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After over two-hundred years of living with the social rules of gender designations, Logan never would have expected to find himself free of them, untethered in this similar but all too different world. It changes everything and nothing, allows him freedom while chafing over him like too tight clothing.
Gone are the wrinkled noses and bristling hackles of alphas, replaced with wary looks and freak show worthy stares of fascination based on his looks alone instead of the biology of his scent. Mutants are tolerated here, a drastic parallel to the animosity back home. Part of him wonders if he should even keep calling it home at this point, he has nothing left back there, no reason to return. Hatred and ostracizing traded for a one bedroom apartment and a pull out couch.
But there’s beer in the fridge and an ugly dog that hogs the shitty bed. Could be worse.
Logan has never been a very good omega, too bulky, too dominant, and thanks to the scientists from all those years ago, too feral. He was a wild dog that every knot headed alpha from his dimension thought they could domesticate if they postured enough. That is, until they came face to face with six claws and a bigger set of canines than any alpha he’d ever met.
As if it wasn't bad enough that he couldn't recover from the physical differences, his scent wasn’t even omega like. There was no luring sweetness, no scent of home and comfort to draw an alpha back time and time again until they were mated.
No, he smelled as wild as he looked, and sometimes behaved. It was an air of ancient forests and earth, the smoke of wood burning fire and something simply described as metallic. Big surprise with how much of the stuff they had put inside of him all those years ago.
None of these things bother Wade. Not the instinctual guarding of his throat, or his more animalistic habits. How Logan would steal every blanket he could get away with to sleep at night, excused as a reason to comfort the picky dog at night and definitely not to nest after Wade inevitably talked himself to sleep. He never gave Logan more than a raised brow bone as he took in his order of rare steaks and burgers, the less cooked the better. They had had an interesting late night or early morning interaction within their first week of cohabitation surrounding the very preference.
Logan stood in the kitchen, glaring into the fridge with tired eyes, the brightness of the interior light making his head ache. He had been woken by his stomach a little after midnight, and after three hours of tossing and turning, he had finally given into the baser need to find food.
Christ, they needed to go grocery shopping.
The fridge wasn't bare, but was certainly lacking in options save for the over abundance of condiments that rattled on the door. A pack of cheese close to molding, some over ripe fruit, a lone cucumber Logan and Al refused to acknowledge, much less touch. Red caught his eye on the bottom shelf and he sniffed as he leaned closer to the package, confirming what his animal nature was craving. Meat. A lone steak lay wrapped in cellophane, marbled with fat and tempting as it sat in a little puddle of blood within the packaging.
Shwarma, Falafel, Phad Thai, Bibimbap. Wade had seemed to have made it his personal mission to take Logan on a world tour of food after they had kept Cassandra from fucking up the multiverse. It was if he could sense the bare bones meals Logan had kept to since the fall of the institute, not that beef jerky and a handle of whiskey could be called a meal.
Still, he wasn't too upset, the spices fragrant and the flavors indulgent as Wade ordered for him time after time, as if sensing how far Logan had been taken out of his depth. The mercenary seemed to know how to find the best food in the city, balancing flavor and cost in some secret formula back in his skull so that Logan always left well fed. God what he wouldn't do for a burger, or better yet a simple steak rare enough he could feel the rolling of muscle between his molars.
But the wounds he had rained down upon Wade and the words that led to those blows only days ago still hung heavy on his conscience, leaving Logan feeling as if he needed to try to add as much normalcy as possible to their new arrangement, lest he out stay his welcome before he could find other means of living. Jobs had been applied for, and work sought out, but he was in a bit of limbo as he waited for the TVA to get him recognized on paper as the Logan of this world.
He shook his head of the thoughts as his stomach growled, returning his focus to the fridge. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Wade was still dead to the world, his tall stature and restless sleep leaving his feet hanging out of the covers and over the edge of the bed, one hand dragging on the worn wooden floor as Mary Puppins snored into his face, her tongue draped across his bed mate’s nose.
If he stayed up til sunrise he could head out as soon as the butcher opened, replace the cut of meat before anyone else woke up. Logan was already moving before he was done planning the cover up, the SNIKT of an emerging claw loud in the quiet apartment. He made quick work of the packaging and skewered the steak on the tips of his claws, avoiding the risk of blood and meat forming damning evidence beneath his nails. Logan didn't hesitate bringing the meat to his mouth, sinking his canines and incisors into the cut of beef in his possession and giving into the craving.
He wanted to groan with the first bite. The copper tang of blood bloomed on his tongue and his teeth ached, eager to dig in further until he could gnaw and tear at the meat in his grasp. He was half way through the steak before he felt the eyes on him, ears picking up an elevated heartbeat he had become all too familiar with. He was getting too comfortable around the mercenary if he had been so distracted he hadn't even noticed when he’d woken up, much less moved into the doorway of the kitchen.
“Don't let me interrupt your midnight snack. I know better than to get in the middle of an alley cat and his kill.”
Logan makes eye contact with Wade as he swallows a bite of beef, ignoring the nickname to flash a fang with a warning snarl.
Wade steps closer and Logan can feel the ridiculous fuzzy socks the other sleeps in brush up against his own feet as the space between them disappears. While he didnt expect Wade to back down, he hadn't counted on him moving closer, pressing into his own personal space with the smell of want evident on the surface of his skin. Combined with the soft smell of sleep and clean sweat it makes a heady desire burn low in Logan’s gut. The heat is quick to evaporate as Wade opens his mouth, his next words pushing arousal out of the way to annoyance can move to the front of his mood.
