Author's Note: A quick apology. Okay, so waiting five years for the end of a story isn't so bad right? Right? I'm sorry. Please forgive me.
Three weeks had passed since Ororo Munroe broke off her relationship with Kurt Wagner. It had been a little over two weeks since word spread that she had been spotted kissing her ex-boyfriend Hank McCoy in the infirmary. In the past three days, Logan had been notified by four different people, who twittered around him like caffeinated parrots, that Beast was now officially Storm's boyfriend. Today, as he had every day since witnessing Storm leaving Hank's room, Logan interacted in a completely typical way with the newly reinstated Romeo. Nothing was wrong, everything was fine. Everything was normal. He was fine.
"Rogue's lonely, I think. Heard from her last night." Logan was relaxing back into the comfortable armchair in the study. It was mid-day and the kids were attending classes. Hank had just returned from a mission that morning and Logan saw nothing wrong with distracting him from the book he'd been tucked into. Besides, reasoned Logan, he couldn't have been any more distracting than Archangel thunking at the piano.
"I'd be surprised if she didn't feel a little homesick," replied Hank. He suspected his friend was projecting a bit. She was with her family now, after all, and though she probably missed her fellow mutants, her new job was probably keeping her busy enough during the day.
Logan toyed with a loose stitch in the fabric of the armchair. "Yeah well, she can always come back home."
The petulance pleased Hank. "That's probably what her parents told her."
Logan glared at him. "They don't even know who she is." He shook his head. "That's not good for her to be hiding like that."
"She'll tell them if she wants." He toyed with the page he had been reading. Tavis Smiley's description of the final year of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s life would have to wait.
"I know that!" gruffed Logan. "Why does everyone act like I'm an overprotective father?"
Tapping a finger to his temple, Hank asked, "Because you're acting like an overprotective father?"
"Oh shut up."
Hank smiled. Logan considered flipping him off.
Everything was normal.
Hank had an itch to go to the Barracuda. He hadn't been in a while and he wanted both to play some pool while drinking beer and to let everyone down there know that he wasn't dead. He couldn't remember a time that he'd been away from the bar for so long, not even on extended missions.
He watched Ororo hang her clothes. Even performing such a mundane act she moved with an elegance that captured the eye. She wore only a simple slip and the white contrasted against her dark skin. Her feet were bare and he noticed that her toes crinkled, gripping the carpet as she placed each hangar. He hoped she wouldn't mind his absence. Her feelings were the primary reason he hadn't been going to the bar. He didn't want to give her the impression that he didn't want to spend every waking moment with her. He feared hurting her by wanting to do something of which she wasn't a part.
"Hank, you are staring." It wasn't an uncommon phrase to fall from her lovely lips.
"I was thinking."
She wrapped a brown, orange, and yellow batik fabric around one hangar several times to keep it in place. "About?"
He sighed, reluctant to admit his restlessness. He set his book on his knees; he hadn't been reading it anyway. "I was thinking about going to the Barracuda." He waited as though expecting a violent objection from his girlfriend. This expectation was completely contrary to her temperament so it was quite an irrational fear.
She looked at him curiously. "Were you thinking of going alone?"
"Yes, of course." He could not invite Logan with him to his sanctuary right now, not with how hard it was to look his friend in the eyes. Once he got past his guilt and embarrassment over their little tryst, then he could think about sharing a pool table with the man again.
Her fingers, long and slender, adjusted the straps of a flimsy dress that he had not seen her wear, the notches of the wooden hangar capturing the thin strips of fabric securely. "Ah. I had hoped that you might feel moved to invite me at some point."
His brain lurched inside his skull; at least, that was how it felt. There was a disconnect between the environment of the Barracuda and the force that was Ororo. He looked at her in panic until she laughed at him. The sound was as pleasant as she was, a tinkling like a tiny bell. "Mister McCoy, it's okay!" She knelt before him and rested her hands on his. "You do not have to share your haven with me. I just wish I could be part of all areas of your life."
The words "You don't belong there," sounded like he was protecting the bar but he wanted to protect her. She didn't need to be in a seedy place with a rat infestation and glassy-eyed alcoholics. He should not even have been going to such a place but it was a character weakness of his that impelled him. He tried to explain. "It's not a good enough place for you."
She smiled. "I do not have to take up residence there."
"If you wish to go, Ororo, I will escort you but I cannot think you'll like it there."
