Tin Man
I know it's been a while since I've written anything on Fanfic but since late October I've been in and out of the hospital and my family and I have been going through some difficulties. I'm starting to feel a little better and the only reason I got this fic out so soon was because my sister found the little notebook I kept all my stories in that I thought burned down with our trailer. So those that are waiting for the latest installment to AFOMFT don't worry I will have it out ASAP. Please bare with me. *Hides*
Scott lay on his back, sheets thrown haphazardly at the foot of the bed. Deft hands roamed his naked body, leaving bruises in their wake. His eyes fluttered closed as a skillful finger flitted across the tip of his member and teased the sensitive slit, wringing ecstasy filled moans from him. He reached down, grasping a fistful of dark strands, and jerked his partner's head upward for a kiss. With half lidded eyes, he stared into the face of his lover. "Logan," he whispered lovingly.
Scott jerked to consciousness, chest heaving, breath coming in deep, shaky gasps. He didn't need his eyes to see the raging hard-on tenting the bed sheets. Hastily, he plucked his ruby-quartz glasses from the night table and donned them. He chanced a glance downward, cursing when he finally saw his near painful erection, and then back at the beautiful redhead sleeping peacefully next to him. Despite himself, he breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't awakened… Good. He threw the covers back and hastened into the bathroom, turning the shower on cold and hoping to quench the flames of desire coiling through his body.
Moments later, he stood under the showerhead, shivering and willing his arousal to deflate. He gave a frustrated sigh. Scott Summers, leader of the X-Men, had a problem, because that dream was one of many that he had been having for months now. Each time it was the same, he awakened just before he blew his wad all over the sheets.
He'd been lusting after Logan for ages, but he didn't act on it. He didn't dare, because he was the leader of the X-Men he had to be a role model for the students, he couldn't crave the feral's touch. It was wrong. Therefore, he banished it to the recesses of his mind and completely ignored his feelings, at least he thought he had, until now. Now, he dreamt of him every night and when he saw him, his heart skipped. So, he pretended.
He pretended that he couldn't get along with Logan. He pretended to mean all of those scathing comments he threw at the other man. Perhaps, his greatest charade of all was how he pretended to be jealous of Logan when he flirted with Jean. Deep, down all he wanted was for the feral to show him a fraction of the attention he showed her. It was tearing him apart.
He pressed his forehead against the wall of the shower. Everyone, the students and his fellow X-Men admired him, but if they knew the truth, they would be sorely disappointed. He was nothing but a pretender, a coward. Hell he couldn't even get it up for Jean anymore. Oh, but all he needed was a shirtless Logan and he was ready for a few rounds. The situation was troubling to say the least. He cut the water and stepped out of the small shower, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. After drying off, he put on a tank top, sweat pants, and a pair of sneakers. Maybe an early morning jog would quell his pent up sexual energy.
Scott was jogging down the footpath when he stopped. What the--?
Logan stood in the grassy yard wearing a white gi. He was completely still, poised and unmoving as if he were waiting.
Scott knew that at any moment, Logan was going to turn on him and say something rude, but to his infinite surprise, the shorter man began to limber up. His heart stuttered when the feral bent over, giving the marksman a good view of his backside. Run!! He bolted down the footpath, sneakers pounding the pavement as he ran at full tilt. After running flat out for longer than he intended, he flopped down on the bench beneath the shade tree and gazed forward, watching the feral.
He knew he should leave but… He didn't know Logan knew tai chi. Behind ruby quartz lenses, he observed the feral mutant. Muscles that were usually bunched tight like coiled springs moved with a fluidity and grace that he had never seen before. He'd never seen Logan look so peaceful before today. It was… odd. Moments later, he had to stop himself from fidgeting when Logan sat next to him.
The shorter man produced a cigar from somewhere on his person and popped a claw, cutting off the end.
Scott groaned. "Logan," he chided.
"Fuck you Summers," he said around the cigar, taking out a lighter to ignite the end.
Would you please? A small voice pleaded in his head. Shut up! Scott remained quiet as they sat there, enjoying the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the barely audible noise of the ocean waves gently lapping against the cliff. The silence was actually comfortable and Scott couldn't help but cast a side-glance at the other mutant. Logan sat leaned back on the bench, hands clasped behind his head, eyes gazing up at the lightening sky. Hungry eyes had traced the strong curvature of the feral's jaw and down to his thick neck before he tore his gaze away. Jeez, Scott get it together.
He couldn't help but turn his attention to the feral when he shifted, face remaining stolid as the other man gave a small quirk of his lips just as the sun tipped the horizon. So Logan liked the sunrise huh? He smiled inwardly, cataloguing the information in his shrewd mind. "Didn't know you liked the sunrise," he said, sifting a dash of taunt in his voice, "isn't that cliché?"
Logan pulled a deep drag on his stogy, withdrew it to blow out a ring of smoke, and reinserted it. "I'm not one of those treehuggin' asswipes, if that's what you're getting at. Anyone can enjoy the sunrise every now and again." He flicked some ash from his cigar and held it between his fingers, smoke curling from its end. "Even a tight ass like you can enjoy the sunrise with Jeanie."
He turned his eyes to the horizon. The ruby quartz made it so that he saw the world in shades of red. So when the sun came up he couldn't see the contrast of orange and pink hues all he saw was red and more red. To him sunup looked like the sky ran red with all the mutant blood that had been spilled during the conflict. He shook his head, maintaining his usual composed expression. "The ruby quartz makes it so I see in shades of red. So really when the sun comes up it look like the sky has been painted with blood," he answered truthfully. It was depressing that he couldn't see in color.
Logan took a drag on his cigar. "Damn."
The tone in the feral's voice was gruff, but Scott heard the sympathetic undertones.
"Yeah, but it beats the hell out of being blind." He gave a tiny smirk to reassure the mutant that he was okay.
"Mmm."
Scott couldn't help but watch as Logan leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head, able to discern the muscles moving beneath the material of his gi. He wanted to reach under Logan's shirt and see what those muscles really felt like. An image of a shirtless and sweaty Logan putting shingles on the roof flooded his mind. He imagined sweat rolling down those hard muscles as the hot sun beat down on him. His member twitched and hardened. Shit! He couldn't get hard here, not sitting next to Logan, who could smell it. Shit. Did he smell his arousal? He cut his eyes to the feral, who didn't react to the situation. Why wasn't he saying anything? What if Logan offered? Would he accept? Hell yes. God save him but he so wanted to lick chocolate off those perfect abs.
He shifted on the wooden bench trying to focus on something to deflate his arousal. Of course, having Logan next to him smelling of sweat did not help him in his efforts. With near widening eyes he saw the subtle flare of Logan's nostrils. Oh god Scott he smells you, think of something.
Logan stood and flicked some ash from the tip of his cigar. "You might wanna let Jeanie fix that problem you've got there." With those words, he turned and sauntered back towards the mansion.
Scott's cheeks colored scarlet with embarrassment and he wanted to crawl up under a rock and hide. He flopped his head back to gaze up at the sky. It was going to be a long day.
Noon
When most members of the Institute's faculty were eating lunch, Scott was in the Danger Room in full X-Men garb, doing warm ups before he started the session. He needed to work off his tension and there was nothing like a Level 9 (not ten because he needed to get back to his class without being bombarded with questions) to work it off. He turned when the doors slid open, revealing a fully suited Logan. He just couldn't catch a break today.
The feral raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised to see him.
Scott tried not to notice the way Logan's uniform clung to his hard muscled body. He paused to watch Logan as he sauntered towards him, the uniform shifting fluidly over his muscles with each movement. Mmf.
"Shouldn't ya be in the faculty lounge eating bagels and drinking tea?" He gibed lightly.
He schooled his features, remembering how hard the shorter had been flirting with Jean at breakfast. "Shouldn't you be off impaling some poor, defenseless creature?" He snapped. The small quirk of the other man's lips puzzled him.
"What level ya got us doing, Slim?"
"Nine."
Logan snorted.
Scott finished limbering up and straightened, mouth set in a firm line. "You can leave if it's too much for you. I'll completely understand," he teased. He couldn't help but savor the small victory when the feral's eyes narrowed.
"Run the damn program."
He smirked. "Computer, run set program." SNICKT. He heard Logan unleash his claws. He spared a glance at the feral out the corner of his eye. He'd always been fascinated with those claws. Logan could eviscerate a person with them one second and use them to cut the tip off his cigar the next. It was really… His attention returned to the task at hand when concealed weapons rose from the floor.
Cat-like reflexes gained from years of extensive training prompted him to dodge an oncoming blast of energy. He turned aside and let loose a stream of red energy, destroying the turret. He let the moment sweep him away, feeling whatever tension weighed upon him melt as adrenaline rushed through his system.
He and Logan moved through the Danger Room, dodging shots and reducing machine to scrap. They moved as if in a dance never meeting but always watching out for one another. When the final weapon lay in a heap, he surveyed the damage they'd caused. A heap of mangled metal lay around them, a testament to their efficiency.
Scott stood near the feral, breaths coming in gasps, sweat beading down the heated skin beneath his uniform. Damn material did not let you breathe. Involuntarily he gazed at the shorter man standing next to him, taking time to enjoy the way his uniform clung to every single muscle. Damn.
