EIGHT DAYS A WEEK
Author's Note : I'm baa...aack!
Chapter 1: Monday, Monday
Prelude: Monday Morning. The Motel Up On the Interstate.
"Do you think he's dead?"
"Naah. He's twitchin' a little. Like he's dreamin'. Ya don't dream when you're dead."
"Yeah. You're right."
Logan caught the tail end of the conversation, and then he felt a little hand, nudging his shoulder, tentatively.
"Hey, mister? Mister? Can you get up, now? We wanna play in th' sandbox."
What the fuck am I doing face down in a fucking sandbox?
Groaning, Logan lifted himself out of the sandbox, and almost fell back in it, because his pants were down around his ankles.
He could not, however, even standing there in his shorts with his pants around his ankles and his boot tops sticking up out of them, escape the notice of his fan club.
"Hey! I know you! You're Wolverine! Holy shit, Susie, it's Wolverine!"
"Wow! Mr. Wolverine, can we see your claws? Please?"
"Sure, kids. Lemme pull up my pants, first."
With as much dignity as he could muster, Logan pulled up his pants, buckled his belt, and popped his claws for the two little kids.
"Wow!" said Susie.
"Hold shit!" enthused the little boy.
Probably her brother.
They looked at the claws, wonderingly.
"Those are really neat. Umm, look, I know you prob'ly gotta go an' save th' world, but c'n you wait like one second while I go n get this month's Wolverine comic n' maybe you could sign it for us?" the little boy asked.
"Go ahead, kid. I got all the time in the world."
The little girl dug up his shirt for him while her brother ran into the hotel, and came out with his comic book, and a pen.
Logan signed it for Nick and Susie, and went to look for his truck.
It was around the front, in the parking lot.
The keys were in the ignition.
He got in, unlocked the glove compartment, and saw his wallet was still in it.
Logan had no memory of how he and his truck had come to be at the Stop n' Stay Motor Inn, or how he had ended up in the sandbox, but he was used to not remembering things.
Untroubled, he popped the top off of the can of beer on the passenger seat, took a sip, nestled it between his legs, and headed for home.
X-Institute. Seventies. Monday
I: Logan
In the faculty dining lounge, breakfast was occurring.
Buffet style.
Hank McCoy was holding forth with Kurt Wagner on a point regarding Metropolis as they munched on bacon and eggs, and Scott Summers and Charles Xavier were discussing mutant-human relations and some PR strategies over pancakes, while Jean Grey and Storm munched bagels with cream cheese and weighted in with Beast and Nightcrawler on the subject of German expressionist films of the 1920's.
It was all very civilised.
Until Jim "Logan" Howlett, Wolverine, stumbled in through the door.
Logan rested his shoulder against the doorway for a few moments, trying to get his bearings.
He was still a little drunk from the previous night, and was quite a sight in a bloody, ripped undershirt and rumpled Levis encrusted with mud.
There was sand on his clothes, and in his hair and his beard, and he shook some of it out of his pant leg as he loaded a plate with food and a mug with coffee.
Coffee into which he dumped the dregs of the whiskey bottle he had been carrying.
He left the empty on the buffet table.
Logan sat down with Professor X and Cyclops, because he preferred, westerns, gangster movies, war pictures, shoot 'em ups, and the Stooges to German expressionist films.
If you had actually been alive in the twenties, you rolled your eyes and spent your nickel on Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin.
"Mornin', Cyke. Hiya, Charlie." He said, before falling on his food like a ravenous animal.
"Rough night, Logan?" Professor X inquired, casually.
"I think so. Hell, I dunno. I woke up face down in that sandbox that's in the playground over by the motel up on the interstate naked from the waist up with my pants around my ankles. I still don't know what the fuck happened to my shirt. Last thing I remember, I had bet this cute little blond biker broad with these tremendous tits that she couldn't out drink me. Tremendous fuckin' tits. Big enough to spill outa my hands, if I woulda got my hands on 'em. Speakin' of which, anybody seen Mel this morning?"
"She was looking for you, Logan. She said you went out with her to the Thruway last night and drank a whole bottle of Yukon Jack and had ten Guinnesses, got into a fight with six men who called you mutie scum, and then went to the Men's Room and never came back." Scott told him.
"Oh. I guess that was Mel I was out with. I thought I'd seen those titties before." he chuckled.
