to think of himself as a guy who honours his word.

“I’m good,” he chokes out.

“You sure?”

“If you keep going like this, I’m more than sure.”

Logan contemplates him for a second, then apparently chooses to follow his lead, because he returns to his leisurely veneration. Wade breathes deep and tries to watch him, but the angle’s not quite right so eventually he leans back and closes his eyes to focus on what he can feel.

They spend another eternity like this, and it’s something Wade could grow used to – the warmth of Logan’s hands, the soft caress of the water, the tender brush of lips, the scratch of facial hair. The peace of their synchronised breathing.

Has anyone ever felt such bliss? He doubts it.

Eventually, Logan clears his throat and Wade blinks his eyes open.

The sight that greets him could, again, kill a man on the spot.

Logan, the Wolverine, is lying on his side between his legs and holding onto his knee as he works on his inner thigh.

“Oh, you’ll end me,” Wade groans, but doesn’t mind the prospect.

“Bub.”

“Peanut.”

“I really wanna suck your cock right now.”

Wade blinks. “Huh?” he asks, intelligently.

Logan sighs like he’s suffering. “You have no idea.”

Wade intends to be a decent human being and remind him of their agreement but come on, he’s weak, and even if he weren’t, nobody is strong enough to reject such a request.

“Whatever you want, peanut,” he chokes out. “I’m all yours.”

Logan nuzzles his thigh, as if saying goodbye to it, then climbs back up towards his prize. He glances up at Wade.

“Thanks.”

“Cheeky–” Wade attempts to tease, but then a different type of heat entirely envelops him and the word dies out in his throat.

Now, this is not the first blowjob Logan’s given him, of course not. But the both of them must be drugged, or something, because it feels monumental. Like every dial in Wade’s body has been turned up to eleven, and even the breath Logan releases around him sinks through his skin and into his bones.

Logan’s not even doing all that much – this afternoon’s theme for him seems to be “unhurried” because he drags his tongue flat across Wade’s length slow and lazy. Minimum effort, yet it drives him batshit crazy.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Gosh, just keep going.”

Maybe his new heart is overdoing it (we’re all just a tad too eager when starting a new job), or the entire afternoon of edging is getting to him, but Wade doesn’t last long at all. He tries weakly to push Logan off, because a fair warning is common courtesy, but is not surprised when his stubborn partner stays where he is.

The orgasm is just the cherry on top of his afternoon cake at this point.

Logan’s usually not one for swallowing, but he does it this time. Like he’s loathe to leave even to take care of business in the bathroom.

I hope we both do this until we’re ninety, Wade thinks, a bit hazily, as his body comes down from its high and he finds himself in a gelatinous state once again.

Logan lies on top of his belly and murmurs another: “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade lazily waves him off, then yawns. Widely. “I live to please. Speaking off, want me to–”

“Later,” Logan shakes his head, then slowly stands up. He resumes his self-imposed duty with no less attention, and Wade thinks he might just fall asleep simply because he’s not able to take it.

“Goodness, I love you. So much. We have to do this again. Make it a thing. A yearly thing.”

Logan hums neutrally.

“A ritual of sorts. A sacrifice to the great cruel goddess Mary Puppins.”

Logan frowns and glances up at him at that.

“Didn’t I tell you? I promised that if I ever get another internal organ removed I’d give it to her.”

“Wade,” Logan sighs, long-suffering.

“Nuh-uh, peanut, we’re doing it. You don’t wanna make a liar out of me, do you?”

His partner shakes his head like he’s tired of nonsense, then his breath returns to ghosting across Wade’s skin like that’s its sole purpose.

“I mean it. Once a year, peanut. At least. An anniversary thing.”

“If you just want the afterca–”

“Babygirl, I cannot even begin to explain to you how much I want the whole package.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“No promises.”

Logan grunts and continues. It’s not quite the full agreement Wade wants, but he has time to wear him down eventually.

“I gotta give it to you, sparkle tits, you’ve gotten better at aftercare. Much better. Only thing missing is the candles.”

Logan, head not raising from underneath Wade’s bent-up knee, jerks a hand in the direction of the window. Wade automatically turns to look there and nearly does a double take. On their coffee table, in a little porcelain holder Wade’s fairly sure they’ve never owned, a single candle merrily burns away.

He stares at it, dumbfounded.

“When did you light this?” he demands.

“Before we started,” Logan’s voice is low and slurry, like he really is drugged, and it does wonderful things to Wade’s ego.

“Is it scented?”

“Vanila.”

“I’m so proud of you for that situational joke.”

Logan hums, then angles Wade’s leg further up to get going at his calf. The water is growing slightly cooler now, but he’s diligent about supplementing with his palms and breath, so it’s all good.

“Logan, I’m in love with you.”