"If Chuck asks what happened I'm tellin' him it was your idea," he stated off-handedly, a sliver of jest in his gruff tone.
Scott stared at the metallic debris. "You're my accomplice."
Logan canted his head, regarding Scott with amused eyes. "Heh. Didn't know you were trying to grow a sense of humor Slim."
Scott merely smirked and led the way out of the Danger Room.
Later, Scott stood in a stall of the Danger Room showers, letting the showerhead from one of the stalls pelt him with warm water. He scolded himself for allowing his mind, which seemed hell-bent on overwhelming him with images of a sweaty Logan peeling himself out of his X-suit, revealing naked flesh, to wander. His cock twitched and heat pooled the pit of his belly. He swallowed, eyes closing as his manhood fully erected.
God he just wanted Logan to fuck him. Hard. But it was wrong right? He had Jean and that was enough. So why was it he found himself in the worst of moods when Logan flirted with her or someone else? Why was it that he wanted to blast Remy into orbit when he turned the charm on the feral? Because you want him. Face it Summers, you want him bad. You want to lick him, kiss him, and blow him like the dirty little boy you are. He wanted Logan so bad he could almost taste the salt on his skin.
He licked his lips hungrily and his hand crept downward to his bulging member. No! He was not some horny pervert. He was Scott Summers, field leader of the X-Men. He had control over his urges and was not going to masturbate in the shower like a sex-crazed teenager looking through his father's stash of skin mags. He--. He jumped when the stall door opened, reflexively covering his private bits when he turned.
"Logan what the hell?! I'm in the shower!" He schooled his features and couldn't stop his eyes from descending over the other mutant's impeccable physique. He followed a single water droplet on its descent, feeling a smidgen of disappointment when it disappeared beneath the towel thrown around his waist.
"Didn't mean to startle ya Summers."
Although to Scott, his tone said otherwise. "What do you want?" He snapped, not liking the fact that he was nude and hard while Logan stood not two feet away. And half-naked. Logan. He wanted to jump the man.
"Soap."
"What?"
"The other stalls are all outta soap."
"Oh." He plucked the slippery soap from the wall-mounted soap dish and handed it to the feral, goose bumps flourishing over his skin when his fingertips brushed the other's large hands. Scott wanted to jump Logan right here and now, to hell with the consequences. But, drawing upon his extraordinary control, he turned away, dismissing the feral. He let out a sigh of relief when the door opened and closed. This was freaking ridiculous. Why couldn't he want one of his fellow X-Men that he at least had a semblance of a friendship with? Like Warren, Bobby, or even Hank. No, he had to lust after the one man that he supposedly despised.
Wait what was he thinking? He had Jean and he loved her. He didn't need anyone else (definitely not Logan) because Jean was enough. He nodded resolvedly to himself. He'd been with Jean since their teenage years and he loved her. This-this "thing" he had for the Canadian was some sort of sick phase that would blow over soon (although it had been almost a year since it began). Yeah. It will blow over, he assured himself. He finished rinsing the soap from his body and cut the water, grabbing a towel on his way out.
It had been almost two weeks and Scott was in dire straits. He was crabby (which his students whined about each time he assigned them extra trigonometry homework) and so horny he might as well be walking around with blue balls all day. He hadn't had sex in weeks, not with Jean and no matter how many times he tried none of her hot little negligees were doing the job anymore. He just wasn't interested.
The thought of imagining she was Logan crossed his mind, since all the man had to do was walk into the room or call him by his nickname in that gravelly tone and Little Scott came alive. It was a stupid idea though; Jean was a telepath after all. She would kill him if she found out. Right now, she just wanted to kill him softly in bed. Scott rested his forehead on his desk. Sleeping with Jean wasn't going to happen anytime soon since the only one that could light a fire in his body was the feral. Logan made his blood boil.
Last night, he'd refused Jean, despite the fact that she'd worn that black lacy number that usually sent all of his cognitive thoughts out the window. She'd gotten annoyed and they'd argued, both frustrated at the lack of intimacy in their relationship, lately. He couldn't tell her what was going on (and he hoped she didn't decide to see for herself) because he wasn't sure himself. He wasn't gay, at least he didn't think he was, but there was still the fact that he lusted after Logan like a junkie after their next fix. Seriously, though, he still found women attractive, but he-- god he wanted him.
He didn't know why he felt like raping the Canadian whenever he was near. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was a crush stemming from the fact he had never explored his sexuality any further once he and Jean got together. Whatever was causing this fleeting bout of lust was ruining his and Jean's relationship. He stood from his comfortable leather chair and strode to the window, looking over the estate grounds. What could he do? He was good with devising plans and battle strategies, but when it came to this emotional stuff, he was not as… adept as he would have liked.
"Taking a break from crunching numbers?"
He knew that voice well, because its owner was one of his best friends. He turned in the window, regarding the winged man walking into the room. "Hi Warren."
Warren returned the greeting before dropping into the chair in front of the large oak desk. "I need you to sign off on some contracts." He waved the manila folder in the air.
Scott sat down, rolling his chair until directly behind his desk, and reached for the file in the blonde's hand when they were proffered. He opened the files and began reading over the legal mumbo jumbo filling the papers. After signing the papers, he handed them back to his friend. "Warren."
The winged mutant paused in trying to stand. "Yeah?"
"Can I talk to you about something?" He asked seriously. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but God he just needed someone to confide in.
A golden eyebrow rose quizzically. "Sure."
Scott gave a nod of gratitude and got to his feet, going around the mutant to shut the door to his office. He didn't want to chance anyone overhearing them. After returning to his seat, he divulged his current situation to the upper-class mutant. When he was done disclosing his secret (although he did hold some back), he watched the other mutant closely, trying to gauge his reaction.
"Wow," was all Warren said. He rustled his wings, a telltale sign that he was nervous or uncomfortable. "Have you tried ignoring it?"
"For months now," he answered, a faint hint of weariness in his voice.
"And?"
"It's only gotten worse."
"Oh."
Moments, years to Scott, ticked by before Warren decided to speak.
"Well, I'm no relationship counselor or anything, but maybe you should 'scratch your itch'. I mean if you've gotten that bad then maybe if you go ahead and act on your urges you'll have fulfilled your curiosity. Then, everything will go back to normal."
Scott frowned. "Do you know what you're suggesting?"
"Yes, but either you do it now or you're going to do it later." He said with a shrug. "And pretty soon Jean's going to get tired of your excuses." With those words, the winged mutant stood, adding before he left the office, "just tell the lucky lady not to tell Jean." He closed the door behind himself, leaving the field leader alone.
Scott sighed. Well that was counterproductive. He'd pondered and pondered upon whom to tell about his secret. Now after telling someone the only advice he got was to cheat on Jean. He couldn't do that, not to her. He didn't want to destroy the trust she had in him in one night. But what was the use of being with her when all he thought about was Logan? Right on cue, an image of a sweaty Logan pounding him senseless rose like a phoenix into his mind. He shook slightly, heat racing over his skin and down to his groin, as the image continued replaying in mind, as if on a continuous loop. He groaned softly, trying to ignore it, but failing.
Maybe Warren was right. If he scratched his itch then maybe, it would go away for good and he and Jean could go back to being the ideal couple. But he just needed to find the opportune time to indulge himself.
The opportunity presented itself two days later when Jean, Betty, and Kitty were dispatched to England to find a young mutant in need.
Night had settled over the city, blanketing the manor in darkness.
Scott stood in the doorway of his closet, looking for something suitable to wear. Tonight was the night. First, though, he needed to know if there was interest on Logan's end (Lord help him if there wasn't). He dressed in the red shirt that Jean said defined his muscles and highlighted the color of his hair and the Levi jeans that cupped his ass just right. Determinedly he strode into the common room, giving it a quick survey.
Angel, Hank, and Ororo sat on the couch watching a rather entertaining action movie. Bobby sat on the floor in front of the television, legs folded, bowl of popcorn in his lap. No sign of Logan, which meant that he was playing pool or out for a stroll. If he was playing pool, Remy was with him. His eyes narrowed slightly and he continued to his destination, before anyone thought to ask him questions.
As he predicted Remy and Logan were in the billiard room playing a game of pool (well, Logan was playing, Remy stood leaned against the wall with a bottle of beer). This was undeniably stupid and the rational part of Scott commanded him to run before he was spotted. However, another part of him screamed with a resounding voice 'fuck that, let's get laid!'. He swallowed, eyes automatically falling to the feral bent over getting ready to take his shot.
"You lost Slim?" He said, throwing a smirk to the side when he sank the shot and Remy swore.
"No, I just wanted to play," he replied nonchalantly, trying not to undress the Canadian with his eyes. He could look though right? Hell yeah he would, because Logan shouldn't wear jeans that highlighted his ass and a shirt that put those delicious muscles on display if he didn't want to be ogled.
The Cajun and the Canadian shared an odd glance.
"Merde, you feelin' alright Scott?" Remy asked with a face that said he was considering checking Scott's temperature at any moment to make sure he didn't have a fever.
"I'm fine. I'll play the winner." With confidence that he really didn't feel, he ventured further into the room and took up a chair, turned it, and straddled it.