Logan shovelled in the rest of his food, drank his coffee, patted his hairy stomach, and belched.
Loudly.
"S'cuse me. Fuckin' shitballs! I got class in an hour! Better go get cleaned up." He announced.
With that, Logan took his leave.
"At least he didn't fart up the whole room." Jean commented.
No one said anything.
They kept right on with breakfast.
After all, there was not much unusual about Logan's entrance.
Not for him, anyway.
Logan trooped up to his rooms, and went in.
He couldn't remember if he and Mel had parted on good terms.
"Mel? Darlin? I'm home. Sorry I wandered off last night, but I was fuckin' annihilated."
Yukon Mel Reinhardt had ridden with the Hell's Angels, and despite being a heartrendingly beautiful Nymph who looked like a Dresden doll, or as Logan preferred, like the doll on the St. Pauli Girl bottles, was a double mutant, her other power being super strength.
As such, Logan was extra nice.
You do not want to get a Hell's Angel who can lift a pickup truck over her head angry with you first thing in the morning, even if you are Wolverine.
"Is that you, Daddy? I'm in the tub."
She sounded pretty cheerful, so at least Logan knew he hadn't had a fight with his girl.
Mel was in the bathroom, listening to Traffic on the radio, lounging in the tub, smoking her customary morning joint.
"Wanna hit?"
Reefer had the same effect on Logan that whiskey did on Indians in the movies, but only if he smoked a lot of it.
The one hit he took wasn't going to hurt.
Much.
"Thanks, darlin'."
"You look like you could use a bath. There's plenty of room for you. Lemme put a little hot water in."
Mel had a point.
Logan took off his clothes and used a towel to brush the rest of the sand off of his body, and out of his hair.
Then he got into the tub with Mel.
"What the fuck happened to you?"
"You tell me, darlin'. Last thing I recall was tellin' you that I could drink you under the table, any day."
"Yeah, well, I think we both fucked up a little, there. You were a hell of a lot further into the Yukon Jack than I was, so you had to go take a piss. I figured if I was gonna stay upright, I had to eat something, so I ordered a burger and switched to beer. Anyway, while I was at the bar, waiting on my food, these redneck truckers started giving me a hassle. Grabbing my ass, and all that shit. Well, like, I wasn't gonna sit for that shit, dig? Normally, I woulda just showed them my colors and my tattoos and explained to them that I could very casually perforate their skulls with my fist, but I was kinda drunk, an' not in the mood for the usual, well you're just a hippie whore MCP routine. So I grabbed them both and lifted them up over my head and told them not to fuck with me. My burger showed up, and I put them down and went and sat back down at our table.
"Then what?" Logan asked
"Well, you came outa the john, and I guess I like, offended those cats manhood, because the minute you sat down with me, they started on you. Askin' you if you were mutie scum like I was, and callin' you shorty, and shit like that. Well, you were a few drinks over the line to abide that kind of fuckin' shit, and you asked the dudes to come over and put their money where their mouths were. After the fight, when Joe was cleanin' the blood up from the floor, you went to the can, again. I waited, but you never came back, so I went outside, an' you were asleep in the truck. So I drove home. I managed to wake up long enough to get you to come upstairs and go to bed, but when I woke up this morning, you were gone."
"Maybe I thought it was Monday, an' I was goin' to meet Jeannie."
"Yeah, but you and her don't meet there, anymore."
"I know that. You know where I ended up?"
"Where?"
"Face down in the sandbox with my pants around my ankles."
Mel laughed.
Logan always liked Mel's laugh.
Something about the way the reefer met the whiskey and they became acquainted with the coffee, combined with the twinkle in her wide blue eyes and the way Yukon Mel's tremendous titties all decorated with bubble bath shimmied when she laughed made combat class for the 7th graders seem a little bit less pressing than the tree that was suddenly growing out of his crotch.
"Darlin', you better put that reefer in the ashtray, or you're gonna lose it." He warned her.
Mel put out the joint, put it in the baggie with the week's weed, put the baggie in the ashtray, and pushed it across the room.
"I'm ready, Daddy. Shit, I was born ready for you." She told Logan.
Pretty soon water was slopping all over the floor, which was something else Logan didn't find too important.