He sounded so resolute that Ororo nearly lost her nerve. She knew that Hank liked to keep his barfly persona separate from the one at the school, but he had let his last lover go there and if Logan had been let in, then she wanted to be as well. It would be too telling if Hank opened up more to that scruffy wanderer than to her. Besides, she had been patient enough. "I will like it there because you will be with me. And, if it is too uncomfortable having me there, you do not ever have to bring me back."
Hank nodded, worried.
"I believe it's your shot."
The men in the bar were watching Ororo which meant that Hank was watching them. He hadn't caught her words at all, but when he did finally turn his attention back to her, he sensed that he'd missed something. "Did you…?" he started.
"Yes. It's your turn."
The sharpness in her voice made him wince. "I apologize." He quickly moved into a position behind the cue ball and eyed his options. He had not intended to ignore her, obviously, and he felt a bit insulted that she wasn't seeing his reasons for distraction. Logan would have referred to it as "eye-fucking," the actions of the lecherous bar denizens.
Chris had been the only idiot to actually converse with her but only after he'd dug an elbow into Hank's side and said, "Well, she's a step up, ain't she?" He'd wanted to ring the loquacious nitwit's neck. Hank had been able to feel Ororo stiffen at the comparison, even though it was favorable, to his former pool companion, his former lover.
Instead of killing Chris, he'd introduced him to Ororo. Smartly, she'd tipped a chin at Chris rather than accept his proffered handshake.
Head completely not in the game of pool, Hank missed the ball he was aiming for because his arm jerked at the last second. He cursed.
Ororo frowned. "Perhaps you would prefer to dance?" she asked, her hand pointing to the jukebox.
Dance? In this place?
Ororo tried to ignore the expression of incredulity on Hank's face in the same way that she had been attempting to ignore the territorial glares he was giving all the other men, the missed pool shots, and the way Hank's shoulders aligned with his ears. This was not fun. "This was a bad idea." She said as gently as the music would allow.
"I agree," Hank said. He immediately replaced his pool cue in the rack along the wall.
Ororo was well-acquainted with the bad moods that afflicted Hank so frequently in public. She'd suspected that he would be less prone to them here, his man-sanctuary, but it was hardly that now that she'd invaded it. She followed his lead, returning the cue and gathering her coat. When they reached the door, they were accosted one more time by his obnoxious drunken associate.
"Leaving already?" the man slurred.
Hank assisted Ororo with her coat as he answered Chris curtly. "Yes."
Even through his ever-present haze of inebriation, Chris caught the mutant's no-nonsense tone. He backed up, permitting the two to exit through the door.
Hank felt as though they'd escaped. He breathed the fresh air and enjoyed a second with his guard down. Never had he felt so on edge at the Barracuda. On the stroll back to the mansion, Ororo alternated between anger at herself for having asked to go and Hank for being as insufferably jealous as he always used to be.
They slept in Ororo's room that night but the air was quiet and tense.
Rogue, known to her family as Marie but still self-identified by her X-men name, played with a silver pen. She pushed it to the top of her office desk with a single glove-tipped finger and watched it roll slowly with the tilt of the surface. Her other hand caught the pen as it rolled off. She repeated this fifteen or so times before letting out a bored sigh.
The waiting room to her father's dental practice was empty, so no one heard her over the saliva sucker lustily gurgling behind the obscured glass that read Fred Agnew D.D.S.
She glared in annoyance at the empty peach-colored plastic chairs and stacks of moderately thumbed through magazines. So, she thought, this is normal life. It was a thought that she had been having every few minutes for the last few months.
The phone rang. She pulled her appointment planner closer and answered without enthusiasm.
Things managed to get worse between Hank and Ororo the next evening when he asked if she would be comfortable with him going off to the Barracuda alone. The tension could easily have been allayed by good communication but for some reason Ororo felt spiteful and did not vocalize her reaction to the request. Instead, she behaved according to stereotype, saying that it was "fine." It wasn't long after he left that she began to kick herself for her immaturity. If she had been forthcoming about her feelings they could have discussed the previous night, a severely overdue conversation, aired their grievances, and been done with it. She resolved to do just that when he returned.
"No supermodel tonight?" asked Chris.
Hank shrugged. He was sitting at the bar absent-mindedly watching a basketball game on the ancient 13" TV in the corner. It was a pre-recorded game but it wouldn't have excited Hank if it had been live. It was just something to watch as he drank his beer.
Chris pulled up a stool beside him. They sat and watched the inane sport and drank in blissful quiet. It felt strangely nice to Hank, as though his friend was supporting him in his disheartened mood.
By the time that the Barracuda's sharp-tongued proprietor asked, "Where's your hunk?" Hank was buzzed and relaxed.