Logan circled the table, taking a swig of beer before executing another shot.
"You sure 'bout dat mon ami?" Remy asked, face showing that he was obviously puzzled by Scott's uncharacteristic behavior.
Logan stopped at one of the corners, lined up a shot, then rubbed the end with a cube. He took a gulp of beer before speaking. "Leave 'im alone Gumbo. I'll be glad to spank him." He grinned wolfishly, showing fangs.
On the outside, Scott seemed unflappable, but on the inside, he was in disconcerted. Was Logan being ambiguous? His attention was pulled back to reality when Remy huffed.
"An' who say you gon' win ami?" He folded his arms, a scowl on his face.
Logan chuckled and leaned over, getting ready to take his shot. "When was the last time you took a shot?"
Remy snorted. "Hmph. Remy tink you cheatin'," he accused somewhat childishly.
Logan rolled his eyes, making a satisfied noise when he succeeded in making the shot. "Like you do at cards? And I ain't cheatin' kid, just take yer asswhoopin' like a man."
Scott watched the friendly banter between them as they played (Remy finally got to play when Logan missed a shot). He found himself feeling a wee bit jealous that Remy was on such friendly terms with Logan. His brow knitted. Were Logan and Remy more than friends? No they couldn't be, but… Wait, why was he getting all worked up? All he wanted was one night of hot sex and he was done right? God he felt low, but if he didn't' do this his junk was going to shrivel up. Just one night.
He ran a hand through his chestnut locks and just watched Logan. Greedy eyes made their way over the mutant's arms, their muscles flexing when he took a shot. God he wanted the man so frigging' bad. He-- Ah shit. He was hard. Again. Just one night.
Moments later, Logan sank the winning shot, throwing a triumphant grin Remy's way. "You owe me a bottle of Jack Daniel's, Gumbo."
The Cajun muttered something that was no doubt an insult, under his breath and walked to Scott, shoving the pool stick to him. "I sure hope, ya don' make a bet wit' ol' Wolverine dere. He nuttin' but a hustler."
Logan cracked a grin. "Sore loser." He said as he racked the balls.
Scott took the pool stick, watching the Cajun stalk out with a great bit of satisfaction. Good, Remy was gone. He stood and walked to the pool table, thinking that the purple felt top made it look like a pimp owned the table. Silently he watched as Logan continued setting up the multicolored balls.
"Ya ever played pool before Summers?" Logan asked, looking up when he finished racking the balls.
Scott grinned. "Why? Afraid I'll win?" He challenged.
Logan only chortled at the obvious attempt at trash talk. "Not hardly, kid. But…" He lifted the rack and gestured towards the ball in triangle formation. "You first."
Scott picked up the cube, rubbed it across the stick's tip. Mimicking Logan's movement from before, he leaned down, aimed, and took his first shot, sending the colorful balls all over the table. Throughout the game, every time he took a shot he felt eyes on him, traveling over his rear with such intensity that he found goose bumps blooming all over his skin. So, there was interest after all. He smiled inwardly. Now came the hard part.
Midnight
All was quiet in the mansion, the students having observed the curfew enforced at the Institute and the instructors retired after a hard day's work. Scott took in a breath, figuratively girding his loins, and made his way down the stairs to find the object of his lust. He didn't have to look far, finding the feral in the kitchen. Well that was easy. Okay just play it cool Summers. He sauntered into the large kitchen and went straight to the refrigerator, opening its doors to find something to wet his suddenly dry mouth. He chose a bottle of Yoohoo and closed the door, walking to the other side of the island so he could stand opposite the other mutant.
Logan was assembling a sandwich, a large sandwich with all the works. Scott looked accusingly at the feral when the thought of his huge appetite being one of the reasons their monthly grocery bill numbered into the thousands. How many times did the man eat a day? He remained silent as he watched Logan, trying to get up his nerves.
"You want something Summers or are ya gonna stare at me all damn night?"
Scott took a gulp of the chocolate milk, sat it down, and looked directly into Logan's eyes. He took in a deep fortifying breath and said six little words so only the feral could hear. "I want you to fuck me." He swallowed, waiting for Logan to react. But to his surprise, the shorter mutant didn't react; he just stood there a moment as if trying to register what his ears had heard.
He finished spreading honey Dijon on his sandwich then looked at him, a taunting grin on his face. "What's the matter, kid? Jeannie not givin' it up like ya want?"
Scott instantly became defensive. "That's not it." No, he was not going to screw this up. He was not going to let Logan get on his nerves. "It's just--" He didn't get to finish because Logan finished for him.
"Curiosity," he said. He placed a few lettuce leaves on top of the strategically placed tomatoes and pickles finally finishing the sandwich.
Scott was becoming impatient. "Yes or no?" What if Logan declined? What then? His left hand wasn't cutting it any more. He couldn't just rape the man because the feral would break loose… and sexual assault was a crime.
Logan snorted. "What makes ya think I'd want to fuck ya anyway? We ain't exactly friends."
Scott set his mouth in a thin line. "Yes or no?" He repeated sternly, not in the mood for any more words than what was necessary. Logan just stared at him as if warring within himself for the answer. Then after a few moments he spoke.
"Just for the night?"
Scott almost flinched at the tone in the feral's voice. He didn't want Logan to think that he was some sort of slut. "Yeah." The resultant resigned sigh puzzled Scott.
"When?"
Scott's heart stammered in his chest. He was agreeing to it. "Your room, thirty minutes."
Logan nodded, turned and exited the kitchen, munching on his hero sandwich.
Scott gave a sigh of relief. Well that wasn't so hard. He felt all jittery inside, his body in anticipation that thirty minutes from now he was going to be getting firmly fucked. By another man, and not just any man, Logan. His prick sprang to life, making him feel constricted in his pants.
Hours later.
Scott lay on his back, head thrown to the side, mouth agape, reeling in pleasure as Logan slammed into his hot sheath. They'd been at it for hours, screwing each other senseless. He arched his back, sparks bursting behind his eyes as Logan hit his prostate. "Ahhh! L--ahhh!"
"Fuck Slim. Yer ass is so tight," Logan growled between pants.
Scott was crazed with pleasure, stripped of all control and possessed by the carnal desire to feel more of the magnificent sensations the feral created within him. "H- harder!" He cried hoarsely. He didn't know what he was really asking all he knew was that he wanted more maddening pleasure, more of Logan.
Logan complied, snapping his hips with more force, and grasping his hips so hard he was sure there were going to be finger-sized bruises there in the morning. But he didn't care. He didn't give a rat's ass about his appearance in the morning as long as Logan maintained his euphoria-inducing pace.
His entire body was ablaze, every pore like an ember smoldering with unbearable heat. Through the haze of red lenses, he gazed upon his partner. With his body bathed in moonlight and the beads of sweat glistening like small ruby stones as they trickled down his impeccably sculpted form, Logan looked… stunning. The gentle expression lurking beneath the surface of those ecstasy laden eyes stirred something in the young man's heart.
Scott reached up, grasping a fistful of Logan's wild black hair and yanked him down for a demanding kiss. The kiss was sloppy, consisting mainly of teeth and tongue as they ardently devoured each other's mouths. Scott broke the kiss to let out a cry when Logan impaled his core. He latched onto the feral, lacing his long legs around his waist, and trapping his weeping cock between them, creating glorious friction. He equaled his partner's pace, digging crescent shaped marks into Logan's shoulders as he mercilessly continued to spear the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Fuck!"
He clung to Logan, thrusting wildly against him when he felt the impending release building in his loins. So close, so very close. The friction created from the frenzied movements of their sweat-slicked bodies, Logan's hard muscles flexing against him as he continued to thrust, and the sinfully delicious sensation of Logan's massive cock pounding repeatedly into his hot passage overloaded his pleasure sensors and drove him off the edge. "Ngh! Gonna c-- ahh!" His world exploded, bursting in a dazzling array of technicolor before nearly whiting out completely. A few thrusts later, Logan tumbled after him, allowing a half-shout half-growl to tear from his lungs as he filled Scott with his seed.
They lay there in a heap, tremors rippling through their bodies as they rode out their incredible orgasms. After moments of just laying there, bodies entwined, and breathing synchronized, Logan rolled off. Scott found himself whining softly from the abrupt absence. The two men lay there both silent and still.
Scott stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the sensation of his semen cooling on his belly. So many feelings were roiling through him, emotions that he didn't care to focus on at present. Instead, he trained his attention on the other feelings he felt. He felt good, damn good. He felt more sated and content than he had in God knows how long. He chanced a timid glance to his bedmate, eyes ravenously eating up every inch of flesh of the nude male before landing on his face. Logan's gaze was upward, expression deliberate, mouth (a mouth that could work frigging miracles) set in a thin line. Guess it was time to go.
He swallowed the sigh threatening to escape his lungs and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Umm… thanks."
Logan didn't respond.
He put his feet on the floor. He looked down at the carpeted floor as if it were a new enemy of sorts. Would he even be able to walk? Well, he'd better find out. He stood, wincing from the stabbing pain that instantly bolted down his spine. "Shit." He cursed, frowning at the unfamiliar feeling of Logan's seminal fluid leaking from his entrance and oozing down his inner thighs.