Mr. Logan was ten minutes late to combat class because he had spent five minutes getting cleaned up and ready for the day, and the rest of the hour having loud, strenuous, sweaty make-up sex with Yukon Mel Reinhardt, who, at 24, was the oldest member of the X-Institute's senior class.
He had been expecting the 7th grade boys, and so he was surprised to find the junior and senior girls, all in tank tops and gym shorts.
Considering what he had just been doing, and the fact that most of the girls in the senior class wouldn't have minded doing same with him, this was not good.
"Is it the first Monday of the month, already?" he asked.
"Yes, Mr. Logan. Classes rotated." Kitty explained.
"How time flies." Wolverine grunted.
The last time he had seen his brother, after he and Vic nearly killed each other, they got drunk in what was left of the Bowery bar they had their fight in.
Vic had asked him what it was like, getting up close and sweaty with twenty or thirty teenage mutant frails, two or three times a day.
Logan's answer had been that it was both agony and ecstasy.
Today was more agony than ecstasy.
Every first Monday of the month, the junior and senior students had their combat tests, in which each of them had to fight Mr. Logan, for two minutes, without getting knocked down.
They were all sweaty, and kept making gasping sounds, and almost every one of them came up with a reason to rub their tits or their asses on him, not to mention a little bumping and grinding.
Kitty spared him, and so did Jubes.
Not Mel.
They passed if they could get hold their own for two minutes, got a B if they got one punch in, and got an A if they could knock him down.
When it came to be Mel's turn, Logan was determined she wasn't going to get into his defences, and she was determined that she was.
Hits below the belt were off limits, so she surprised him by putting her hand down his shorts.
"Hey! You wanna fail this month?"
"Hits are off limits. I'm not hittin' you. Say goodnight, Daddy."
Mel never hit anybody as hard a she could, but she knew that Logan had an adamantium skull.
While he was distracted, she got in one punch as hard as she could, and one punch as hard as she could was enough.
Logan went flying across the room, hit the padded wall, and fell down.
"Is that an A plus?" she asked.
That was Mel's idea of a joke.
He imagined she was getting him back for last week, when he interrupted her defences by grabbing her tits, which was also off limits, but he protested that their situation was different.
Logan struggled to his feet.
"You girls see that? I'm pretty sure that'll work every time. A whole lot better than kickin' your opponent in the nuts. Class dismissed."
Logan was having a two beer lunch by himself in his office, when a knock came on his door.
"Mr. Logan? It's Mary Spinelli."
Mary was in the senior class.
She was 18, Italian and Irish, and a little zaftig, but cute as a button.
Long curly black hair, and big brown eyes.
Her nickname was Knocko, and not just because her mutation was that she could take on the properties of any solid object.
Mary Spinelli's knockers were literally as big as a man's head.
And she was one of his worst students.
Mary had no intention of becoming an X-Man, she was interested in the sciences, and although she would be going to NYU to study evolutionary biology, she was going to continue living at the Institute, as she had no other home, doing work-study with Dr. McCoy.
Logan imagined that Hank was counting down the days until graduation, so he could at least make a pass at Knocko.
Even paragons of decency such as Scott Summers began to sweat, visibly, when Knocko was in the room.
The fact that she had no interest in boys and only dated grown men 25 and older didn't improve the situation.
Knocko Spinelli was not a very confrontational person, and despite Logan giving her every break he could think of, she was failing combat.
Thinking of all sorts of disgusting things to try and keep it together, he asked her to come in.
Most girls at least put on some tears, and explained that they would do anything to pass combat, Mr. Logan, anything, but Knocko had what you might call a professional demeanour.
She took off her granny glasses, put her gum behind her ear, and got under Wolverine's desk.
Logan's dick got so hard so fast that he split part of the seam on his pants.
"Holy shit!" she exclaimed.
Logan pushed himself away from the desk with such force his chair tipped over, but he was on his feet fast enough, and he had the chair righted and was standing behind it.
"Whoa, there, Miz Spinelli!"
Knocko stood up.
"Don't look so upset, Mr. Logan. I just need a passing grade, and, let's face it, it's not like this is going to be unpleasant for either of us."
She smiled a little .
"I'll pass you! I'll pass you!" Logan insisted.
Knocko took her top off, anyway.
Presumably, she wasn't looking for a passing grade, now, just a good time.
She was NOT wearing a bra.
The seam on Logan's pants split the rest of the way, and his dick smacked into his desk.
