Category: Sizzling, Novella

Words: 29.582

Title: Gains and Losses

{} means thoughts
 

He didn’t expect anybody to be here at this late hour. It was already dark outside, with a few stars peeking out between the clouds covering the sky, and the large mansion was mostly quiet. There was no traffic on the road passing by the huge estate, which was no surprise. The Xavier School for the Gifted lay outside any of the main routes and was only accessible by a barely known country road.
A huge building, it was even larger inside than appeared from the outside. Aside from the many rooms for the children who studied here, there were classrooms, conference rooms, a common area, fitness and recreation sections, even an arboretum, all spread out over three vast floors. And there was the basement.
A basement unlike any ever built underneath a house.
Logan walked through the empty corridors, lit up in a bluish white light reflecting off silver metal. It looked like a space ship down here, and sometimes he really did believe he had landed on another planet. Even with his boots on he moved noiselessly toward the training area. Each step radiated tension and there was little relief from it found anywhere, or any time soon.
First of all there was this new environment, the closed-off space of the mansion. Granted, it was a huge and what Logan had explored so far had actually impressed him—not that he would let on how much – but it was like a cage nevertheless.
Then there were the recurring nightmares. The first one in this house had ended with Marie trying to wake him, and he had speared her on his claws. She had almost died. Not something he wanted to repeat, so for now Logan kept locking the door and tried not to doze off too deeply.
The thing about his nightmares was that they only came when he was past the normal point of physical and mental exhaustion, when all his defenses were down – which had been the case then. Under normal circumstances, Logan slept dreamlessly while his body and mind sought relief from the cacophony of input assaulting his physical senses every waking moment. Lately, nothing could be labeled 'normal’.
There was also the subliminal tension radiating off everyone he met. He wasn’t a people person; far from it. He liked his solitude and that many new faces, young and old, dangerous and harmless, made him edgy.
The Magneto threat was grating on his nerves, too, but that he understood. It was something tangible, something to work with.
But the final straw had been the ‚discussion’ upstairs that had nearly brought him to blows with one of the X-freaks.

"He’ll endanger the mission."
"Hey, I wasn’t the one who gave the train station a new sunroof, pal."
"No, you were the one who stabbed Rogue through the chest."
"Hey, why don’t you take your little mission and stick it up your…"
Posturing. Ready to fight.
"Settle this."

An order.
Settle this. He snorted. Sure, give him five minutes alone with that little prick and he’d settle it his way. But since that wasn’t an option, Logan had done the next best thing.
There was nothing better than a serious workout while the professor was doing his thing with Cerebro. As he shed his shirt he realized he wasn’t alone. Logan possessed exceptionally acute physical senses and they were telling him there was someone else.
Whirling around at the soft sound behind him, body rigid with alarm and the readiness to fight, a more conscious part of his mind recognized the familiar scent and he relaxed.
"What are you doing here?" he growled.
He hadn’t expected anyone down here, least of all him. Little boy scout he was, Logan had thought Scott Summers to be with the professor; especially after their little altercation. Well, maybe he could get his five minutes now.
"I’m already done, keep cool," Summers replied, sounding tired.
There was a fine sheen of sweat covering the lean body. Dressed in work-out pants and a muscle shirt, Logan had his first good view of the younger man without all the long-sleeved layers of clothing. Scott was muscular, but not packed with power, and there was a slender grace to his movements Logan had admired before. While Summers didn’t pack the same punch a fist from Logan did, his agile strength and sinewy grace made it difficult to pin him down.
Grabbing his towel Scott turned to leave, but suddenly he bent over, fingers rubbing at his temples with a soft groan.
"Hey, Cyke, y’alright?" Logan asked, shocked to see the pallor of the younger man’s face, and he stepped closer involuntarily.
Scott shook his head once.
"Headache," he murmured. "I’m fine."
"Don’t look fine t’me."
The ruby red glasses reflected Logan’s gaze, which was unable to penetrate the quartz and get a good look at the man behind them. Logan hated that. For him, the first meeting with someone was a crucial confrontation because in those very first seconds he classified his opposite, putting him or her into the boxes labeled 'enemy’, 'friend’, or 'ally’. It all happened in a split second, the determination of the appropriate level of threat. There were no other categories. No one was a 'neutral’; there was never neutrality.
But within the first seconds of meeting Scott Summers he had stumbled and nearly fallen, because while he did get a scent of the man, he couldn’t get sight. Reading someone’s face included the eyes, the most tell-tale of all features, and Scott’s eyes were forever hidden behind the protective glasses.
And with that first stumble in assessing the newcomer into his life, passing or not so passing, Logan’s aggressive behavior had started. Unable to categorize the man, he had felt out of the loop, thrown off center, and Scott didn’t oblige him by even giving him enough body language to work with. He had half a sight and some smell, but that was it. Not good.
Logan had enough of his own problems to work through, adjusting to so many people around him, that he didn’t give Summers more than a passing chance to get his respect.
He liked riling him up.
He didn’t like seeing him in pain.
"C’mon, lemme help you," he growled, stalking over to Summers, not questioning his motivation to help. Dangerous waters there.
"How could you possibly help me?" came the tired reply and Scott straightened somewhat. 'And why?’ was the underlying addition.
Logan swallowed his rising anger. 'Settle this’. He snorted. Yeah, we’ll settle it one day; my way. Not now.
"Just give it a try, will ya. ‘Sides, you have nothing t’lose, right?"
Logan grabbed a nearby chair, pushing a reluctant Scott into it, and stepped behind the man.
"What are you doing?"
There was a surge of distrust in his smell and Logan fought the immediate reaction that came from his own mind; disappointment. Then again, Summers had every reason to distrust him; Logan sometimes didn’t trust himself.
He felt Scott inhale sharply when he carefully touched the other man’s neck. Pressing his thumbs cautiously into the muscles, Logan grimaced at their rigidity.
"Can’t do nothing against the headache itself, but pain causes the body to tense. If you relax, the pain disappears much earlier."
"If you say so. You’re the expert."
"Ya bet."
Slowly working on the stiff muscles Logan sensed Scott starting to relax under his fingers, his head falling forward, granting the pressing and kneading digits further access.
"Happen often?" Logan growled, needing to know more about this man.
Talking wasn’t his strongest suit, but since his physical senses were unable to get a grip on the man, he had to use another method.
"It always hurts," came the soft reply.
He nearly stopped his massage. "Always?"
"Getting whacked over the head." A wry smile graced Summers’s lips. "When I brought the roof down, I brought it down on me, too."
Logan studied the brown head, noting the auburn highlights in the artificial lights. Sharp eyes searched for a wound and found a bump. A mild spark of worry blossomed, then was extinguished. Summers was alive, so why worry?
A soft sigh escaped Scott’s lips and he relaxed, almost slumping against Logan’s legs. Logan could feel the heat radiating from the other man’s body, and all of a sudden he was very aware of the distance between their bodies – or the lack thereof, to be precise. With a short gasp he let go of Scott.
"See. Feelin’ better already, don’t’cha?"
Rallying for normalcy.
Logan never worried about anyone but himself and even then it was rare. He knew who he was, where he stood, what he wanted. He dealt with everything and worry was nothing he expended energy on.
Scott craned his head and turned, smiling at him. "Yeah, thanks. You have - talented fingers, Logan."
Both the warm open smile and the – husky? – tone of the voice almost made Logan shudder. Now where the hell had that come from?
He grunted something in response and stepped back, ending the massage session. Scott’s gaze, hidden behind those damned glasses, was still on him. He could feel it. His senses were tingling with it and the scent around them was thick with something he had yet to classify.
Summers rose, movements lithe and graceful, and picked up his towel again.
"See ya."
"Yeah," Logan muttered to the retreating form. "See ya."
'Settle this’….
What in damnation had just happened here?