His face soured at her question. "My hunk?"
Connie was cunning and had a self-serving personality that stopped her from forming bonds with anyone. Hank had once had an extended conversation of analysis with Tommy about the bar owner's emotional hang-ups. He'd found Tommy's observation "For her, love is a weakness," to be surprisingly astute. She liked Hank and liked Logan, though the latter in a more… provocative manner. "What's going on, Hank? Did you break up?"
Hank suddenly found the coaster under his mug to be the most visually fascinating object. He ran a blue thumb over a corner. It peeled back slightly.
"He dropped Logan for his ex-girlfriend."
The words, spoken so easily and inappropriately from Chris's mouth, made Hank fumble his hold on his beer. It spilled out of the bottle, a geyser of wheat and yeast and hops. Connie had a rag on the spill before the apology could fall from his lips. It did, though, and profusely. His embarrassment had manifested and was being absorbed by the stained towel.
After tossing the wet rag in the sink, Connie rounded on him angrily. "Are you fucking kidding me? You motherfucking idiot!"
It wasn't the first time she had yelled obscenities at him but it was the first time that she was genuinely angry at him. He looked to Chris for support and saw only melancholy agreement in his friend's expression.
Connie shook her head, pretty blonde bobbed hair swishing against her ears. "You tryin' to be one of the miserable Eeyores that come in here?"
It sounded rhetorical, yet she waited, so he answered, "No…"
"Then why, by Cassandra's Elongated Clit, would you throw away the man you love for yesterday's garbage?"
There was so much wrong with what Connie had just said. He disagreed about every word, except the colorful metaphor over which he would puzzle once he was calmer.
"Ororo is not yesterday's garbage. She is a goddess! I was lucky to have her companionship once, let alone to be given more time with her!" His voice was raised and he could feel the eyes of at least three total strangers behind him. He wasn't drunk enough not to care and not sober enough to quiet.
"Ooh, more time in the company of her holiness!" rasped Connie sarcastically.
"Actually, she was pretty hot," mumbled Chris. Both verbal combatants ignored his interjection.
"And when this fickle goddess of shit dumps you again?"
"Then I will be grateful to have…"
She interrupted, her cheeks rosy with emotion. "I will be grateful…" she mocked. "How nice of her to allow you to date her. Hell, who wouldn't want a fucking lackey worshipping them?"
Hank stood up quickly from the chair. The spinning this caused in his head inconsequential next to the rage that boiled inside him. "You can say anything you want about me, but not Ororo."
"Fine!" she yelled, slamming her palms onto the bar. "You threw away the best thing you ever had!"
Hank left. He didn't grab his trenchcoat and he didn't stand there arguing.
As the door swung closed behind him, he heard her yell, "She ain't perfect, Hank!"
He crossed the gravel parking lot. It crunched satisfyingly beneath his feet. Rage filled his body, clouded his eyes. He swore off the Barracuda and Connie and Chris and that part of his life. Evil scathing words perched on his tongue like birds of prey. He wanted to go back and unleash the verbal flock, let her see how she liked being belittled. He had enough ammo, thought that he knew enough about her that he could hurt her.
The walk back to the mansion wasn't long enough to cool his ire, though individual thoughts of vengeance vanished with the scent of cigar. His eyes sought to confirm what his nose had already identified as Logan - a shadow on the small terrace outside the double doors of the library. Hank could easily have slipped into the mansion unnoticed, probably should have in this mood, but returning to Ororo like this, liquored up and mad, would be worse.
He made his way to the terrace, Logan spotting him almost immediately, a fighter's attentiveness.
"Hey, Fuzzy." Even with the doors closed behind him, the sounds of raucous children and young adults broke through the air. The occasional clack of billiard balls and cheers from inside only emphasized how quiet it was outside.
"Logan," Hank acknowledged. His furry hands dug into the pockets of his Dockers. His fingers rubbed the keys they found. He watched Logan inhale a puff of the sweet-smelling cigar. The smoke circled like a snake around Logan's leather jacket before drifting into the night.
"You okay?"
The question made Hank laugh. It wasn't a pleasant sound but it felt good. One thing about Logan, Hank knew he wouldn't have to answer anything he didn't feel like answering. He wouldn't have to be on good behavior like he was around Ororo and he didn't have to hear a grocery list of his personal flaws, not any of the ones that mattered anyway.
Hank took a seat on the waist-high stone wall that circled the terrace. "Why do your cigars always smell sweet? They don't taste sweet." His voice sounded petulant. He blamed the beer.
Logan squinted at the cigar in his hand. "I dunno. Depends on the brand."
