Gifts Don't Usually Happen Like That
Logan paced the room and wondered how he got this far without realizing the sheer absurdity of the situation. Warren Worthington so seemingly important he had a number after his name, Warren who ridiculously still insisted on calling himself Angel after everything he had done, who openly admitted to, at one point in his life, recently, having had sex with a sixteen year old girl, Warren Worthington who openly hated everything Logan loved, the very same- was lying in his bed thoroughly fucked. And Logan didn't regret one instant of it. After all, he had been the one doing the fucking. He stretched, crawled into the shower to wash off the rest of the liquor and sex. It hadn't been intentional. He hadn't even intended on getting any that bar night.
Then Warren was sloshed and all over him, telling Logan he was very attractive, for a hairy midget and if he took better care of himself he'd get plenty of attention. Wasn't the kind of attention Logan wanted. He set out to be feared, but the creature splayed out naked on his bed, satiated, couldn't fear him. At least not anymore. He was used to the respect and distance he had earned, and Warren had done away with it all in a drunken haze. Past this night, though, he couldn't be too sure. If anything would change come morning, when Warren was sober, he could cry out and rail that nothing should change, but he would never look at Warren the same way again. Kid was good in bed, that much was for damned certain. He sighed aloud, and it tasted like cheap beer, the best kind of aftertaste, cheap beer and rampant sex. He turned off the shower and wandered into the room, stark naked, didn't care if his partner was awake or not, it wasn't as though he hadn't gotten a mouthful of it less than an hour ago, and dug through the closet for clothes that didn't smell too offensive, he didn't need the entire mansion riding his ass for his sanitary habits.
He wasn't even sure how they ended up in his room. Warren had, if he remembered correctly, invited him to come up with him, not the other way around. Maybe because Logan's was closer, maybe because his only other resident of that hallway a Cajun even more inebriated than they both were, who wasn't likely to be roused by their drunken fuckery, maybe because Warren didn't want the intimacy of having his partners in his living space, he had stopped caring on the matter when they got down to it. He sunk into the bed, stared at the ceiling, and let his hand trail into Warren's hair. The winged boy didn't even have to be awake a minute before they were kissing again. Logan hadn't thought kissing was for one night stands, leant to the idea Warren didn't want to be one. The angel crawled on top of him, pinned him there and kept kissing. He wouldn't mind, he decided, if this became a regular occurrence.
"Hey Wings?" He got out between sloppy kisses.
"Mm-hmm?"
"You still drunk?"
"Dunno. Do I taste drunk?"
He kissed Warren. "Can't tell."
"Need another one?"
He pulled Warren down to his level, flipped their positions. "A few more."
"I think I can provide." Warren smirked and Logan couldn't decide whether to smack that expression off, or kiss it until he couldn't make a face that didn't scream 'take me now'. His senses spiked, he could smell sex and the lingering of alcohol and Warren and thinking became irrelevant.
Next week was more of the same, and the week after that, until Logan began to wonder if Warren wasn't inviting himself along on bar night on purpose. The winged one slid up beside him at the bar and he decided it didn't matter. He'd try to get him sober next time. Or maybe the time after that.