Work Text:
Game
Logan was awake. He knew someone was in his room who had no business being there. He sniffed cautiously and got the scent of freshly-showered Summers. He almost said his name, but the guy was just standing in the doorway, tense and wary. It was smart to be wary of a guy who sometimes sprang out of nightmares of his lost past with his claws unfurled and rage on his breath. Still, Summers should have said something by now.
Of course, nothing about Scott Summers was particularly predictable at the moment. He had gone to pieces spectacularly after Jean's death, and Logan, who didn't approve of messing with people's heads, conspicuously hadn't been a holdout when Xavier had said something needed to be done and he was not sure how ethical he could afford to be. Given that Summers by that point was an unshaven, sleep-deprived wreck, who wasn't eating, didn't show up to take any of his classes, and looked like deep-fried crap, Logan had found himself uncharacteristically out of objections when Xavier said, "I don't think Scott is going to get through this if I don't take action which the rest of you might find…problematic."
It had been Logan, Hank, and Storm in the warm-paneled study at the time. There had been a globe gently spinning, and the scent that wafted in from the open window had smelled like the past, like a time when Jean was still alive, and the bees weren't humming into a world where she no longer existed.
Hank said heavily, "As long as you're not intending to tamper with his memories of Jean…."
"I would never do that," Xavier said.
It was Storm who said, "Do you think the psychic connection between Scott and Jean is still…switched on?"
It was the first Logan had heard of their psychic connection. The first time he'd realized that Jean had been able to break Summers' Stryker-imposed conditioning through it, and bring him back to himself because their love was just so goddamn special. "She's dead," he said bleakly, bitter at being reminded again of how far he had ever been from winning her. "All that can be coming through now is static."
"It's left him uniquely vulnerable to the predations of other telepaths. I think for his sanity's sake, it needs to be switched off. I can do it while he's asleep. I hope that it won't either hurt him or do him any harm but the truth is, I can't be sure. I just don't think he can go on like this."
Xavier's eyes had pleaded for his understanding, while Logan had been aware of Hank and Storm both waiting – hoping? – for him to be the opposing voice; the advocate for some tough love, a stiff drink, and a reminder to Scott about his responsibilities. He wondered how crass they thought he was. Was this the point where he was supposed to suggest bringing in a hooker? Logan had met Xavier's gaze and said, "You've known him the longest. It's not my call." And he had turned and walked out.
Later Xavier had insisted on finding Logan in his room and telling him again that he was just going to slip into the guy's mind when he was sleeping and cut off that single connection; that he hated to do it. He promised Logan he wasn't going to move the mental furniture. He would be as gentle as he could. Logan had said again, grimly, "It's not my call."
"You're one of Scott's friends. You have the right to be reassured –"
"I didn't ask for reassurance. I told you, do it or don't do it – it's up to you." He saw the pain flicker across Xavier's face and remembered that this guy had lost an adopted daughter and was watching an adopted son go to pieces in front of him; that he wasn't infallible or omniscient. He was just someone trying to do the right thing; someone who would have appreciated the support from someone of his own generation. He wondered how many times in the last few weeks Xavier would have been reaching out to Magneto if the guy wasn't wearing a telepath-blocking helmet. Logan didn't feel as old as he probably was, but he was sure as hell older than anyone else in this kindergarten of crazy.
Logan said, "Look, if it makes you feel better, I think someone needs to do something. I don't think Cyke's coming back without some kind of kick in the ass or extra strength painkiller. He's just…hurting too bad."
Xavier put a hand up to his head. "It's just that his mind has been tampered with so many times. I don't want to –"
"Be the creep from the orphanage who used to fuck with him for fun? That ain't you, Chuck. And you know the real reason you want my input more than you want to hear from Beast or Storm?"
"Enlighten me."
"It's because I'm not his friend. Hell, I don't even have his best interests at heart. I just want him to stop brooding in his bedroom and get his ass back to class so I don't have to keep covering for him, and, you know what? I think something needs to be done, too. And if it makes you feel better, the view from the Doesn't Give A Rat's Ass About Scott Summers gallery is still that – if he's an open door to every telepath in the universe right now – I think you better find a way to lock the door. I don't feel too comfortable about the thought of any rogue mind being able to control a guy who can level buildings with his eyes."
Xavier looked a little cheered. "You make some excellent points, Logan."
"Yeah. I'm a Magic 8 Ball of wisdom."
Logan exhaled like a sleeper, quiet and steady and Summers went on standing there, creepily silent, like his own personal stalker. Then he came across the room, silent-footed, but wary as a deer approaching the waterhole when it knew the wolves were out. He said, in the softest of whispers, "Logan…?" Then leaned over him like he was steeling himself to try a triple somersault off the high diving board.
Tensed for pain, Logan wondered if the guy had just lost it and was going to stab him with the kitchen scissors or something. He didn't even know why he was letting this play out, except that he wanted to know why Summers was creeping around his bedroom in the middle of the night, and if the guy was now completely off his gourd it might be an idea for them to find out.
The telepathic severing of the connection to Jean had taken place at two a.m. Everyone in the school knew that, because everyone in the goddamned school had been woken up by Summers screaming.
Logan had shot into the room, wearing very little, claws out, hair standing on end, only to find Xavier almost in tears himself by the side of Scott Summers' bed and Summers sobbing in his arms as he said, "She's gone, Professor. Jean's gone…."
"I know, Scott. I know, and I'm so sorry –"
It was Logan who'd ended up hauling six-foot-plus of distraught mutant off the tenderly sympathetic Xavier and shoving him back into bed. Scott had felt brittle to the touch, like kindling, and about as resilient. Even those leather uniforms would have hung on this version of Summers. The guy was starving himself to a shadow of what he needed to be to lead a team of mutants into battle. Logan had told Xavier that he would handle this, and the second the guy had rolled regretfully out of the room, had given Summers a brief, brutal shake by the shoulders that made his teeth click together, and said fiercely, "Look at me, and listen!"
Summers had his hands to his head, still shuddering from the pain of that connection being broken, and all Logan wanted to do was put his arms around him and hold him, like he'd done in the Blackbird when they were both lacerated with that fresh grief, but they were three months past Mr Nice Guy here. Mr Nice Guy really wasn't going to cut it. He slapped him lightly on the cheek, "Summers! Snap out of it! She's been gone all this time. You just didn't want to let her go."
"I could hear her…."
He shook him again; deliberately tightening the grip Summers was too grief-wrecked to notice until he achieved a flinch. "All you could hear were echoes. She's gone. And you don't need any more voices in your head. You were an open door to every telepath who felt like fucking with you. Now, you're not. Suck it up and enjoy the silence."
Scott angrily wiped the tears from his cheeks and said, "You wouldn't say that if you'd ever had what we had…!"
