X-Men, movie-verse (for a change, you know... --)
Logan/Scott again, BUT...
Scott's an old-fashioned guy. And he's been insisting on a proper date. If Logan wants any, he's going to have to play good little boyfriend.
Logan carefully analyzed himself before the bathroom mirror. He had borrowed gel from St. John and his wild locks were carefully slicked back into a rather flattering style. The little fire-starter had told him that he resembled some pansy called Don Juan. Logan had stared at the teenager blankly until he had coughed and muttered something about "human foreplay" and "sex on two legs" before slinking out of the room.
He carefully continued to look himself over as he prepared for his date. He pulled awkwardly at his collar, wondering why he had allowed Marie to talk him into a button-up black dress shirt. He had to admit that he looked good; unfortunately he was also itchy and uncomfortable. That was alright though, because if everything went according to plan he wouldn't have to be wearing it long.
He turned from his mirror to his bed. There were all the props that the teenagers had insisted he needed to accomplish his task.
Marie had insisted on a bouquet of daisies and baby's breath.
"Aren't roses the traditional date flowers?" Logan had asked uncertainly.
Marie had flipped her hair over his shoulder in contempt. "Those are way too over done."
Bobby had insisted that he needed to give his date chocolate.
Logan bit his lip as he stared at the candies in suspicion, "Rum chocolates?"
"Well yeah… what? Did you think you could get away with milk chocolate in a heart-shaped box? Trust me, it is not that easy."
St. John had merely handed him a tube of strawberry flavoured lube.
"Don't just mount him like he's a fucking horse. He'll probably want you to go down on him first," St. John rolled his eyes in a world-weary way. "Some guys…"
Logan shuddered at the thought of what St. John and Bobby got up to in their alone time, and he was still trying to figure out where Rogue fit into all this. He abruptly shook his head clear. Those were thoughts, and fantasy fodder, for another night. Tonight he was on a mission: Get into tight-ass old-fashioned Scott Summer's pants if it killed them both.