Chapter Text
To say that Wade Wilson lacked impulse control would be an obvious statement to anyone who has known him for longer than ten seconds.
That, along with the clear display of undiagnosed ADHD he’s suffering from (though some might argue ADHD suffers with him, in all honesty.)
That being said, it should be a surprise to no one (least of all, himself) that his fist connects with Logan’s face before he can truly think the action through long enough to weigh the consequences. It all happens so fast; Logan’s scoff of contempt when Wade says that he’s going to fight him, the way his head snaps back with the force of Wade's punch immediately after. There’s a beat of silence, and as the red wells up from Logan’s nose, Wade thinks, okay, he can salvage this somehow. He can get out of this with his internal organs still…internal.
But then Wade's skull is getting acquainted with the dashboard of a godforsaken Honda Odyssey, and that thought gets shoved right back to where he pulled it out of.
It’s a bit of a blur after that. Choice words are exchanged, some that sting a little bit more than others, but he gets some good shots in (literally and figuratively), as does his hairier, angrier counterpart. A stab here, a broken arm, and a dirty slice across the nutsack there. Bloody, testosterone-fueled punches back and forth while Madonna’s greatest hits play in the background the entire time.
Under different circumstances, Wade might have found the situation a bit erotic.
Just a little. Just a tad.
Not this circumstance though, of course.
This circumstance was ass.
“You hit…like… my mother.” Wade’s insults come breathless as he lands in a crumpled heap after being thrown through the windshield and towards the back of the car. There’s glass in his lungs, he’s sure. He can feel the way his body pushes them out of his system in an attempt to heal the damage. An odd feeling, but far more pleasant than the blades that suddenly pierce through his diaphragm. “Fuck! You stab like her too. Serving the mommy and daddy issues two for one special today?” He laughs a little this time. Gotta laugh to keep from crying, mommy dearest always used to say.
An annoyed scowl weighs down Logan’s features in response— brows furrowed and a noticeable vein pulsing along the side of his forehead. He shoves himself deeper into Wade, and doesn’t stop until he can hear the satisfying squelch of something inside him being torn. “Do you ever stop fucking talking, you piece of shit?” The question comes barked out and laced with obvious choler.
“I feel like you should know the answer to that, kitten whiskers,” Wade chuckles, equal parts humored and pained. Blood seeps out from his wounds, adding some new additions to the collection of stains already decorating his suit. “Only when somebody makes me. Or pays me to. Or offers my mouth something else to occupy other than words.”
There's a suggestiveness that Wade manages to convey even with his face hidden by what should be an expressionless mask. A waggle of his eyebrows, a crooked grin. All things he knows Logan can sense, because his scowl only strengthens.
“Insufferable fuck.” Deliberately slow, he pulls his adamantium blades out of Wade’s lungs and wipes the residual mess off the already tainted leather seats of their beloved getaway car.
“Wow. First off, I’m a great fuck, actually.” Wade replies, damn near instantly. Almost like his mouth truly did work faster than his brain. “You’d know that if you weren’t so busy being an asshole.”
Logan’s mouth opens with a reply— probably in defense of how he didn’t fucking start this. Or that he wasn’t the only fucking asshole in this situation, for once. Whichever case, it’s a rebuttal that doesn’t quite come. Not before Wade suddenly drives another punch and locks his legs around him to swiftly shift positions. It’s but mere seconds before Logan is flipped, forced onto his back while Wade straddles his waist. In even less time, a gun is drawn and pressed against the crease between Logan’s eyes.
The Wolverine’s own laughter bellows out from his chest, hands up in a mock surrender. “That ain’t gonna do shit, you know that,” he scoffs, words laced in something condescending. Sunken, brown eyes stare at Wade, undeterred, and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. A challenge—a dare for him to pull that fucking trigger so he can take his turn riddling him with more stab wounds next.
There’s a pause from Wade, quiet for the first second of his life, as if he’s actually contemplating something for once. He presses the weapon firm against the other man, humming, thinking. “Guess you’re right. Maybe a different kind of headshot, then?”
There’s a flicker of confusion that settles over Logan’s features, but it lasts about the same amount of time it takes for Wade’s gun to travel south. “It’ll heal, but, like, it’s still gonna really suck for you. Is this end as good at swallowing bullets, peanut?”