Knocko winced.
"That sounded painful."
"I didn't notice."
He thought about pushing the panic button that was under his desk.
Then he thought up a lie, and thought it up, quick.
"Knocko, you do know there's cameras in all the offices, right? You don't really wanna lose me my job or get expelled, do you?" Logan lied.
"There are! Is it on?"
"They're on a five minute delay. If you put your top on, an' leave now, you'll be alright."
That didn't even make any sense, but at least it got Logan out of the jackpot.
Knocko put her shirt back on, and made for the door.
But, he still had a problem.
A big problem.
"Don't look at me like that, big fella. You want us to lose our job?"
He put on the spare pair of pants he kept in the bottom drawer, carefully, and tried to think of something disgusting.
He also drank the other five beers in the cooler in the bottom drawer on the other side.
"It's this part of the fuckin' job that's gonna kill me, not the street work." Logan muttered.
Logan had dinner in faculty lounge that night.
He brought Mel with him.
Then he and Cyke got into a conversation about the two World Wars, and why they started.
"Look, Scott, I'm tellin' you. There's no point bein' polite. The Germans started both wars. Germans love ta fight. It's in their nature. They're brutal people. Now I ain't handin' that out as an insult. Nice guys always finish last. Germans are brutal, determined, an' efficient. Great when you're writin' books, or composin' music or rebuldin' your economy. Not so great when you're marchin' to a lunatic's tune. I mean, look that the fuckin' Nazis. Let's face it. They couldn'ta been anything but Germans."
Mel threw her fork onto her plate.
"What the fuck was that you fucking said?" She demanded.
"Please, Mel. He did not mean zat ze vay it soundet." Kurt interjected.
He was insulted, but he understood that sometimes Logan's mouth moved a little faster tan his mind.
Especially when he was trying to show Scott up.
"Yes he did!" Mel insisted.
Mel's father, Erich "Fritzy" Reinhardt, who was the logging boss of the camp near Howlett, British Columbia where Logan's father, "Old Black Tom" Logan occasionally worked, was a mutant refugee from Nazi Germany whose entire family had perished in concentration camps.
Logan regretted what he said before he was done saying it.
Mel, with very Teutonic coolness, narrowed her eyes at him.
"But, I'll let it go. After all, there have been many great Germans. I can afford to be generous. Especially considering every fuckin' body knows that all Irishmen are a bunch of goddamn stupid, bull-necked drunks. I mean, let's face it, man. Look at Logan. He couldn't be anything but a dumb fuckin' Mick."
Now, by the 70's, prejudice against the Irish had slowed down quite a bit, but for much of his life, Logan had been told, by various people, in various places that he was pretty much lower than whale shit because not only was he a mutie, but worse, because he was a dumb fucking Mick.
He was a little sensitive about insults like that.
"You take that back!" Logan snarled.
"Why? Not only are you a dumb fuckin' Mick, you're the king of all the dumb fuckin' Micks! What's your mutation allow you to do better than anybody else? Drink an' fight. Aren't those sports in the Mickeylimpics? Shit, you might as well change your name from Wolverine to SuperMick. Drunker that a Teamster on St. Patrick's Day! Able to drain every bar in Brooklyn in a single night! It's a drunk! It's a thug! It's...SUPERMICK!" Mel snarled back.
Logan decided to take the low road.
"None of that seemed to bother you this mornin' when you had a great big smile on your face while you were suckin' my big dumb Mick's cock!" He shot back.
Mel lost her cool, and began throwing everything she could get her hands on directly at his head.
Jean, who was highly offended by his chauvinistic comment, was pitching in.
Literally.
Logan fled the dining room in a hail of plates and chairs.
He got on his motorcycle and started driving, and by the time he cooled down he was going over the Brooklyn Bridge, so he stopped at Eddie Blake's old house in Bensonhurst, on the off chance that Eddie would be there.
He was.
New York City, Lower East Side
"So, whaddya wanna do after this?"
"Aww, I dunno, Eddie. Get drunk. Meet some girls. Get laid."
"Well, we're already drunk. But there's this joint Paulie tells me about."
The Comedian and Wolverine had to halt their conversation, because they were at the scene of a gang of rioting Knot Tops.
About half of them ran away, and the other half ran at the two masks, who had just killed half a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and a fifth of Crown Royal between them, talking about old times.