* * *

He had spent four days lying flat on his back, out cold, while his battered system had tried to kick the healing factor back into working order, waiting for his body to regenerate, for the blood loss to be equalized, and finally, he had woken.
Had woken to the gentle touch of Jean Grey.
It was a nice vision, Logan mused. Better than seeing the death and destruction he had dealt out; better than seeing Magneto’s smirk or Sabretooth’s ugly visage. Or Marie crying in terror and then pain.
"Hey."
His voice was a weak copy of his former strength.
"Hey," she replied, smiling down at him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fantastic," he lied.
He hurt all over. He felt weak, like a newborn kitten, his muscles didn’t listen to his mind, and his mind was sluggish at best. A deep pain resided inside of him and it would take some time to chase all the memories of it away.
Something in him had reacted to the beautiful red-head, another part had been disappointed.
"I think she’s a little taken with you," Jean told him as she unwrapped the bandages from his body, now healing quickly.
He tried to concentrate on their conversation and brought his thoughts to the present. Rogue. Yes, she was taken with him, but it was a teenage crush, hero worship.
"Well, you can tell her my heart belongs to someone else."
The words left his mouth before his still way too slow mind could get a lid on it.
Jean’s gaze rested on him, those green eyes locking on his dark ones.
"You know," she said slowly, hesitantly, "you and I…"
He felt his lips twist into a smile. "How’s the professor?" Logan switched the topic.
Jean looked relieved, but he had lost all interest in her. For a brief second, he had wanted this to be someone else. He had wanted this to be… Scott Summers. His worried gaze behind red glasses resting on him, his fingers brushing over his skin, his voice inquiring into his state.
What the hell…?!
He shut the door on that line of thoughts.
But it didn’t stay shut.
 

Leaving the medical facilities, he had gone straight to the training room, flexing freshly healed muscles under scarless skin, testing his body. Going through the moves.
Snikt.
Claws extended to their full length, double-bladed, razor-sharp, cutting through the air with deadly precision as a hapless sandbag was reduced to a lifeless flap of synthetic skin and sand grains on the floor.
Why had he said that? Why had he told Jean that his heart belonged to someone else? He was never that open with his feelings and… Logan’s thoughts did an emergency break. No one owned him. Neither mind, body or soul. He felt nothing, except for the need to discover who he was, who had done this to him, and then deal with it. Everything else was…
…Scott Summers.
He clenched his teeth.
The kid was getting to him in more ways than one. He had started the older man thinking. About him. In ways that weren’t healthy.
Logan had no idea which way he was truly leaning. Men? Women? Both? Fifteen years of looking and searching and surviving, but the years before that were a blank. He didn’t have a clue, but part of him found Scott… what? Attractive, annoying, handsome, irritating, a pain-in-the-ass? All together?
A noise behind him let Logan whirl around, claws flashing up –
and stopping inches away from the handsome, clean-cut features of a man he was still trying to put into a box, label him, get out of his mind. Without much success.
Images flitted through his mind, of the face without a visor, the eyes clenched shut, the head held in position by a cruel metal beam. He remembered looking at the angular features, taking in the part that had always been hidden from him, from everyone, and he had stored it away, like he stored everything away. Logan had many abilities, his mutation, and one was to be able to absolutely correctly remember everything he saw in a room. Photographic memory ad extremis. So he had photographed Scott Summers. His face; visorless.
And now he was right in front of him, dressed in casual slacks and a shirt, looking like every mother-in-law’s favorite choice for her daughter. The boy scout. The do-gooder.
The man who was driving him nuts.
Snakt.
The claws retracted abruptly, the cuts between his knuckles healing immediately. Absentmindedly, Logan wiped away the single droplet of blood on one knuckle, then his dark eyes fixed on the younger man who had walked into his training.
No one did that.
At least no one with a sense of healthy respect and survival instinct.
Scott Summers apparently had neither.
Logan growled deep in his chest and felt the well-known anger take over. Anger was good, anger was familiar, anger he could deal with. He embraced it. He and anger worked well together; old drinking buddies.
Grabbing Scott by the front of his shirt he slammed the other man into the next best wall, ramming his fists at either side of his head into the wall and ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that caused.
"Damn, boy, what the hell ya think you’re doin’? Walkin’ inta my trainin’!"
'Settle this’.
He was just about to. For good.
Scott didn’t resist, didn’t fight back, didn’t even attempt to do so. Instead he just smiled at Logan in a kind of shy way and slowly raised his hand. Logan started as the hand moved closer, but Scott just touched his face with his fingertips, slowly sneaking the fingers into his hair.
"Just wanted to check on you," he said softly, words carried on a gentle breath that touched Logan’s skin.
And then he bent forward.
The shock that froze Logan at the minute contact of lips brushing over his was nothing compared to the wave of heat that ran through his body and concentrated itself in his groin. The kiss was sweet and tender and totally unexpected. When Logan jerked back and gasped he caught another faint smile before Scott just dove away under his outstretched arm and was gone the very next second, leaving a very confused and deeply shocked Logan behind.
{Damn}, he mused fuzzily, {that's one way to end a fight.}