He heard the mattress creak softly before a powerful arm wrapped around his waist. Scott gave no resistance when Logan pulled him onto the bed, making sure he was comfortable. He didn't protest, opting to rest his head against the pillow, sighing when Logan pulled the covers over them. "Umm… Logan."
"Go to sleep Slim. I'll wake ya up early," he ordered lightly, gravelly voice sending a small shiver through Scott.
He gave a tiny smile. "It is a school night after all." He let his body grow lax; feeling more and more relaxed in this man's strong arms than he had in a long time. Lying beneath the covers, naked as the day he came in the world with Logan spooning him from behind and his body pulsing with residual bliss felt like heaven.
Logan shifted, causing the covers to rustle.
He removed his glasses, not welcoming the darkness, but still finding comfort in the heavily muscled man pressed against his back. He yawned, almost mewling when Logan sniffed the bend of his neck and rubbed his nose in his hair. "Good night Logan," he said, voice slurring from sleep.
"Good night Slim."
Just before he fell into a much deserved and needed rest, he heard Logan mumble something in a language he didn't understand.
True to his word, Logan roused him before sunrise.
"Slim, wake up."
"Mmf. Noooo." He whined. He wanted to stay in the warm bed, with whoever was next to him. However, the person was persistent, shaking him hard. "I'm awake." He sat up, reaching over to feel for his glasses on the nightstand, but got a pleasant surprise when he felt Logan place them on his face. Carefully, he raised his hands to make sure they were securely in place before opening his eyes. The first thing he saw was none other than Logan. An obviously stark naked Logan sat next to him, regarding him with an intense gaze. Scott had to force his features into their usual stolid expression.
"You should get going."
Nodding, Scott reluctantly got out of the bed and gathered up his things, trying to ignore the blush on his cheeks as he redressed under the other's intense scrutiny. He hustled out of the room before he got another raging hard-on. He was surprised he could even get out of the bed with how worn out he felt. He crept down the hallway and to his room, moving with a slight limp, closing the door behind him.
Half an hour later he stood in the mirror, eyes shut, shaving away his stubble. Images of his night with Logan emerged in his mind, stoking the already smoldering heat in his loins. "Shit." It would pass. This desire would pass soon. He'd gotten what he'd been lusting after so now he would grow disinterested and all would be back to normal.
He felt around the basin for his glasses, opening his eyes only when they were safely on his face. His skin was sprinkled with marks Logan left in the wake of his bruising touches. With those marks, he could map out each touch the feral made in the exploration of his body. He recalled what it was like to feel Logan on top of him, panting, bringing him toe-curling pleasure as he took him again and again. His cock grew heavy in his boxers. He moaned softly. It would pass. This new wave of lust was just residual from last night. Soon things would go back to normal and he would be able to love Jean like she deserved.
He traveled downstairs to the dining room to eat breakfast. Storm commented on how he was practically aglow.
Bobby nodded in concurrence and said jokingly, "I would say you got laid, but Jean isn't here."
Scott maintained his same stoic face, restraining the urge to look at Logan, who sat at the other end of the table with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Scott ignored Bobby and continued his breakfast. He felt really good today, light as a feather. Even if he had just cheated on his girlfriend.
Jean returned home two days later with the young mutant Danielle Moonstar. Scott thought everything would return to normal, that his relationship with Jean and his feelings for the feral would stay the same (as if they hadn't screwed like maniacs). Boy was he wrong. He expected to "outgrow" the burning lust he harbored for Logan. Again, he was dead wrong.
Over the weeks, it only got worse. He'd found himself increasingly noticing things about Logan, especially little things. He found that he rather liked observing the feral's mannerisms (like how he tended to tilt his head to the side like a puppy when listening or thinking intently). The attraction he had for Logan had grown, blooming until he was like a moth attracted to the flame and unable to do anything about it.
His body betrayed him. His eyes, the bloody traitors, sought Logan out whenever he was in the room and wasted no time in tracking their way from the sole of his feet (taking a detour at his crotch) to the crown of his head. His hands were treacherous as well, finding ways to touch the mutant (a slip of the hand when reaching for the buttermilk biscuit at breakfast or a brush of his arm against Logan's shoulder in the Danger Room's locker room). He became acutely aware of the feral. Logan's scent, the timbre of his voice, and the way his muscles shifted and rippled whenever he exerted any strength, all of it excited the field leader to no end.
He tried to ignore it, the way his skin bloomed with goose bumps if Logan stood too close or the way he literally grew hot under the collar at their Thursday and Saturday night poker game when those penetrating eyes fell on him. The feral was like a walking aphrodisiac to him. Logan took his shirt off and his mouth went dry; he wore those Levi jeans (the ones that hugged his ass and highlighted his package) and he was quickly sporting wood. It was absurd and Scott was captive. He was a man both enamored and possessed. He had the urge to be near the feral but he fought like a cornered animal not to act upon it. It tugged at him every time he refused himself the pleasure of being close to the Canadian, especially when Remy was hanging all over him like a second skin.
He'd been like this ever since that night. Whenever anyone flirted with Logan or vice versa, a fierce possessiveness rose into him and, since he was physically unable to react, he would find other ways to retaliate (like extra paperwork or trying to destroy them in the Danger Room). It was ridiculous really. He and Logan had only had one night together, but somehow his heart now saw Logan as his and his only. It was crazy. He had no claims to him, but that didn't keep jealousy from rising into his gut when someone openly flirted with Logan and the Canadian (who didn't seem to recall their liaison) returned their advances with that wolfish grin or sexy bedroom voice. It infinitely angered him.
He caught Bobby flirting rather hard with Logan one day when searching the grounds for the feral so he could inform him that the hot-water heater was raising sand again. He watched with a rigid face as Bobby flirted with Logan, handing him the tools necessary to patch the West fence. What the hell? Since when was Bobby interested in Logan? He couldn't help but feel jealous. Everyone knew Remy was just a flirt and would hit on a scarf if it was pretty enough. Bobby though, everyone knew he was not straight.
Bobby noticed him, from his spot on the ground, a strategic position so he could see Logan's ass. "What's up Scott?"
He knew Logan smelled him long before Bobby spotted him, but simply chose to ignore him. Fucking Canucklehead. He beat down his jealousy and checked his voice. "Logan, the hot-water heater is on the fritz again."
Logan finished repairing the fence. "Goddamn rabbits," he groused, "which one?"
He kept his eyes on Logan's face, refusing to let them drop below his neck especially in Bobby's presence. "The big one."
"That one s'always raising hell."
Bobby stood, handing Logan his toolbox.
"The Professor and I have been thinking of ordering another one of the same size so you won't have to keep worrying with it."
Logan shrugged. "Nah, Ol' Bess is cantankerous, but give her little care and she'll straighten up."
Scott didn't hear a word Logan said because he was too busy hating the cow eyes Bobby was throwing at the Canadian.
"Can I come with you?" The younger mutant asked, almost timidly.
Scott's left eye twitched. No, you cannot.
Bobby rubbed the back of his head, nervously. "You know so maybe if you're gone one day and it goes berserk I can fix it," he explained speedily.
Logan shrugged lazily. "C'mon kid."
What? Scott was thinking of a way to get Bobby away from Logan when he received a telepathic message from the Professor. Coming sir. He, followed by Logan and Bobby sprinted towards the manor.
It had been a simple mission. They were to rescue Kurt, who was being held in one of Bolivar Trask's laboratories, no doubt as his new lab rat. Scott had broken them up into two groups of three: Logan, Kitty, and Bobby in Team One and Remy, Jean, and himself in Team Two. Hank was brought along in case Kurt needed medical attention. The strategy had been simple: get in, find Nightcrawler, and get out. It was simple right? Wrong. His team had found several other mutants being held in matchbox cells and had released him. But something happened along the way, and now he was sprinting out of a quaking building threatening to explode. Logan reported that they found Nightcrawler a few minutes ago and were heading out with him and a few other mutants in tow.
Scott ran through the double doors, sunlight stabbing into his eyes and bouncing off his visor. He continued running to the Blackbird.
"Scott what about the others?" Jean queried as she ran after him.
"Yeah," Remy piped up, "ain't we gon' wait on dem?"
"They'll be alright. We'll wait for them at the Blackbird." Moments later, he stood at the Blackbird waiting for the remaining X-Men. He ran to Bobby and Kitty when they appeared with a haggard and gaunt Kurt Wagner, leaning on both of them for support. Where was Logan? "Where's Wolverine?"
The two exchanged nervous glances. "Sabretooth appeared out of nowhere. He told us to take Kurt and go. He said he'd be right behind us," Kitty explained quickly.
"And he threatened us," Bobby added, handing Kurt over to Hank when he appeared next to them.
Scott set his jaw and pressed his communicator, dismissing the other two. "Logan are you there? Can you hear me?" He heard fighting, the sound of a structure moaning and wailing in its attempts to remain intact, and Sabretooth's jeering taunts.
"I'm busy," Logan growled over their communicator.
Scott's brows knitted. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
A grunt, the sound of a first connecting reached his ears. "What does it sound like?"