There’s a swell of unadulterated pride in Wade when he watches the way Logan’s eyes widen a fraction before narrowing into something dangerous.
Or the way the muscle in his jaw visibly tightens.
Or the way his entire body seems to go a bit rigid when Wade presses harder against the outline of his cock.
“Quiet now, aren’t we? I mean, when’s the last time you got any action, anyway? Probably numb down there. Wouldn’t feel a thing if I tried—“
“Fuck you.” Logan’s insult comes forward in a growl. Something rumbly, like a tired dog backed into a corner. Far less rabid than Wade had been anticipated, far less violent. Fear definitely isn’t the word he’d use to describe it, but there’s certainly an amount of poorly concealed tension that has Wade grinning.
Oh. Interesting. He’ll put that in the vault for a later time.
“Say you’re sorry, and maybe I’ll consider that option.” Wade quips. The eyes of his mask narrow slightly, and he taps the barrel of his gun against the other's groin.
Logan merely laughs again. It’s that same condescending, disbelieving scoff of laughter that sets Wade off in a different type of way now. “The fuck am I apologizing for, you useless prick?”
Wade frowns as if the answer is obvious. “For that! That, right there. You’re so mean to me! Giant Knuckle knives are one thing, but words? Words cut too, wolvy. They cut deep. Being a mercenary doesn't mean I don’t have a heart.” He pats his own chest for emphasis.
Logan huffs, unable to take anything Wade says seriously. Perhaps the permanently sarcastic edge to his voice is to blame. Perhaps it’s the fact that he hasn’t taken a single thing seriously this entire goddamn day. In either case, Logan sheaths his blades, all minus the middle ones. “Suck. My. Cock.” He seethes, venom laced in every syllable. A single blade is brought under Wade's chin with just enough pressure to knick his skin and cause a trickle of red to seep down sharp edges of silver.
There’s a tenseness that surfaces in the air in that moment; slow labored breaths and the occasional static from the mostly destroyed radio are the only noises between them both.
Then, a chuckle.
Then, a click.
Wade pulls the trigger, watching with a self-satisfied smile when Logan jolts and gasps, anticipating a pain that never quite comes. His eyes flicker down, watching as Wade repeatedly triggers an empty clip.
“Son of a bitch. You’ve got one lucky penis, my friend.” Wade sighs in faux disappointment that shifts into something of a pained grunt when a kick to the chest sends him flying across the other side of the back seat. The force of it sends him sputtering, and it’s only seconds before that same middle blade is being pointed at his throat.
“Shut the fuck up. For once in your life, just shut the fuck up!” Logan hisses, fangs bared, and clearly at the end of his rope. Maybe he can get lucky— slice the bastard's head off. Or his tongue. One can hope that it takes a little longer to regenerate than the rest of him.
“Told ya, Wolvy. Not a lot of options there. Can try surgically removing my mouth, but nobody’s really tried that since 2009, remember?” Wade looks off to the side somewhere and winks before putting his hands up in surrender when Logan growls at him for it. “Hey, hey, easy! Like I said before. There’s always the whole giving my mouth something else to occupy things. I mean, it’s an option. One you kind of offered yourself up to just a few moments ago, I might add.”
The corner of Logan’s mouth curls upwards into a snarl. He watches Wade, disgusted, as he glances him up and down. It isn’t long before he notices something that probably shouldn’t be present. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He pulls away from him as if Wade is suddenly diseased. “You sick bastard. What the hell is wrong with you!”
“Don’t you look at me with those judging eyes, mister!” Wade points an accusatory finger in his face. “I’m not the one that’s hard right now.” That same finger shifts down to Logan’s crotch, where a raised imprint of his cock resides. “Well, that’s a lie. I totally am. However, I’m not the one that just got hard from someone threatening to shoot their baby maker off. Kinky lil minx.”
Logan’s jaw clenches, and he slices across Wade’s chest just because he can. What made him angry wasn’t necessarily the call out, but the fact he didn’t have it in him to correct the idiot. The fighting, the adrenaline, the pain, the unbridled rage. It swirled around in a weird cocktail that made his body react purely against his will. “Piss off." Is Logan’s rather lame reply. Heat settles uncomfortably under his skin, and a hiss leaves him to counteract his own sense of embarrassment.