* * *

A day had passed since his waking up in the medical unit and Logan had spent it as far away from the mansion as possible. Far away from Jean Grey, far away from Marie, far away from the oppressive old walls and antique furnishings. Away from it all, the entanglements of life among people.
Away from him.

"We do this, we do it as a team. Are you going to have a problem taking orders?"
Logan stared into the red visor, took in the slender man in his black leather uniform, the form-fitting material hugging the lithe curves, accentuating all the best aspects. Scott knew that Logan could cut him down in an instant, yet he had the guts to stand up to him. Challenge him. He had courage, Logan thought, he had to give it to him.
Courage and damn handsome looks.
Okay, here he went peeking past that door again in a room full of danger. Full of emotions.
He pushed it shut again, but the hinges were creaking, giving way.
"I don’t know," Logan answered. "Give me one."
They continued to stare at each other a while longer, gazes locked, then Scott walked past him. Close by. Almost brushing his body. Logan caught a whiff of well-used leather. Summers opened a locker and nodded at the uniform.
"Put it on."
Logan stared at the leather, then growled, "Whose is it?"
A smile played around the other man’s mouth, dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth. "It’s one of my old ones."
Logan glanced at him and Scott smiled more, then turned and left. Logan took the uniform out of the locker and scent picked up the aroma of sweat, soap and underneath what his primal brain had long since labeled 'Scott’.
With a secret smile, he put it on.

So he had worn – and ruined – one of Scott’s uniforms. It was shredded now, cut in so many places that Logan had simply thrown it away. No sense getting it repaired.
But it had felt good. Scott close-by, on his skin, his scent everywhere. Even throughout the fights. And it had added to the confusion, the emotions Logan was feeling more and more ill-equipped to handle.
So he had fled.
Just out of the mansion, away from it all, find a quiet spot. He needed the solitude, pull himself together, decide what to do next. His past was still a dark shadow that he dragged after himself and he needed a key to unlock this blackness.
But there was also his future. So completely unknown, too. In the past, that had never bothered him. Now…
Things had changed.
 

When Logan stepped through the trees onto the small secluded clearing he noticed immediately he wasn’t the only one here. First he felt annoyed at the intrusion, then intrigued. Leaning against a tree he watched the slender form of one Scott Summers. The other man was dressed only in sweatpants, and performing some kind of martial arts training, yet his movements were slow and collected, reminding Logan more of a dance than true workout. He observed the way muscles rippled under tanned skin while Summers bent and turned, and he realized though he had seen Scott dressed casually before he never had seen him in this state of undress. For a brief moment Logan wondered what it would feel like to run a hand over that sun-warmed skin, what it would taste like … whoa, what was he thinking here?
The door was looming wide open again, taunting him with more images, teasing, promising, flooding him with unwanted emotions.
Of Scott, helplessly pinned against the wall, metal bands around his body, shaking in frustration and anger.
Of Scott’s face, twisted in terror as Jean asked him to follow her lead, to open his eyes.
Of his smile when Logan cut him down. Eyes covered again, but the dimples around his mouth more tell-tale than anything else.
Logan inhaled deeply. Something was happening here and it was developing a life of its own. He was losing ground in a fight he didn’t know the rules of, a fight that was taken out without fists and claws.
"Hey, Logan."
The voice startled him out of his thoughts and he discovered Scott had stopped his moves. The red shades caught the sunlight filtering through the leaves, reflecting it in a gentle sparkle, and there was a open smile on the younger man’s face.
Logan felt his breath catch as he stared at the vision and shook his head with a growl.
No more fuzzy stuff, he decided, and knew the same instance that it was a lost promise.
"Hey," he replied gruffly. "What’cha doin?"
"Tai Chi Chuan. Want to train?"
"That was the intention."
"Want a partner?"
"Sure."
What the hell was he thinking? Why had he agreed? What had ridden him to stay and watch Scott?
He didn’t know.
"Hand-to-hand combat, no powers, no… rules."
Was that him, or had Scott hesitated on the last part? He shrugged. Whatever. Xavier had told them to settle it, whatever 'it’ now was. Well, they were about to.
"’kay. Show me whatcha got, bub."
Scott shot him a broad grin and then they started to circle each other, watching each other closely, and Logan swore for the nth time because he couldn’t see Scott’s eyes. It would have made it easier to judge his opponent.
So he worked with body language, taking in the sinewy form, the defined muscles, the regular rise and fall of his chest. Nothing foretold the attack. Just a split second of coiled muscles, then he leaped only to find himself off balance because Scott wasn’t where he had expected him to be. Logan had observed Scott in fights before, but that had been fights against mutants, and the younger man had used his powers.
Of course he knew Scott was fast and agile – with his lighter form he had to be – but he had never been on the receiving end. Logan’s way to fight was the hit-and-run method, not caring about any injuries that might be inflicted on him during a fight. For Logan it was more important to get out of a situation as fast as possible.
Scott on the other hand used the more subtle way like martial arts, turning his opponent’s strength against him until his enemy, frustrated and angry, would make a mistake. That was when he would strike.
Had they used their powers, he would have gone for immobilizing Scott’s arms and hands, which had to touch the dials to open the visor and release the deadly beams. But like this, they were grace and agility against strength and speed.
Logan attacked again and again, taking blows and dealing blows – if he was lucky. He caught Scott twice, once in the ribs, another blow to the cheek bone, but the other man could take punishment, he thought, surprised. It didn’t slow him down and Logan hadn’t really pulled his punches, but neither was he trying to hurt Scott. That was furthest from his mind.
When he asked himself later what exactly had happened that day he had to admit he had no real clue. All he could remember was taking on Scott again, hard, but the younger man just evaded his fist – again – ducked to the ground and slammed his legs away under him in a swift blurring movement. When Logan caught his breath again he was pinned down, Scott straddling his hips, hands held down securely by the wrists above his head.
Scott just looked down at him, watched him, and again Logan wished he could see the other man’s eyes. Logan knew that he could shake him off if he wanted to, but there was something in Summers’s body language, the way he held him down, that made him stop.
"Logan?" Scott’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"What?"
"I always wondered – that adamantium?"
"Yeah?"
"Is it – everywhere - in your body?"
Scott shifted, and Logan gasped in shock as he felt a certain pressure against his more southern areas. The moment he opened his mouth to reply Scott bent down and captured his lips.
Then Logan shocked himself even more when he felt himself – responding. Opening his mouth he surrendered, inviting Scott in and moaning slightly as the invitation was taken.
There was nothing shy or reserved in the kiss this time and Logan gave as good as he got – and he got good. Scott had let go of his wrists, his hands were stroking over Logan’s arms and shoulders, and Logan twitched involuntarily when Scott shifted again, groin pressing against a matching hardness. Sweat slick skin glided over his own, igniting a need deep within him he hadn’t even known was there.
Finally Scott broke the kiss and leaned back, breathing hard, simply looking at Logan, waiting. Part of Logan’s mind wondered about the odd calmness he was feeling all of a sudden, though another was desperately trying to get his heartbeat and breathing back under control.
He looked at the other man, taking in the rise and fall of the naked chest, the slightly open lips, the sweat-slicked hair, and he felt the powerful legs against his own, the weight resting on him.
"Cyke?" he managed.
"Hm?"
"Get off me."
"You really want that, Logan?"
"Yes," Logan growled. "Off. Now!"
Scott nodded and smiled, brushing one finger down his jaw. "Okay."
And with that, he got up. Within a minute, Logan was alone in the clearing, confusion his primary feeling again.
What had just happened here?