Logan got to his feet and walked towards the door. "That's the point, isn't it? I never did. You were lucky – you did, and I'm sorry you didn't have it for longer but you could take a moment to be grateful for having it at all." Logan gazed back at him from the doorway, grimly uncompromising. "Now, get some sleep. I'm tired of covering for you. I'm tired of telling a bunch of scared, grieving kids who damned near died, too, that you're going to be fine while all you do is throw yourself a pity party. And I'm really tired of not slapping you the way I want to. Sack up, Summers. You're supposed to be a leader – start acting like one."
He closed the door and leaned against the wall in the corridor outside. Storm's beautiful eyes swam into his sight mistily and he couldn't tell which one of them was crying, but he was afraid it might be him.
There was more tenderness in her voice than indignation as she said softly, "Logan, how could you?"
"Somebody had to," Logan pushed himself wearily off the wall. "I seemed like the best candidate."
Storm said, "I'm sorry if you feel we leave it to you to –"
"Be the bad guy? Don't worry, I'm used to it." He held up a warning finger. "Do not go in there and start comforting him."
For a weather goddess, she really was a pushover sometimes. She darted a wretched look at the closed door behind which they both knew Scott Summers was probably still weeping for his lost Lenore.
Logan said quietly, "Storm, there isn't any comfort for him. The woman he loved is dead and she ain't ever coming back. There's no way to make that better. The only thing that will help him is time and taking his mind off how much it hurts, and if he doesn't get his head back in the game, he's not going to live long enough for the pain to fade. He doesn't need hugs. He needs to get back to work. Leave him alone and don't be too nice to him. Nice, right now, is just gonna get him killed."
The next day Summers had sacked up. He'd showered and shaved and turned up to teach his classes, but he'd kinda hated Logan, which had also kinda made two of them. Day by day, he'd reconstructed a version of Scott Summers out of the wreckage of the old one – one who sounded and acted and looked pretty much the same as the past version, even if he was still light a few pounds. This one was just more scarred and more numb in the places where he wasn't wounded. Logan had given the guy some space to get his dignity back, letting him fake his way through the first few days until he stopped just acting like Summers and became him again. When they worked together, they did so crisply, and with no unnecessary words. Not for the first time, Logan wished he could see what was going on behind that visor, while he suspected Scott had never been so grateful to have it as a barrier between himself and the world.
The kids were happier. They needed the grown-ups not to fall apart in front of them too often, and they'd lost Jean as well. They needed everyone to be strong, so everyone was strong, including Summers. Even if he was most likely just empty and aching inside, his veneer was impeccable once more.
Xavier said, "Thank you, Logan," and Logan felt like a heel, but Scott was more or less Scott again, and no one else had died.
Except the guy was now standing by his bedside in this darkened room, with his heart beating too fast, and his training-honed muscles coiled tight as a snare, and Logan was tensed for the blow that he knew was coming; wondering all the while if Summers, the math nerd, had studied the geometry of his healing factor and found a way to break it.
That was when Summers bent down abruptly and kissed him on the mouth. It was a clumsy, stumbling kiss, with a snagged gasp of desperation about it. Logan was shocked, too shocked to do anything for a second as that mouth stuttered awkwardly against his, and then he grabbed a fistful of Summer's hair to hold him still and kissed him back, shocked by the flame of lust their clashing mouths lit in his crotch. He was angry at how badly Summers had scared him, and he wanted to scare him back, but he was also genuinely turned on, when he grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over his body to land on his back on the bed. Logan was on him in an instant, bending low to kiss his mouth again, his kiss, this time, the way he wanted it: slow and deepening, his tongue demanding admittance, curling around Summers', everything hot and moist and tasting of toothpaste. His body flexed in response, hardening, and he licked inside Summers' mouth delicately, then kissed the side of his mouth, his jaw, his cheekbone –
Summers pulled away from him. Logan held up his hands and let him do whatever it was he wanted to do – which turned out to be scrambling out from under Logan in an undignified fashion, half-falling off the bed, and then getting to his feet to say breathlessly, "You want more than that, Logan, you're going to have to take it."
He sped from the room, leaving Logan confused and aroused and with no idea what the hell that had been about. Thoroughly irritated, he stumbled into the shower, ran the water as hot as he could bear, and pulled at his cock with steady, loving strokes, imagining it was Scott's hand touching him like that, tender and careful and wanting to please him. He came incredibly fast.
Set
In the field, the second coming of Scott Summers was once again stoic, calm, and perennially competent, but alone in the dark he was nervy and restless – at least alone in the dark with Logan. Which was why, up until now, Logan had been treading as warily as if Scott Summers was a half-rotted rope bridge over a bottomless ravine.
It was three weeks since Summers had come into his room at night. Logan had waited with interest to see what the next play was and the guy had ignored him, like it had never happened, leaving Logan increasingly irritable and not a bit less aroused.
It was two weeks since he had decided to make his own move. He had waited until the kids had filed out after a lesson involving the heady scent of engine oil, then grabbed Summers by the t-shirt in the garage and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. Summers had returned the kiss with more finesse this time, tongue slicking in eagerly, deftly curling, body pressing back with interest, grinding against him, making Logan swell to painful hardness before Summers stepped back, said, "Ask next time, Logan," and hit him with the force beams, knocking him against the garage wall. And, okay, Cyke had them turned down to low, and the blast, for once, had been more like riding a gentle zephyr to a slightly rough landing rather than his usual solar plexus punch, but it had still made Logan spring up angrily and pop his claws. By then, of course, Summers had taken his taut little ass into the mansion as if nothing had happened.
The next day Summers had pulled Logan into a closet. Logan had kissed him hungrily and Summers had groaned through gritted teeth as Logan found them both a rhythm that worked. They had rubbed against each other sweatily in the dark while elbowing off brooms and mops and the unsympathetic edges of shelves, and Summers had come with a breath-hitch and strangled sound, like he was damned if he was going to admit how much he'd needed that, then clamped both hands over Logan's mouth to stifle the chesty roar of his satisfaction.
"Tell the world, why don't you?" he demanded. "Can you even spell 'clandestine'?"
Logan panted raggedly, "Slim, you are the dictionary definition of 'in need of a good seeing to'."
"Well, you're a hero these days, aren't you, Wolverine? Step up and accept the mission."
At which point, Summers had smoothed down his hair, zipped himself up, and stepped out of the closet as if nothing could have been more unlikely than him just having indulged in some intense frottage among the mop handles, like a hormonal teenager. In fact, in the brief glimpse Logan got of him in the light before the door closed so firmly, he looked so impossibly tidy that he couldn't help wondering how many times Jean had banged the guy in the broom closet before they both went to class, with neither of them betraying a hair out of place.
And, okay, the healing factor gave him a fast recovery time, but that last zinger had been enough to get him painfully hard again, and he was sure Summers, the little shit, had done it on purpose. Which was how Logan had come to be self-abusing in the dark corners of a mutant school, which was at once sick, and all Summers' fault.
