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Wade walks down the sidewalk like it’s killing him. He drags with every step, carrying the giant chip on his shoulder like it weighs a hundred pounds. “Cheer up,” Peter says. “I promise you’ll like this.”
“This is the last thing I need,” Wade gripes. “I’m not gonna feel better surrounded by hot moms and white guys with dreadlocks.”
Peter frowns. “The doctor said the stretching would be good for your skin. You don’t want to lose any mobility—“
“I haven’t lost mobility—”
“And you haven’t been out of the apartment in months, Wade. You need this.” Peter hikes his yoga mat up over his shoulder. “And hey! You’ve got your new yoga mat, and you’re all dressed up. Maybe you’ll surprise yourself!”
Wade looks down at his rolled up mat. Peter bought him a red yoga mat with a black mandala pattern tessellating across it. They’re his favorite colors, and Peter knows that. He’s a very good friend. But Wade is decked from head to toe in soft, black clothing, a black scarf wrapped around his head and face. Even his hands are in (barely) fingerless gloves. Only his eyes are really visible. “Yeah, I’m gonna look like the goth kid at a hippie convention,” he grumbles. Peter sighs. “Sorry,” Wade softens. “I appreciate it. I’m just… I’m nervous, I guess.”
Peter slaps a companionable hand on his back. “It’s gonna be good, Wade. Logan’s a good teacher. I think you’ll like him.”
^~*~^
Wade does, in fact, like Logan. He’s a warm, calm presence, moving smoothly through the different positions, speaking calmly to the room as he goes.
He’s also almost unbearably hot. He looks absurdly comfortable in his loose fitting yoga pants and t-shirt. Wade wants to wrap him in a blanket and lay him down on a couch.
“We’re going to move into the eagle pose,” Logan announces.
“They’ve got eagles in India?” Wade whispers to Peter. Peter ignores him, shuffling on his mat, beer gut tipping out as he tries to center his weight. Logan’s eyes meet Wade’s across the room and he arches an eyebrow. “Sorry,” Wade whispers.
“Place your weight on your right foot. We’re going to be lifting our left feet, so make sure to center yourself, holding your intention in your core as you move into this pose.” Logan gestures to his middle. “I want you to lift your left leg at the knee, as high as you’re comfortable.” Wade tries, arms flying out until he’s smacking Peter.
“Ow,” Peter hisses.
“Sorry!” Wade hisses back. Logan frowns. “Sorry again,” Wade mouths at him.
“You can leave your foot on your calf, or place it above your knee if you’re able. Don’t press in on the actual joint. We’re here to release pain, not to cause ourselves more.” Logan begins to walk a lap around the room, arms relaxed and loose at his sides. His chest looks like it might rip itself free of his black t-shirt at any moment. His eyes lock on Wade’s as he nears his yoga mat. Logan glances down momentarily.
“Is this a joke to you, red?” Logan asks, quietly, voice practically ASMR as he presses a big palm into Wade’s sacrum and adjusts his posture. “I don’t think ninjas do yoga.”
Wade blushes furiously beneath his scarf. “Maybe I’m Muslim and you’re being a total racist dick right now.”
“You seem a little male for a Niqab.”
“And sexist. A sexist yogi,” Wade says. “You’re like a smelly unicorn.” Logan snorts beside him. He pads back to the center of the room.
“Alright everyone, bring yourself back to center. Take a deep breath with me, slowly. Breathe in, long and slow. Hold it. We’re going to blow it out fast. Blow out your stress along with it. Ready?”
Wade lets his breath out with the rest of the class, lips reflexively closing into a raspberry as he gets to the end. Peter snickers. Logan glares. It’s incredibly hot. “Are you done?” Logan growls sarcastically, blinking.
“Sorry for breaking the zen, teacher lady.” Logan’s rolls his eyes.
“We’re ready to sink into the ground with this one,” Logan says. “We’re almost at the end of our time. Spread your feet to shoulder width apart, and sink down, letting yourself hang between your knees.” He turns away from Wade and drops slowly to the tile floor, magnificent ass just inches above the mat. Wade closes his eyes, conscious of the fit of his yoga pants. He folds himself into Malasana and tries to be present. He tries not to think of the slight pull in the skin over his thighs. He tries not to think about how people are staring at him. He reminds himself that it could be his behavior, or it could be that he’s dressed like Snake Eyes from G.I. Joe. They don’t know him. They haven’t seen what he actually looks like. They’re not staring because of that. They’re not staring because they know about the IED, or the disability rating, or the fact that his girlfriend left when she couldn’t take seeing him in the hospital.
The room darkens behind his lids and he blinks his eyes open. Logan is dimming the room. “We’re ready for our final pose of the night. Bring yourself down to the floor, and stretch your feet out in front of you. Gently lower yourself down onto the mat. Take whatever time you need to get there.”