“So you say.”

“Say it back. Once. Casually,” Wade stresses, because he really cannot handle much more right now.

“I love you.”

“Too much,” he groans, squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Way too fucking much.”

“I worship–”

“Logan, stop!”

Logan chuckles.

“Never thought I’d see the day you tell me to shut up,” he points out happily.

“Miracles do exist, peanut.”

“They sure do, bub.”

With that, Logan gets going on his other leg. He seems to find more energy there because he sits up and presses Wade’s foot to his (still blessedly naked) chest to wash it clean.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Wade realises.

Logan chuckles, and his breath tingles across Wade’s knee.

“The most elaborate assassination attempt in history.”

To get his side, Logan somehow lodges himself between Wade and the back of the couch, and it’s a painfully tight fit. He can’t look at what he’s doing with his face pressed into Wade’s neck, so it’s all handwork, and he wants to be very sure. They spilled a lot more blood this time, after all.

Wade’s writhing from the slide of warm, rough fingers into the dip of his waist. He swears he’s not ticklish, but come on. Anyone would die from this.

Then Logan slowly turns him on his front because his back is a mess of crimson streaks, and Wade keeps on with that vow composition.

“Pretty sure I’m clean, peanut,” he manages to slur out after twenty minutes of Logan just trailing kisses across his shoulder blades.

Logan hums in acknowledgement and doesn’t move away.

“Stubborn little honey badger,” Wade whispers and surrenders to his fate – death by too much bliss.

Logan’s determined to bring it to him too, because after he’s done with the bath, he switches to a very thorough, very dedicated full-body massage. He’s mostly doing it for the warmth, Wade can tell, but by God, that man knows how to work sore muscles.

“Where’d you learn to do that, the army?”

“Did the army teach you swordsmanship?”

“Fuck no. I learned watching Princess Bride like everyone else.”

Logan does complete his task eventually and simply lies across his back like the world’s manliest, burliest weighted blanket. Wade sighs into the pillow.

He maybe sleeps for a bit, or maybe not, he’s not sure. The only thing he’s aware of is Logan climbing off of him and leisurely stroking the back of his head.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat,” Wade tries to shrug, but none of his melted muscles feel inclined to work.

“Two minutes,” Logan covers him with the decorative blanket before he slips away.

Wade counts the seconds.

One hundred and fifty-four seconds later (clumsy, peanut, clumsy) Logan drops something by the couch and frees Wade from the blanket and the soiled sheets.

“Turn over.”

Wade does, then Logan is passing him something and climbing in behind him. Wade barely manages to focus on not dropping his food as Logan wraps both arms around his waist and pulls him back against his chest, legs bracketing him on both sides.

They’ve been sleeping together (as in literally sleeping next to each other on the same bed, get your heads out of the gutter!) for a year and a half, cuddles are nothing new. This shred of familiarity in a sea of things that feel overwhelming and new is a relief, and Wade sinks into it for the chance to clear his head of the most prolonged afterglow of his life. Logan hooks his chin on his shoulder and purrs, that deep, guttural humming sound he makes deep in his chest when he’s happy, and all’s right with the universe.

Wade glances down and notices he’s holding a bowl of diced fruit.

“Did you pre-prepare this?” he asks, incredulously.

Logan grunts in confirmation.

Wade blinks to assimilate this.

“Exactly how many steps does your aftercare plan include?”

“A couple more.”

“I will not survive it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Wade idly picks at the juiciest bits – some kiwi, a couple banana slices. Ooohhh, pear, he loves those!

He’s halfway done snacking and enjoying himself when he idly brings his sticky fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. Logan, idly, catches his wrist, brings it over, and does it himself.

Again, technically nothing new, but Wade melts (that’s also nothing new but shhh, keep it a secret). He’s truly turning into a swooning maiden.

Logan observes his handywork critically and seems to deign it good enough because he releases Wade’s wrist, but not before delivering a slow caress to his pulse point.

“What do you want?” he asks, casual enough, but Wade sees the look in his eyes and knows he would do anything.

“I want you more naked.”

“Later. Eat.”

Wade obliges, but he’s very, very impatiently thinking about later.

Link to fic (for self-plagiarism avoiding purposes): https://archiveofourown.org/works/58375663

#poolverine #deadpool and wolverine fic #cw blood #cw violence #blood #violence #probably won't make sense if you haven't read at least the first fic #but who am I to stop you if you only want a romantic heart-amputation #heed my warning this is too fucking soft I'm almost disgusted with myself for writing it #I'm haunted by visions of writing a third part where Logan is on the receiving end of the vivisection and trying desperately to resist #I feel like three poolverine fics would be overkill #something dark and sinister has reared its ugly head upon this heinous earth #newton's third law #when the drunks start singing

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