Every day, there had been a secret meeting, always somewhere shadowy, and they had made out like teenagers, hot and heavy, but not quite going all the way. Summers hadn't wanted sweet nothings – he'd hushed Logan every time he got even close to paying him a compliment – and he hadn't wanted too many caresses that weren't to do with getting them off. When Logan had started stroking anything that wasn't his cock, Summers would firmly redirect his fingers. He'd melt into a kiss and then jolt himself out of it, turning his head in a way he had to know was hurtful, like he wanted to get Logan mad. Twice, Logan had, grabbing him by the hair and shoving his head back against the wall of the closet they were making out in before demanding admittance for his tongue with bruising, angry kisses that Summers had welcomed so much more eagerly than the gentle ones. Logan had blown him three times, and Summers had come, crying out and trying to stifle the sound with a fist in the mouth, but he hadn't offered to return the favor.
If Logan's fingers strayed too close to his opening, Summers would get flighty and pull away, like he wanted it and didn't, at the same time. Logan hadn't pushed it. He didn't blame the guy for being wary. He didn't even know if Summers was leery because he'd never done it before or because he'd been made to do it when he didn't want to. Summers wasn't good about sharing. He'd never said word one to Logan about his fucked up nightmare of a childhood; and, unlike everyone else, he had the luxury of being able to hide the look in his eyes, so even when someone mentioned Sinister, and Summers' fists curled and his spine tensed, and his teeth ground, no one could actually say for sure that he had crazy eyes.
So, climbing into bed with Summers was climbing into bed with a lot of stuff Logan knew about because he'd been there to witness it – most of it bad – and a lot of stuff that had happened before his time but that Logan had been told about – most of it bad – and a lot of stuff no one was talking about and Summers wasn't sharing, which, given the evidence, Logan assumed probably wasn't all good either. All that baggage and optic beams powerful enough to blast Logan through a wall as well. Suggesting that Logan was either a masochist or perhaps just recognized that he was the only other person on the planet who was probably as memory fissured, ghost-haunted, and screwed up as Scott Summers himself, making them…well, whatever the hell this was.
So far, this was Scott Summers, naked, lying on his back on a motel bed, and Logan, also naked, kneeling over him. And now they weren't tugging and biting at one another in a dark storage closet, but were finally under the light that Logan had insisted they left on, he could finally see the guy he'd been making out with for the past few weeks. Despite all the workouts, Slim's smooth, long-bodied outline still had the slenderness of youth. His shoulders were broad and he was hard with muscle, but it was lean muscle, washboard abs leading to a hollow stomach, long, taut thighs, not an ounce of surplus fat anywhere. There was an…elegance to the guy that made Logan feel bulky looming over him, his own arm and thigh muscles huge by comparison. It was also impossible not to look at that sculpted torso with its incredibly taut muscles and not be aware that he could fold this guy in half if he needed to and he would bend just right to take it.
He was more than a little angry with Cyke right now, because he didn't like being used, and he was pretty sure that was what was happening here, and had been happening all along. He didn't want or need flowery speeches but he had never been a guy that went in for empty sex, and Summers wasn't telling him a damned thing about what was going on in his head. He'd been asking around, and apparently the guy just didn't talk about his feelings, he wasn't singling Logan out for exclusion, but it still felt to him that, if he was being singled out for sweaty sex in every storage closet in the school, he ought to also be entitled to some intimacy, and so far, Summers hadn't once let him in.
Logan was starting to think that half the reason why he was so hot to slip his dick into that perfect Summers ass was because he was imagining that act would be the one that clinched things; the proof that they weren't just two guys who didn't like each other, having casual hook ups in dark corners. Logan still thought that letting a guy go to that place was an act of trust, and right now he could really have done with some assurance that Scott Summers trusted him. Because, looking at that chiseled, model-boy face on the pillow, he had no idea if this guy even liked him.
It was all the more worrying that he didn't know because it was amazing how expressive a face could be with its eyes concealed, and, tonight, Summers, despite having been the one to book the room and arrange the rendezvous, was doubt-fissured and resentful. When Logan tried to get him to loosen up, he flinched from kisses as if they were bites, wary as if there was a scorpion under the sheets. He was high-strung as a thoroughbred, sweetly salt. Logan licked at his skin with long, leisurely swipes of his tongue, while Summers tensed and shivered, angrily, resisting the sensations, like this was a battle they were fighting and he mustn't give in. A better man would have been more understanding, maybe, but it made Logan want to pin him down and make him settle.
Grabbing his wrists and holding them one in each hand, he growled deep in his chest. "Christ, Slim, you're like a kid who's had too many e-numbers, will you come down from that goddamned sugar high and relax?"
Summers said pettishly, "You're too big."
He realized that this was the first time that Summers had got a good look at what he'd been rubbing up against. He wondered if some of his annoyance was good old alpha male competitive instincts kicking in, irritation spilling out at the realization he'd been bested. Summers was just fine down there, more than fine, in fact, and Logan could see why all the girls couldn't get enough of him, but Logan was downright blessed.
Logan snorted. "Every day, you go up against robot Sentinels, evil corporations, mad scientists, the freaking brotherhood, or mutant-hating crazies, and you kick their candy asses every time. You're not afraid of any man's cock."
"I didn't say I was afraid of it. I just said it's too big."
"Cocks are like bank accounts, Cyke, they can't be too big."
That maddeningly beautiful mouth down-turned in prissy disapproval. "Perhaps I find it aesthetically displeasing…?"
"Perhaps I'm going to shove it up your ass anyway."
Summers flexed under Logan's hands, aroused and angry about it, while his cock gave a telltale twitch. He didn't smell scared, just turned on, which was a relief. Logan got that it was a bitch – not wanting to give any ground to a guy who kept throwing down challenges while really wanting him to fuck you, and – worse – knowing he knew how much you wanted him because he could smell it all over you. Summers had his sympathy. Summers was also a screwed up little shit who was driving Logan crazy with this stop-go courtship.
There was a pause while Logan just kept kneeling over him, holding him by the wrists, Summers lying between his legs, naked and beautiful and incredibly annoying. Summers said, "So, what are you waiting for…?"
Logan rolled his eyes. "Has every crazy telepath who ever tried to bang your brains out just climbed on board without so much as a 'by your leave'?"
"Jean was always very gentle with me."
Logan growled at him, because they both knew that Logan did not include Jean Grey in any mere litany of crazy telepaths. "The only crazy thing Jean ever did was prefer you to me," Logan told him.
Summers smirked at him smugly, like her name didn't wound him to the core. "Still sore about that, Logan?"
"Eternally," Logan promised him.
"So, don't you want payback?"
Logan slackened his grip on those strong, fine-boned wrists. Revelation was coming in like a wet November morning, chilling him to the marrow. "Are you looking for someone to punish you, Cyke?"
"Don't tell me you don't want to?" The comeback was swift.