Wade stretches out into the corpse pose, and ponders the irony. He should be a corpse, really. Weasel is, and Bob. These days, Wade holes himself up in his apartment, lights off, curtains shut. It might as well be a tomb. Now, he’s stretched out in the dark, bundled up like he’s in the snow so no one sees what it cost to not die in Afghanistan, and he’s pretty sure Peter is snoring beside him. He snorts. He hears the soft tap of bare feet on the tile behind him. Logan sinks down next to Wade. He smells like clean sweat and sandalwood.
“Do you ever shut up?” Logan whispers, harshly, as his lavender scented fingers dig into the base of Wade’s skull. He lifts Wade’s head gently, adjusting the angle of his neck.
Wade groans, and it’s definitely not an appropriate sound for the darkened room. Logan’s hands falter. “Not really,” Wade grits out. “It’s a super power. I can keep talking through anything. I even kept talking while my HumVee burned.”
Logan’s hands still. Wade freezes. Stupid, he thinks. Great job, Wilson.. “Come see me after class,” Logan murmurs, sliding his hands away and pushing himself back up.
Wade closes his eyes and lets his head drop to the mat. “Stupid,” he grumbles.
^~*~^
Logan passes him a Dixie cup of water. “Where did you serve?” He asks. He waves to a student who calls goodbye.
Wade shifts on his feet. “Fallujah,” he says, flat.
Logan nods. “What’s going on under the samurai suit?”
“Burn scars over ninety percent of my body.”
Logan frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” Wade snaps. “I don’t need your pity. I just need to get out of the house— fuck this was a bad idea. Fucking Peter.” Wade shoves past Logan (and it’s hard to do— he’s all weight and core strength).
“Wait, wait, wait,” Logan says, reaching a hand out to grab Wade’s bicep. “Wait.” He takes a deep breath. “You can’t do yoga dressed like that.” He frowns. “You should come at the end of class next week. I’ll teach you alone, so you can feel more comfortable.”
“You’ll throw up on your stability blocks,” Wade huffs.
“Don’t be a dumbass,” Logan growls. “You don’t wanna be around people, and I get that. I know what it’s like to feel that way.”
Wade blinks. Logan’s possibly the most handsome man he’s ever met. “Yeah,” Wade chirps. “I bet you do. I lost my senses when I lost my boyish good looks.”
Wade can’t place the look on Logan’s face. “Well,” Logan breathes. “You’ve still got both your eyes.”
“Yeah,” says Wade, voice dripping with sarcasm. He tugs his arm free and moves to catch up with Peter. “I’m lucky, I guess.”
^~*~^
It’s cold outside— the first truly cool evening of fall in Hoboken. The leaves churn in the breeze behind him as he stares at the glass door of the yoga studio. Students are trickling out onto the sidewalk, warm air trailing after them. Wade just watches, unable to bring himself to walk the four steps needed to enter the studio, unable to think of a good reason for doing something this dumb. He literally does not know why he’s here. He was sitting on the couch with Mary watching Golden Girls, and then he was putting on his yoga pants and his thin scarf and stepping out into the cold.
The students stop filtering out, and a broad shadow steps into the door. Logan reaches up for the lock and catches sight of Wade. He snaps the lock back open and steps outside. “You came.”
“Well, not yet,” Wade jokes. He coughs. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Logan claps a hand on his shoulder. “You should. Come on.” He leads Wade to the door and holds it open for him. Wade steps into the lobby, nose punched with the smell of cedar wood. The lobby is almost too hot. He fights the urge to take his scarf off.
“We’ll be in the second room tonight,” Logan says as Wade toes off his shoes. He follows the bigger man into the dim room. It’s even hotter inside. Logan waves him to a spot on the floor, where his mat is already out and ready. Wade rolls his out across from him. He slides into the first pose Logan takes, feet steady, neck and shoulders rolling gently to stretch out. He keeps going, thoughtless as gentle music plays and Logan says… absolutely nothing. He’s just moving through his flow, pausing periodically to poke and prod at Wade’s joints. He makes it look effortless. He’s barely breaking a sweat.
Wade, on the other hand, is panting from the heat inside his scarf as he slides into a triangle position and tries desperately to hold it. His skin pulls tight across his chest. He wishes more of him could sweat. He can’t hold it. He drops onto his knees and grabs for his water bottle. He slips it under his scarf and chugs it like he’s dying. He stops gulping to gasp for air, noisily.
Logan looks down at Wade as he rapidly tugs at his long sleeve shirt. “Come on, bub. We did hot yoga tonight. It’s ninety degrees in here. You’ll burn up.”