* * *

"Are you going to say good-bye to the rest?" Xavier asked.
"No," Logan replied. Then he smiled. "I suspect they already know that I’m going for a little trip."
The decision had been made right after his encounter with Scott. He needed distance. From these people, from this man. He needed to think, get his mind into order, and work through the rising confusion of alien feelings.
Xavier laughed, a twinkle in his eyes. "I suspect you may be right about that."
Logan moved to stand in front of the professor and extended his hand. "I’ll be seeing you."
And with that he was gone. Out of the mansion, into the driveway, where he stopped. The professor had told him that transportation would be waiting for him there, but what he found was far more.
Scott’s bike. The same bike he had… borrowed… to get to the train station. The keys were in the ignition and there was a note taped to the tank. 'Good luck. Scott.’
An emotion coursed through, something strong and powerful. This time, he didn’t shut the door, he kept it open, let the feeling wind its way through his system.
Without even a look back, he headed down the driveway. He knew he’d be seeing the place again.

* * *

He had picked his first fight right after crossing the Canadian border. It was a small roadside bar, rather seedy and no respectable man would think about entering the dimly lit hellhole of a drinking place. But Logan was far from respectable. He had been to such places before, had butted heads with the best of them, bet and won, fought and triumphed, and carried away wounds that had healed quickly. Be it from knives, bullets or teeth.
This time, it wasn’t any different. Dark eyes looked at the newcomer to their territory, sized him up, took in his lean, powerful physique, the rather unique hairstyle and the way he had grown his sideburns down the line of his jaw to almost touch at his chin. His old leather jacket and worn-down jeans that still had a bit of mileage in them. Logan chewed on his cigar and slid onto a free barstool, ordering a beer.
He let his eyes travel over the assembly of lowlife scum, sipping at the tepid brew and grimacing. Shit, the beer was awful, but it had to do.
"Hey, buddy, yer lookin’ at me?"
His eyes met those of the challenger and he immediately labeled him as 'drunk moron’.
"No."
"Yer lookin’ at me," the drunk slurred and rose, stretching his six-plus frame. He was muscle-packed and shaved bald, tattooed and probably as intelligent as a slug.
Logan turned away, not even bothering with Bald-and-Stupid.
A meaty hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, pushing him against the bar counter. A cloud of fetid alcohol-breath wafted into his face as Bald-and-Stupid leaned closer.
"I don’t like people lookin’ at me, pal."
"I know why," Logan responded in a snarl. "You’re butt-ugly."
The others in the bar erupted in laughter and the drunk colored a deep crimson.
"You got a death wish," he hissed.
"No, but you do. Get your hands off me, bub, or I’ll get them off for ya."
"Think ya can take me on, little man?"
Logan didn’t rise to the taunt, he just smirked. "I know it."
Bald-and-Stupid was suddenly joined by three of his equally stupid buddies and Logan sighed to himself. So much for a quiet beer.
 

With a last look around him, taking in the carnage that spoke of a quick and downright dirty fight, Logan stalked toward the exit. Moans and groans from the four Stupids could be heard, and the remaining patrons respectfully moved out of his way. He cricked his neck once, flexing his hands which had never once extended the deadly claws, then he got onto the bike.
Usually, a good fight always helped him unwind, get his thoughts in order, and tighten his grip on his roiling temper. Right now, his temper was the least of his problems. Rage had long since taken a second place behind something he hated to confess he had ever felt or even could feel: confusion. Emotional confusion, to be precise. It had no place in his world, which was painted in two colors: black and white. Enemies and friends. Allies and opponents. Logan worked with simple principles and they had never let him down.
But lately, his world had been introduced to all kinds of shades of gray. The clear-cut, simplistic view had been tilted and rearranged, encompassing a world he had so far ignored because he had had no use for it: emotions.
Emotions got in the way.
Of course, rage and anger and hatred were emotions, but they were easy to understand. He had handled them the last fifteen years and they had gotten him through too many fights and confrontations to really keep track of. They were old friends.
But now… now new things entered this structured world. His mind, normally not occupied with matters of his soul, was hard pressed to keep track of the changes.
With a snarl, Logan started the bike and pushed it to its limit as he took off, leaving a rubber burn.
He had left Xavier’s school to get some distance from exactly those thoughts. But not even a good old bar brawl had helped.
Pushing everything else from his mind, Logan concentrated on his destination. Alkali Lake. His past.
Things were far from settled, but everything else really had to wait.

