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The maple pecan muffins from Wade’s Wakey-and-Bakery run this morning stood no chance—already halfway to annihilation as he licked the last lingering crumbs of his second, third, maybe even fourth (who was counting?) from his fingers. Still, something else— someone else—had his attention. He glanced up at Logan, gaze lingering like he was the far more irresistible snack in the room. Even with damn good muffins on the table, something felt off, and Wade’s not-so-secret superpower kicked in: The Logan Whisperer.
Mr. Grumpy-Hot-Ass-Pants was slouched in his chair, arms crossed, gaze lowered—as if he was trying to shrink into himself. Usually, by now, Logan would have grumbled something about Wade’s bright yellow sweater with the word Butter printed across the chest or tossed out some gruff remark about the muffins. But today, he just sat at the breakfast table, extra broody and silent, staring down.
What the fuck was Logan staring at? His dick? Was Logan already horny?
Wade was horny for the muffins, but he could always get in the mood for his Lo Lo Bear.
“Hey,” Wade said, nuzzling Logan’s foot under the table. “You okay over there? You look like you’re having an intense and serious conversation with your pants.”
Logan shifted in his chair, and his flannel pulled over his stomach. Wade hadn’t meant to notice, but it was hard to ignore how the fabric stretched tighter than it used to be, not just across his chest and arms, but lower, across his tummy tum, with little gaps between the buttons as the fabric pulled tautly. Since when the fuck did Logan have that hot little honey bun cooking in the oven?
Logan sighed into his coffee. “I’m fine.”
“C’mon, Sugar Wolf," Wade purred, "I can tell when you’re a little more tense than usual. Is it because we didn’t make hot love this morning? Fuck knows I wanted to. I just thought a little yummy breakfast would be nice. But if you want, I’d be DTF right in the fucking muffin basket. You know I can’t resist you, especially when you’re looking this damn good.”
“It’s not that... it’s...” Logan dipped a thumb into the waistband of his pants, adjusting them with a frown. “Nothing.”
“Is it because I got the maple pecan muffins instead of the bran ones you love? Thought it would be a fun nod to our Canadian roots, eh?”
"It's not the fucking muffins," Logan growled, then hesitated. "Fuck, maybe it is."
Wade’s fingers crawled across the table, settling over Logan’s hand with a gentle squeeze. "Baby, you’re constipated right now. And it’s not from a lack of bran muffins." Wade leaned in, his gaze softening. "You’re emotionally constipated. C’mon, let’s get it out. You’ll feel so much better, I promise."
Logan stared at him, unsure whether to be annoyed or relieved. “Dunno,” he gruffed. “Just feels like I’ve been putting on weight. Shirt’s too tight, had to fucking squat into my jeans this morning, and they’re not sitting right. Feels… off.”
Holy shit. That’s why Logan’s been so hot lately. It wasn't his blow job handles. It was his love handles!
Wade's pulse stuttered.
"Well, if it feels off, then fuck it! Take it off!” Wade’s eyes flickered as they roamed over Logan like he was already picturing it. “I’m not opposed to dining in the nude.”
Logan’s gaze drifted downward to the plush arc of his stomach pressing against the fabric of his flannel. “I think once I take them off, they aren’t going back on again.”
“I wouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“Yeah, well, I would.”
“Baby, you are like... premium deluxe hot right now. And I’m saying this as a certified expert on squishy hotness because, uh—” Wade gestured to himself with both hands. “Hello, Merc-with-a-Muffin-Top right here.”
Logan’s eyebrow shot up. “The fuck is a muffin top?”
“Oh, Logan. You poor, sheltered feral lumberjack. Didn’t Chuck teach you anything useful at mutant school? A muffin top is when your pants sit just a little too tight around the middle, and—wham!—you’ve got a cute little squish to cuddle pooching over your waistband. Like the top of a muffin spilling over the wrapper.”
Logan blinked, clearly processing this revelation. “Well, I don’t fucking like it.”
Wade gasped, mock-offended, and lifted his sweatshirt, pinching at the soft flesh squishing over the waist of his pink Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. "I’m still hot, right?" He arched his back slightly, pushing his belly out with a playful pat.
The soft, rounded curve of Wade’s scarred belly made Logan swallow hard. It shouldn’t have been so distracting —hell, it shouldn’t have made his skin prickle with heat, but it did, like an unexpected spark lighting up his thoughts.
"I see you looking,” Wade winked, “Muffin to see here, Peanut, just a little extra lovin’ for you. I mean, who needs abs when you’ve got this?" He wiggled his fingers into a buttery fold, giving it a gentle shake.
Logan’s feral instincts flickered to life, an almost predatory desire to sink his canines into Wade’s soft, exposed stomach. He arched an eyebrow, his voice low. “So, you're not bothered by it?”
Wade reached over for another muffin, his sweater falling back into place. He peeled the top off and popped it into his mouth, crumbs scattering down his front like confetti. “Why would I be? Dad bods are in, Lo Lo Bear.” Wade patted his belly, his stomach making a soft sound as it shimmied under the fabric.
Logan’s eyes flickered to the movement of Wade’s stomach before he caught himself and looked away, scowling like that would erase the flush creeping up his neck. “You’re a damn menace.”
“Okay, real talk,” Wade said, “Like, who’s gonna notice if your jeans are a little tighter? Certainly not me, ‘cause I’m too busy admiring how unfairly rugged and devastatingly handsome you are.”
Logan could feel his gruffness slipping, much like his abs had over the past few months. “You’re full of it, Wilson.”
“Full of muffins, yes,” Wade said with a grin, patting his stomach. “But also full of affection for you.”
Logan’s cheeks flushed. “Quit it, Wade.”
“Never.” Wade leaned closer, resting his chin on his hand and making heart-eyes at Logan. “I’m too smitten to quit you, soft edges and all. Don’t sweat the small stuff—or the slightly snug stuff. I happen to think it’s pretty great.” He reached over and casually snagged another muffin, holding it out to Logan. “Now, unbutton that flannel of yours and let that hot belly loose and have a fucking muffin with me, Peanut.”
Logan couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face, his tension melting away like butter on a hot muffin. He plucked open the buttons on his flannel, the thick, soft curve of his belly pushing the two pieces of fabric apart.
“Oh, yeah, baby, take it off, don’t be shy,” Wade cooed.
“Shut up,” Logan growled.
"Mm, Babycakes, I’m not going to shut up because then you won’t hear me tell you how perfect and fucking hot you are. C’mere,” Wade pushed himself up from his seat, holding out his arms. “Let’s hug it out, let’s go tummy-to-tummy.”
Logan licked his lips. The idea wasn’t half-bad. Still, he grunted, “No.”
“Fuck it out?” Wade wink-winked.
"Maybe after breakfast, bub,” Logan winked back, “Don’t want these muffins to go to waste."