“You’ve had my blood in your mouth more than once and smiled about it you minx. You’ll have to do something more scandalous to chase me away, like trying to hold my hand before we’ve even decided to go steady.”
He gives Logan a wink before he takes a step back, and another before he moves to the fridge, retrieving a bag of shredded cheese with little hesitation, even less as he opens the closure and crams a handful of the stuff in his mouth without an ounce of grace. Orange shreds fall to the floor as Wade eats like an animal, pot calling the kettle black, his hip leaning against a chipped wooden cabinet in the too small kitchen. Logan takes another bite of his prize, eyeing wade with distaste.
“It's a wonder you don't have ants in this hellhole, you know that?”
"Oh we used to, but the black market repellent keeps them away, and anything else with six or eight legs.” He’s quiet for a second, one blissful second as Logan takes another bite of raw meat. “Maybe that’s why spiderman doesn't visit anymore.” He cant help the snort of laughter that leaves him, and regrets it the moment it does. Wade preens at his joke, at the fact that he was able to break The Wolverine from his usual stoicism.
He’s about to bite out rebuttal when a snuffling sort of snort by their feet tells him Dogpool has joined their little gathering, too large tongue picking up any cheese that manages to escape Wade’s mouth to land on the floor. Wade sprinkles some extra for her as he starts in on some nonsensical song about cheese tax. He’s got no fucking clue what he’s singing and rarely does at this point.
They stand without speaking further, Wade losing interest in their interaction in favor of talking to the ugly dog. He scoops her up once she’s cleaned up the mess at his feet, kissing her wrinkled forehead as he turns his gaze onto Logan.
“Wash your claws before you come back to bed, the sheets get enough blood on them on a good day, much less a three am snack sesh.”
Logan grunts in acknowledgement, and it must be enough for the other as Wade bustles off to bed, the Mary Puppins already dozing off in his arms after the surprise late night snack party. His bag of cheese lays abandoned on the counter, clearly forgotten by the other man. Typical.
The steak is gone with a handful of bites, and Logan lets himself savor it in the quiet of the kitchen as he listens to Wade’s heartbeat slow with sleep. He had been expecting more jokes, maybe a theatrical gag or disapproval, but the lack of them makes him feel as if he’s been knocked onto his back foot, off balance from the simple interaction.
He doesn't know why he washes his claws, shaking the water off with a flick of the wrist before they disappear back into his flesh. He puts the cheese away before returning to their shared bed, eyeing it with a bit of reservation before shaking his head and crawling beneath the blankets.
His sleep is oddly dreamless and he finds the sun well into the sky by the time he wakes to the smell of hot coffee and the sound of Al moving through the fridge.
“Which one of you mutant fuckers ate my steak?”
Wade snorts from his seat at the kitchen table, and Logan hopes he says something just so he has an excuse to punch him.
It shouldn't surprise him that Wade remained unfazed even as weeks turned into months of living together, overlooking the strangest of the Wolverine’s habits to focus on his taste in reality tv and choice of laundry detergent.
“Logan the blood is never going to come out with that generic bullshit. It’s Tide or nothing in this house.”
“One, This isn't a house. And two, you don't even own a washing machine. We use the laundromat a block away. I’ve seen you use whatever some poor soul leaves unattended on the counter just so you don't have to pay for soap.”
Wade rolls his eyes.
“I’m not made of money, but I am loyal to the brand. See if I let you use my tide pens.”
Logan refuses to admit that the tide cleans better when he tries it, and that the use of orphaned fabric softener makes his clothes chafe less.
Without a designation Wade is about as blind as Al to all of the hidden body language and scent cues that anyone back home would immediately bristle at. Logan gave up on any attempt at hiding them years ago, and finds no reason to try changing things now. Of course they run into a few token parties who are able to pick up on some things others don't. The first time Wade had taken him to an area called Hell’s Kitchen was as Deadpool, leading the way up fire escapes and over rooftops until they had been intercepted by a scarlet dressed man who looked like he was itching for a fight.
Deadpool had made a comment about their matching kitten ears and earned a baton to the mouth for his trouble, the weapon flying before Logan even saw it drawn. He decided the devil was alright, and that was before he picked up on their similarities. The Daredevil clearly had some manner of super senses, clear to Logan with deep inhalations under the cowl, something he recognized as a shared habit, the inquisitive sniffing accompanying the scent of curiosity. He watched each movement of his horned head, as if Daredevil was trying to pick up any surrounding sound, his assumption proven right as a scream rang out from blocks away, sending him moving at Logan’s side before Deadpool had even noticed anything was out of the ordinary. With little tolerance for Wade’s antics, he was alright in Logan’s book, even if he knew more than he was letting on.
Still, it’s a novelty to have someone at his side who doesn’t fear him, doesn’t sour the air with anxious sweat and the scent of snap quick fight or flight response just at the sight of him. His nose doesn’t disrupt his roommates nearly as much as he had anticipated, the inconvenience of his oversensitivity absent as Wade hyper focuses on keeping their messy home clean of dirt or anything else that could cause a lingering odor.
Logan would think this was just how Wade was if it wasn't for Al’s commentary questioning why they had to bring in a nice piece of ass for Wade to be motivated to clean up after himself.