“Actually we already did that plot line,” he jokes. Logan doesn’t laugh.
“You’re being an idiot,” Logan grunts.
“Namaste to you too, hot pants,” Wade growls back.
Wade follows a bead of sweat as it runs down Logan’s throat and across his Adam’s apple. Logan swallows. Wade follows suit.
“Alright,” Wade chirps. “Fine, Peanut.” He reaches up and unwinds the scarf, slowly. His eyes stay locked on Logan’s. Logan’s standing now, arms crossed and frowning grumpily. Wade looks down as he draws the scarf away from his head and drops it next to his mat. Logan doesn’t say a word. “Well?” Wade challenges, looking up.
Logan hasn’t moved. If anything, he only looks more annoyed. “Keep going,” he shrugs, arms still crossed.
Wade blinks. “Run that by me again?”
Logan waves a hand at him and tucks it back into his elbow. “Keep going. That’s better, but you’re still gonna roast. Again.”
Wade blinks at the joke. His heart flutters. He fingers the bottom of his shirt, but he can’t bring himself to lift. Logan rolls his eyes and steps forward. He grabs the bottom of Wade’s black shirt and tugs it upward. Wade scrambles to raise his arms and take over. “Oh my God, fine, fine—“ He balls the shirt up and screws his fingers into the ball as Logan takes a step back. He can feel the other man’s eyes roving his torso. He tries not to curl inward.
Logan’s annoyed expression doesn’t change. “Feel better?” He snarks. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ drama queen. Back to triangle, now,” he orders, and Wade has to follow. He blushes toward the ceiling as he raises his arm up.
^~*~^
Wade chugs the rest of his water bottle as he exits the room. “Were you raised in the desert? Did you eat only cactus and build forts out of tumbleweeds?” He sets the bottle down on a nearby shelf and tugs his shirt back over his head.
Logan snorts behind him and turns out the lights. He waves Wade back into the lobby. “If you call Canada the desert, yeah. When I was younger, I—“
Wade isn’t expecting it when a car backfires on the street outside. Neither, apparently, is Logan, who shouts, grabs Wade’s shoulder, and shoves him down behind the lobby desk. He presses Wade into the tile floor and holds him there, roughly. “What the fuck?” Wade blurts out, clutching at Logan’s wrist. Logan fumbles under the desk for something with his free hand and comes back with a gun. “What the fuck? Why do you have a gun in a yoga studio?”
“Get the fuck behind me,” Logan growls, and he reaches out an arm to shove Wade to his rear.
“Oh,” Wade whispers. He knows that look— recognizes the manic terror in Logan’s eyes. The gun shakes in Logan’s hands. Wade reaches up carefully. “Stand down, soldier,” he coos. “Can I have the gun, Logan?”
Logan blinks hard as sweat drips into his eyes. “No,” he barks. “You’re not trained for this. This is my job. You’re my team.” Logan growls. “Not again. I won’t let it happen again.”
Wade searches his mind for his medic training, but it’s hazy— another memory blow to bits along with the rest of him. Should he tell Logan he’s having a flashback, or should he play along? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember, and Logan’s hand is shaking around the pistol. Logan swipes at his brow with his left hand, right still jittering. He fumbles with the hammer and cocks the pistol. Fuck it. “Logan,” Wade soothes, “you’re having a flashback.” He climbs to his knees.
“What?” Logan snaps. “Shut the fuck up. I can’t hear. I can’t hear them. Where are they?”
“I’m gonna touch you now,” Wade warns. He slowly lowers his hand to Logan’s shoulder blade. He can feel the older man’s heart pounding beneath his skin. “Logan, be with me.” He rubs his hand in calming circles. “Look around. Tell me what you see.”
“Wade I don’t have time for this shit. You’ve gotta shut the fuck up, Mouth. You’ll give away our position.”
“What do you smell, Peanut?” Wade keeps his hand moving in slow circles.
“Lavender,” Logan answers, frowning. His breath slows. He chances a glance at Wade. “Why do I smell—“
“You’re in New Jersey, buddy,” Wade says, calmly. “I know it’s not much of an improvement.”
Logan looks stricken. “Wade, this is Fallujah.”
“It’s not,” Wade insists. He holds his hand out. “Give me the gun, Logan.”
Logan’s hand is shaking. “I—“
Wade sees the hesitation and jumps at it. He reaches up and takes the gun. He puts the safety back on and throws it a few feet away. His hands find Logan’s face, thumbs sliding in firm, calming swipes across his cheeks. Logan grabs his wrists. “Shh, shh, shh, Logan. You’re ok. Breathe.” Logan tries. He’s breathing hard, hyperventilating. Wade doesn’t move as Logan visibly calms down, expression melting from panic to embarrassment.
“I need a drink,” Logan grunts.