"What brand is that?"
Logan continued his examination of the cigar. His finger chipped at a black smudge. "Uh, I think it's a Victor Sinclair."
The coils of rage were unwinding in Hank's stomach. He was not much of a smoker himself, but he never minded Logan tasting like tobacco. It just seemed to be part of the package like Logan's ever-present chin scruff.
"You know," Logan said. "I heard that Chuck's gonna go to South America tomorrow. Maybe I should ask him to pick me up something that doesn't taste like car tire."
"Careful, you would not want to be seen as a connoisseur. Heaven forbid that The Wolverine be viewed as… snobby." Hank smiled.
Logan snorted. "That's all your turf, Bub."
It was always so easy to talk with Logan. For a second, a thought flitted across his mind that was so unnerving that his hand actually rose to his temple. His heart pounded and for the first time since she'd spoken, he had a flash of fear that Connie's words may not have just been spiteful meddling. "I… I'm going to go to bed."
Though he felt that he had Logan's curiosity up, his friend merely wished him a good night.
Hank fled from Logan and from the thought, 'I wish it was this easy with Ororo."
"You mind?" asked Jubilee. Her eyes indicated the seat next to him. Logan shrugged. The evening was in full swing and the study was pretty packed. It was mostly the older folks crowding around the pool table or chatting in smaller groups. He'd been kind of lucky to get a seat all to himself.
She practically jumped onto the bench. He looked at her in surprise. Always so much energy in that gal. He thought they should find a way to bottle it, it'd serve as a good substitute for coffee.
"You alright?" she asked.
"Yeah." He'd asked the same thing of Hank, but gotten no response. The way his friend had behaved worried him. He was trying to chalk it up to the booze that he'd reeked of, but Hank had seemed pissed when he'd come up the lawn. He wondered if maybe Hank'd had a fight with Storm. He partially liked that thought. Anyone could see that she wasn't gonna stick around forever, so the sooner she left the better, but Logan also didn't want to see his lovesick friend go through too much shit before she did. "Just thinkin'."
"About unicorns?" Jubes asked teasingly.
"Yeah, unicorns are… I don't know, pointy?"
She laughed and he smiled. Nightcrawler, who was nearby joined the conversation with, "You'll notice that he did not say 'horny.'"
Logan rolled his eyes. Jubes, however, ran with it. "Then how come they're so rare?"
Kurt pretended to consider though he was always so fast that Logan guessed he'd known what he was gonna say right away. "Mutants are rare too and I would say that some of us are definitely… pointy."
The three made small talk for a while with topics ranging from movies to missions. Small talk made Logan feel antsy, like he should be doing something rather than slack-jawing it, but at the same time, it was nice to be included. Eventually, he bid his goodnights and left the busy study.
He took a detour on his way back to his room and was happy to see Professor Xavier sitting in his office alone. The room was lit only by a single desk lamp. The light cast a menacing shadow behind the professor, a larger than life representation of how many of the children saw him.
"Late night," called Logan.
Charles looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose so. Please, come in, Logan."
Logan shut the door behind him and eyed a place to sit. The chairs were leather and their wood matched the mahogany desk. Xavier's office was simple, no trinkets or plants. Logan liked it even if it did feel a bit like a mausoleum.
The professor straightened some paperwork and touched the keyboard of his laptop. "I was just about to finish up. Getting things ready for the trip tomorrow, you know."
"Yeah, I remember you mentioning it." His fingernail dug into the heel of his boot, scraping the black material absent-mindedly. "Venezuela, right?"
"Good memory."
Logan laughed. "You do remember who you're talking to? The guy with amnesia?"
Charles smiled. "Of course. Well, if the negotiations go as I expect them to, we will be making regular trips there to oversee my plans."
"Sounds good to me. It'd be nice to get away from all the damn rain."
"I too will be glad to see the changing of the seasons," agreed Charles. "It has been a particularly wet winter." He shut his laptop and removed a thumb drive before putting it into a carrying case. "So, I heard that Ororo and Hank have resumed dating."
It was a good thing that Logan had not been drinking any liquid because no doubt the Professor's words would have resulted in a spit take. He coughed and said, "I wouldn't have thought you'd be the type interested in the rumor mill, Chuck."
Professor Xavier's waved a hand dismissively. "Unavoidable in a close-knit community such as ours."
"I see," said Logan. He squinted at the older man suspiciously and with good reason because the next words out of Charles' mouth, while spoken casually, were anything but.
"I had been rather under the impression that his heart lay elsewhere." He steepled his fingers together and waited to see the impact of his words.