It was strange to discover that, no, he didn't want to. Annoying although Scott Summers undoubtedly was, Logan had no desire whatsoever to add to the list of bad things that had been done to him. That wasn't necessarily something he might be very wise to share, though, for both their sakes. He was getting that sense of déjà vu again; the one that sometimes ushered in a really agonizing memory flash or, as now, came with the revelation that someone needed him to be the bad guy again.
"What do you think?" he growled.
Summers nodded in satisfaction. "So – do your thing, Logan."
Logan realized that he was being used. Again. The difference this time was that at least the person using him was just confused. Scott didn't want the first relationship he had since Jean's death to be a betrayal of her memory, so every other female mutant was apparently off the table this time, especially the telepaths – always a subset for whom Summers exerted a strange fascination. And, as a low scorer on the Kinsey scale, there probably weren't that many male mutants that Scott Summers could get it up for. Logan supposed he should be flattered that he was one of them. It played on his tongue to ask if Beast had turned him down, but, of course, Hank would have been a non-starter anyway. Hank wouldn't hurt him.
Summers had him at a disadvantage with those pretty eyes of his hidden, but Logan was at least as good a poker player. He kept his expression blank. "You've done this before, right?"
"Sure."
Even accompanied by a careless shrug, that smelled like a lie. Logan just nodded, like he believed him.
When Summers said casually, "Make it hurt," Logan grimaced inwardly, because it didn't seem to occur to him that Logan might not enjoy that, that it might actually hurt him to have to hurt someone he was having sex with. You're not just a screwed up little shit, Summers, you're a selfish screwed-up little shit. Except, the truth, of course, was that he was just so damned damaged. Which was why he was buck-naked on his back between the legs of a guy he didn't think liked him.
Logan growled, "Look, I'm not a machine. I can't get it up without something going on first."
"You got it up okay those other times."
"Because, I thought you were into it."
Summers did have the grace to grimace. "I – was."
"You don't need to lie to save my feelings, Cyke. This was always the end game, right?"
"No. I mean – yes, but – it wasn't…a lie."
"Really? What part of pretending you were hot for me when all you were hot for was me hurting you wasn't a lie?"
If Summers had been on his game, Logan would never have been able to play him like this. This was the guy who never went into a situation without a plan, a back-up plan, a back-up plan for his back-up plan, and a substitute plan sitting on the bench in case it was needed. This was the guy who, at barely twenty-six, could outthink an old hand like Magneto. The guy who always led from the front, the ethical pragmatist who had asked Logan to avoid as much collateral damage as possible when Logan was in full claws-out berserker rage and to look where he was throwing that crazed evil mutant because, hey, Logan's testosterone might be off the charts, but that guy's car might not be paid for.
He said, "It wasn't – It was more complicated than that…. Damnit, Logan, can't you just get on with it?"
Logan looked hard into the sunglasses that were hiding his eyes. "That's some sweet talk you got there, Slim. Very smooth."
Summers grimaced, irritable and aroused and horribly unhappy. Logan hadn't even known that unhappiness had a scent until this minute but now he realized that it did, and that it didn't smell like grief; this wasn't a repining ache for the past, this was present misery. Through gritted teeth, Summers said, "Do you want to fuck me or not?"
The trouble with Summers, the master strategist, was that he saw things through. He didn't give up when things were hopeless; he tried to find another way to make the plan work, even if, as in this case, the plan was really dumb.
Logan said, "Scott, I want to have sex with you, you know I do. Hell, I've been trying to get into that damned fine ass of yours for nearly a month. I just can't do it cold. Can't we at least make out a little?"
Uncertainty flickered across those chiseled features, like Summers suspected there was a trap but couldn't see yet how it was going to be sprung.
"I need to get warmed up," Logan persisted.
Summers said warily, "Okay…."
Logan leaned down and kissed him, gently, the way they hadn't kissed before, because everything had been irritation and hormones and free-flowing pheromones until now, and Summers that annoying guy leading him round by the dick. Except now Summers was truly in focus and, without all the sleight-of-hand, he was a young damaged guy, who had already been through way too much crap, who Logan was pretty sure didn't even know that what he truly wanted was some tenderness. Logan brushed his mouth across those sculpted lips, and Scott's mouth opened in response. Logan slipped his tongue inside, not demanding, the way it had always been before, just like it belonged there, and Scott made a confused little sound and kissed back, like he needed it so badly, body yearning up towards his. Logan kept kissing him, deep and tender and slow and hot, pulling back to check that Scott would follow him with his mouth, which he did, every time.
Supporting Scott's head in his right hand, Logan mussed his soft, dark hair with his left with rhythmic strokes of his thumb while his tongue kept delving, and then pulling back, delving and then letting him up for air. Scott was still fighting him, tensed and shivering, but wanting to give way, even though he didn't know it yet, even though he thought this was a battle he had to fight and win, all he really wanted to do, just for once, was let someone else take charge. He stank of loss and need and loneliness and Logan hurt for him.
He kissed down his cheekbone, down his jaw, his throat, licked across his chest, making him shiver helplessly when he sucked at his nipples. Everything in him was responding, he kept yearning towards Logan like he was magnetic north and then fighting it back down.
Scott turned his head away with a visible effort and said wretchedly, "Logan, please just fuck me."
Logan wondered if this wasn't just punishment the guy was seeking, but a cure for having feelings for Logan; if he thought that it would be so horrible an experience – Logan being the animal he was – that Scott would never want to get naked with him again. It was impossible to guess which kind of crazy was swimming around in Scott Summers' head right now, but Logan didn't like any situation where he had to be the sane one.
"I'm getting there." Logan kissed on down, lower and lower, until his mouth was hot on Scott's twitching cock. He licked up the length of it, and it began to harden at once, flushing darker as Logan licked then sucked then took each ball into his mouth in turn and breathed on it, hot and heavy. Scott's spine arched and his legs opened reflexively, as he canted them up, exposing himself in a way that made Logan tighten from the balls all the way to the straining head. A strangled whimper got away from Scott before he swallowed hard and clamped his mouth shut. Stubborn little shit, Logan thought with a rush of affection that surprised him. He was hard himself now, straining and aching with it; oozing precum, he couldn't exactly go on faking being lukewarm about the idea when his cock was blood-flushed and dripping. Scott's clean little opening looked tiny next to it, utterly untried, and he felt a surge of misgiving.
Logan said, "Did you bring lube?"
"We don't need lube!"
Logan wondered if there was anyone else in the world who could get him this turned on, feeling this sorry for him, and this mad at him at the same time. He sure as hell hoped not because one was definitely enough. He said, "Fine!"
