Logan closed his room door behind him - or at least, what the Professor said was his room. Okay, so he was the only one who remembered what had really happened- or what, he supposed, never happened at all. His hands began to shake and he repressed the urge to unsheath his claws, for there was no danger now that he could fight. Reality itself was what now seemed so alien, yet so familiar.
Everyone- everyone was still alive. But the balloon of happiness that had begun to swell at seeing Jean- not as he last had, possessed and destructive and pleading to die, but happy, content; Rogue, who may as well be his daughter, still enjoying her youth, in control of her powers; the eyes of countless children from which he'd seen the spark of life die were now alive with hope; and Scott, who he'd never admit to missing but who had left an undefinable hole inside him- began to deflate.
Were they really the people he had known? As he understood the concept of timelines, they had different pasts, memories, personalities- and so did the Logan that they knew. What if they couldn't stand him now? He doubted that their Logan could be more abrasive than he was. And how could he know where things stood between him and them?
There was a soft knock at the door, which pulled him from his spinning thoughts. He padded over to the bed silently, and sat, trying to compose himself, and look natural.
"Come in," he called gruffly.
The door swung open a little and in slipped Scott, who closed it behind him and leant against it. "Hey Logan. I didn't see you after class today." His voice was... friendly? Even fond, Logan thought, and tried to remember Professor X's briefings on his relationships with his team- for they were still a team, the Charles assured him- but it was a bit of a blur. He'd said something about... Scott and Jean were together, and it was 'imperitive that it stays that way'? When reading his mind Charles must've picked up on the feelings he'd had for Jean, all those years ago, before the 'bots.
Scott was so hard to read with those stupid red sunglasses on. "'Sup, Cyclops. The Prof just wanted a word." There didn't seem to be any immediate news Scott was there to deliver, as he nodded and smiled (weird) and... locked the door? Weirder.
Logan frowned at him in confusion as he walked towards the bed and sat down. Had the Professor sent him to look after him? But that didn't make sense- his breath caught suddenly as something touched his knee. He looked down and blinked. And blinked again. And once more for good measure.
Then Scott's hand began to slide up his thigh, twisting him towards him, and Logan finally looked up only for his lips to be caught by Scott's own soft, pink mouth.
For a good thirty seconds his brain ceased to function, and he only came back to reality when his lungs began to burn. Well, technically he didn't need oxygen to live, but he certainly needed to breathe, preferably into a paper bag. But in the two-second breakaway Scott swung his leg over so he was sat on Logan's lap and his hands came to rest on Logan's jaw, pulling his face back up so their mouths could meet again, and somehow his own hands found their way to Scott's waist.
He must've been working on autopilot because he found himself falling into a rhythm, his lips moving against Scott's. Their moths began to press harder together and Logan's teeth scraped against Scott's, something his animal side appreciated greatly. A guttural growl rose involountarily from deep in his throat and Scott parted his lips eagerly, his hot tongue running along Logan's lower lip, then pushing inside as Scott pressed up close to him, forcing him to lean back, taking his hands from Scott's waist to support himself on his elbows so he wouldn't be pressed flat against the mattress.
Suddenly his brain decided to show up for work, and it figuratively kicked the door in, screaming, "what in the fuck do you think you're doing?" and he twisted away, pushing Scott with one hand on his chest, their mouths parting in a hot rush of breath and wetness.
"W-what is it?" Scott panted, sliding his hands slowly down from where they rested on the back of his neck to the small of his back. His skin tingled under the fabric of his shirt from the trail his fingers left.
"I-um.." he swallowed, sure he'd be able to grasp the train of thought he was chasing a lot better were Scott not three inches from his lips. The timelines, different pasts- there Professor might've neglected a couple of things in his crash course. But also-
"Jean." He managed to grind out, forcing his eyes to stare at the red sunglasses, and only the red sunglasses.
"Logan, you know the Professor says that it's dangerous for me to leave." Okay, not what he was going for- "But I swear, when he finds a way to stop the Pheonix escaping at any vulnerable, or emotional moment, we can be together. Properly together. We could get the law involved and everything." Scott smiled at him, jokingly, but slightly shocked at himself, and at the same time hopeful, and Logan realised:
It wasn't just lust that was happening here.
"Did you just... propose to me?" A chuckle escaped his mouth, the craziness of the situation hitting him like a brick. It had been the apocalypse, watching the world turn to shit and the people he loved to dust. Then he'd played marriage counsellor to the two most powerful mutants in history and put up with their lovers' bullshit for days, and now he was in a different universe being proposed to by Scott Summers, who was a guy and with Jean and also dead.
So what the hell. He was fucked anyway.
"Sure, whatever. Make an honest mutant of me." He smiled, joking back. "But only if you take off your shirt." His voice lowered and he hooked a finger under the hem of Scott's tee, pulling it up to expose the firm, lithe muscle of his stomach.