Logan would never have suspected the professor of being a busybody. "Hey, I'm not gonna sit around with you and gossip about the Beast's love life."
Time passed in silence. Professor Xavier waited with the patience he used in dealing with his students. Finally, Logan sighed. "What do you want me to say?"
"What do you feel like saying?" He leaned back in his black leather office chair. "You're under no obligation to me or anyone else to say anything."
Logan could not meet the other man's eyes. Instead, he stared at the neatly arranged paper stack. He willed them to fall over, but he wasn't Chuck and he wasn't Jeannie. He was just Wolverine, a mutant that could take a hell of a beating.
"You know how he sees her. C'mon, no one can compete with that." The words hurt to say casually, but they needed to be, to lessen how much he was feeling them.
"And it appears that no one is trying."
From across the desk, Logan and Charles locked eyes, a sparkle of challenge in the older man's eyes. For a second, Logan bristled; the words worked, made him want to take up the dare. It was the childish part of him, the part that Hank referred to as petulant. Then, it was as if he was looking from the outside of the situation in, with this amazing mentor who had the ability to control minds and move objects daring him to try and court a blue-furred scientist. He laughed. It was an open, mirthful laugh with not a hint of reservation. Soon, Charles joined him, though he was more subdued in his amusement.
"All right, Chuck," Logan said, wiping at the corner of his eye and coughing. "I get what you're saying. You can be a real pain in the ass."
"The sentiment is shared, Logan."
The next morning Logan headed to the infirmary with a goal. It was so obvious once Chuck had pointed it out. He hadn't fought for Hank because he'd been assuming that Ororo was what Hank wanted. It was true enough too, Logan knew, but he also knew that she wasn't what was best for Hank. He'd been operating under the conviction that whether or not a girl was right for a guy was up to the guy and no one else. Well, fuck that. Logan was Hank's best friend and well, sort of his… well, they were more too. It was still Hank's choice, no one was disputing that, but damned if he was just gonna bow out without even letting his best friend know that he was putting in his bid.
So, with a purposeful swagger, Logan entered the infirmary, rapping with his knuckles on the doorway. He was in luck; the room was empty except for that one kid who always got the nosebleeds and his doctor, the furry trophy himself.
Hank heard the knock and looked up at Logan with a smile. He pushed up his glasses. "I'll be right with you, Logan."
The kid, Logan thought his name might be Fred or Ted or Ed or something, was holding a white rag to his face and tilting his head back.
"We have been over the dangers of nose picking. Are you at least using the saline spray?" Hank asked the small patient.
Ted shrugged. "When I remember to."
"Obviously that method is not proving to be terribly successful. Perhaps you should download an app for your phone that can remind you of such an activity?"
Logan grinned. He walked around the two and took a seat in the comfortable swivel chair that Hank used. It made him feel studious, watching the infirmary from this vantage point. 'I should have become a doctor,' he thought, ridiculously. Hell, for all he knew, he had been a doctor.
Fred was still making excuses. "I don't have money for an app."
"I am sure that there are plenty of free ones," prodded Hank. "Unless you enjoy the taste of copper?"
The kid groaned. "Okay." He pulled the rag off and Logan saw how blood-smeared it was. Gross. "I think it's stopping."
"Good, make sure to rinse it with the saline solution before returning to class, okay?"
Ed agreed and left the room, still pinning the cloth to his nose.
"You should threaten to cut off his pickin' finger," suggested Logan.
Hank smiled at him. "I believe fear-based tactics are your instructional method." He joined Logan around the cluttered desk. "You're in my chair."
"Oh, forgive me!" Logan jumped up and mockingly made bowing motions.
Hank headed to the chair, ready to take it over but Logan stopped him with a hand gently touching his arm. His head cocked to the side, surprised by the contact and, undoubtedly, their proximity. "Logan?" he asked.
Logan was unable to not smile, was not able to keep the brightness from his eyes as he said, "I came for a reason."
Concern darted across Hank's features. "Are you hurt?" he asked. The worry on his friend's face pleased him.
"I have come to say," he started. The nerves jumbled up a bit then, but Logan had said way stupider things in the past, what was one more? Plus, if he failed at this, then that just meant that he was back to where he was before – minus one blue hairball. "I want to be Storm's competition."
Hank blinked at him. It was pretty obvious the poor egghead was stumped as to what Logan meant.
"I want things like they were before she changed her mind about ya." Logan made a back and forth gesture with his hand to indicate the bond between the two of them. "With you and me. I want to compete with her for you."