He looked right where Scott's eyes should be as he put his middle finger in his own mouth and licked it provocatively. Scott tensed up, which Logan thought was a pretty good guide to how he was really feeling about taking a dick up his ass. Still gazing at those impassive red shades, he reached down and slid the tip of his finger in. Scott flinched and then flinched again as Logan began to push it into him very carefully. His ass smelled of soap, which was so typical, of course, that he would obligingly wash every crevice but not slick himself up for easier penetration. He supposed, given that the word 'tightass' seemed to want to fit naturally in between the words 'Scott' and 'Summers', he shouldn't be so surprised that the guy's ass was so incredibly…tight, but this was not a place that was relaxed and receptive, that was for damned sure.
Still working his finger in by careful degrees, Logan bent his head and began to mouth at his cock again, trying to get him to loosen up. He sucked him skillfully, and, with his mouth hot on the head of Scott's cock, there was finally some lessening of resistance, a gradual unclamping, until he could finally slide his finger all the way in. He grated his teeth on his cock deliberately to make him spasm and flex, and then, as he sucked hard on the head, and Scott moaned, re-slicked his fingers with his own precum and worked a second finger into him. Scott arched and grimaced, but he pushed back. Logan still wasn't sure if Scott wanted it, but Scott was ensuring that he damned well took it all the same, wriggling down onto Logan's fingers with panting breaths. He just wished he could be sure this wasn't the equivalent of Scott fighting on through a Danger Room exercise with a pulled tendon. Scott pushed down onto his flexing fingers obligingly until they were knuckle-deep inside him, while Logan thought grimly of old Boy's Own Adventure covers, this one labeled Scott Sees It Through.
Logan twisted his fingers carefully, trying to find his hot spot and knew he had it when Scott gasped. Logan brushed over it again, pulled back, worked the muscle gently, pushed back in, found that little gland again and made Scott thrust back against him spasmodically, no longer guy taking it like a man, but guy fascinated by brand new thing he had never even known his body could do. Scott jolted in clumsy response while Logan kept finger-fucking him carefully. Finally, he was warming up and relaxing, and thanks to the precum with which he kept coating them, his fingers were sliding in easily now. As Logan's mouth bobbed over his cock and Logan's fingers flicked across his prostate, Scott gave a little moan of confusion at all the new sensations flooding through his body.
Even so when he added another finger, it was still a tight fit. As he worked his fingers in, Logan took his mouth off his cock and said quietly, "You okay?"
"Just fuck me!" Scott said angrily. "Shove your dick inside me, Logan! How hard can it be?"
Logan growled in frustration, pulled his fingers out of his ridiculously clean little ass, and prowled angrily back up his body in a way that made Scott go still and quiet and mesmerized, like a herd animal singled out by a lone, hungry predator. Logan slid the back of his hand behind Scott's head and pulled him up roughly for a deep, demanding kiss, thrusting his tongue in with all the arrogance of possession. They dueled tongues, Scott giving as good as he got, while Logan's free hand roamed low and pulled at Scott's hardening cock, which was getting more aroused every second, beginning to bob urgently, leaking fluid.
Again Scott turned his head away, saying brokenly, "Please…?"
Pulling back, Logan said, "I'm not cheese-grating my dick for you, kid, so, if you want me inside you, you'd better get me good and wet."
Logan was slammed down on the bed so fast he was momentarily breathless, particularly when Scott grabbed his hips so hard he would have left bruises on anyone else, and began to mouth and suck and lick at his cock like it was at once an impenetrable and frustrating mystery and the world's best ice cream.
He had to close his eyes because he didn't want Scott seeing the expression in them as he realized that the guy had never given anyone a blowjob before, and he didn't know exactly how it was done. Being Scott, it was driving him nuts not to know, because he was the kind of guy who always read the manual before he switched something on, and now Logan was all switched on – and how – and Scott hadn't even known there was a manual he should have read. Logan lay back and let him figure it out himself, needing a minute to let the Iamnotgoingtofeelfuckingsorryforhim ebb away, even though the guy had spent the last month stalking the only person in the school who he thought might be willing to overlook the fact that he was a grief-crazed widower for long enough to bang him anyway. Even though he'd done that when he'd never had sex with a guy before, any guy, any time, anywhere – which was a good thing, Logan guessed, as it meant he at least hadn't been abused in that way even if he had in pretty much every other way imaginable.
Damn, Scott was a fast learner! He'd forgotten how smart the guy was, how good at adapting to new situations and new problems and coming up with a solution. He'd got that Logan liked it when he licked up the underside, tongued along the vein, but that he liked it most of all when he mouthed at the head, getting it wet and sloppy, before taking it in as deep as he could.
Logan groaned as Scott did it perfectly, not a single painful grate of teeth, just deep and hot and then deeper still, steady suction, level head bobbing. His balls were tightening in response, he could feel the blood pumping harder, and then Scott pulled back and licked at the swollen head rapidly to slick it up. "Will that do?" he demanded, and he sounded strung out and desperate. Saliva was running from the side of his mouth and his tongue flickered out to lick at it automatically. Logan realized he only had so much self-control.
Logan bore him down on the bed, flat on his back, legs hoisted over Logan's arms. He pushed in, and, though he desperately wanted to just seat himself balls deep in him and start thrusting, he made himself take it slow, just the head, watching Scott all the time, and so saw the shock flicker across Scott's face because this was a whole new discomfort the guy had never felt before. A glance down confirmed that Cyke's cock had also wilted a little. Logan moved back an inch pushed forward an inch, slicking him up with the pre-cum still oozing from him, before he eased back in. He took it slow and careful but first times were a bitch, Logan was a big guy, and he could see that it hurt from the grimaces; Scott was being stretched in a place that had never been stretched that way before, the pressure building to an unpleasant ache. He was making himself take it, but he wasn't liking it. Logan gritted his teeth. Even though the guy thought that pain was what he wanted, inflicting it on him wasn't much of a pleasure.
He reached down and shifted Scott's package, not wanting to pinch his dick between their grating bodies, teasing his balls with a finger and thumb. The guy had lost some hardness but he was still oozing enough for Logan to slick up his hand again and begin a gentle pulling. A few strokes sent some pleasurable heat shooting to the right places and Logan felt the guy relax cautiously around his cock, this alien thing still in a place where it felt like it shouldn't be, but his body starting to accommodate it. Apparently Scott just couldn't stop being a fast-learner who was endlessly adaptable even when he wasn't in the Danger Room. Logan forced himself to keep to a gentle flexing, nudges more than thrusts, because he might be an animal but he wasn't a monster and Scott Summers was so painfully vulnerable right now that he even needed saving from himself. Logan kept stroking him and he was clearly doing it just right because Scott arched his spine and pushed down and Logan eased another inch inside him.
Which was when Scott abruptly wrapped his legs around Logan's ass and hauled him in right to the hilt.
Match
Logan bit down his own exclamation, and Summers stifled his cry as well. With his balls rammed hard against Scott's ass and his cock clenched in tight dry heat, it took Logan a few seconds to formulate a sentence: "Summers, you dumb son-of-a-bitch." He looked up and Scott was still fighting back the grimaces of pain as he tried to breathe around how much that had hurt without Logan hearing it in his voice.