Scott bit his bottom lip. "Logan get out of there," he ordered. More grunting. Scott felt his heart doing flips in his chest. That place was going to blow and Logan (damn him) was more concerned about kicking Sabretooth's ass than his own life. "I don't care about the bad blood between you and Sabretooth. That place is going to blow, now get your ass here now," he commanded harshly, trying his best not to yell. More fighting, grunting, taunting.
The field leader pinched his lips. "Logan! That's an order. Get out here now!" He roared into the communicator.
"Fuck off." Logan growled back.
The other end went dead. Scott clenched his fists doing his best not to cry out in frustration. Son of a bitch! Why was Wolverine so goddamned stubborn? He was the most--. The building exploded, letting loose a deafening BOOM! He shielded his eyes against the conflagration, feeling the broiling heat from the explosion licking at his face even at 300 meters away.
He stared at the mushroom cloud of ash and dust rising into the air in shock. After the initial shock wore off, Scott remembered something: Logan had been in that blast. His heart halted dead in his chest and for a few unforgivable seconds, he stood frozen in fear. "No," he whispered in horror. Before he knew it the other X-Men were at his side and he was barking orders at them. "Hank, see to Kurt. Jean and Remy you two take the north. Bobby, you and Kitty will take the west. I'll take the east. Everyone, keep in contact and be on guard, Sabretooth may emerge first." He couldn't look at Jean, not when the bemused expression Remy kept throwing his way told him he was broadcasting. "Let's go."
They went off in their different directions to find their fallen comrade beneath the wreckage.
Scott searched the rubble that had once been the base of operations for Trask's experiments. They'd been searching for what seemed like hours and still they had found no sign of Logan. As the moments ticked by, Scott felt his worry increase until it nearly sickened him. He shouldn't feel this way, he shouldn't feel this uncharacteristic surge of panic every moment that passed and Logan remained unfound. That's why he had sent Jean with Remy, because he needed time alone so he could block their link. He'd already broadcasted his fear; he didn't need her to feel the true depth of what emotions were swirling through him now.
He was angry with Logan for being a pigheaded bastard, afraid because the Canadian had been in that explosion and he didn't know if he was alive, and puzzled because he felt all of these stupid emotions. For Logan no less. Canuckleheaded jackass. If he would have just listened, they could be on their way home in the Blackbird. God why did he have to feel this way for Logan? "Logan, damnit, where are you?"
Faint groans reached his ears. He turned towards the feeble sound, scrambled over the mound of rubble, placing a hand on the firestand of his visor just in case he'd found Sabretooth instead of his l-- er teammate. A single blue-gloved hand burst from the pile, reaching for the air. Scott, recognizing the glove, ran to the pile and began discarding shrapnel and pulverizing stone, aiding the person trapped beneath (all the while cursing him endlessly).
Logan erupted from the rubble, prompting Scott to backpedal, teeth and claws bared.
Scott's eyes widened. Logan was a mess. With his uniform tattered, the feral expression claiming his features, both newly healed and charred flesh splotching his skin, half the hair of his head burned away, and the muscles and tendons of one arm still knitting itself back together, Logan looked like something out of a horror movie. God Logan, you fucking idiot. Why didn't you just for once listen? Scott knew very well that just because Logan could heal from virtually any wound that would kill anyone else didn't mean he didn't feel pain. Which meant that when that building had exploded with him in it, he'd been in excruciating agony and Scott didn't enjoy that thought. "I found him," he said into his communicator.
It was night by the time Scott smoothly landed the Blackbird in the hangar. Throughout the entire flight he had to control himself to keep from casting a glance back at the feral. Logan was lucky he had his healing factor. He unbuckled his harness and followed everyone into the hangar. Hank and Jean headed to the med lab to take care of Kurt and the rest of the team headed to the locker room. Scott followed Logan, still wondering how such a short person moved so damn fast. He just wanted to ask Logan how he felt and go take a shower. However, things didn't go as planned. Logan, being the surly cuss that he was, made a snide remark that pressed one of his buttons (something about him being a mother hen) and it all went to the crapshoot.
"What the hell was that back there?" He asked, on the verge of yelling at the feral.
"I was trying to rip Creed a new one. What did it look like?" He growled his response, still walking towards the locker rooms.
The other X-Men trailing behind them just stared, hoping that this impending argument didn't end with the two at each other's throats.
"I gave you an order back there, and as an X-Man you're supposed to follow that order," he said firmly, managing to 'glare' at the feral from behind his visor. Sure, it was hard to kill Logan but it wasn't impossible and that's what he wanted to say to the Canadian. He wanted to say 'You could have died back there' but the above statement came out instead. Why did he always feel the need to assert his dominance when it involved the feral?
Logan whirled around, regarding him with hard eyes, and advanced on him. "Let's get somethin' straight Summers. I'm an X-Man sure, but I ain't some tin soldier you can wind up and let loose when you want. I wanna rip Creed's head off when I see him that's my business and it ain't got nothin' to do with being an X-Man, so ain't shit you can do about it." He poked Scott's chest hard enough to bruise, voice a low growl.
Surprisingly, Scott didn't retaliate, because the fact was that he wasn't angry. If he had been, he just would've struck back, hitting below the belt (as he could skillfully do). Instead, he searched those intense eyes, looking beneath the surface of mock hostility.
"So the next time it happens, do yourself a favor and piss off. You'll save your breath that way."
There was something lurking deeply in those eyes. Anger? No. Hurt? Oh. His heart clenched at the thought that he was the cause, but before he could even consider anything to say, Logan strutted out of the hangar, the doors closing behind him. The other's followed suit (Gambit patted him on the back as he passed by), leaving him with Kitty. He took whatever emotions that were slithering through him and stuffed them in a bottle so that he felt numb.
Kitty rested a hand on his shoulder. "You know how he is, Scott."
The corners of his mouth almost rose when he looked at his fellow teammate. "Yeah. I know." Yes, he knew how the Canadian could be, but it didn't make him feel any less wounded.
For two days he avoided Logan, not because he was upset with him (hell, he'd thought about sucking the feral off in the Danger Room showers about ten minutes after their 'argument'), but because he didn't know what to say. Logan was hurting, that he knew but what could he do? He was with Jean, the woman he… cared about deeply. Seriously, what could he say? 'Look I'm with Jean but I jerk off to the fantasy of you screwing me stupid on a regular basis.' That was crazy. He had Jean and that was enough.
He was drawn from his rumination when someone said. "Mister Summers?"
He blinked, regarding the teenagers staring at him with befuddled faces. Shit.
"Are you okay Mister Summers?" Amara Aquilla asked.
Scott nodded. "Fine." He taught two classes at the Institute, Trigonometry and English Literature. Currently he was teaching his English Lit. class. He glanced down at his lesson plan. "Alright class," he addressed them, standing and walking around to the back of the desk. "As you know this week, we're studying Edgar Allen Poe." Without turning, he reached behind him and grabbed a book entitled Poe's Greatest Works, prompting his students to mirror his action. "Who can tell me which of his works we are studying today?"
Three students raised their hands while some others either looked off or tried to appear as small as possible so he wouldn't call on them to read aloud to the class.
He picked the shy girl in the back. "Danielle."
The Native American girl glanced around the room before answering. "The Raven."
He nodded encouragingly at her. "Correct. Now if you all would turn to page 218 we'll start from the beginning." He scoured the class with a rigid face for a victim --er student to read. His eyes stopped on a blonde looking out of the window listlessly. "Tabitha," he called sternly.
The girl nearly jumped out of her skin. "Yes Mister Summers?"
"Why don't you read the first few pages of The Raven aloud to the class? It's on page 218."
Tabitha sighed, ignoring the quiet sniggers from her classmates, and opened the book.
Before she could start reading, movement caught Scott's eye. He turned his head just in time to see Logan walk past with a duffel bag in his hand. Logan was leaving. Why? He turned his attention to the class, cutting Tabitha off in mid-sentence. "Something just came up. I want all of you to read The Raven to yourselves while I'm gone and we'll analyze it when I return." He strode out of the room, dropping by Ororo's room to ask her to check in on his students when she finished her lecture.
By the time he made it to the garage, Logan was strapping his duffel bag to the back of his Harley. Logan was leaving. Scott felt like the floor was falling from under him, which was the way he'd always felt when he was a kid and someone abandoned him. He arranged his expression into the stoic countenance that he used as a shield before closing the gap between them.
"Whaddya want Slim?" Logan asked, pulling a cigar from the pocket of his dark button-up shirt. Logan popped a claw and snipped off the edge of the cigar, putting it in his mouth before using a lighter to ignite the end.
He watched Logan puff away for a few moments before speaking. "Are you leaving?"
"Yep," he answered around the cigar.
Silence fell between them again with the only faint sound of Logan puffing away on his cigar piercing its grip. Was he leaving because of him? "If this is because of that night um…" He trailed off lamely. What could he add to that? 'Umm I dream of you every night while I sleep next to my girlfriend.' That would be like committing suicide, stupid. Logan chuckled, a deep earthy sound that would have made the field leader shiver had it not been for his control.
"My leavin' doesn't have anything to do with you. I mean don't get me wrong…" He withdrew his cigar to blow out a ring of smoke. "You're a great fuck. There's just some things I gotta take care of back east."