Scott grinned and put his arms back around Logan's neck, pulling himelf close and up so he could look down at Logan, their noses almost touching, wrapping his legs around him in a way that was distinctively submissive. But Logan found upon that the thought of the difference from what he was used to in Scott's pants didn't deter him, not at all, and as Scott settled down onto him with a satisfied sigh, grinding his crotch into Logan's, he felt blood rush to his dick, and it swelled and grew under the pressure.
He ground back, increasing the friction, his hands gripping Scott's ass to pull his crotch even closer to his own. Their mouths found the other already open and their tongues explored, fighting for dominance, hard and desperate as they moved together, not an inch between their flush-pressed bodies.
Logan took Scott's lower lip in his teeth and bit down, and Scott moaned lightly and tipped his head back, his long, pale neck offering itself to his lips. He grazed his lips along it and inhaled his scent; the wind that blows in from the sea, to go with the salt on his smooth skin; something earthy, musky, exotic, his wolverine nose telling him pheromones of acute arousal; and the smell of the fire that his body contained, the tension and static of a thunderstorm and the wild burn of his eyes.
He finally pulled the shirt over Scott's head, using the opportunity to pull of his own and flip their positions. He pressed Scott back into the mattress, his animal side's primal need to be the alpha of the pairing showing through. He threw the clothes haphazardly away and pressed his mouth in the centre of Scott's defined chest, and moved it up, slowly, tongue eagerly tasting the salt and chemicals that seeped out of his skin, setting of a thousand chemical reactions in his own brain.
Fixing his teeth firmly on the delicate ridge of a collarbone he stroked a hand down over his chest (and his heart, if he was going to be gay about it (which was perhaps the most ironic thing he'd ever thought)) down along the steady twisting and contracting of his long, lean stomach, and onto his hip, mirroring it with his other hand.
He lifted himself off Scott, until nothing but his mouth, licking and nibbling the same spot at the base of his neck remained, straddling him enticingly but never touching. Scott let out a needy whine at the sudden loss of friction and tried to thrust upwards, but Logan held him down. Then he took his mouth from his neck to survey his body.
It sheened with sweat, and Logan could see Scott's dick pushing hard against the fabric of his jeans. It was thick, constricting cloth, and didn't give much, so Scott must've been very hard. He gave another whine as he panted, desperate, and bucked again, begging for relief, but Logan didn't want to give it to him. Not yet.
He had a sudden idea and took the belt from his pants and used it to strap Scott's arms together to the barred headboard behind him. He checked to see that Scott was okay with it, and there was an excited quiver to his consent; it seemed they shared a kink. Then, he spread Scott's legs wide, but didn't touch anywhere near his tenting crotch.
Kneeling with legs either side of him he began to trace his body with one finger. Scott gasped at his touch and twisted, the mattress springs creaking under him. As Logan drew cirles, barely touching his skin, he squirmed and made little noises, almost pained, and as he brushed over one of his dark, hard nipples, he let out a loud, sharp moan and arched off the bed into his touch.
Logan could feel his own dick rubbing hard against his pants, and his balls felt heavy, but he wanted to play for a little longer. He used his thumbs to trace light circles around them, refusing to touch the sensetive bundle of nerves, then all of a sudden closed his lips around one. Scott, eyes closed, was taken by surprise, and gasped, and all at once he bit down on it and pinched on the other.
The loud, half-scream Scott made as he writhed in a perfect balance of pain and bliss, as animal as any Logan could, made him finally relent and he yanked down Scott's jeans, and dropped them on the floor. He was too impatient to keep playing. Under the cotton underwear Logan could see how close he was. And Logan wanted him.
He pulled off his own garments and, unsheathing one claw, used it to rip right through Scott's boxers and the belt. He snikked it back in and Scott's hands were suddenly all over him, on his chest, arms, back, fingernails digging deep, and he lowered himself down, elbows either side of Scott's head. Scott began humping roughly, bucking his pelvis, past the point of caring and only wanting to reach climax.
His nails went deeper and broke Logan's skin, leaving long scratches that healed in their wake. The pain, and the hardness of Scott against him, drove him wild, the frustration from everything that happened manifesting itself only as impatiece as he blocked out any thought exept for Scott, just Scott, and though it was late in the game, he whispered huskily, "I want to be inside you."
Between pants and thrusts, Scott laughed. "Hell no. You have been top three times this week, it's my turn." And he pulled himself up, and flipped Logan over, who didn't use his superior strength to stop him. Scott fumbled around on the floor for his jeans, and pulled a bottle of lube from one pocket. Logan tried to slow his breathing but the sight of a dominant Scott was hotter than he could have imagined. His claws stabbed from between his knuckles and embedded themselves in the mattress.
Well, he'd never done this before. Old dog, new tricks