The confusion in Hank's eyes turned into a softness. The corners of the big blue lips quirked upwards. Then, they suddenly went the opposite direction and his brows knit together. "I don't think that's possible."
Logan sighed. He knew better. He'd told Chuck as much. No one could compete with her royal highness. He blinked rapidly because for some reason his eyes were starting to sting. He dropped the hand that had still been resting lightly on Hank's arm. "Right," he said brusquely.
The smile returned to Hank's face, brighter and more devious. "Because it was mutually decided last night that she remove herself from the competition."
What? Had he heard that right?
Hank crossed his arms across his chest smugly. A pen pushed up from the top of the pocket of his button-up shirt. The nerd always had one handy." It seems," he said pausing for effect. "I am too infatuated with my best friend."
Logan had been a fighter for many years, probably more than he realized. He had survived in situations where he was vastly outnumbered, moved at speeds that a man carrying adamantium weight shouldn't have been able to achieve. Never once, had he moved as quickly as he did now, grabbing Hank and pulling him in for a kiss that he felt he'd earned.
There were lips and tongues and the feel of manly chest against chest. Logan felt strong and alive and wanting. The hands that gripped his back did so tightly and with possessiveness. Hank's breath was warm and familiar, the rhythm of their kiss like a song memorized on a piano.
"You should lock the door," panted Logan. His hands were already traveling to places on Hank that were not really public-friendly.
"Not here," hissed Hank. "My room."
Logan liked that invitation.
The details of how they got to the bed, naked, groping, and kissing were a blur. There was the pain on the back of his head when Logan had kissed him against the door as they were coming in, as though they weren't in a hallway where people traversed. There was the laughter that bubbled up from Logan's chest when he pulled the lubricant and condoms from a drawer, purchases made the night following their Danger Room venture and about an hour of research on the internet about anal intercourse. There was when Logan had left his side for a brief moment to open the window since it had gotten so bloody warm in the room. And then, then it was the two of them, skin against skin and Logan grabbing the lubricant bottle as Hank, too embarrassed to watch, licked the available skin between his neck and nipple.
And now, this was Logan inside him, making love to him or fucking or whatever crude verb this man could concoct for the single mind-shattering reality that the two of them were now connected. Like batteries polarized end to end, plus to minus, the distance between them was negligible.
"You're... You're..." but he couldn't bring himself to say the word "inside." Perhaps it was just too vulgar like a line from a pornographic film or too sappy because if he said it, surely Logan would hear not only the wonder in his voice but also the romance of it, the intensity of it.
The warm breath on his face glided Logan's words across his skin. The "I know," slid down Hank's neck warming the fur on his chest.
What did Logan know? Did he know how powerful this was? Did he really understand the ramifications of this base, carnal connection? He gazed up into Logan's wide-pupiled brown eyes and immediately wished that they had chosen any other position but face to face. For there in Logan's eyes Hank could see something just as powerful as their physical connection and infinitely more imposing. He shut his own quickly, but the expression of desire on his lover's face draped itself over the inside of his eyelids.
Logan continued to ease slowly in and out, taking it slow as if Hank was a virginal schoolgirl and not a six-foot tall fighter. For his part, Hank just tried to breathe and relax. The research he'd done had told him that much. It was hard because his body was so separate from his mind in a way that he'd never felt before. It just wanted Logan out, seeing the penis as an intruder. Hank's mind wanted Logan in until there would be no differentiation between the two of them, until those strong feelings wouldn't be scary anymore.
The bed creaked beneath them. It was a soft sighing sound that synchronized with each apex of pressure that Hank felt inside. It wasn't painful, at least not yet, but it was difficult to stay relaxed. He kept expecting the pain to come.
Logan's tongue brushed against his cheek and his eyes jolted open at the sensation. Logan was half smiling at him. "Where are you, Fuzzy?"
Again Hank thought of words to say that he didn't think he was capable of speaking. The motion around his lower half wasn't stopping, wasn't worsening, and that handsome face was looking at him with pleasured concern. Each nerve of his body was erupting like a chemical reaction had been set off and it made him want to weep or orgasm or both. "Trying not to drown."
He only had time to regret speaking for a second before Logan's lips came down onto his own. They were warm and tempting, teasing. The tongue that had licked his cheek now poked at his own, encouraging oral sparring. It stopped the mental battle, if only briefly, and Hank felt his penis twitch.
Logan re-adjusted himself, leaning his upper body back to get some of his weight off Hank. He laughed, a low sexy chuckle. "You say that, but you ain't even hard."