"Serves you right," Logan snarled. "I ought to hump your ass raw."
"Why don't you?" Scott demanded desperately. "What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" He wondered, uneasily, if this wasn't just wanting to be punished for finding another living creature attractive when his soulmate was dead but a manifestation of Scott's survivor guilt. Did he want not just to be cured of wanting Logan but be beaten to a pulp?
Logan couldn't suppress a groan at that tightness around his cock. It felt incredible. Being this deep inside Scott Summers felt incredible on every kind of level, not just the physical pleasure of it but, yes, having him pinned down underneath him, being the guy on top. Summers wasn't so dumb, he had known what a rich vein of basic alpha male instincts there was to tap into where Logan was concerned. Logan had the guy who had been driving him nuts for months right where he wanted him, completely at his mercy, and he could fuck him straight through the mattress if he wanted to, do it as brutally as he liked, too, because Cyke had asked for this – and how. He was just as angry with him as Summers wanted him to be. With a huge effort, he kept himself absolutely still, giving the ornery son-of-a-bitch time to adjust, while he used up his anger in words instead of actions, telling him exactly what he thought of a guy who did this not just to himself but to Logan.
"…You selfish little shit. I don't deserve this. I didn't kill your wife. All I did was fall in love with her when she was already taken. And for that, I get you leading me around by the dick, pretending this is something it ain't? Did you think I could just beat the crap out of you and not feel bad about it afterwards? And after you'd pissed me off enough to bang you 'til you bled, how did you think that I'd feel about it later? You think you're the only goddamn mutant in Westchester who has a tendency to hate himself…?"
He had to take some deep breaths to steady himself because it was taking everything he had not to be the guy Summers wanted him to be. Logan kept channeling his anger into words instead of either punching him or humping him like he wanted to; snapping out months of built-up rage.
"…So would it make you feel better if I turned into the monster you want me to be, Bub…? Because I can be that guy. Hell, I've been that guy. Then I have to live with what that makes me…."
There was more, and it helped, as he stayed absolutely still, and did not thrust, even though he had never wanted to do anything more than he wanted to thrust, even though his balls were aching, and his cock was aching, and his hips were screaming at him to slam, slam, slam into that hot little channel. Summers was adjusting slowly, he could feel that first clamp of strained muscles relaxing a little, not least because Logan yelling at him was taking his mind off the pain. The raging compulsion to thrust he was so barely holding back was, at least, made bearable by letting his anger spill out in words instead.
"I'm sorry! Logan, I'm sorry! You're right. Please, don't…."
The guy had no right to still be able to get straight under his defenses with one broken word.
"You drive me nuts, Cyke," Logan growled. "You're like a goddamned itch under the skin that I can't ever scratch. I want to smack you so hard right now."
"I wouldn't blame you if you did."
Logan warned him, "This is going to hurt." Then he leaned forward, as carefully as he could, and Summers did fold up, just the way he'd thought he would, slim enough and flexible enough that Logan pressing forward was something his body seemed designed for. He gave a pained gasp as Logan pushed even deeper into him but Logan knew that, behind that visor, Scott's eyes were focused straight on his face; maybe he was seeing Logan in shades of ruby pink, but still Logan was all he was seeing right now. Cyke's tongue darting out across his mouth in anticipation kind of proved it, especially as his lips parted just at the perfect moment to welcome Logan in for a kiss.
Summers kissed him back, needy and broken. He hadn't given in yet, because he was such a stubborn little bastard, but he was fighting a rearguard action, all the same, defenses decidedly weakened. As their tongues curled and Logan pressed in deeper and Summers opened his mouth wider to let him in, Logan knew that this was now less of a battle on Scott's part than a running retreat. He kept kissing him, angry enough still to want to win. He wasn't going to walk out or concede. He was going to make Scott Summers admit that this had never just been about sexual attraction. The guy liked him and if he would stop driving him nuts Logan was willing to admit that he liked him, too, way more than was good for his mental health, given what a pain in the butt he was.
He kept kissing Scott Summers, deeply and hungrily and intensely, and then gently and lovingly, while he reached down and began to stroke him, firm, steady pulls that made him buck and arch. Scott was breathing harder now, relaxed around him, going with the rhythm of that tongue in his mouth, that hand on his dick. Logan began to ease out and ease in, his stomach muscles straining at the control he was having to exert to hold this position, one arm bearing most of his weight. He kissed him fiercely and then pulled back to grip his hips and slide in and out of him, keeping it steady. Scott was opened right up to him now, no more resistance, sweet and relaxed but with just the right amount of pleasurable friction for both of them. Scott put his head back and arched his back. And finally, Logan was getting to thrust, and he knew from the jolt and moan that Scott couldn't even remember that this had been hurting five minutes ago because all he was getting now was bolts of pleasure licking up from his prostate to his balls and all along his shaft.
Logan tortured him with steady strokes, angling just right, pressing in deeper, and Scott moaned, wretched: "Please, Logan, please, don't make me like it. Don't make me…."
Logan leaned back in and kissed him over and over, tasting salt from where the tears were running down his face. "It's okay to like it. Jean wouldn't blame you. No one blames you."
"It was my fault! I weakened the dam! I tried to kill her!"
"You weren't in your right mind, and she made the choice to leave the plane. Her choice. Because she wanted to save the rest of us. And you get to grieve for her, and it's a bitch, kid, I know. It hurts all the time, like it will never stop, and you just want a different kind of pain to make that one stop, but, trust me, you don't want it in the bedroom."
"I don't deserve to be happy when Jean's dead –!"
"You don't deserve to be punished either. Slim, there are enough humans out there who hate and fear us and other mutants who want to make us hurt, don't you think you're entitled to one safe place and one person to share that safe place with you? Jean sure as hell would have done."
He kissed him again, even though Scott was being a martyred little dick, and everyone else had loved Jean and lost her, too, Logan was still kissing this guy, over and over, deeper and harder, forcing him to respond, because he was going to make him white out and give in and come hard and fall apart. And, finally, Scott's arms were around his neck and he was kissing him back, with a yearning desperation, and he said, "Jean…?" like he was asking for permission, and he was probably asking it of the cosmos but Logan answered anyway.
"She's the one person who would understand. She was hot for me, too."
"You prick, Wolverine!"
But he didn't stop kissing him, and their tongues weren't dueling now, they were curling together like kids holding hands, shy and tentative. Scott was kissing him back, uncertainly but with so much yearning, and Logan just knew his eyes were closed while he was doing it, because he wanted to see Logan in color, the only way he could see people in color – in his head.
Logan came up for air and found himself saying gently, "What Jean always wanted – more than anything – was for you to be safe. Do you really think there is anyone else in the universe who has a better shot at keeping you safe than me?"
Scott pulled him back down into another fervent kiss, mumbling indistinctly, "I can keep myself safe, Logan, you jerk."