Not noting a verbal denial, Wade grins, utterly unphased by his newest injury— which has already started to heal over. “Now, I do draw the line at piss, but—ah, who the hell am I kidding? For you, we can try anything once—“
“Wade—“
“What? I’m just saying, big guy. Nothing against a golden shower—“
A hand against Wade’s throat chokes him before he’s able to fully finish that sentence. Logan pulls him forward, inches away from his own face. Nostrils flared, he glares at the merc with enough intensity to damn near turn him to stone. He’s silent for a moment, eyes searching the white of Wade’s mask as if genuinely considering his options. “Fine,” he spits. “Fuck it. If this gets you to shut the hell up for more than ten minutes.” With the hand that’s not choking Wade out, Logan unzips the pants of his suit just enough to show off the fuzzy happy trail that disappears into his boxers. “Enjoy it.”
The smile that splits across Wade’s face is something akin to a kid opening their present on Christmas Day. Perhaps a touch too eager, he rips off his mask and tosses it somewhere. “Bold of to assume you’re lasting more than ten minutes, gramps. Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”
Logan doesn’t get a chance to respond or insult Wade before he’s suddenly being shoved back in the position he was previously in. He lands on his back with a grunt, and sits up on his elbows in just enough time to watch the other man tug his pants the rest of the way down. When he does, there’s a pause, and Wade looks up at him as though he’s suddenly offended.
“I better get a goddamn apology after this. Are you part Wolverine or part horse? Christ. I just know that version of you that’s like Five-Foot-Three is somewhere crying in the shower right now,” Wade shakes his head as he takes Logan in hand. He’s seen a cock or two in his day, but he has to admit, Logan’s may be worth remembering. It’s weighty, with a thick vein that he wastes no time licking from base to tip. His eyes flicker upwards to watch Logan’s expression while he does, and he relishes in the sight of his eyes fluttering back a little.
“Been a while?” He asks, mirthful.
Logan doesn’t answer. Instead, a leather clad hand grabs the back of Wade’s head the moment his mouth touches the tip of his cock. With no further warning, Logan forces Wade to take him in full, not stopping until he hears that familiar gag and he can feel his nose nestle against his mound of curly pubic hair. Wade moans, and fuck, so does Logan. It’s quiet, a breathless sound of relief and pleasure. “Fuck. I should have done this ages ago.”
Wade would agree if he had the ability to verbally do so. Instead, he moans against him a second time, wasting no time following the pace that’s set for him. It’s intense; Logan’s cock stretches the back of his throat in a way that makes his eyes water. But, God, he loves it. He loves the way his lungs struggle to keep up, loves the borderline lightheadedness he starts to feel. The deeper Logan takes him, the further his nose is buried in his scent, making it equally as difficult to find a way to catch his breath.
Logan is… musky. Like right after a workout ( or ass kicking) kind of musky. Deep and rich and sweaty and gross yet so fucking sexy all at the same time. It takes everything not to bury his face further into it. So much so, that when Logan finally pulls away and gives him a chance to breathe, he’s almost disappointed.
Despite that, he gasps as much needed air fills his lungs. Logan chuckles from under him, and when Wade looks up, the fucker is smirking. “Silence really does look good on you, prick.” He compliments. It sounds surprisingly genuine to Wade’s fucked out mind.
Wade smirks back, something lopsided and utterly cockdrunk. He’d respond, saying something equal parts charming and sarcastic. But Logan’s graciousness has a time limit, and it’s not long before his cock is being shoveled right back into Wade’s mouth like he’s nothing but a toy. He doesn’t go full hilt this time, though. Instead, he allows Wade a chance to take more time to explore.
And explore, he does.
He bobs his head slowly, tongue lapping at every vein and relishing in the way it throbs against it in the process. Wade pays careful attention to those little details— the things Logan seems to like. The things he seems to love. Because he’s not nearly as aloof and hard to read as he tries to let on, certainly not in these instances. Wade pulls away just slightly, and the flat of his tongue rubs circles against that bundle of nerves that resides just beneath his cockhead. Logan’s response is immediate; he grunts, his hips buck upwards, and his muscles twitch underneath the skin of his inner thighs. When Wade looks up at him again, he can see the way his jaw strains, too. Like he’s fighting against how good it feels.