* * *

He had come back. As promised.
Weeks on the road, with nothing to show for it except little sleep; next to no rest physically or mentally. Alkali Lake had been a dead end. More than dead, actually. A complete ruin.
So he had come back home.
Logan stepped into the mansion, listening to the welcome home greetings, seeing Marie again, hearing about her and Bobby, teasing them.
Jean gave him this wonderful smile, a smile that made men’s knees weaken, but something inside of him no longer reacted to that smile. The man did; of course. The primal part. The part that wanted and took, but not the part that craved and needed. He knew he was flirting with her. But it sounded forced.
"… unless you plan on running off again."
He gave her a fake contemplating look. "Why, I can probably think of a few reasons to stick around."
{But you’re not one of them.}
And she knew. Logan saw that she knew. Maybe it was her telepathy, though she had the good manners to stay out of other people’s heads, maybe it was knowledge of her boy-friend. Maybe it was just instinct. But Jean knew that the reason wasn’t her.
"Find what you were looking for, Logan?"
The voice made him look up and his body tensed in anticipation, eyes raking over the slender man descending the stairs.
"More or less." One corner of his mouth twitched up into what could probably be called a smile.
-- Hey, Scott --
Jean’s smile was knowing, open, warm. "I’ll see you boys later."
And with that, with a kiss on Scott’s lips that had Logan clench his hands briefly into fists, she was gone.
Just the two of them. Scott, with his hands on his hips, challenging. The eyes behind the red crystal shield were unmoving, as far as Logan could detect, as was the figure of the man they belonged to. Logan let his eyes rake over the familiar body, seeing no changes. The hair a bit longer, as usual in more disarray than Scott probably wanted it to be, and dressed in those maddeningly old-fashioned clothes of the perfect son-in-law.
"Aren’t you gonna welcome me home?"
The smirk was back, both in his voice and his expression. He had never learned how to smile, at least not in the last fifteen years. He had a limited amount of physical expressions, but his mind was relearning. It was reshaping his world, slowly and carefully, and it was adjusting him, Logan, to this slender man in front of him. For now, the smirk was as much as Scott could get.
And Summers knew it. Logan’s sight picked up the matching smirk around the younger man’s lips, his stance shifting marginally.
-- Hey, Logan. --
He tossed the keys over, watching Scott catch them. "Your bike needs gas."
Teasing, challenging, testing the waters.
-- I’m back, kid. --
There was a brief hesitation before Scott tossed them back.
"Then fill her up."
-- Good to have you back.--
Logan smirked and shook his head briefly as he watched the other man leave.
He had been forgiven.
Then he frowned as he realized what he had just thought. Why should there be anything Scott Summers should forgive him for?

*

He had been given another room, not the same one he had almost killed Marie in. In a way, Logan was thankful for it.
Throwing his small travel bag onto the large bed, he prowled around the room. Like almost all rooms, it was wood paneled, with a large arm chair that looked very comfortable, a desk, a chair, and a plush carpet covered part of the parquet floor.
Homely.
So much not him, he sneered.
Suddenly his nostrils flared with a scent that didn’t belong in this room, unless he had accidentally picked the wrong one.
His senses took in sight, sound, smell and taste, and he recognized a scent of Old Spice and Ivory Soap. Clean and sharp, well-known and… wanted.
Something caught his eye and Logan turned to the desk. It was small, innocent in its simplicity, and it was lying on the dark wood table.
The confusion came to the forefront again and he shook his head as if that would dislodge the alien sensations within his body and mind. Carefully, almost hesitantly, he reached for the object. Delicately, it rested in his hands, hands that could become deadly weapons the very moment he extended the claws from their bionic housings. A small twitch and some muscle control would operate the foot-long implants, slicing through the skin between his knuckles.
He had killed with these hands, more than once, in the blink of an eye, and not even thought twice about it. And now those hands were shaking – but not because he had used them as weapons, no.
Because they were holding a rose.
A delicate rosebud, dark red, with a velvety texture and a faint scent.
‚Welcome home,’ was written on the piece of paper underneath.

 * * *

Whatever he had expected his future to be, it had not included this. It had not included the near-death of first every mutant and then every human on this planet. It hadn’t included a fight with a woman who had been used and implanted like him. It hadn’t included Stryker’s death.
It hadn’t included losing Jean.

"I’m worried about you. That was some display of power up there."
"Obviously not enough."
Touching her. Feeling her pulse beat against his hands.
"I love him."

The words had cut into him. Jean loved Scott. He had known from the beginning, but it hadn’t stopped him.
From what?
From pursuing her?
From reacting to him?
The confusion had never abated in all that time, but it had grown. He told himself that he wanted her. The man wanted this woman, but Logan didn’t agree. He had set his sights on someone else, shifted his perception from woman to man.
And now she told him she loved Scott.
This wasn’t what everyone thought it to be: Scott and Logan bristling over Jean. It was Jean telling the newcomer to the team that she had a vested interest in Scott Summers.
Scott, who had made passes on him.
Scott, who was missing.
And he had kissed her.
It hadn’t felt as mind-blowing as he had imagined it to be, back when he had first laid eyes on her.

"Don’t make me do this," Jean begged.
"Do what?"
"This."

Make her choose. Set Scott free.
But in the end she had made a decision, taking it out of everyone else’s hands.
A very final decision.
Logan swallowed his rage, his anger, and his grief. None of it would get him any further. But his memories couldn’t be swallowed. As much as he was missing his past, as much as they were in the dark, the recent events were burned into his mind forever.
The realization of what Jean was about to do.
The helplessness, a feeling he had never experienced in that magnitude before.

"She’s gone."
Scott’s body colliding with his, hands grabbing the leather. "No! Don’t say that!"