Logan pulled his tongue out of the guy's mouth and took his throat between his teeth, then began to worry and suck at it, determined to leave the world's most obvious hickey.
"What are you doing?" Scott demanded, kinky enough to arch into it all the same, even when Logan used teeth – scratch that, especially when Logan used teeth.
"Denying you your plausible deniability."
"You're going to tell people?"
"Cyke, it's this, or I carve 'Logan wuz here' on your ass. Your choice."
He broke the thin surface skin of his throat with his teeth, tasting the salt-iron blood on his tongue, and Scott moaned and jerked and damned near came. Logan made a mental note: Do not let Scott near any vampires. "I knew you were a pervert, the Boy Scouts always are."
Scott tilted his head curiously. "Have you had Steve Rogers, too, then?"
Shocked, Logan said, "Captain America does not put out!"
There had been a time when he had thought of Steve Rogers and Scott Summers as being similar: steadfast, unwavering in the face of danger, no noticeable sense of humor, and just unnecessarily tall. Having got to know Summers better, he had come to realize that not only did he have a sense of humor, but, under the stoic surface, this guy was a psychological bomb crater for whom there could never be enough therapy, and who was doomed to spend his life making the tough decisions that made everyone else side-eye him while he quietly went on searching for his next Daddy Substitute. Also, Captain America had a little too much class, not to mention self-respect, to let every horny telepath on the planet bang his brains out. Whereas saying 'no' to a woman wanting to sleep with him was apparently a concept too complicated for Scott Summers, leader of the X-Men and designated team bike, to grasp.
Scott said, "Logan, why are you grinding your teeth?"
He wanted to say: I need you to commit, what he found himself saying was: "Scott, do you trust me?"
He had been thinking there was no point asking that question unless he could see the guy's eyes, but he realized that there could be veracity in a mouth, too, in the way skin didn't grimace or evade, the way a jaw didn't tense, the way a face stayed open.
Scott said, "Yes." And there was intensity and conviction and, most of all, there was truth. "Yes, Logan, I trust you."
He pulled back, shifted Scott's legs more comfortably over his shoulders and then pushed in, using deep, slow strokes, sliding across his prostate in a way that soon had him moaning blindly. When he increased the pace, Scott stayed limp and relaxed and just going with his rhythm, body yielding to him like a ship on the water, carried by every wave; as far removed from that brittle, wary boy who'd undressed for him as he was from that sobbing creature he'd comforted on the jet. This, at last, was tangible trust. Logan thrust harder and faster, pleasure building and Scott kept his eyes closed and his lips half-parted, head back, spine arched as he just…experienced it, no resistance left, just completely Logan's to do with as he wished. He was uttering soft little moans and Logan's balls were thrumming as sensation jolted into them and licked further up his spine with every thrust. He sped up, pleasure coiling in his gut, torturing his balls, heating every nerve, and Scott stayed as relaxed as if he was sunning himself on the beach, even when Logan slammed into him with jack-hammer ferocity, he just pushed back and gasped out a brief, ecstatic 'Yes…!' and came without Logan even touching his dick.
Blood pounding, heart pounding, erogenous zones screaming, Logan roared and came, wave after wave, an endless perfection, and came down slowly, exultant, empowered and…grateful. Every nerve was still thrumming as he pulsed into Scott's hot, private places. He stayed in him for a moment, so Scott could feel him twitching and relaxing against him, and then eased out gently and bent his head to kiss his stomach.
"I'm not pregnant, you know." Scott stretched lazily, like a sun-warmed cat. "Even if you did just gush like a faulty fire hydrant."
Logan licked across his skin anyway, while grabbing a towel to press against some of the fluid pouring out of afterglow Summers. He grabbed another one to clean up Scott's sticky belly, who just lay there, with his hands behind his head, enjoying the post-party-thrum, and still looking maddeningly like he was bobbing in a dinghy on a friendly sea.
"Are you going to do any of the work?" Logan demanded.
"Guy on top does the work," Scott told him. "That's the rule."
Logan wondered what other rules Scott had been told by the exclusively female bedmates he'd had up to now, all of whom had been more able to rip his mind apart or telekinetically hurl him against hard surfaces than Logan was. "Am I actually the least scary person you've ever slept with?" he asked, a little affronted by the idea.
Scott said, consolingly, "You're physically the strongest, and you're the only one with an adamantium skeleton. Thanks for not crushing me with that, by the way. I thought you'd be…heavier."
"I exercise heroic self-control."
"I noticed."
And when Logan looked up; alerted by the tenderness in his voice, he saw that wry smile twisting his mouth and knew that Scott was looking right at him. Scott said, "Thanks, Logan, not only are you moderately good in bed, but you're a good friend."
"So we're both agreed that we're dating, right?" Logan growled, wanting it confirmed.
Scott sighed and let his head flop back on the pillow. "Yes. We are dating. Even in public." He really deserved a smack for the level of martyred resignation in his voice.
"And are we both agreed that, not only are we dating, but you're damned lucky to get a good-looking, well-adjusted guy like me to take on a piece of messed-up used goods like you? I mean – you're passably attractive in a dim light and all – "
"One more word and that's all the sex you're getting tonight."
Logan blinked. "Scott, I really don't think you're up to a rematch. With that stunt you pulled earlier, trust me, you're going to be sore – "
Scott stretched again, luxuriously, and it was impossible not to look when he did that, to see the way the lean muscles tightened and then relaxed all the way down that long, perfect body of his. His legs really did go on forever. "I always wondered about your healing factor – if you licked something, would it get better? Would it, at least, take away the sting…?" As Logan looked at that enticing little opening he'd been blotting with a towel and which would taste of Scott and soap and…his own pathfinding, he felt hunger prickle through him. Scott shrugged gracefully, "And, even if it didn't work, and we did it again…and maybe again, which, given your healing factor, has to be perfectly feasible as a game plan, and it made me…limp a little, wouldn't you kind of like to watch me walking funny and know you were the reason why…?"
Logan was hard again, the ways his claws came out – sudden and painful. "Jesus, Summers!" He swallowed hard while his senses swooped, blood fled from his head at warp speed, his cock screamed at him, and his balls yelped.
Summers said, "Wouldn't you like everyone in the mansion to know that you'd nailed me at last? Because we both know you've been wanting to forever."
Still a little light-headed, Logan pounced and kissed. "You were the one who came after me!"
"I thought I was trying to get myself killed." Scott swallowed, and at least he'd admitted it, even if it hurt to hear. His mouth looked apologetic and when he kissed Logan back it was very gently, as if he was sorry but they'd both needed to hear him say it.
"And now?" Logan said steadily.
Scott reached up and pushed the straying strands of Logan's unruly hair out of his eyes, then traced the line of his sideburns down to his mouth. "Now, I think I was always trying to get back home."
Logan gave a shuddering sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly, before he made himself pull his game face back on and say lightly, "You know, Cyke, you're smarter than you look."