Before they decided to suit up and go out on patrol, together.
Some skinny kid with a face like a pepperoni pizza stuck a switchblade in Logan's chest, right up to the hilt.
Snikt!
"I'll see that, kid, and raise you two."
Logan skewered him, and turned to Eddie, who was dropping a Knot Top with a broken neck from in-between his hands.
"Ya know, I went to that joint where Paulie's girl, Rosie, works the nudie booth. You ever been there? The place is huge." Logan commented.
The Comedian punched one Knot Top square in the face, while stomping on the neck of another, as they continued to swarm him.
"I been there. Mostly because the kid, she fuckin' lives at that joint. She walks in, whoever's behind the counter says, Hey, Liv. She's a real world-class pervert. I hafta hide my fuck magazines, she'll look at the guys bangin' the broads in 'em, an get the pages welded together before I even look at em."
Logan picked two of them up, and knocked their heads together.
"And then there's Rosie. I put my quarter in the slot, and Holy Christ! I was ready to hump the glass by the time the wall came down."
The Comedian unlimbered his shotgun, and sprayed the throng with buckshot.
"Now that broad is seriously fuckin' bent."
Logan felt a bullet tearing through his stomach.
"Shit! Gutshot!" he cursed, and grabbed the shooter.
In a burst of sudden fury, Wolverine pulled his head right off.
Pop!
Sort of unscrewed it like the top of a jar.
The Comedian picked it up.
"Catch, au little fuckers!" he cried, tossing it into the melee like it was a football and he was Joe Namath.
After that, the remaining Knot Tops began to flee.
Eddie bent over to get some of the newspapers in the street to wipe the blood off his chest piece as Logan dug the bullet out of his stomach with one claw, and threw it away.
"Lemme have some of those papers, huh, Eddie?"
"Sure."
They sat down on the curb, to wait for Logan to heal.
"You're tellin' me Rosie's bent? I know. She opens the side door on the booth, and crooks her finger at me. By this time, I'm not thinkin' right, because all the blood has left my head, and rushed directly into my dick. I went in the booth with her, and she starts sayin the filthiest possible shit to me, and she's fingerin' herself with one hand and unzippin' my pants. So I gave it to her. I mean, I was fuckin' her so hard my eyes were crossed. I'm balls-deep in her, and Rosie's wrapped all around me like I'm a fuckin' Christmas present when the door goes up. Somebody put a quarter in the slot. What was I going to do? Stop? I think me and the guy who put his quarter in blew our loads at the same time. I guess he got his two bits worth."
"That broad will fuck anything in a mask. But Paulie, he doesn't care. He likes her, and as long as he gets his, he doesn't give a fuck."
"Smart kid. So, this place you wanna go to. It's some joint Paulie knows about?"
"Yeah. In the Village. College joint. Lotsa horny coeds, and hippie broads. They show up to get drunk, listen ta rock and roll, smoke reefers and get laid."
"I like the sound of that. Let's go."
"You wanna change clothes?"
"Fuck no!"
"Yeah, me neither. Ya leave the suit on, and it's pussy, pussy, pussy."
"I like the sound of that, too."
The Head Scene, Greenwich Village
The place turned out to pretty much be a storefront with one toilet in a back room, and a makeshift bar, with speakers hanging on the walls and music and flashing lights and shit.
But, it was pretty much jam packed with hippie chicks wearing no bras and flimsy tops, and it was a wild scene.
Logan was at the bar, getting a beer, and somebody just got on their knees and started sucking his dick.
He was pretty sure from the feel of the lips it was a girl, but he looked down and made sure.
Felt under her skirt, too.
You can never be too sure in the Village.
Logan was just zipping up his pants and buying the girl a drink when somebody yelled a warning over Led Zeppelin blasting out of the speakers.
"It's the pigs! The fucking pigs! It's a fuckin' raid!"
The whole place went up.
You could see the sirens, outside and the kids were screaming and trying to get to the door.
The Comedian took the situation in hand.
He grabbed a table and stood up on the bar, and held it over his head.
That got most everybody's attention.
Then, Eddie threw the table all the way across the club and through the big windows at the back.
"Okay, kids, let's get the fuck outa here! Everybody out the back way!" he announced.
After that, it was every man for himself, but Logan did pick the girl he'd just met up and throw her over his shoulder.