Fuck, Wade’s never been this hard giving head before. Oftentimes, it can feel like a chore, depending on who he’s with. But this? Fuck, this was something else. His own cock strains against the tight leather of his suit, but he ignores it for now in favor of giving his full focus where it needs to be:
Draining Wolverine for everything he’s worth.
Bobbing his head, Wade lets another moan vibrate against Logan’s cock. He continues to pay close attention to his reaction when he does. The way his breath hitches, the way his brows furrowed together in devout concentration. It’s in that precise moment that Wade adds a bit of suction to the mix, hollowing out his cheeks in a way that elicits something of a hiss out of the older man. It’s delicious, the way the sound dissolves into something of a whimper. Yes, a whimper. A barely audible thing that he catches just before Logan tries to disguise it with a snarl.
It’s the single hottest thing he’s ever heard, and with it, he can tell that Logan’s close.
Ten minutes his ass.
With a smirk, Wade shifts a little, tugging Logan’s pants further down his hips. It gives him better access to his family jewels, which he’s quick to fondle with an uncharacteristically gentle caress. Logan’s head dips back in response. He curses, something unintelligible that only encourages Wade to continue.
So Mr. Wolverine was a ball fondler kind of guy? Noted.
Wade pockets that information as he continues his efforts, knowing the other man was near his end. He wonders though, just how much he can get away with down here. He doesn’t anticipate getting the chance to do this again. So if he’s going to blow Wolverine, he’s going to make it the best blowjob of this man’s life.
With Logan momentarily distracted, grunts and groans spilling out one after another, Wade removes his hand long enough to take off one of his gloves. Disregarding it, that same hand moves past his balls to the hidden treasure a few inches below. He feels the way Logan tenses, and it’s but a second later that he’s lifting his head up, a glare as sharp as his talons meeting Wade in full force. “Easy, Wilson…”There’s a growl in his voice, a warning. One he should know better to ignore.
But again, low impulse control.
Lack of critical thinking.
ADHD.
So before Logan can try to slice his hand off at the wrist, Wade slides a single digit into his ass.
His response is instantaneous— he hisses, a sound that blurs the lines between rage and pleasure. His claws extend, too, digging into the seats as his hips buck forward. “Wade—!”
God, yes. Scream my name. Just like that, big guy. Just like that. He desperately wants to say. His mouth is still full, however, so instead, his tongue swirls around Logan’s cockhead while his finger works at the button he finds a few knuckles deep. He pumps against it with expert skill, unrelenting, and with the perfect amount of speed and pressure.
At least, he assumes so. Because it’s not long after that a strangle slur of profanity is being pulled out of Logan, and his hips rut forward like a bucking bull. It’s even less time before Wade feels him empty himself into his mouth.
He moans while he does, swallowing every ounce that gets spilled into him. He rides Logan through it, milking his prostate and not stopping until the older man is shoving his face away from over stimulation.
Wade relents, falling back easily when pushed off. He slides away from Logan’s dick with a lewd pop, and lets it flop back down on his abdomen with a heavy, wet sound. It falls quiet again after that. The only sounds are their labored breathing, and the distant chirp of cicadas buzzing along the trees from outside while they recover.
“Knew you liked a little butthole action. You homosexual, you.” Wade jokes, breathless. Because, of course, he’s the one that has to break the silence first.
It should irritate Logan, really. Leave it to Wade to call him that two seconds after eagerly shoveling cock. All Logan can do in response is sigh— tired, heavy. “Was nice while it lasted.”
Wade chuckles at that. “Nothing lasts forever, mutton chops. Least of all, you. You promised me ten minutes, and I think that was closer to thirty seconds.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Logan grunts with far less bite to it than earlier. He moves an arm over his eyes, a poor attempt to block Wade out.
“I was kind of hoping that was the plan? Because sucking your cock was the hottest thing that’s happened to me in a while, and while I am a giver by nature, I sure wouldn’t be opposed to you returning the favor. Especially because, you know, again, you were really mean to me earlier.”
A snort leaves Logan this time. Removing his arm out from over his eyes, he sits up, eyes roaming Wade's body while he tries to decide whether it’s worth it.
“It’ll give you another few minutes of me talking less,” Wade adds.
