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    “Jesus, baby. You like all that about me?” Wade looks like he’s the cat that got the canary, but beneath that Logan can hear the vulnerability in his tone, the little moment of hesitation, can feel the way the rhythm of his fingers falters for a second.

    Logan can’t help himself. He knows he shouldn’t say it, knows he should stuff it down, knows from 200 years of experience that admitting he loves something only ever ruins it, but he feels so drunk on pleasure, high on the stretch of Wade’s fingers in him, on the flush that spreads from Wade’s cheeks all the way down his chest, that he doesn’t know how to keep it inside. He leans over Wade and says, low and clear, so he can’t miss a single word –

    “I fucking love it.”

    OR: Logan gets fed up with Wade making jokes about being ugly and they fuck about it. With a hefty helping of Logan angst, too, of course.

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    08 Sep 2024