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    Summary

    Wade wants to talk about what happened in the Honda Odyssey, Logan doesn't. Total PWP.

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    'I got a splinter,' Wade whined, and Logan looked up in time to see him splayed over the remnants of the coffee table - now kindling - and pull a splinter of wood - more a stake - out of his palm with a sickening sucking squelch.

    'Look, good as new already,' Logan dismissed, in the same tone you'd use on a toddler with a scraped knee, returning to his paper and looking for the puzzles as Wade lifted his hand to glare at him with one beady eye through his new stigmata.

    'I’m peachy perfect, but that's the fifth coffee table this week and the good people of Ikea are definitely starting to think it's a sex thing.'

    'You told them it was a sex thing,' Logan deadpanned, and Wade was horribly, quietly thoughtful for at least half a second.

    'Is it?' Wade asked, and Logan felt the sigh radiate from the marrow of his own bones as Wade's pepperoni face appeared over the top of his newspaper. Wade rested his chin where the pages met, blinking at Logan prettily.

    Logan wondered if he could paper cut through a grown man's neck. 'Is it what?'

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