Wade drops his hands. “Well, not much we can do about— never mind.” He blinks as Logan yanks open a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of Navy strength gin. “Guns and gin,” Wade observes. “Yoga is not what I expected.”
Logan drops gracelessly onto his ass and takes a long drink from the gin bottle. He cradles the bottle to his chest.
“You wanna talk about it?” Wade asks.
“Nope,” Logan says. He takes another drink.
“Because we can talk about it,” Wade tries again. “I might understand.”
“You might,” Logan agrees. “Not all of us keep our scars on the outside.” He taps his fingers on the gin bottle. “My team died,” he says, finally. “Nothing else to say.”
“Yeah,” Wade swallows. “Yeah, I got that.”
Logan frowns. He looks away. “Thanks,” he says, awkwardly. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.” Wade says nothing. Logan stares at him, and again, Wade can’t read his expression. His eyes are soft. It’s probably the liquor. “Hey,” Logan says, pointing the bottle at Wade. “So that’s your face.”
“Yep,” Wade affirms. “Not the best one they had in the shop but it was on sale.”
Logan almost smiles. “It’s not a bad face, Wade.”
Wade knows this is dangerous. He hasn’t done anything this risky since they airlifted him out of Kabul. The gentle smile in Logan’s eyes is a ticking time bomb, and Wade wants to hold it in his hands and see what it feels like.
He’s always been a risk taker.
“Maybe we should try someplace quieter next time,” he suggests. “You could come to my place. It’s just me, my roommate, and my dog.”
Logan frowns, considering. “Your roommate wouldn’t mind?”
Wade shrugs. “She’s old and blind. She’ll probably want to trade me in and keep you.”
Logan snorts. Wade’s heart does something stupid again. “Alright,” Logan agrees. “We’ll try your place.”
^~*~^
Wade is pretty certain this was a mistake.
Al is dusting the back of the couch with a feather duster, like she can at all see what she’s doing. Mary is sitting expectantly by the door, tail wagging. “Look, this isn’t a big deal,” Wade insists.
“You don’t ever bring anybody home,” Al says. “I need to meet this boyfriend— make sure he’s tough enough to deal with your stupid ass.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, please don’t call him that when he gets here. He’s my yoga teacher.”
“Hmph,” she huffs. “That what they’re calling it these days?”
“You’re a mean old bat and I hope you trip on the safety mat in the shower,” Wade snaps. He jumps as someone pounds on the door. Mary stands, yapping excitedly.
Wade opens the door to find Logan, as expected. He’s carrying his yoga mat and two bolsters from the studio. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” Wade answers. Logan raises an eyebrow. “Sorry,” Wade blurts. He steps back, letting Logan walk in. Mary is not so polite, hopping up to paw at Logan’s calf. “This is Mary Puppins,” Wade announces, and he feels a little dumber saying it. “I didn’t name her.” Al clears her throat. “And this is Althea.”
Logan sets his armful down on the couch and reaches to carefully take Al’s hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Al smiles. “Nice to meet you too, young man. You boys have fun. I’m going to bed. I’ll have my earplugs in and my noise machine on.”
The tips of Logan’s ears go red as she toddles away. Mary continues to bump into his leg.
Wade coughs. “Well,” he says, holding his hips awkwardly.
“Just set up in here?” Logan asks.
“Sure,” Wade answers. He grabs his mat from the corner and rolls it out on the living room floor.
“Take your shirt off,” Logan snaps as he rolls out his own mat. Wade doesn’t argue— he just tugs his shirt off and throws it on the couch.
It’s quiet. Wade worries if he’s made it weird (or if Al has), but really, Logan just seems like he’s concentrating. Wade follows his calm commands, moving from position to position as smoothly as he can, which is only about a third as smoothly as Logan. “When did you start doing yoga?”
“After I retired,” Logan answers, brusquely. “It keeps me calm.” Wade takes the hint and continues to follow his lead, mouth shut. Mary leans up to lick Logan’s nose as he drops into downward facing dog. He growls, quietly.
“Not a dog person?”
“Can you shut up and focus?”
“Why do I have to be shirtless but you don’t?” He doesn’t ask, because Wade can tell what Logan’s packing under that too-tight t-shirt, and Wade wouldn’t be able to hide how he feels about it in his thin sweats. “Not really,” he says, instead.
Logan rolls his eyes and moves from Warrior I to Warrior II. Wade tries to follow, but he gasps as the scar tissue in his upper back catches and stings. He drops his arm and rotates his shoulder.
“What happened?” Logan asks, dropping his arms.
“Nothing,” Wade mumbles, “I’m fine, Yogi Bear. Get back to it.” Wade lifts his arms, but Logan’s standing. He steps closer to Wade and ghosts his fingertips across Wade’s upper back.