Shit. Yeah, it’s worth it.
Logan doesn’t say anything before he grabs Wade and maneuvers him to his will. It’s easy to do so, especially when Wade puts up such little resistance. Grabbing him from the front of his suit, Logan pulls Wade into him, their mouths meeting in a violent kiss. It’s a hot, messy, uncoordinated gnash of teeth and tongue; each man far too unwilling to give up the fight right away. Logan groans against him, lapping at the leftover mess from Wade’s bottom lip. The taste of himself only spurs him on, prodding that dominant, feral side of him. “Behave…” he rumbles into him. Sharp canines nip at the corner of Wade’s lip, drawing blood that he immediately laps up. A smirk pulls at his features when Wade nods like a barely conscious drunk, and it’s in that moment he shoves him away in favor of maneuvering him how he pleases.
With a surprising amount of ease, Logan presses Wade’s face into the blood soaked cushions and forces his ass up. It’s then that leather and vinyl can be heard tearing as his claws rip a whole into the fabric of his suit.
Wade gasps. “Oh, real classy. How am I supposed to be taken seriously if I’m fighting with my ass out after this?” His complaint can hardly be taken seriously. There’s no denying the shiver that ran down his spine the moment that first seam ripped. There’s also no denying how heavily his cock leaks the moment it’s released from its confines.
“We’ll deal with that later. For now, make good on that promise and shut the hell up.”
“I’m pretty sure the deal was you making me shut the hell—hah!“ A sudden gasp interrupts Wade, soon followed by an unabashed groan as two strong hands are spreading his ass apart. Logan doesn’t hesitate to spit directly into his wanting hole, making due with what he could. Then, a gloved finger prods him open, sinking in slowly.
Now, Wade was a bit of a whore. He knows this about himself. He doesn't often feel like he fits the category of shameless whore, though. No, no. That was much different.
At this moment, however, Wade could certainly argue that notion.
Because when Logan stretches him with a thick finger, Wade’s body reacts as if he’s the one who hasn’t gotten action in two-hundred years. He moans, borderline pornographic, and bites down on a fraying piece of the backseat. “Fuck! Do you have cocks for fingers too? What the hell!"
A humored scoff can be heard from behind Wade. Logan purposely takes his time, inching in slowly and pumping out even slower. Not because he cared all that much about how comfortable or prepped Wade is, but because he enjoyed how easy it was to draw out all those desperate little noises. He appreciates them much more than he’s willing to let on, if he’s being honest. Because it turns out that when Wade Wilson wasn’t being an overly sarcastic, fast mouthed prick, he could sound kind of pretty.
“You’re surprisingly easy to rile up,” Logan observes, a slight hum to his voice. He slides his finger nearly all the way out before shoving two right back in. A smirk splits his features when Wade buckles and yells out, while his cock leaks like an old faucet between his thighs. “It’s a little pathetic, bub.”
“Don’t fucking bully me, asshole. I’ll cum,” Wade groans, fully serious. “I’m glad you feel inclined to take your sweet time back there, but this isn’t prom. Wanna hurry up? Didn’t peg you for the sweet love making type.” He tries to send a glare behind his shoulder, but Logan huffs and shoves Wade's face deeper into the seat cushions, refraining him from doing so.
Withdrawing his fingers, he pumps his cock a few times before lining up. Then, without any further warning, he sinks into his ass full hilt in one fluid motion.
Logan sighs, Wade wails.
Fuck.
Wade’s eyes widen just before rolling back as a mixture of shooting pain and utter bliss swirl around as a euphoric cocktail throughout his nervous system. It’s as if he’s been drugged, and goddammit, it's better than any line of cocaine he’s ever taken. Logan’s cock stretches him in a way that feels lethal.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this moment. Long before their little mission together, he might add. The Wolverine is The Wolverine, and Wade is just a man, after all. They say you should never meet your heroes, but he’d argue that this case could be an exception. Maybe they should change that saying to something else.
Never meet your heroes unless they have a dick of gods and are willing to give you back shots in a Honda Odyssey. In which case, you should definitely meet your heroes.
Yeah, that sounds about right.
