I kissed his knuckles, each of them, split and bloodied. I lapped at the wounds, and thought his blood was mine. I pressed a kiss to his closed fist, and knew that his protection was mine. The dog on my leash, the lover who hung on every word off my lips.
Logan just watched, maybe some form of shock on his face. But not shock like an explosion of emotions, more like soft shock. Like he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone, especially me, kissing him as if his skin was glass.
“Wade…” He began, but it didn’t sound like he wanted to say anything after. Just say my name. So he said it again.
I kissed his palms, looked up at him. I wiped off the blood of someone innocent off his cheek. We were still there, standing in the midst of our mission. Our completed mission.
Dozens, now dead, lay splayed out around us. And in the centre of it all I kissed his hands.
When we arrived to my apartment later, Mary was fed and we had showered. Now, usually we don’t eat much other than some junk. But I actually cooked this time.
I watched in silence as the pot over the stove boiled, watched as the sun set and I scooped out two bowls of real good smelling noodles and soup.
And when I closed the stove and brought the bowl to Logan, I watched as he sat on the couch, our couch, and ate it contently.
Maybe it was later that night, when the moon hung high in the sky. The only sound was the buzz of the tv and the place was dark.
I looked over at Logan, we had been talking for a bit before. His face was illuminated with the light of the television. I thought he was beautiful.
As our quiet conversation came to a close, he spoke again. “Wade?”
“Logan.”
“You’re beautiful.”
I froze. I looked at him, he was looking at me. And usually when we caught each other’s gaze he would turn away. But this time he didn’t. He kept looking at me, through the dim and hazy tv light.
He gave me a look through his half lidded eyes that should be a sin. It was such infatuation. It was so genuine and raw, and it felt like he was breaking apart pieces of my body whole. And it was so fucking soft. I wanted to tear off my skin.
I didn’t even realize when my eyes began to water. He didn’t say anything, then I finally spoke up.
“Logan…”
“Wade.”
I looked down, voice trembling. “Don’t…” I whispered “Don’t do this.”
“Im not doing anything.” He whispered. “I’m scared. This is scary.”
I looked up at him. His own lidded eyes were misty with his eyes watering. But there was the softest trace of a smile on his lips. Like he was happy to cry, to break and to fear.
And I felt my throat closing up. Because I knew what I wanted to say, and it was killing me.
Its like you’re drowning, and you’re trying to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist.
I met his eyes, and then all the television noise, the sound of buzzing traffic, the quiet chirp of an owl outside had all stopped.
He kisses- how do I explain it? Like someone in love. Like he has nothing left to loose. Like someone who just learns a foreign language and can only use the present tense and only the second person.
Only now, only you.
He pulled away, engulfing my hands with his. I felt hazy and drunk. I didn’t suppose I ever felt this way before. Even while I had had sex, even while I was actually drunk.
I looked down at our hands, looked up at him as he kissed my forehead. I had remembered all those times I had joked about asking him to have sex with me.
“Making love was never about you and me in a bed.” I muttered. “We made love whenever we held hands.”
He brought my knuckles to his lips, a parallel to what I had done this morning. His lips were brittle soft. “Ive been looking for you for a long time. Please don’t go. Please don’t make me wait for you forever.”
His words were a whisper, and choked back emotion but I knew what he meant. I understood what he meant too at that was more important.
We both lived such great lives, big things, terrible things had happened to us. Nothing good, but we both had done so much. We lived and experienced the worst and maybe just a slice of the best.
And after all those years, of being misunderstood and lied to and loss…we had found each other.
And if there is no red string then I will take my own string, wrap it around my finger, then around his, loop it around and tie a knot, and even kiss to for good measure. Fate has no business telling me who I can love.
We weren’t even dating, we were bound by the stars so fuck you actually.
“I love you.” Is all I managed to say. I love him because he’s the greatest definition of human being that I came across. I love him because he’s the only person that perfectly fits my idea of love.
He exhaled shakily. “I am afraid of you. In loving me you hold a knife at my throat. In loving you I tell you exactly where to cut, We are two against the world, yet I still do not trust your hand in mine. This is new and I am terrified.”
The wolverine never showed fear, never told you he was scared. But he wasn’t the Wolverine right now, he wasn’t Logan. He was human.
“If I cut you, I’ll cut myself.” I mumbled as I pressed my face into his shoulders, his arms wrapping loosely around my back.
“And we will die together.”