“How often does that happen?” asks Logan.
“Only a handful of times a day,” Wade shrugs. He pushes himself up to a normal standing position and looks around the room— anywhere but Logan. “It’s not a big deal. Let’s keep going.”
“You got anything for it?” Logan asks. Wade’s eyes snap to his. There he is, again with that unreadable facial expression— all soft and hesitant.
Wade’s not sure why he actually answers that question. He should be mad. He should be defensive, ready to fight over someone seeing I’m for the weak bastard he actually is. He should be worried, afraid that Logan’s going to laugh or grimace in disgust. For some reason, he just can’t bring himself to that angry space. He’s afraid— absolutely, he is— but he can’t summon up the rage he normally feels. Maybe it’s because Mary’s watching from the couch, reclined and relaxed. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Logan fall apart, and Logan didn’t push him away.
Maybe it’s just that look on his face.
“Bathroom sink,” Wade says, quietly. Logan points behind him, and Wade nods. He disappears into the bathroom. He grabs the bottle of Alhydran off the bathroom sink and returns with it. “You don’t need to—“
“Shut up, Wade,” Logan sighs, dropping to his bolster. He crosses his legs and pats his heavy thighs. “C’mere.” Wade swallows. “Now,” Logan growls. Wade scrambles across the floor and kneels in front of the bigger man. “Turn around,” Logan orders, softly. Wade spins, hesitant. He settles in, posture matching Logan’s, grateful neither one of them have to meet the other’s eyes for this. He gasps as the cold gel drips onto his shoulders. Logan’s hands follow it, pressing gently into the gel and smoothing it down Wade’s ridged, uneven skin. Logan works the gel over the scar tissue, rubbing careful circles into it as he goes. “Too much?” He asks.
“No,” Wade huffs out. “No, it’s fine.” It’s more than fine. It’s amazing. Sure, the pressure on his scars kind of hurts. In some areas, it almost feels like Logan’s stabbing him with his hands. But nobody’s touched Wade like this in years. Al used to help with the lotion when he first came home. She never manhandled him though— she just wiped it onto him with a paper towel and called it a day. Logan touches Wade like he isn’t afraid to— like he’s notbreakable, or disgusting. He moves his hands along the planes of Wade’s muscles, heedless of the rippling texture beneath his fingertips.
Logan leans closer, hands moving to rub more gel into the skin along Wade’s arms. He gives them the same treatment—firm pressure, fingertips digging in just this side of painful. Wade feels too relaxed, like he’s fucked out and boneless as Logan drags his fingers back up and slides them up the back of Wade’s head. Wade whimpers.
“You still with me?” Logan asks, a gentle chuckle in his voice.
“I’m not unconscious,” Wade responds, voice rough.
“You oughta do this every day, bub,” Logan murmurs. He digs his thumbs into Wade’s temples.
Wade sighs. “What, are you gonna come do it for me?” He asks, not thinking.
Logan doesn’t answer immediately. “If you need me to,” he says, finally. Wade’s brain shuts off entirely, and he lapses into silence. Logan stands. He caps the lotion and heads to the bathroom to wash his hands. Wade shakes himself and climbs to his feet.
Logan doesn’t meet his eyes as he walks back in. He just drops down and starts rolling up his mat. He gathers the bolsters. Wade rushes for the door, ready to open it for the overburdened man. Mary follows him, sniffing hopefully at his ankles. Wade picks her up.
“My place next week?” Logan asks, and it almost sounds hopeful. He leans against the doorframe.
“Sure,” Wade agrees.
Logan nods, juggling his load and reaching out to ruffle the tuft of fur on Mary’s head. “See you,” he says.
“See you,” Wade agrees. He shuts the door behind Logan and leans his head against it. “I am a fucking idiot,” he grumbles.
“You better marry that boy,” Al calls from the bedroom.
^~*~^
It’s too warm in the coffee shop for Wade’s hoodie, but he keeps it up anyway. His arms are crossed, hands out of sight. He sinks into the corner of the booth and glares at Nathan. “We could have had coffee in your office.”
“Yeah,” Nathan agrees. “But look at you: out of the house, flashing that ugly mug around like you’re comfortable in your own skin. Why wouldn’t I encourage that?” He raises his coffee to his mouth with his prosthetic arm.
“I’m gonna steal all your eye patches and cover them in glitter,” Wade grumbles. Nathan laughs.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, sincerely. “Now we just need you to come back to the group.”
Wade sits back in his seat. “I can’t,” he says. “I’m busy on Tuesday nights now.”
Nathan arches an eyebrow. “Girlfriend?”
“Yoga,” says Wade.
Nathan laughs again. “Yoga? Goddamn, Wilson. You’re full of surprises.”