"Well, one of us has to be."
"You know I'm going to get you for that, right?"
That crooked smile really was bewitching. "I'm banking on it."
And then they were kissing again, sweet and tender, and Logan didn't need to see Scott's eyes to know that all they were seeing right now was him. He rolled them both over on the bed, so Logan was sitting up with the bedhead behind his shoulders and Scott was sitting astride him, Logan not exactly showing off, just demonstrating that those muscles of his weren't just for show.
Scott grinned. "Smooth move."
"Guy with the sore ass gets to set the pace." Before he could stop himself, Logan was stroking his fingers along Scott's thighs, up to the bony jut of his hip, the flat hollow of his stomach. His skin was warm and smooth and hard. He'd never thought of the human torso as something beautiful before, but now he got why those Greek guys had made models of it, the lean musculature, the lines of the rib cage. Summers was damned near flawless. Grudgingly, he said, "Okay, maybe you're passable in more than a dim light."
Scott said, "You're not so bad yourself."
Logan looked down at his dense body, his arms that dwarfed Scott's, his bulky thighs. He wondered if it made Scott feel safe, that Logan was so strong. If it didn't, he realized that it should do, because, if anyone hurt this guy, Logan was going to kill them. He realized that Scott Summers, of all people, might be his berserker button.
"You need to be more careful from now on," he said.
"Why?"
"Because, if bad things happen to you, much, much worse things are going to happen to the people who did them, and I know you get pissy when I start throwing around body parts."
"So, you're that boyfriend then?"
"In spades. Also, don't cheat on me. It wouldn't be pretty."
Scott's mouth got that 'fuck you' look. "Are you threatening me?"
"No. You're not the one I'd smack."
That low ominous growl should have made Scott's heartbeat speed up, but it didn't. Logan was listening and it stayed steady as a metronome. Scott just put his head on one side and said, "You're still a dick, Logan. But if I cheat on you I'll be sure to keep it from you."
He kept caressing his thighs, loving the feel of them. "How? I can smell everything you've done in the last twenty-four hours."
Scott shrugged far more elegantly than a guy had any right to shrug when he was straddling, naked, the body of another guy. "Well, maybe I won't cheat on you, then. Maybe I'll put up with your impossible personality and your dubious personal hygiene and your anger management issues. Maybe I'll choose to find them oddly attractive."
"Maybe you will be the one I smack, cupcake." Logan realized that would have sounded more threatening if he hadn't laughed and looked sappy while saying it.
Scott bent down and kissed him and their fingers tangled in each other's hair and their tongues entwined like old friends. It felt way too comfortable, way too right already. Logan's cock bobbed up with interest, reminding him that it was still ready for the next bout.
Logan said, "I guess this was a long time coming. I blame you for that."
"I was the one who made it happen!"
Logan kissed him harder to pay him back for being right. "So, are you going to sit on my dick or not, Summers?"
"I weep for the language of Shakespeare," Scott said, steadying himself with his hands on Logan's shoulders. He seated himself slowly and carefully, head back as if he was listening to far off music, but, being Summers, just analyzing every fleeting sensation this new experience produced. "Still uncomfortably like straddling a rolling pin," he said thoughtfully. "But I think I could get used to it."
"Don't put yourself out on my account," Logan growled, trying not to admit how dizzy with lust Scott Summers' slow slide down the fireman's pole was making him.
"It's not your fault you're too much of a good thing. It's not like you can have a surgical reduction."
"There's nothing wrong with the size of my dick! The problem is that your ass is too tight. Like I've been telling you since the day I first met you."
Scott flashed him a smile, and it had no right to feel like someone had just punched him in the heart when he did that. It was just so rarely glimpsed, and so damned…perfect. Completely unaware of what that boyish grin was doing to Logan's clearly much too susceptible heart, Scott said, "And now I get why you kept bitching about me being a tightass."
"And why I objected to that stick up your ass – it was parked in my spot." Logan leaned forward, cradled his face in his hands and kissed him again while Scott tightened his grip at his shoulders so as not to be dislodged.
As he kissed Scott Summers, Logan knew that the next day, Scott was going to do the whole guilt whiplash thing and be miserable because he had cheated on Jean's memory, and Logan was going to get mad at him about it, and they were going to have a big, ugly fight. He knew that Logan was going to be paranoid about Scott getting hurt on missions and, however well he hid it, it was going to break out in some crisis, and Scott was going to resent it, bitterly, and they were going to have a big, ugly fight. Logan was going to suspect Scott of wanting to sleep with other people and so every time anyone was nice to Scott who Logan considered a threat, Logan was going to be a prick about it, and Scott was going to be a prick right back, and they were going to have a big, ugly fight….
Scott tilted his head to one side. "Logan, what are you thinking about?"
"I'm wondering if you're just going to sit there all day or if you're actually going to move at some point."
Scott put his head back and rose up slowly then slid back down, just as slowly, making sensation shiver along Logan's dick to his balls in delicious pulses. He pushed up, pressed down, and it was incredible, slick with Logan's own, still warm, come, and deliciously tight.
Conversationally, Scott said, in between riding him, "What were you really thinking about?"
Logan shrugged. "All the great make-up sex in our future."
"Do you want to place a wager on who's going to try to kill whom first?"
"It'll be you. You've been mentally unstable for months."
He couldn't suppress a chesty groan as Scott sped up, tightening his grip on Logan's shoulders as he did so. He could see the guy's taut abs shivering with the effort he was making as he moved. It made him want to lick them.
Scott was wincing as he rode him, but it looked like a good kind of wince; the way his lips were parted, those small, needy moans coming out. The way that image was bedding into his brain as his go-to for instant hardness, Logan wondered if he was going to be able to get through any hour in the mansion without having to drag Scott into a storage closet to try to suck out his lungs.
Scott said, "I don't have berserker rages."
Logan said, "Give it a week of dating me – you'll get there."
Scott gave him another of those heart-stealing grins. "Logan, as I believe I may have mentioned before, you're a dick."
"Just so you know, Summers, I'm going to take that as a declaration of undying love." He was looking into a visor. He couldn't even see the guy's eyes, and yet he knew, all the same, that Summers was looking right back at him and they were linked; as linked as they would be when, at some unspecified time in the future – as was surely inevitable – Summers lost his temper with him and blasted him across the room on a wave of ruby power. Logan decided in advance that he was going to take that as foreplay. Logan began to stroke Scott's dick, fingers funneling it like it was an old friend, casual but affectionate, while Scott rode him harder, pushing down with just the right hip grind to make Logan moan.
He said, "You know, Slim, for a beginner, you're not half bad at this."
Scott said smugly, "And there's my declaration of undying love."
Logan just grinned back at him and didn't refute it, and as Scott slid up and down on him and he stroked the guy to hardness, they both leaned forward, like it was as inevitable as all the fights in their future, and always would be, that every disagreement should end with a kiss.