And finally his breakdown.

"She's gone."
"She’s not!"
"She’s gone."
His own shock detaching him from the world. Aware of the body falling against him, sobbing, whispering the words like a prayer. She’s not. She’s not.

There had been no visible tears, but Logan had heard them. The sniffles, the shudders racing through the slender frame that was only held up by his own hands.
Harsh sobs had been torn from a wounded soul and he had echoed them in his mind. Scott, breaking down in front of everyone, had let lose a howl of denial, then the fight had gone out of the other man. His knees had given way, a soft moan had escaped the trembling lips, and he had found himself with an armful of unconscious Scott Summers.
Almost in a trance, he had dragged the other man to the rows of seats at the side of the Blackbird, lowering himself with Scott on them, holding him as his mind surrendered to the grief and realization that Jean Grey was dead. She had sacrificed herself.
For all of them.
For the world.
Like from the other side of a tunnel, he had heard Wagner’s murmured prayers, had felt the plane lift higher and then return home.
"Logan."
"What?" he asked absentmindedly.
"Logan!"
"What?" Whirling around he noticed he had startled Marie. "Sorry, kid. What is it?"
"It’s Mr. Summers, Logan."
"What’s wrong?"
"He hasn’t come to dinner. And lunch. And breakfast. I think he hasn’t come to any meal in the last days."
Worry swung in the young woman’s voice and she nervously twisted her gloved hands. She gazed at him as if he held all the answers, but Logan knew he didn’t. He had no answers to give. Just questions.
He took in the information without so much as blinking. "And what am I supposed to do?"
"Logan … I think he needs you."
"Me? Me of all people?"
"Yes, you. You of all people, Logan."
Him of all people.
"Why?"
"’Cause no one’s as close to him as you are," Marie replied seriously.
She knew. It didn’t really shock him, and embarrassment was something Logan had dealt with many, many years ago. It was something he didn’t feel any more.
So Marie knew, or she suspected and played a hunch. Whatever.
Him of all people.
He would have to deal.

*

Knocking on Scott’s door turned out to be fruitless – well, what had he expected?
"Hey, Cyke?"
"Go away."
Damn.
"Summers, open that damn door, or I’ll break it down!"
"It’s open," came the muffled reply after a second of silence.
Stepping into the room he stood stunned. Logan had expected everything – especially neat and tidy – but not this. It was – messy? Clothes were scattered across the room – only Scott’s, as far as he could see – and the man himself…. Logan swallowed hard. Scott Summers, leader of the X-men, stoic as one could be, was a mess himself. Unkempt, unshaven, he was sitting in front of a mirror. And he wasn’t wearing his glasses! Logan had no idea if a simple mirror would reflect the blast or if it would disintegrate, but hell, he didn’t want to find out right now.
The emotional meltdown had started and he was about to step right into the middle of it.
"Summers, what the hell are you doing there? Want to kill yerself?" he snarled.
"Why not?"
The voice was flat, almost toneless, and it scared Logan more than if the man had yelled at him, or cried.
"Why?"
"It doesn’t matter anymore."
"Why not?"
He stepped closer, his eyes roaming around the room trying to find the glasses, the visor, anything. There, on the bedside stand …
Keep on talking, he urged himself, keep him occupied…
Grabbing the glasses he turned back to the man he had held only three days ago as he broke down in his arms, crying over the death of a woman both of them adored, maybe even loved…
Shit, he hated this. He wasn’t the one for psych or pep talk. He simply didn’t do talking; end of discussion. But he could hardly deck Scott.
Logan smiled darkly.
Then again…
"Why not?" he asked instead of using a well-applied fist to the chin. "Cause there’re still some people here depending on you, Summers, even if you’re a mule headed dick. Cause there’re still people around here who need you, even if you’re a mule headed dick. And cause there’re still some people here who lo… like you, even if you’re…"
"A mule headed dick?" There was a slight tug on the lips.
"Yeah."
Scott’s head sank forward. "They shouldn’t."
"Why not?"
"Cause I’m no good to them. I’m just gonna kill them."
"What?!" Logan frowned in utter surprise.
"I killed her, you know."
Now the voice was almost conversational. Logan hadn’t thought he could be more scared when he had entered the room. Turned out he had been wrong.
"I killed her. Full blast; unrestrained. If she hadn’t been as strong as she was… and I couldn’t do anything about it."
Scott had sent a full blast into Jean? Whoa…
"Nobody knows, except the professor," came the near-whisper. "And now… you."
Logan was aware how much trust the younger man was putting into him.
"How … ?"
Scott pulled down the sweater to expose his neck, one finger running over a small circular scar. Logan couldn’t help it, he stepped closer, one finger following the motion. He heard the other man gasp a little when his fingertip ran over the rough scar.
"What is it?" he wanted to know.
Summers shivered briefly. "Acid burn. Something Stryker used to make mutants bend to his will. Total wipe-out of all higher brain functions. Total control." The voice wobbled. "I was there, I watched myself, Logan. I saw her and I opened my visor fully. If it had been you or…" He drew a shuddering breath. "I couldn’t help it."
"But that’s not what killed her."
"No. My blast, coupled with her powers, ruined the internal structure of the dam. I killed her, Logan. The dam broke and I killed her… "
"No."
Logan closed his hand around a slim shoulder which had started to tremble profoundly under his fingers.
"I hurt her," Scott went on, his voice pained. "She broke her leg, kept it together with her telekinesis. But she was in pain and she was weakened from fighting against me, defending herself… surviving."
"Stop this, goddamnit! Killing yourself won’t make her come back!" Logan growled angrily. "Besides, I’m standing right behind you, so if you open you’re eyes right now, you’ll kill me, too."
If that mirror can deflect your blast, bub. Somehow I doubt it. It would be too easy. You’re playing around… testing… yourself, your courage, your reasoning.
"Logan… "
"No! I know about death wishes. Been there, done that. I Won’t. Let. You. Go."
Emphasizing every word with a squeeze of the other man’s shoulder Logan watched as Scott’s face slowly fell. Then with a sharp sobbing intake of breath Scott hauled himself up, and a split second later Logan found himself flat on his back on the bed with an armful of grieving mutant. And this time he closed his arms around the trembling form, running soothing hands over the other man’s back while he listened to Scott’s sobs and cries. Listened until the body in his arms became lax, the sobs subsided.
Still, his caress never faltered. His sense of touch took in the slim form, noticed a loss of weight, not much, but Scott couldn’t really afford it.
Carefully rolling onto his side, he placed the sleeping man on the bed, wiping off some of the moisture that hadn’t been burned by the energy in his eyes. He gazed at the chiseled features, looking at them up close without the crystal shields for the first time. He took in the high cheekbones, the disheveled hair, the pulse of a heartbeat at the side of the neck, those luscious lips – lips that had kissed him before with so much tenderness and passion.
"You’re more than what you show the world, Scott Summers," Logan whispered to the sleeping man, then bent and placed a soft kiss on those lips again.
With a sigh he withdrew and pulled Scott’s night goggles over the younger man’s eyes. Then he rolled from the bed and grabbed himself a chair. This was going to be a long night.