Wade shrugs. He curls up over his coffee and warms his hands on it, sleeves tucked over his fingers. “The teacher’s ok.”
Nathan smiles. “Oh yeah? What’s she look like?”
Wade glances up as the bell rings over the front door and a man steps out of the rain and into the warmth of the cafe. He slides his rain hood back and runs a hand through his messy hair. Logan. “Like that, actually,” Wade mutters.
Nathan follows his gaze and groans with annoyance. “Jesus fucking— your yoga teacher is Logan Howlett?”
Wade snaps his head back. “You know him?”
“He’s my insurance agent,” Nathan answers. He drinks his coffee. “And he’s even more fucked up than you are.” He sets the drink cup on the table, hard. The sound attracts Logan’s eyes. Wade waves, tentatively. Nathan growls. “Oh no. No, no, no. Don’t even think about it.”
“What am I thinking about, Gurney? Worried he’ll teach me the ways of the Bene Gesserit?”
Nathan leans onto his elbows. “I don’t give a shit about you doing yoga. You’re thinking that guy’s a hot piece of ass. And because I know you,” Nathan emphasizes, poking Wade in the forehead. “I bet you’re catching feelings for him. He’s not a lost puppy, Wade. He’s a broken piece of military equipment, just like the rest of us.” Nathan sits back and sighs. “That man got his entire unit killed.”
Wade frowns. “I know they died. That doesn’t make it his fault.”
Nathan snorts. “The fuck it wasn’t.” He frowns, suddenly serious. “Wade, a soldier tells you he got his unit killed, the facts don’t matter. He lived, they didn’t. He thinks it’s his fault, it will always be his fault, and you will never convince him otherwise.”
“He needs a hug,” Wade snaps. “You need a kick in the balls and a blow job from an older woman with self esteem issues.”
Nathan grins. “The older women know what they’re doing.”
“Summers,” Logan says, stepping up to the table, one hand in his jacket pocket and one around his latte. He looks angry— angrier than Wade has ever made him by talking through the sun salutation. He doesn’t even look at Wade. “Wilson.”
“Wolverine,” Nathan grunts. Logan flinches. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Logan stands there for a moment, before growling and walking away.
“Wolverine?” Wade asks as he watches Logan tug his rain hood back up and storm into the rain.
“His unit,” Nathan explains. “The Wolverines. They came in at the end of every battle, new blood, ready to clean up the carrion. We’d be exhausted, they’d be fresh from a nap,” he sneers. “He stayed behind one day, waited to take out a new requisition of guns. Their leader didn’t want to wait, and the Wolverines walked straight into an ambush.”
“Jesus,” Wade whispers. He knew this, already. He kind of knew, anyway. “So the leader pulled a Leeroy Jenkins and Logan blames himself?”
Nathan stares him down. “He got to them. Must have killed half of Al-Qaeda doing it. But it was too late. They were already dead.” Nathan looks down and flexes the hooks in his prosthetic. “He’s the worst of the Wolverines, Wade. It will always be his fault.”
^~*~^
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Logan says, flatly. Wade sighs. He pushes past Logan into his apartment. “You’ve got some taste in friends,” Logan growls.
“You mean Peter?” Wade asks, innocently. He follows Logan’s tense form into the living room. He drops to his feet and rolls out his mat next to Logan’s.
“You know who I mean,” Logan growls.
“Oh, Nathan?” Wade says, with false surprise.
Logan immediately pushes himself into a cobra pose, not even bothering to loosen up. “You’re in his support group, I take it?”
Wade blinks. He flops to the floor and tries to catch up. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling into the right pose. “Well, I used to be, when I first got out of the hospital. Can’t say it was all that helpful.”
“He’s a fucking menace,” Logan spits. He pushes himself back into the angriest child’s pose Wade has ever seen.
“Easy there, Peanut. You’re gonna sprain your temper.”
Suddenly, Logan lunges, tackling Wade to his mat. The breath whooshes out of Wade’s lungs. “Cable is a fucked up piece of shit, and you’re better than him.”
“Cable?”
“His job, back there. He ran communications lines.”
“Ah,” Wade swallows. Logan’s still crouched over him. Cautiously, he brings his hands up to Logan’s hips.
“He’s all talk. Always has been. You’re not what he tells you you are, Wade,” Logan insists. “Whatever bullshit he’s told you, it’s wrong.”
Wade blinks up. He can see the anger in Logan’s eyes— the frustration, the worry. “He’s only been honest with me,” says Wade. “He doesn’t sugar coat anything. He says the scars—“
“All you see is the scars,” Logan interrupts. He shakes his head. “There’s so much more to look at with you.” He sits back on his knees and reaches for the bolster. “Sit up,” he orders. Wade complies, eyes still locked on Logan’s frown. Logan slides the bolster behind Wade and gently pushes him backward. He squats down at Wade’s feet and shoves them together and upward. Wades’ knees drop apart.
