Gravity


There was a saying appropriate to the exact instant in which Logan’s life went from surreal to perfect.  He wasn’t sure where he’d first heard it, or who’d said it at the time.

Madness is like gravity…all it takes is a little push.

He’d decided he would ignore the fact that he’d gone insane.  He’d decided he would pretend Wade Wilson was nothing more than a disturbed young man.

But Wade was nothing if not persistent, and could be almost impossible to ignore.

It was the madness of him…predictable chaos, laconic efficiency, casual slaughter.

Yes, gravity.  Wade was like gravity.

Like a thirty-storey fall.  Like the tides.  Like the sunrise and the seasons.  Never identical, but always the same.  Teetering, but inevitable.

Watching Wade made something ache deep in his chest.

Stryker pointed Wade at things he wanted removed from the face of the planet, and Wade leveled them with all the grace and thoroughness of a tsunami.

Or a meteor strike.

It was a real treat to see Wade sweet-talk an arms dealer one moment and slice him in half the next.  The way his lips formed all the worst threats in any number of languages…the way he would lift an impatient eyebrow for Stryker’s go-ahead…the way cutting down a lowlife put a pretty smile of satisfaction on his face…

Fred elbowed Logan, rudely jarring him from his reverie.  “You ‘wake in there?” the big man teased.  “Might wanna pay ‘ttention.  Looks like we’re headed back to base for a while.”

At least Victor was off somewhere else, helping Bradley and Nord do some other chore for Stryker.  Logan had certainly had more than he could stomach of Victor’s smug ‘I told you so’s when it came to Wade’s enticing little smirks and their effect on Logan.

They flew back to the current base of operations.  They showered (Wade treated them to a slightly off-tune rendition of ‘Put On Your Sunday Clothes’).  Logan immediately fled to his cramped quarters and the safety of a dog-eared Ian Fleming novel.

Scaramanga was just saying his prayers when the door unceremoniously banged open and Wade leaned in, wearing nothing but his tags and a towel tied low around his hips.

He smelled like tapwater and sandalwood soap.  With his damp hair dripping in his eyes, he looked far more boyish and innocent than a mercenary assassin had any right to; the phrase ‘cougar bait’ sprang to mind.

“So,” Wade said.

“So?” Logan replied, turning a page.

“Sooooooo,” Wade repeated, drawing the word out and sauntering into the little room and kicking the door shut again.  “Any idea how long it’s gonna be before we end up having sex?  ‘Cause I got plans for the rest of the century, and I like to know which parts will be taken up by mind-blowing orgasms.  For scheduling reasons.”

Logan arched an eyebrow.  “And what makes you think anybody in his right mind would wanna sleep with you, Wade?”

Wade plucked the book from Logan’s hand just as Scaramanga was pulling the golden derringer on Bond.  He tossed it over his shoulder with a saucy little grin.  “And who ever said you were in your right mind, Logan?” he shot back.

“I was reading that,” Logan said flatly.  Somehow, he managed to keep his eyes on Wade’s face.

As always, Wade was undeterred.  He just stood there, drumming his fingers on his hips and making thoughtful little frowns.  Slowly, he started to smirk.  “Saw you staring earlier,” he purred, putting a hand on Logan’s collarbone.  He pushed, and Logan found himself flat on his back on the rickety cot with Wade smirking above him.  “What were you starin’ for?”

Logan blinked.

Just a little push.

He was tired of pretending, and he’d run out of excuses.  Fighting gravity only ended well if you had something solid to stand on.  And besides, falling only hurt when you stopped…

“’Cause you were beautiful,” he answered breathlessly, honestly.

Wade laughed and flung the towel somewhere.


.End.