Note: All right all right. Yes, X-Force #10 dragged me back, how could it not? little series was inspired by what I've been waiting for, what I grew up wanting as a kid, then as a teenager, then as an adult for the last twenty freakin' years (took long enough)– the real Jean/Logan hookup in canon! YASSSS! It finally happened and yeah it made me happy enough to keep writing. So the premise here is that in the comics, we get everything that happens in the daylight. The Jean/Scott/Logan/Emma quadrangle/poly whatever has been all but confirmed. And because I'm the author here and therefore the boss I've decided that this originally was a Krakoa-philosophy based hall pass arrangement between Scott and Jean that is evolving into...well, we shall see. I've always wanted Marvel to give us a real relationship between Jean and Logan because, well- I think it would be interesting, volatile, hot, and it would eventually work. Soooo this is a series of vignettes that only takes place at night, chronologically, and will follow along with the whole X-Men/X-Force current canon. Jean first person, starting from Jean & Logan's first night, and we'll take it from there. Yeah we'll get to the whole accidental stabbing, yeah we'll get to the hot tub sexy times (cough, oh excuse me, broken baths), yeah, yeah, of course we will, that's the point y'all.
NIGHT 1
The first night was a complete disaster. I mean, it's actually funny looking back on it because we know each other so much better now and so much has happened since then, but in hindsight it was a trainwreck. The first time, our first time, happened way too fast. Too fast is relative of course, because we'd both been thinking about it for over a decade, but when it happened…it was a spark that jumped, caught fire and set off a bomb and neither of us was ready for it. At least I wasn't.
Even though we'd been fighting together on X-Force and in the light of day, among teammates, it was all business as usual, when we met that first night it became suddenly awkward. We glanced at each other like two nervous kids. I wasn't myself at all, feeling skittish and unsure, and it was probably the first and the last time I'll ever see Logan sweating bullets, tripping over his own feet like a teenager at prom. Neither one of us even touched the food we'd ordered, it just sat there cold while we stared at each other and tried to make small talk. Logan was drinking even more than usual-his favorite coping mechanism- and if it weren't for the healing factor he probably would've been under the table before we'd even finished the date. I was trying to be witty, but my usual confidence floundered and I stuttered when I spoke. I almost even got cold feet. I considered throwing down my napkin and leaving, just to end the anxiety. It somehow made it worse that we both knew what we were really there for. It was electricity in the air, it was not being able to look him in the eye, it was his fingers touching mine and my pulse suddenly pounding in my throat.
We walked back to my room in silence and he made the first move, whiskey on his breath. I'd been waiting for it, but he still caught me off guard. I was in the middle of a sentence, saying hey wasn't it an unusually cold night for June, and he leaned in to kiss me. I didn't stop him, I just froze as our lips met, and then I kissed back, and then we detonated. It went from an innocent kiss to a high speed car crash, an avalanche, an atom bomb. It was intense and furious, no more hesitance, no more flirting, no innuendo, from zero to one-twenty. Just like that, the clothes were on the floor, his hands were in my hair, our limbs tangled. Neither of us said a word, and we were trying hard to be quiet because Scott was next door, but that ended up being the farthest thing from my mind. There was just the sound and sensation of skin, breathing, sweat and pleasure. I guess after ten years of wanting each other, long years of teasing and baiting, if you finally put a flame near the powder keg you shouldn't be surprised when it explodes- but truthfully, I wasn't ready. Not even close.
When we finally pulled finally pulled apart, gasping, in the middle of an empty bed, the covers, sheets, and pillows strewn haphazardly on the floor all around, I felt shell-shocked. As the chemical high of adrenaline and endorphins and dopamine sang through my body and began to fade away, I was suddenly confused and guilty. I was overwhelmed by the way my body was buzzing like a live wire and my head was spinning and I couldn't quite grasp what we'd just done.
I ended up hiding in the bathroom crying. I pulled away from him, turning away from his startled gaze, left him there and slammed the door behind me, turned around and pressed myself against it, mind racing. I'm embarrassed, thinking of it now, but it was genuine at the time. Logan, of course, was completely horrified and I could feel him banging on the door, the desperate contrition in his voice as he asked if he had done something wrong, had he hurt me, was I ok, he was so sorry, please tell him what was wrong? Jeannie please let me in. Jeannie please, I'm sorry, just tell me what's wrong. I ignored it.
I sat there naked on the floor, the cold tiles pressed against the soles of my feet, back against the door, my brain feeling like it had melted, butterflies in my stomach, my heart still pounding and a warm feeling like sunshine inside my body from a really good and long overdue orgasm. I remember that all I wanted in that moment was to run and tell Scott I was so sorry, cry, beg him on my knees to forgive me. It was ludicrous, because he'd told me to go do all this in the first place. It was the opposite of all the other times Logan and I had come close to being intimate; those stolen kisses, those dramatic end-of-the-world embraces that I'd ignored afterwards because it was more convenient to pretend they never happened. And it had never been scary like this because there was never a chance it would go anywhere. It was always safe. Until now, and the taste of danger that had been so exciting was suddenly terrifying.
And this time, ironically, I'd had Scott's blessing. I had explicit permission. I realized I mostly felt guilty that I'd done it out of curiosity, an itch I'd wanted to scratch, but then I'd liked it a little too much. I replayed what had happened, that one gratifying instant with Logan inside me, our bodies pressed together, his dark hair fisted in my hand and my nails dug into his back, when I'd been ready to do anything for him. For just a brief second I'd felt it, and I hoped I hadn't said it. I hoped I hadn't thought it out loud. Anything. And I didn't want to admit it, but I'd never felt that for Scott. That just didn't seem like that was something a wife should feel for someone who wasn't her husband. So I sat there, shivering, head pressed in my hands, tears dripping off my face and splashing little salty dots onto the sea green tile, replaying the way we melted together with shame then with pleasure, then again, like a film on repeat that I couldn't stop. Savage and beautiful, yes. Everything I'd wanted, yes. But it was so wrong. I shouldn't have given in. I shouldn't have betrayed Scott, not like that, even if he'd said it was all right. I cringed. I smiled. I panicked. I tried to hold it all together because it felt like everything inside me was flying apart.
It must've been a good fifteen minutes that I sat there perfectly still with all off this turmoil rolling through my mind, before I'd pulled myself together. Logan had finally stopped trying and was silent. I wasn't even sure if he was still there; maybe he'd left. Maybe he'd given up on this. Maybe he was the kind of man who doggedly pursued what he wanted, and then once he got it, was gone. That was one of my deepest fears. That was why I agreed, as Scott Summer's wife, to take a lover. So I could still have a little bit of that safety I craved while I went after something else I might have wanted more.
I finally pulled myself together, took a few deep breaths, and splashed some cold water on my face. I opened the door, and the weak light from the bathroom fixtures spilled into the room. I saw Logan sitting on the side of the bed, jeans on, head in his hands. My heart softened, a bit. Logan didn't leave. My fears, maybe they were baseless. But my chance, my chance was still now. I walked over, I took his face in my hands, and I showed him it was all right. He asked "Jeannie I—" and I stopped him with my mouth, and I shushed him, and I told him stay. We didn't say another word that night, and we didn't sleep until the sun was up.
NEXT: Night 2. 'Nuff said.