A quick glance down proved Logan's statement. He wasn't erect, but not for a lack of arousal. Was that normal? It wasn't like he needed an erection for his part in this amazing activity. "It feels… I think it feels good."
Worry freckled Logan's eyes. "You think? Fuck, I'm not doing it right." He pulled himself out.
The warm, hard, sensitizing width of Logan leaving so abruptly made Hank feel empty. Without intending to, he mewled, a sound of submissive protest. His wide eyes met Logan's. "Don't… leave."
Logan's teeth chewed on his lip as he thought. The blatant concern warmed Hank though not nearly as much as Logan sliding back inside him. He shuddered. That was better, so much better. "How do I get you hard?" asked Logan.
"I don't think I need to be."
"But…" It was hard to think because by instinct Logan was still shifting smoothly back and forth. Words were not usually an area of difficulty for Hank. "Want to make sure this is good for you too, Fuzzy."
"It's intense." Understatement of the year. Even the nerve endings of his fingertips felt jolted by the motions of Logan's hips. "I don't want you to stop."
Logan growled. "Not used to being bad in bed. I swear, I'll be better next time."
Hank moaned, from the words (he was already thinking about next time) or the sensation. It wasn't so much that he was feeling less, because he wasn't, but it was becoming less overwhelming. He was anticipating the strokes, anticipating where they would stop and when they would start again. It was feeling good. He realized that the pain was not going to come, that this was as "bad" as it would get. In response to the revelation, he laughed.
Logan's eyebrow demanded an explanation. "It feels good," Hank breathed.
Now it was Logan's turn to laugh. "It's supposed to."
Hank nibbled on the strong sinewy neck. "Do it harder, Logan." He wanted to know what harder felt like. His teeth were clenching when Logan pushed up firmly inside him, bottoming out, and still he squeaked.
"Fuck," said Logan eloquently.
"More." His fingers could not get enough of Logan's ass. His body could not get enough of Logan's cock. Every molecule was greedy, calling out his lover's name and demanding more.
Logan ground into him deeply and slowly. Hank felt like a fire being stoked. His insides quivered, a strange pressure building inside of him. He gasped. "Logan."
"Mmm, say my name again."
Hank could feel the smile against his ear. He could also feel the cock moving faster in and halfway out of him. He whined a little before saying Logan's name again, as requested.
Logan's movements stopped suddenly. He panted. "I, um, I gotta take a break or I'm gonna…"
They looked at each other. Hank did not know that he had ever wanted so badly for his lover to orgasm. He would feel it and, dear god, if Logan hadn't been wearing a condom, it would stay inside him. "Please don't stop." He added "Logan," since the man seemed to respond so well to it.
Logan growled and kissed him, hips crashing hard against him. The speed coupled with the depth was again overpowering to Hank's senses. He felt nearly on the edge of fainting, stars hitting the back of his eyelids each time he took in Logan all the way. He held onto Logan's back, along for the ride, barely a participant because his mind had snapped too much for him to move. Hank could hear himself repeating "please" over and over and he finally had to bite down on his lower lip to stop. What was happening to him? The phrase 'coming undone' floated through his mind.
With a final growl of possessive pleasure, Logan came. He rode the waves, jerking unsteadily against Hank's ass. Logan's head rested on his chest, the sweat from his hair dripping down onto Hank's fur.
It had been glorious.
Once Logan's breathing evened, he promised, "I'll get better."
"Not sure I could take it being better."
They both giggled in raspy, sexed out voices. This was what having a friend for a lover was. It was sex and laughter, passion and comfort.
Logan sat up, legs straddling Hank's, his cock already out of Hank's body through natural deflation. A smirk graced his handsome lips. "Alright, I've never done this and I probably won't be very good, so bear with me." Then his head lowered to between Hank's wobbly legs.
The myriad of feelings – shame that he wasn't erect, surprise and excitement that Logan was willing to perform fellatio upon him – fluttered away as his limp but interested cock was caught up in a swirl of warmth and wetness.
He could have recognized Logan's mouth by the feeling alone. They had kissed so many times now that even his penis knew that tongue. He needn't have worried about his erection for it immediately began to enlarge, like one of the snake fireworks that curl slowly upwards. He moaned.
Logan noted, with an abundance of amusement in his voice, "Now we're talking." His head bobbed roughly on the now firm cock.
It felt good, of course, but the speed and the exaggeration of the movement was a bit too much. "Too much," he whispered, anxious that his input would make Logan feel insecure. He should have known better.
"Sorry, going off porn; rookie mistake."
Hank laughed. "Stick with what you like, Logan."