Logan and Eddie and the girl from the bar made good their escape, and they were in Eddie's souped-up Fleetwood Eldorado when four other girls came running past.
Logan reached behind him and opened the back door.
"In here, girls." He yelled.
The girls piled in the car.
Now Eddie had been outrunning the cops since his mob enforcer father, the brutal, psychotic, and feared Mick the Merciless made his son his getaway driver when Eddie was nine, and his feet could reach the pedals.
He popped the clutch, stomped on the gas, and the big Caddy with the V-8 engine that Napalm had souped up to hell and back roared forward .
Eddie opened his window, and extended his middle finger.
"Eat my dust, ya doity fuckin' screws!" he howled.
He managed to leave the cops far behind in two moves.
"The fuckin' cops, they are never around when I need some fuckin' help, but whenever I try to have some fun in my free time, they're all the fuck over me! Fuckin' cops! Okay, goils, my woman, she's woikin' all night tonight, so I got nothin' but time. So, who wansta go home, and who wantsa go home with me?" he announced.
Liv was working all night in her home garage with Joe Mac, so Eddie knew she wouldn't be around, and thus he took the three of the girls who said yes back to his apartment.
Eddie had a great deal of booze, and the girls had a great deal of reefer, and Logan was about to join the get naked party when he remembered that it was Monday.
Monday was his one and only night with Jeannie.
He left Eddie to do what he would with three naked girls, including one who gave one hell of a blow-job, and made it back to the Institute by midnight.
X-Institute
Drunk, dishevelled, and bloody, smelling of patchouli oil, sweat and come, Logan, still fairly drunk and rather zonked on reefer, crashed into Jean Grey's rooms around a quarter past midnight.
She was furious.
"Jeannie, darlin', I had to help Eddie break up two riots. One with some Knot Tops on the Lower East Side, and one at a nightclub in the Village."
"Is that what they're calling spending half the night boozing, smoking dope, and balling groupies, now, a riot?" she insisted.
"That was after the riot. After both riots. I can take a shower. I'm sorry, darlin'. I had a little too much to drink, and you know how reefer hits me. I forgot it was Monday. Hell, I forgot my name. As soon as I remembered, I came back."
"You forgot! You forgot! You love me, you burn for me with the intensity of a million dying suns in supernova and you forgot me?"
"I didn't forget you, Jeannie. I forgot it was Monday. I really thought it was Tuesday. See, I thought last night was Minady. Thats' why I was at the motel up on the interstate. Where you and I first made love, darlin'."
Logan decided to hedge his bets, and he took off his undershirt.
"You must know you're really in deep shit if you're talking about making love, Logan. It's not going to work. And, as it is now 12:30, you are absolutely right. It's Tuesday. See you next week."
"But Jeannie…"
"Good night, Logan!"
She shoved him out into the hallway and slammed the door.
Tired, dejected, drunk, and now blue-balled, Logan trooped back to his rooms, where he took a shower, and then fell on his back onto his bed.
His whole body felt like it was made of jelly.
With the exception of his dick, which was still standing around and waiting for something to happen.
"I'm tired. Why aren't you?" Logan insisted.
On a final desperate whim, he called the dorm room that Mel shared with Jubilee and Kitty Pride.
"Hello?"
Logan heard music playing in the background.
"It's a school night. Shouldn't you girls be asleep?"
"None of the three of us have morning classes on Tuesday. You sound awful, Wolvie."
"I've had a rough night, Jubes. Is Mel there?"
"Yeah. She was just getting ready to go out. Them Kitty and I were going to go to bed. Mel! It's Wolvie!"
The phone changed hands.
"Awww, Daddy, did she send you home blue-balled again?"
"Yeah. And I was only two hours late. Okay. Three, maybe."
"Man, that Jean Grey, she's some piece of work. You do sound awful, Logan. Like you need me to come an' take care of you."
"I think I do, darlin'."
Logan was in bed when Mel came to his room, having stopped in the kitchen to get him a beer and a turkey sandwich.
He told her his tale of woe, drank his beer, ate his turkey sandwich, and Mel put his shoulder back into place and his spine, and sent him to take a nice hot bath.
That made Logan feel a lot better, and he retired to his bed where nice, hot Mel was waiting for him.
"I'm sorry about that Nazi crack, darlin'. It was a stupid, callous thing to say."