Oh. So what was that look slinking in Logan's eyes? Maybe he'd mistaken hurt for something else. Of course, he had. What person, besides Jean, would want someone that could kill them with a glance? "Oh. If--if you need anything don't hesitate to call." He cursed himself for stammering. God he wanted to touch Logan, to feel him so he could remember what he felt like while he was absent, but he remained still. Touching the feral, even though he was so very near was a no-no, because he would want more than a touch. He would want a kiss (he was practically dying for one right now) and more until he was bent over Logan's Harley, trying to remain silent as the feral screwed him like an animal.
Logan gave a crooked smile and reached upwards, letting the tips of his large dexterous fingers graze over the curvature of Scott's jaw.
Scott checked the gasp seeking to escape his lungs. His heart stammered over a beat before going into double-time, signaling a looming erection, which wasn't surprising considering that he'd been celibate for almost a month. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to control his body's reaction. Logan's touch was like the oasis in the desert and he found himself leaning his head into the gentle caress. Lord help him. As soon as he'd started enjoying the caress, Logan withdrew his hand. Scott almost whimpered.
"See ya Slim."
Scott unfailingly noticed the forlorn ring hidden in that gruff voice. "Bye Logan."
Logan turned and mounted his motorcycle, meticulously checking to see if everything was as he left it since his last ride.
He approached Logan. He was leaving. Logan was leaving, for God knows how long. Feelings of abandonment surged forth stirring up old anxieties and causing him to nearly hyperventilate. Nevertheless, he kept that same rigid face, the one that he used as a shield during times like these. He wanted to ask Logan about the duration of his trip, so he could know how long he would have to endure loneliness, but what he actually said was: "Try not to get into too many brawls."
Logan took a draw on his cigar, breathing smoke through his nose. "I make no promises."
Scott allowed his eyes to roam over Logan's ruggedly handsome features, hoping that this wasn't the last time he got the chance to look upon them.
"Tell Jubes I said good-bye. I don't want to come back to an asswhoopin'."
Scott nodded, feeling a bit jealous. Jubilee was so close to Logan. The pair's relationship went past normal camaraderie, it was father-daughter. He wished they could have a relationship, but he could never be close to anyone. He enjoyed the growl of the engine when Logan turned the ignition. Logan was slipping though his fingers, leaving probably never to return. Tell him to stay damn you. No. He couldn't ask Logan to stay because he didn't have anything to offer him, but God he didn't want him to leave. That was being selfish though. He wouldn't ask Logan to stay while he acted all lovey-dovey with Jean, ignoring the feral only to endlessly ache for him when he was alone. He stepped back and waved, trying not to look so unhappy.
Logan threw him a wink.
He cursed himself inwardly when he felt his cheeks heat. Logan gunned the engine and sped out of the garage, leaving Scott alone with the after scent of exhaust. He walked to the entrance to the garage and watched until Logan was out of sight before he turned and went back to class.
Days turned into weeks and weeks soon became months. Scott sat in his office chair, staring blankly at the bank statements he was supposed to be balancing for the month. Two months. It had been two months since Logan departed. The first two weeks had been smooth sailing, but afterwards it went to hell.
He found himself near constantly thinking about the feral and how acutely he felt his absence. A while ago, he would have rejoiced when Logan went on his sojourns, but now he terribly missed his-- the Canadian. He missed Logan's scent (cigar smoke and leather), the way that gravelly voice sent waves down his spine, and that crooked grin.
His thoughts wandered, typically, to that single night of unbridled passion and he found himself hungrily licking his lips. That night there were no barriers between them, no snide remarks, their so-called hostility, or clothes. There had been only skin rubbing against skin and bodies moving in unison as they lost themselves in ecstasy. He cursed his mind as it continued replaying him and Logan's tryst.
It was supposed to be one night of hard impersonal fucking and that's what he expected. He expected Logan to seize the opportunity to take him down a peg by dominating and pounding him like some five-dollar whore. He thought it would be detached with no eye contact, no words, (maybe a little fellatio), just mindless sex. But Logan had given him so much more, sure he'd screwed him until he doubted he could walk, but he had also kissed him. Logan had explored his body as if savoring a delicacy he would never have again.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
He almost flinched at the unexpected intrusion and glanced up at Jean, giving a weak smile. "Sorry just trying to finish all of this paperwork."
"Oh, well are you coming to bed soon?"
He almost cringed. He and Jean hadn't been intimate in ages and he knew she wanted fulfillment. He'd had sex with Jean once since Logan set off, and that time it had only been because he'd been desperate not to feel the sting of loneliness. "Sure when I finish," he answered with a wan smile. She smiled the smile she used in the bedroom and strutted to his desk, leaning over and giving him a good view of her cleavage.
"I'll be waiting." With those seductive words, she turned and sashayed out of the room.
Scott sighed.
It was half past midnight when Scott decided to retire to bed. He finished his paperwork hours ago but chose to amble around downstairs, playing a game of pool and cards with Bobby and Warren to kill time. He opened the door, hoping that Jean was asleep. He peeked in the room, watching the relaxed rise and fall of her shoulders. She was asleep. Good.
He showered and, instead of climbing into bed, walked to the large window, gazing out upon the estate grounds. It was a clear night, the moon was full and casting its gentle rays over the land, creating shadows. He knew he shouldn't be relieved that Jean was asleep when they had a date night, but he was and he knew it was a bad thing.
It was getting harder and harder for him to have sex with Jean, not that he wasn't attracted to her, but because of that night. Ever since that night, every time he slept with her guilt ate at him, tearing into him like a knife. The guilt didn't stem from when he cheated on her, because that would have been understandable. Noo, his mind had to go and flip the script. Every time he slept with Jean, a huge fraction of him felt like it was Logan he was being unfaithful to, and that killed him. Jean was the woman he-- He halted in thought, a quizzical expression on his face. Did he love Jean anymore?
He began sifting through his emotions, which had decided to jumble themselves into the Gordian Knot. He thought of the night he spent in Logan's bed and of how he'd felt compelled to stare into those piercing eyes. They'd connected more in that one night than he and Jean had despite their link. After they finished and he had lain in Logan's arms, he'd felt warm and… safe. For that one night, Logan's arms had been like a stronghold to him. He considered the force that had nearly overwhelmed him to be near and the intense emotions that soared through him when the building had exploded with the feral still in it. He'd never been so afraid in his life, not even for Jean.
At that moment Scott's eyes widened and he nearly gasped, because now he knew why sleeping with Jean felt all kinds of wrong. He was in love with Logan. If he loved Logan then what did that spell for his relationship with Jean? He yawned, walked to the bed, climbed in, and snuggled up beneath the covers, making sure to remain on the edge. He'd think more about it in the morning right now, he was bushed.
For days, Scott ruminated over the new development in his personal life, turning it repeatedly in his mind. He cared deeply for Jean, but somewhere along the way the fire between them grew cold. When they were teenagers they were so in love, but through the years something happened and their love didn't grow into adulthood with them. They had failed to connect on some level and as a result, their love hadn't deepened it remained stagnant.
He couldn't leave Jean. When he'd shut himself off from the world, thinking that he was too dangerous, she'd come to him daring to get close to him. Even though he could kill her with just a single look and though she would never see his eyes, she pursued a relationship with him. Jean had accepted him, providing a sanctuary when he thought he had none. So how could he leave her for someone else? She had loved him when he thought no one would. What if he broke up with her and Logan turned him down? Then he would be alone again. There would be no one to love him. He would be solitary in his world of ruby hues, and that was depressing.
Scott polished off the rest of his Yoohoo and threw into the trashcan a few feet away. He remained on the stool for few moments, thinking. His mind was in turmoil. He wanted to be with Logan, but he didn't want to leave Jean. God he needed someone to confide in, and the Professor was not an option. He glanced at the clock. It read 9:30pm. Hank was still in the medic bay. Yeah, he'd talk to Hank (Warren was out of town). The furry blue mutant was sagely enough.
An elevator ride and a walk down the hallway later, he was standing outside of the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he walked through the sliding doors. The med bay was pristine and impeccably neat.
"Yes Scott?"
Scott regarded the bulky white-coat clad blue form hunched over his desk. "I-- are you busy? Because if you are I could come back later…" He trailed off, actually hoping the scientist would say that he was indeed busy.
Hank turned away from the microscope. "I am merely examining Danielle Moonstar's blood samples, but I can still talk."
Shit. "But you just said --"
Hank interrupted him. "Scott, you do not seek advice unless you are at a crossroads and are unsure of what decision to make next. So…" He gestured to the only other chair in the room.
Scott sat down in the white chair, eyes roaming the different medical and scientific machines made solely for furthering the study of mutagenics.
"So I take it that your troubles are about Jean?"
"Yeah," he said dolefully.
"I see," was all the scientist said before he started scribbling notes in Danielle's file. He didn't pry and Scott didn't divulge.
A deafening silence fell between them, uncomfortable and coaxing in its abundance. The field leader couldn't help but fidget, feeling like he was in the principal's office. "I'm thinking about breaking up with Jean," he finally disclosed.