Wade tries to slow his breathing. “Logan—“ He takes another deep breath. “What’s this called?” He grunts.
“Reclined bound butterfly,” Logan says. He wraps a woven strap around Wade’s leg and tightens it.
Wade tries not to blush. “If I’d known bondage was involved, I’d have started doing yoga years ago.”
Logan presses his big hands into Wade’s thighs, widening the stretch. Wade sighs out a moan. He blinks his eyes open and Logan’s entire face is wrecked. On a hunch, Wade lifts his unbound knee. He grazes the kneecap against Logan’s crotch. Logan hisses. Hey yo.
“You wearing a cup under those yoga pants or did we wake up one of your chakras?” Wade asks, glancing up beneath his nonexistent lashes.
“Wade,” Logan warns.
“Yes? Wade asks, innocently. He gently rocks his knee from side to side. Logan’s eyes flutter shut.
“I’m your teacher,” Logan chokes. He makes no move to get away.
Wade rolls his eyes. “You’re not my doctor. You’re an insurance agent. You teach yoga once a week. I’m pretty sure you’re my friend, and I need you to kiss me, right now.”
Logan swallows. “Wade—“
Wade rolls his eyes. “You’re fired, ok? We’re done. You’re the worst yoga teacher I have ever had and I demand a refund.” A laugh explodes out of Logan, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Wade’s ever seen. He watches, wide eyed, as the usually stoic man sits back and wipes happy tears from the corners of his eyes. “What?” Wade asks.
“You’re just— ah—“ Logan drops his hands to his thighs. “You’re just you, Mouth.” He lowers himself back down, hands bracketing Wade’s shoulders. “And I like you, bub.”
“I like you too,” Wade whispers. Logan gently presses his lips to Wade’s.
^~*~^
Nobody’s slept with their arm around Wade since Vanessa held on for dear life the night before his last deployment. She’d begged him not to go, like he could just go AWOL because she asked. She didn’t hold him after they flew him home. She didn’t touch him at all.
Logan’s arm is loose around Wade’s waist. A comforting weight. He’s heavier than he looks, which Wade assumes is from muscle. He breathes quietly, scared to move and ruin all of it. Logan’s snoring so softly it’s practically a purr. Wade carefully sneaks his hand up to grab his phone and quietly orders two smoothies from a food delivery app.
He relaxes back into the mattress and breathes in Logan’s cedar wood scent. He can hardly believe this is real— that he’s curled up in the arms of the hottest man in the universe, and this man wants to be with him. This man likes him.
Last night, all they did was kiss. But fuck, did they. Logan’s mouth was hot on Wade’s, gentle at first, then oversexed and furious. His hands had been everywhere— grabbing Wade’s ass, dragging down his calves, wrapped around his waist. They’d made out like teenagers, rolling around in the floor like they didn’t have time to get to a couch or a bed. Logan kissed like he was starving for it— like he’d been saving it up for Wade, for years. For Wade’s part, he gave as good as he got.
“Stay,” Logan had whispered, breath harsh and panting in Wade’s ear.
Wade swallowed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “God, yes.”
There’s a knock at the door. Wade groans, mad at himself as he has to extricate himself from Logan’s arms to answer the door. He pads quietly into the living room and grabs his cardigan from the back of the couch. He shrugs it on and opens the door.
Fuck.
The courier is Peter. Wade meets his startled eyes and reaches out for the smoothies. Peter glances at the name on the door, and then looks past Wade to the yoga mats, still out on the living room floor.
“Wade,” Peter hisses. “Are you fucking my yoga teacher?”
Wade freezes. “Not yet?” he tries. “Maybe?”
Peter grins and slaps him on the shoulder. “That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you, buddy!”
“Wade?” Logan calls. Wade can feel the heat flood his face.
“Go, go, go!” Peter whispers, dancing awkwardly in the doorway.
“You go,” Wade whispers back. “And don’t tell anybody about this!”
“I’m telling everybody!” Peter whispers as he dances down the hall.
“Fuck,” Wade mutters. He shuts the door.
In the bedroom, Logan blinks up from the bed, all sleepy and warm. He stretches his massive arms above his head and yawns. Wade is wide the fuck awake. “You want a smoothie?”
Logan’s breath hitches as he stretches again. “Yeah,” he blows out. “Sure.”
Wade moves closer. “Strawberry or mango?” He offers.
“Mango.”
Wade climbs back into the bed and passes him the cup. He watches as Logan stabs it with a straw and takes a long sip. His hair is a mess. His eyes are bleary.