"Well, I guess I shouldn't have called you a stupid drunken Mick in front of everybody, either."
They were both sorry, and resolved to kiss and make up.
"Did you bring that home just for me, Daddy?"
"I think he likes you best of all, Mel, darlin'."
"Scott! Wake up, Scott! It's an earthquake!"
Scott rolled over.
He had never seen Emma Frost look terrified, before.
It made him laugh.
"What are you laughing at? What's so funny?"
"No it's not, Emma. That's just Logan."
"What?"
"Logan. His bedroom's on the other side of mine. Or as I like to call it, the bomb crater. Jean must have sent him packing, so I guess he went back to his room and made it up with Mel. I had to have him move his bed over to the other side of the wall, but when he and his guests really get down to it, sometimes pictures still fall off the wall. Or we get a little plaster dust."
"So you're telling me that Wolverine is such a dirty good fuck that even with his bed on the other side of the room he's bringing the house down, and you couldn't even get it up for me, and I only come here on Mondays?"
"I'm tired, Emma."
"Tired? From what?"
"From you being even more of a freewheeling, ball-busting bitch than Jean ever was. Why can't I get a nice girl, like Mel, or Liv Napier?"
Emma Frost slapped him in the face, and left in a huff.
Scott rolled over again, and was about to fall asleep when he had a very unexpected visitor.
"Scott? It's Jean. I see you're alone."
She got into bed with him.
Jean had moved out over the whole Emma business, and took up with Logan, albeit only on Mondays, and she hadn't so much as spoken to him for one month, and just now they were on casual speaking terms, so he was confused as to what she was doing back in their bed.
Did she want to…?
"Oh, Scott, I'm so confused. I don't know what I want anymore. Logan's a good man, but he's such a, I mean he's so…"
"Sleazy? Drunk? Short?" Scott offered.
He and Logan were friends, sure, but he was sleazy, and drunk.
Short, too.
And Logan would understand that, well, sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, to make it up with his girl.
"Something like that. I just wish things could be like they were. Before you started having all your problems, and we fought, and all of this. I wish I had never started all this bullshit. It's my fault."
"It's not all your fault, Jean. It was my fault, too. But now, you and I have another chance. We can rebuild our relationship."
"Do you have any ideas?"
"Jean, do you remember, when we first started dating, when we were teenagers, how much in love we were?"
"Of course I do. I used to sit in class and think about you all day long."
"I couldn't wait until we could be alone together. I used to think about you, too. I'd watch you cross and uncross your legs, and I'd see you looking at me and smiling, and the way you pressed your thighs together when you did it. And I'd think of how you tasted like cinnamon, and strawberries, and how I'd have that taste on my lips again, very soon."
Jean was surprised.
"Scott, that was both incredibly sweet and romantic and incredibly dirty and hot."
That was one of the things that attracted her to Scott, in the first place.
He was romantic and chivalrous at the same time as being lusty and unashamedly randy.
Kind of like the knights in shining armor in the romance novels she used to devour.
"Like the way I used to be, before I became the Fearless Leader and lost myself?"
"Well, yes. Scott?"
He was smiling at her, that soft, knowing smile of his when he knew he really had her going.
"Yes?"
"I want you to kiss me."
"Where?"
Jean swooned, and Scott kissed her.
It was just like in the romance novels, she had a taste of Heaven on her lips.
"Scott!"
"Didn't you know, Jean? I don't have that problem, anymore. Wait just a second. Help me push the bed over to the other side of the wall."
Logan was awakened from a deep sleep by a thud against the wall by his head.
"What the fuck was that?" Mel asked.
"I think my loss was Cyke's gain."
Logan beat on the wall with his fist.
"That's the way, Cyke! Knock some of the hoity-toity outa our Jeannie! Hit it hard, hit it fast, an' don't stop until morning!" he advised.
Loudly.
"This one's for you, champ! I'm knockin' the ball outa the park!" Scott yelled back.
Mel laughed.
That was very unlike Scooter.
He was spending too much time with Logan, lately.
Bad influence.
Logan laughed to himself, got out of his bed, moved it away from the wall a little, and got back in.
"Logan, you are a crazy sunnuvabitch." Mel told him.
"Thanks, darlin'." He said.
He got back in bed, and he and Mel went back to sleep.