Hank raised a bushy, blue eyebrow. "Oh well--"
"I slept with Logan," he blurted thoughtlessly, stomach lurching at the unintended confession. Although he'd just admitted to cheating on Jean, it felt good to tell someone. He expected displeasure or for the furry mutant's jaw to hit the floor, but instead Hank continued to maintain his steady gaze. "You're not surprised?" His brow slightly knitted. Logan told. That bastard! "Did he?"
Hank raised his eyes to the silently fuming field leader. "No, it's just that your 'affinity' for Logan has always seemed evident and before he departed that attraction became near palpable. Especially to those of us with keener senses."
Crap. Scott felt terrible. He felt like he was in the confession booth disclosing all of his sins to the priest. "Hank, I'm not going to offer any excuses. I know it was wrong." He ran a hand through his brownish strands before burying his face in his hands. "It's just that---" What could he say? There was nothing he could say to make what he'd done right.
Hank held a hand up. "Scott, you do not have to explain yourself to me. Honestly, I saw it coming. I was just hoping that you would break up with Jean first so she wouldn't get hurt."
Great. Now he felt like the villain in all of this mess. He nearly squirmed under the serious gaze Hank was giving him. "You want me to break up with Jean?"
"Your relationship hasn't been the same in some time Scott. You and I both know that."
He subtly slouched his shoulders, becoming somewhat relaxed around the warm aura the furry pacifist always emitted. "What do I do Hank? I'm not-- I'm not good with these things."
"Who is?" Hank responded a small chuckle in his voice. "And while I cannot govern your life I will ask you one question. How do you feel about Jean?"
That was an easy question. "I care for her deeply… and you know." The sigh Hank gave told him that wasn't the answer for which he was searching.
Getting Scott to talk about his feelings was similar to Captain Ahab chasing the white whale, hard as hell. "Yes but do you love her?"
Scott couldn't answer that question. Did he love Jean? "I don't know anymore."
"What about Logan?"
He felt his cheeks heat, knowing that they were tinged pink.
"Then don't you think it is unfair of you to stay with Jean when you feel more for Logan?"
There it was hanging in front of him. Hank had just said what he hadn't had the courage to admit to himself. "Yes, but we've been together so long Hank. I planned to marry her and-- god this wasn't supposed to happen. I don't have a plan for Logan-- God this is too spontaneous I don't know what it'll be like with him. With Jean, I know what it's like, I have a plan, and it's all I've ever known."
Ah. So we get to the meat of the problem. He wheeled his stool over to his teammate and looked comfortingly into his eyes. "If your relationship with Jean has grown stagnant and your romantic love has grown cold then perhaps you should no longer use her as your safe harbor. Anatole France once said 'All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another'."
Scott regarded the wise mutant for a moment before standing, satisfied with the advice. Only Hank would choose to spout off quotations from deceased authors to help him with his problem. He was almost ready to make a decision. "Thanks Hank."
"You are most welcome my friend," he said genially, giving a fanged smile.
Scott left the med bay with a new determination. Hank was right; he couldn't keep stringing Jean along, because it was selfish. In addition, because he knew he would more than likely attack the feral once he returned home (of course, he could control himself). It was wrong to stay with her when he felt so strongly for Logan. He couldn't hold on to Jean just because she was "safe" or because the students thought they were the ideal couple and looked up to him. He was only human and it was high time he saw himself as such and not some sort of role model or some sort of unfeeling instrument.
He made his way out of the lower level and to the second story, coming to a halt outside of their door. Taking a breath to brace himself, in case Jean took the news badly and went Phoenix on him, he grasped the knob and turned. He entered the room, shutting the door behind himself. Jean sat at the vanity set, brushing her luxurious scarlet locks.
She put the brush down and turned to him, face serious, expression both hard and pained.
Shit, she knew. Of course, she knew she was a telepath. He felt trapped as if the walls were closing in. He had to do this. He couldn't keep settling for their relationship just because it was 'familiar'. "Jean… we need to talk." He said somberly.
She nodded defeatedly and sat on their bed.
Scott, taking a page from her book, followed suit and sat next to her gazing sadly into emerald eyes. What seemed like hours (but really was only thirty minutes) passed. "Jean, I'm sorry."
She smiled softly at him. "Don't be, Scott. I knew your feelings." She chuckled when he looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I am a telepath after all."
What? She knew the entire time? Why didn't she say anything? "Then why didn't you say or do anything?"
She smiled affectionately at him, blinking back tears. "I wanted you to break up with me, because it would mean that you're ready to let me go." She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. "And that you would be okay," she spoke warmly, a tiny smile on her face.
Scott's heart clenched in his chest. He may no longer love her like he used to, but she was still close to his heart and he didn't enjoy seeing her in pain. "Jean."
She waved her hand. "It's okay, Scott really."
He embraced her, closing his eyes and burying his nose in her fiery colored hair. This would be the last time he would be in this room with Jean. It unsettled him a little, but he knew he had to do this, for his sake. He could afford to be selfish this one time. Blinking back his own tears, he drew away, smiling assuredly at her. "I'll get my things tomorrow."
The next day, Scott stood in his newly assigned room looking around at the clinical surroundings. To him this room symbolized a new chapter in his life, a chapter where he could hopefully be with the person he truly loved. He picked up the single cardboard box and sat it on the bed. Despite all the years of living in his old room, he hadn't had many personal belongings to pack. Perhaps he could try to make this room less austere. He almost smiled to himself when a thought crossed his mind. If things went accordingly, he probably would be sharing Logan's room more anyway. He reached into the box and began unpacking, smiling at the memories behind the items he came upon.
The scenery changed. It was autumn. The trees had shed their vibrant foliage of green for vivid shades of gold, orange, and reds and the air was cool and crisp.
Scott sat outside on the bench near the cliff, gazing out at the horizon and letting the sound of the crashing waves fill his ears. He wore a light jacket and boots, both new items he'd decided to splurge on a little while ago. Three months. It had been three months since he'd broken up with Jean, three months since someone slept next to him, three months since he'd deduced that he loved Logan.
He had flung himself into his work, focusing on anything other than his single condition. The Professor's dream of mutant-human coexistence, the upkeep of the mansion, instructing and training the new students, and missions had become his sole purpose. Letting his work consume him was his only way to stay sane, to stave off depression, and remain firm. It was a man's desperate attempt to remain in control. It was when he lay in bed at night, eyes closed, complete darkness enveloping him, where all of is iron-clad control meant nothing, that he felt the all-consuming sting of solitude and fervently wished for Logan's return. Often he would find himself looking toward the driveway, wishing that he would see Logan approaching on his Harley or at least hear the machine's growling engine. But every time he would turn away, disappointed within but stoic and rigid on the outside.
His mind had begun to drift aimlessly when his wristwatch beeped. Lunchtime was over. He took up the remains of his lunch, a combo meal from Chicken King, and strode towards the manor. He trashed the remnants of his meal and was considering going to see an upcoming theatrical film opening on the weekend when he heard it. The roar of an all too familiar engine reached his ears.
His heart leapt in his chest and despite wanting to bolt to the manor, he walked, albeit in long swift strides. He reined in his emotions, but couldn't control his pounding heart. By the time he made it to the mansion Logan had already parked his motorcycle and was leaned against one of the banisters preceding the front entrance, taking his last few pulls on his cigar. Scott wanted to run to Logan and wrap his arms around him like in all of those cheesy romance movies that Jean forced him to watch, but he restrained himself (for dignity's sake and he was no woman).
Starving eyes trailed their way over the feral. Damn. Logan was wearing those jeans that showcased his ass. The man was trying to ruin him. He stopped a few steps away from the shorter mutant. He wanted to say 'I missed you' but what actually came out was a casual "Logan."
A draw on the smoking cigar, a ring of smoke, and the feral gave an equally casual: "Slim."
He swept his eyes over the feral's lips, wanting to kiss them so badly it wasn't even funny. "Did you take care of your business back East?" His mouth went dry when Logan laid his eyes upon him, slowly and blatantly undressing him with that look.
He blew a ring of smoke in the air, taking the time to flick ash from his cigar. "More or less."
That nearly melted Scott's resolve. Fuck. Logan practically oozed sex and he knew the feral could smell it on him. He swallowed, refraining from licking his lips. He was thinking about leading the shorter mutant up to his room when the door burst open.
Jubilee bounded out, flinging her arms around the barrel-chested mutant. "Good to have you back Logan," he said genially. He walked through the open door, trying to ignore the teenage girl's excited chatter. Damnit. Idiot. Why couldn't he just say what he felt?
The rest of the day crawled by as if time were mocking him for is impatience to see Logan. He sat at his desk quietly grading yesterday's tests while the students chatted quietly amongst themselves. He glanced up at the wall clock. 2:50. A small involuntary frown crossed his face, but he returned his attention to the papers. After what seemed like hours of grading tests, he raised a glimpse to the clock. 2:52.
The hell? Somewhere, Father Time was having a hell of a good laugh at his expense. At 2:58, he rose from his chair and strode to the blackboard, using the marker to write down the weekend assignment. "Okay… for the assignment I want everyone to read the first three chapters of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. We will discuss it on Monday. Any questions?"
The bell rang.