 * * *

"Logan…"
Her warm body was leaning over him, her legs straddling his hips, and then she bent down and kissed him, hard.
"Jean … "
He moaned, giving in to the seductive wriggle of her body, wrapped his arms around her, fingers gliding under the shirt, feeling the soft smooth skin, until …
"Damn!"
Shoving her away, he no longer looked at Jean. It were chrome yellow eyes in a blue face – Mystique.
"I can be whoever you want me to be."
A soft sound and then Jean again, Rogue, even Storm.
"God … "
"Whoever … "
And then there were no longer soft curves and long hair, but hard muscles, short hair and a lean body. Logan’s eyes widened in utter shock at the sight of the red glasses, and then Scott was pushing a knee between his thighs, rubbing, testing, pressing, and Logan growled in surrender, reaching up and pulling his head down to claim that smirking mouth.
He felt Scott respond in kind, hands roaming over his body, under his shirt and over his heated skin, inflaming him with their tender touch, lips following where fingers had been, teeth teasing his flesh. Logan spread his legs as he felt the inquisitive pressure against his groin, and then he was engulfed in heat, and he wrapped his arms around the lean frame, bucking helplessly into the welcoming warmth as he was pushed over the edge, panting and yelling a certain name.
He didn’t hear the sharp sound of metal – only a well-known coppery tang made him open his eyes.
The body lying on his was dead heavy, and his hands were covered in blood when he lifted them in horror. Not his own blood.
"Nooo … !!"
 

Jerking upright, panting, the echo of his own scream still in his ears, Logan ran his shaking hands over his face. His back muscles creaked and groaned, pain registered in his mind, but nothing too serious to contemplate it much. His senses informed him of where he was.
Logan had an uncannily accurate awareness of time and space and his self. It was almost impossible for him to get lost and he always knew immediately if something had changed around him while he was unconscious or asleep.
And those senses told him that he was in Scott’s room, it was ten a.m. and he was still sitting in the chair he had fallen asleep in.
The nightmares had been born from the exhaustion of his mind, a mind that had been unable to keep them in check.
"Logan?"
Looking up he saw Scott standing in the door leading into the bathroom – damn, he hadn’t even heard him approaching. He had been aware of the missing presence on the bed, but his sense of alarm and imminent danger hadn’t been too concerned with it, because some part had still registered the other mutant close by.
"You okay?"
"I’m fine."
"You don’t look fine to me."
"I said I’m fine!" he snarled with more vehemence than he had planned to.
Scott straightened and inhaled once, before he nodded and turned away. Something in his body language made Logan take a closer look –
"Scott."
When Summers stopped, Logan noticed the pale and hollow face – he hadn’t woken up Scott with his nightmare. This was the man who, just a few hours ago, had broken down completely. This was the man who had contemplated death. This was the man who had cried himself to sleep and who Logan was supposedly watching over – but had fallen asleep while doing so. It was the man who couldn’t really deal with Logan’s moods right now and had just had them thrown into his face.
Shit!
"Scott, I… look…"
"Skip it, Wolverine. When you say you’re fine, I won’t bother you anymore."
The words were brisk, flat and dismissive. Scott walked past the bed and to the door leading out of the room. His body language didn’t give Logan anything, except that he was pissed off, tired, and still in a lot of emotional pain. And his scent… it spoke of disappointment and failure.
Then the door closed and he was alone in a room two people had once shared. One of them was dead now.
With a groan Logan sank back into the chair, swearing inwardly. How could he ever explain to Scott what he was feeling, if he didn’t understand it himself? He had been attracted to Jean, and he had reacted to her, but he had reacted to Scott as well. Hell, even more, given his current emotional state. He didn’t want to contemplate his physical one.
When Scott had broken down in his arms crying, he had held the man and bit back tears of his own. Tears because of the loss of a friend and because of the feeling of disbelief about her actions, sacrificing herself. Tears he would never share with anybody – and never had. And then he had held the man when he had grieved, blaming himself for her death, and watched over him while he had slept; until he had given in to his own exhaustion and made the mistake to fall asleep.
He knew that Scott had loved Jean – so where had that left him? Did that leave him anywhere now? Scott had loved Jean, yet he… wanted him.
And god, if he didn’t want Scott. There was an undefined craving, a yearning deep within, that left him feeling like he was missing something important.
A sudden image flashed through his mind – him screaming while caught in the waves of passion, the sound of metal claws triggered, scent of blood – and he shuddered in terror.
It could never be.