He’s fucking gorgeous.
And he’s tackling Wade again, tucking him into his arms and pressing him back into the pillows. Wade fumbles to set his smoothie down on the nightstand. “Stop me if I’m moving too fast,” Logan breathes.
Wade has no intention of doing anything of that nature. “Absolutely not,” he tuts.
Logan grins, and Wade’s heart stutters. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?” Logan moans into his neck.
“Are my positions really that bad?” Wade jokes, weakly.
Logan slides his big hands up Wade’s sides. He sinks his teeth into Wade’s collarbone, gently. Wade gasps. Logan mouths a path back up his throat. “I need to touch you, Wade,” Logan growls. “I need to get my hands on all of you.”
Wade throws his head back. His knees slide up, bracketing Logan’s hips. “Well nobody’s stopping you, big guy,” he pants. “You’ve got me,” Wade whimpers. “Whatever you want, Peanut.”
Logan groans, rolling over and pulling Wade with him. “Hi,” he says, raising a hand to Wade’s face.
“Hi,” Wade whispers back. Logan leans up to capture his lips. Wade melts into it. Logan’s hands move to his ass and pull him down, dragging Wade’s hips against his own and groaning into the kiss. Wade breaks it. “Oh fuck,” he pants. “Are you sure about this?”
Logan blinks up at him and frowns. “I’m sure,” he says. “But if you’re not—“
“I’m sure,” Wade rushes out, popping back down to kiss Logan again. “But I know what I look like. I won’t be offended if it’s too much.”
That unreadable look is back on Logan’s face, and he reaches out to take Wade’s hand. He tangles his fingers with Wade’s and brings it up to kiss each finger. Wade feels a little dizzy. Logan meets his eyes again and draws Wade’s hand down, pushing it flat against his heavy, hard length. “Does that feel like it’s too much?” Wade swallows. “I want you, Wade,” Logan purrs. He grinds into the hand he’s holding against his cock. “You and your nonstop talking, and your half broken heart, and those fucking eyes.”
And Wade gets it— he finally gets it, that facial expression: soft around the edges, hesitant but open.
“You’ve got a fucking crush on me,” Wade breathes.
“How was that not obvious?” Logan blinks.
Wade drops back down and kisses him, hard, like he has to before they run out of time— like he’ll never get to again. Logan keens into it. Wade wants to hear those sounds for the rest of his life. He slips his hand into Logan’s yoga pants (he’s not wearing boxers, and holy fuck, Wade’s dick is going to burst if it gets any harder) and takes ahold of him. Logan drops back to the pillow, mouth dropping over to gulp for air like water. He reaches up to yank Wade’s pants down and pull his scarred cock free from his underwear. Wade looks up, afraid to see his reaction.
Logan’s smiling, still panting, mouth open, as Wade strokes along his length and he moves his hand in time. Wade has no choice but to kiss him again, pushing his hand out of the way to take them both in his own and rock them together. Logan’s eyes roll shut and he thrusts his hips up, cock gliding in Wade’s hand, and along his own, slicked with their combined precome.
Wade meets him, watching his blissed out expression as he tries to stay focused enough to match Logan’s pace, to learn how he likes to be held, where he likes to be touched. Everywhere seems to be the answer— every way. Wade can work with that. He grinds himself against Logan faster, squeezing a little tighter as the way becomes more and more slick. Logan wraps his arms around Wade’s neck and tugs him down for another kiss, and that’s it— Wade’s hips are stuttering, and he’s thrusting through molasses— waves of pleasure slamming into him with each slow thrust. Logan fucks into his hand a little harder, once, twice— and he’s falling as well, yelling out as he’s sinking his fingertips into Wade’s arms and squeezing, hard enough to bruise softer skin.
Wade flops onto the bed beside him and struggles to catch his breath. He is a puddle. He is a warm puddle of eucalyptus scented goo in Logan’s bamboo sheets.
“Wade, I’m not kidding,” Logan grunts. He rolls over and tugs Wade closer to his side “I like you, you dumb fuck.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Wade breathes. He reaches across his chest to tangle his fingers with Logan’s free hand. “I like you too.”
“Good,” Logan murmurs, eyelids heavy. “Go back to sleep, Mouth.”
“Yeah,” Wade whispers. “Yeah, I think I will.”
He starts to drift off, tangled in Logan’s warmth. His phone pings.
Logan growls. “Later.”
“Let me make sure it’s not Al,” Wade whispers. He slaps his hand around for the phone, unwilling to get up. He pulls it closer. It’s a text message from Peter.
“Aren’t you glad I made you go to yoga? ;)” Wade snorts.
“What?” Logan mutters into the pillow.
“Nothing.” Wade kisses his forehead. “Go to sleep, Peanut.”