"No? Then have nice weekend." He bid the students farewell as they stampeded out of the room. He looked at the stack of papers on his desk. Okay, all he had to do was finish grading the Trigonometry and English Literature papers (he refused to do it over the weekend because he had plans) before going to see Logan.
It was six 'o' clock by the time he emerged from his classroom, and a quarter after nine before he was free to find the feral. He found Logan in the billiard room playing pool with (who else) Remy. He schooled his features so that blatant jealousy didn't show. The Cajun sat slouched in a nearby chair with pool stick in hand, puffing away on a cigarette.
He hastily put out his cigarette when he spotted Scott standing in the entrance. "Scott, what ya doin' here homme?" He asked reflexively reaching for a cigarette, but stopping when he realized him and Logan were no longer alone.
Scott tried not to glare at the Acadian when he answered. "To play a little pool," he answered, failing to sift out of all the venom. He heard Logan chuckle softly. Bastard was probably enjoying this display. He strode determinedly into the room and sat next to Remy, folding his arms like a child sulking.
Logan took a swig of his beer and prowled around the table, before lining up a shot. "Let me finish kicking the Gumbo's ass Slim and I'll get right to ya. 'Course I'll make sure to take my time with ya."
Scott turned his gaze downward. Damn you Logan.
Remy snorted. "Who say you gon' whoop Remy's ass?"
Logan leaned on the pool table. "Ya still sittin' aren't ya."
"Mais, dat don't have nothin' to do wit' anything." He protested peevishly, although the twinkle in his eyes said he was enjoying the friendly exchange.
"The hell it don't." He circled the table and began lining up a difficult shot.
Scott allowed his starving eyes to feast ravenously on the feral's body, noting every single muscle chiseled into perfect skin.
Logan eyed the ball for a few seconds and straightened, deciding to use the cube to rub the tip. Scott's eyes fell to the other's crotch, thinking of what he wanted to do to that single organ.
Remy stared at Scott for a few moments, studying him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "You know what?" Remy began, "Remy tink ya ain't here to just play pool mon ami. Remy tink you here for udder reasons." He shot a pointed glance to Logan then back to a near pale Scott. He smiled wickedly. "An' don' try to deny it. Remy ain't a couyon." The handsome man grinned triumphantly and got to his feet. "S'okay, Remy understand why you're attracted to Monsieur Loupgarou."
Logan scowled at the man approaching him. "Fuck you swamp rat."
Remy only laughed good-naturedly. "Don' be such a tease. Remy know you should be sayin' dat to Scottie." He gave a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. "But don' worry, Remy know when he not wanted around." He smiled cheekily and strutted out of the room.
Logan snorted and started racking the balls. "Damn Cajun."
Scott, who was glad Remy was no longer present, shifted nervously when Logan turned his eyes on him. Finally, he had Logan to himself and was free to ogle him as he saw fit. He was thinking of several ways to get the feral upstairs when he spoke.
"Ya gonna play or stare?"
Scott started to say 'stare', but stood and walked to the pool table. He took the pool stick Logan proffered him, leaned down, and took his shot, sending balls across the table and into pockets. He felt Logan close behind him, ogling his backside, practically eye humping him.
"Been practicin'?"
Scott straightened and cracked a small smile, savoring the sensation of Logan ogling him. "A little." He answered and bent to take another shot, frowning when he missed.
Logan stepped up to the table. "Still gonna kick that nice ass of yours."
Though Scott's competitive streak was showing through, he still couldn't help but think, I'd rather you were screwing me.
The feral stopped at the opposite end of the pool table, finally choosing a particular shot. "So, Jeannie tells me you two called it quits." He took the shot, almost smiling when he succeeded in making it. He prowled around the table, taking a stand in front of Scott.
Scott gripped his pool stick. He knew he'd end up talking about this again. "Yeah. We both realized that we didn't love each other any more." God Logan's ass was a work of art. He wanted to grab a handful of it while screwing on top of the pool table. Scott flinched. He was turning into a pervert.
"Ya don't say."
Those jeans did the feral's ass and fabulous package justice. Mmm. Logan's penis. Damn he wanted Logan inside of him. It had been sooo long since he had sex that he wanted to pull the feral's pants down and suck him like a lollipop.
"So what does this mean for us?" Logan asked, turning to give him a serious gaze.
He swallowed, trying not to focus on the bulge tightening his jeans. God he was horny.
"If you want it be an us that is." Logan stated, voice going soft with the fear of rejection.
So Logan wanted this too. Relief washed over him. Logan wanted to be with him. "It means…" He closed the gap between them until there was merely a few inches separating them, taking note when a dark eyebrow rose. A mischievous smile crossed his mouth before he spoke. "…that you get to fuck me whenever you want." Satisfaction rolled through him when the feral's nostrils flared.
A second later, he was jerked down and Logan's lips collided with his. They fell into a bruising kiss, tongues fighting for dominance, hands roaming in search of bare skin as passion escalated. Surprisingly, Logan broke the kiss. Scott followed the feral's retreating mouth, hungering for more contact. Logan stepped back, putting a few inches between them.
"I ain't lookin' for a one-night stand Summers. Never was."
What? "But--"
"I only agreed last time, 'cuz I figured that'd be the only shot I got."
The guilt that had been gnawing at him all this time came full force. It hadn't been his intention to make the shorter mutant feel like a whore. "Logan, I didn't mean to make you feel like I only wanted one thing from you." What could he do to make Logan realize that he really hadn't meant to hurt him?
Logan shrugged. "Best fuck I've had in years."
Scott decided to take that as a compliment.
"But," Logan started, "we do this again Slim and you're mine. And I ain't ever gonna let you go."
The intensity in both Logan's voice and eyes as he spoke caused a hitch in Scott's chest. It was spoken as a warning, but Scott didn't need one, because he loved this man and he never wanted to be free of him. "I don't want you to." Logan smiled, a genuine toothy grin that melted his heart. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to his lover's, deft fingers sliding to his waist to undo the belt, then sliding in to grasp the hard flesh of Logan's prick.
Hours later
Scott lay on his back holding his lover close as he rode out the aftershocks of his release. The delicious feel of Logan twitching atop him was nearly enough for him to get erect again. Of course he needed a bit more recovery time for that to happen (he was not Logan). He was musing about what they'd just done, when Logan pressed a kiss to his lips and rolled off, leaving him feeling empty. A content sigh left him when his lover burrowed close, stubble tickling the column of his neck as he sniffed him.
"I've never done it on top of a pool table before."
Logan chuckled. "You mean over a pool table."
Scott blushed slightly. Leave it to Logan to remind him that he'd been bent over a pool table and not on it. "We're lucky we weren't caught."
Logan grunted, lazily flicking a thumb over one of Scott's pert nipples.
He let out a small sound somewhere between moan and a whimper. Damn Logan and his skillful hands. He stretched and yawned. He was beat, wondering if he would even be able to walk in the morning. He moaned when Logan pressed his erection against his hip. "Do you ever get tired?" He felt Logan's smile against his jaw. Who knew the feral was so affectionate?
"Not when it comes to fuckin' you." He continued softly kissing Scott's jaw.
He smiled, tangling a hand through his new lover's unruly black strands. "I'm assuming that's a compliment."
Logan chuckled. "You should."
Scott was in bliss, flying high on cloud nine. Everything felt so right, as if the fate of the Professor's dream wasn't resting on his shoulders, like mutant lives and freedom weren't lost everyday, as if the world wasn't such a shitty place after all. He smiled softly when Logan wrapped an arm around his waist possessively, spooning him from behind.
"Night, darlin'," he said.
He closed his eyes when soft lips brushed tenderly across the nape of his neck. "Good night, Logan." He yawned again, eyelids growing heavy from the Sandman's gentle persuasions. Before he fell into slumber he knew he had to say it now, in this moment because he wanted Logan to know how he felt. "Logan?"
"Huh?" Came the reply.
"I love you." He turned to face his lover, almost timidly brushing fingers through his hair. He felt Logan's breath catch in his chest. Then came the reply in a voice so soft and full of emotion that it almost sounded like another person.
"Love ya too, Slim."
Scott's heart leapt in his chest and then melted. It was as if the UN had declared an era of peace between human and mutant kind, a musical masterpiece to his hears. He heard a content sigh from his lover and cuddled his head deeper into the pillow. His last thought before he closed hi eyes was of how for this moment in time his heart had never felt so full and he hadn't been so happy in years. With a smile, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be whisked away into pleasant dreams.
END
Yay! I finally posted a story on fanfic after eons of laziness! *does the cabbage patch* Anyway, sorry for the hiatus. This is my first M rated fic, so if the Lemon (I tried) sucks or anything, my bad. It was the first one I've EVER written. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. Oh and for the aforementioned A.N. at the top. I will start AFOMFT as soon as I finish sifting through the stories I wrote in my little notebook (yay fire didn't eat them!) b/c someone is always looking after me to see if I've forgotten anything (seriously I have like five spare keys, because I'm always losing them and no one ever gives me anything important to hold). It's sad really :( but I believe I'd forget my head if it wasn't permanently attached to my body. Anyway enough of talking about my chronic forgetfulness. Enjoy and R&R please. NO FLAMES!
xoxo