"Ah, in that case…" said Logan. He took Hank's entire length into his mouth and his wonderfully talented fingers caressed Hank's balls.
It made Hank groan. He shivered. Such lovely sensations that he didn't care if Logan ever breathed again so long as his mouth stayed right where it was.
Logan's throat made a squelching noise and he pulled off Hank's cock. He coughed. "Damn, women make this look so easy." He looked up at Hank, trying to see how bad of a job he was doing. He was encouraged by Hank's glazed over eyes and swollen lips. He returned to what he was doing, pulling as much of the swollen dick into his mouth as he could. His fingers roamed further back from Hank's balls, moving to the delightful hole he'd just been buried in.
Hank's moan coincided with a twitch in his cock. Logan would have smiled if he didn't have his mouth full. His index and middle finger slid inside, the path already slick with lubricant. "Logan!" Hank cried.
He moved his other hand onto the cock's base, squeezing upwards until his fist collided with his lips sliding down from the head. Hank was getting louder, closer. Logan's own erection, so recently sated, reappeared as though it had reinforcements. A wicked thought went through his mind and, as so often happened with Logan, he immediately set the wicked thought into action.
Hank wanted to protest about Logan's mouth leaving his cock unattended, but he didn't because he saw Logan reaching for the box of condoms again. What would it be like now that he too was hard? He didn't have to wait long to find out, because after some additional lubricant, Logan was back inside him. This time Hank knew it wouldn't hurt, knew that it would feel good. "Logan…." he sighed.
When Logan's hand reached down and took hold of his cock, Hank wanted to cry with happiness. He loved this, the feeling of his lover buried deep inside of him with the electric tingle of his cock's nerve endings being titillated. He whimpered.
"Fuck Hank, you feel amazing," said Logan.
Naughty words said with such sweet reverence. Hank's back arched. He wanted his orgasm, wanted Logan to fuck it out of him. Again that 'please' word fell from his lips, over and over like a religious psalm. He ached with need, enflamed by the buffeting of Logan's hips and the stroking of his penis. The "please" was becoming higher, whinier.
"I'm inside of you," whispered Logan. So, he had understood!
Hank's insides quivered, he felt his balls tighten, felt his limps stiffen and shake. When he came it was unstoppable and enormous. He bucked his hips and Logan grabbed underneath them, pulling him upwards, closer to the pleasure, to that trigger. "Logan!" he cried, the semen shooting between them.
Logan gasped as his cock was clenched so tightly that it was actually too tight, his lover's hungry body insatiable, working his cock for all it was worth.
The jerking of Hank's body lasted for nearly a half minute as the longest-lasting orgasm of his life overwhelmed every one of his senses. Logan stayed firm and still inside him. He looked up into Logan's eyes and exhaled loudly, the orgasm finally ending.
"Mmm," Hank said stupidly.
Logan laughed. "High praise from such an intellectual," he joked.
Feeling it was a good time, he pulled out of Hank who made a wooshing noise in response to the change. He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Logan felt proud of himself. He raised up his arms so that his head was laying back on his hands.
"Where's my cigarette?" asked Hank.
"What?"
"As I understood it, I was to be smoking after you had your way with me." Hank laughed at how long it took Logan to remember. When he did, they were both laughing, the humor of the post-orgasmic was an easy thing to ignite.
"You mind if I sleep a bit?" asked Rogue.
Logan didn't mind being her chauffeur. "Nah."
He tried to keep an eye on the road as she climbed over the passenger seat and into the back. He'd be a pretty shitty chauffeur if he got into an accident while she wasn't buckled up. Once she got back there, he wriggled out of his leather jacket and tossed it back to her.
"This stinks!" she complained.
"Fine, don't take it then."
"I didn't say I didn't want it!" She curled up in a fetal position with the jacket draped across her as a blanket.
Logan grunted. "Women…"
She didn't bother to respond to him and he suspected that she was already thinking about what life back at the mansion would hold for her. Maybe she'd start teaching there now. Rogue hadn't exactly been clear about her intentions. All he knew was that she was back and that was good enough for him.
He smiled at the lump in the backseat.
'Looking forward to getting' back home myself, Kiddo,' he thought to himself. He'd thought "home" not "school" or mansion." He pictured Hank, glasses at the edge of his nose looking at him like he was the biggest moron on the planet, and lining up a pool shot like a surgeon ready to cut, and swinging from branch to branch like a rabid gorilla, and finally, beneath him and looking up at him with awe, like he was a god or something. That was the moment when realized that sometimes home wasn't a place but a person.