“Shit, you’re tight.” Logan’s breathless sigh pulls Wade out of his running thoughts. There's a brief pause from Logan as he adjusts, shifting his hips to allow himself better leverage as he starts to fuck. Hard, deep, unrelenting. There’s a moment where Logan's thrusts are so rough that Wade swears he can feel it in his lungs. It’s so intense— too much, yet somehow not enough all at once. Wade doesn’t know whether he wants to fuck back against Logan’s efforts or crawl away.
Thankfully, Logan seems keen on taking that decision away from him. He grips Wade’s hips with a bruising amount of pressure as he continues at a pace that would certainly break a less powerful man. There’s no buildup; there’s no easing in. Logan wanted to shut Wade up, and clearly he’s going to make good on that mission.
“Fuck. Yeah… silence looks real good on you, red,” Logan grunts, almost appreciatively. He pulls Wade back, bouncing him on his cock in deep, full strokes. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the otherwise quiet car, intermingling with Wade’s breathy gasps and hisses of pleasure. For once, there’s no sarcastic remark he can think to bark back to spite him. There’s no insult on his tongue or quick-witted response that his brain can come up with. Not when Logan fucks him like this. Not when he angles his hips in that way, directing all that built up anger and tension to his prostate.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah, shit. Shit, right there!” Wade all but gasps. He claws uselessly at the seat cushions as that familiar coil in his abdomen already starts to wind up. Below him, his untouched cock twitches while it continues to form a never ending puddle of pre-cum.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, red,” Logan smirks from above him. He can feel the way Wade starts to tighten around him, can smell his arousal, how turned on he is. It feeds into his own arousal, as well as that animalistic side of his nature—prodding him to continue. To break Wade down, to fuck him senseless. Well, even more senseless than he naturally is.
He can feel his own end approaching as well, and he further shifts his hips to get an even better angle against his prostate. When Wade screams in response, Logan falls forward and bites down against the junction of Wade’s neck, where it connects with his shoulder. He holds him there, a borderline possessive type of growl rumbling out from his chest as canines sink into Wade’s flesh. Blood pools from around the bite, and when a hand comes around to stroke him, it’s over from there.
The moment Logan touches his neglected cock, Wade barrels through the finish line with a gasp and shrill moan of Logan’s name. It damn near blinds him, his orgasm. It’s the kind that hits you so suddenly and so hard that you contemplate whether it’s too much to bear at all. Wade’s brain goes numb, only brought back by the feeling of Logan emptying himself inside him shortly after.
It’s quiet again, after that. Wade lays slumped with his face down and ass still dangling in the air, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence as cum trickles out from both ends of him. Eventually, he feels Logan’s slip out of him with a lewd, wet noise, and God, he’s never felt so empty.
Logan doesn’t say anything as he falls back with what sounds like a tired groan, prompting Wade to slowly roll his body over so they could face each other.
He watches as Logan's chest rises and falls as he stares up at the sky through the busted roof of the car, no doubt mulling over his life choices.
“Enjoy yourself, babygirl?” He asks after a moment or two, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The answer seems obvious.
But sue his ego for wanting to hear it anyway.
Logan growls, low. “No. Because, this? This never happened.” Comes his brisk response, post-nut clarity clearly hitting him hard. He huffs and simply closes his eyes before sliding his arm over them.
Wade’s smirk grows an inch or two. He has a stretched ass and a bite mark the size of Texas that says otherwise, but he lets Logan have that one for now. What he doesn’t allow, though, is the privilege of personal space. He wiggles in closer as Logan continues to ignore him, his annoyance slowly returning to him as his body recovers. “What, no after coital cuddles?” Wade whines. He reaches over, poking Logan’s cheek.
“Wade...”
Logan did warn him, to be fair. So when he tries to wrap his arm around the other man, he’s not necessarily surprised that he finds himself shoved away and subsequently wrapped in several feet of seat belt to keep him in place. He watches Logan promptly roll over and away from him after. It isn’t very long before quiet, labored snores are heard.
Wade chuckles, taking the fact that he fucked the old man to sleep as a personal accomplishment. He could get out of the restraints if he wanted. Well, he says that. But a good dick session really does make you tired, so he doesn’t fully bother. Instead, he lets slumber take him, using the last few moments of consciousness to plan their next little happy fun times moment.
Because it certainly isn’t about to be their last.
Not by a long shot.