 * * *

He listened to the professor’s little speech with a detached air around him. His eyes were on the slim form staring out of the window, taking note of each twitch, each tensing of muscles, and Logan wished he could just walk over there, take Scott into his arms, just hold him like he had done last night.
But since this morning, since his nightmare and his dismissal of the other’s concern, things had changed. Scott, in his own grief, had reached out to him. Not to be comforted, but to offer the same. He had offered to listen, offered to help, and Logan had turned him down.
Out of fear.
Because of the nightmare.
All happening around him lost importance to the single need to make up for his mistake.
That was new to Logan. He had never 'made up’. If he erred in his ways, so be it. People had to live with it. He never looked back, never contemplated the past, never questioned his moves. But now, in the light of recent events – going back as far as the first time he had been to Xavier’s school and laid eyes on Summers – he had changed his perspective yet again. He was constantly shifting and it was disquieting.
Where a while back Logan had been sure in his decisions, had never worried about another’s view of him, he now hesitated. In a fight, this could get him killed; and this was a fight. An emotional fight, but he would see it through. He had never backed out of any confrontation and he wouldn’t do so now.
So he followed the retreating form out into the hallway.
"She did make a choice. It was you."
Scott’s cheek muscles twitched and Logan could see the torment in the other’s mind.
Jean had chosen to set him free, to relinquish her hold on him. For Logan.
Scott exhaled sharply and simply walked away, each step measured, controlled, but his body radiated tension and Logan wanted nothing more than to follow him, ease the pain, share the grief.
But he didn’t. He left Scott to himself, to deal with what he was going through. Logan was ill-equipped to be a counselor. He had enough baggage on his own to carry around; he’d make a lousy listener and he had messed up enough as it was already.

* * *

A week passed by. Then a second one. The two men barely saw each other, mainly because Logan kept his distance. He explored the mansion room by room, he spent some time with the kids, he took Marie and her boy-friend to a museum exhibit that bored him to death – but he suffered it because it meant more time away from him – and he stayed in bars and pubs in the area till late at night or early in the morning, getting the alcohol that was hard to find at the school.
Everyone was still grieving, but acceptance had settled in. Jean was gone. The youngest were quickly adjusting; they were more affected by the commandos trying to abduct them than a missing teacher. Xavier worked with them, eased their minds, helped them through it. Those who understood the implications of Jean’s absence quietly went through their phase of mourning and then continued their own lives. The few who had been aboard the Blackbird when it had happened found consolation with each other or in solitude.
And life went on. They had to deal.
Logan had been away all day from the school and hadn’t bothered to return for the night, spending it cruising around the dark countryside. When he returned mid-morning the next day, there was a change of atmosphere to the school.
"Hey, what’s up?" he asked as he found Marie.
She and Bobby were in an empty classroom, getting their things together.
"Hey, Logan," she greeted him with a smile.
Bobby just gave him a nod. The kid had grown up fast and Logan had seen real potential in him when the boy had helped save some of the children and then had come back for him.
"Cyclops and Nightcrawler went out to find a mutant in Topaz Falls yesterday. Out of control powers or something. Looks like he was triggered when that wave hit everyone."
Logan’s brows drew together. He knew what 'wave’ she was talking about. The one that had nearly killed them all. He hadn’t know it could trigger mutant powers, too. Then again, he hadn’t attended any of the professor’s meetings.
"They found him?"
Marie’s face darkened. "Kinda. Listen, you better talk to the professor, okay?"
Logan’s frown deepened as he picked up her change in respiration, pulse and skin temperature. Something had happened.
Turning on his heels, he stalked through the hallways toward Xavier’s office.
/Come in/ the soft voice sounded in his head as he grabbed the door knob.
Logan grimaced and then entered the study, a large room flooded with sunlight coming from the high windows at the back. Xavier was as always sitting behind his desk and there was a calming smile on his face.
"What happened in Topaz Falls?"
Xavier made an inviting gesture for Logan to sit, but he just scowled and remained standing. The professor interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the mahogany table top.
"I found a young man by the name of Evan who had just come into his powers. A very strong person with a rather haphazard control over his elemental telekinesis."
"Elemental?"
"His telekinetic skills manifested as control over geophysical matters. He literally made the earth move." Xavier smiled, but it never reached his eyes.
"What happened?" Logan repeated himself.
"Cyclops and Storm tried to calm him down. He was frightened by what had happened to him, but the energy inside him kept building up until it was too late." Xavier’s face suddenly showed an incredible pain. "He killed himself with his own powers. I couldn’t reach him in time."
Logan felt a second of regret, then decided he hadn’t known the guy and it was a waste of time.
"Was anyone hurt?" he demanded.
"Not seriously."
Hands clenching into fists, Logan felt his cheek muscles twitch. His mind screaming at him to find Scott, he let loose a snarl and stormed out of Xavier’s office, not even bothering to excuse himself.
/He’s preparing the exams for class next week/ the professor’s voice told him as Logan stretched his senses to find the younger man. /Third floor/
 

The room was small, a study, with a skylight and a window, and the walls were paneled in light maple. A desk, a chair and a large filing cabinet made up most of the furniture, but there was an armchair, too. And a computer.
Scott Summers sat in front of it right now, frowning at whatever he was reading, and the moment Logan opened the door, his senses were all over Scott. Sight told him little. There was a small cut to one cheekbone and a bruise at his neck. His breathing sounded fine and he smelled… of Ivory Soap and Old Spice… and that unique flavor he had long since ago labeled 'Just Scott’. There was a sudden craving to touch, but he reined it in, just standing there, looking the man over.
"Logan."
Scott gave him a smile that was open and welcoming, and for the first time Logan saw no lines of grief on the angular features.
"Heard what happened," he rumbled.
Scott nodded and sighed softly. "Yes. We were too late."
"Not your fault."
The smile was back, shadowed by something that wasn’t really guilt or self-recrimination; just sadness.
"I know. He had no control."
Logan moved closer, still scanning for any serious injury.
"I’m fine," Scott answered the unspoken question.
He felt awkward. Something that hadn’t happened to him before either. Not that he remembered anyway.
Logan had tried to keep away from the grieving man, handling his own pain, coming to terms with what had happened. He wasn’t one for self-analysis, but once in a while he made an exception. Like this time. So he had reviewed the events, had dealt with them, and then closed the lid on that box.
It was over. The past. Time to move on.
But moving on to where?
He knew what he liked to do, and that included Scott Summers, but the man had just lost a woman he had been together with for a substantial time of his young life, and Logan had no intention of playing the substitute, to be used and then discarded.
He snarled at that thought. Scott wouldn’t do that. And besides, Summers had been coming on to him a long time before Jean’s death. Something had developed and all three had known it, maybe even the professor. He smiled humorlessly. Most definitely the old man knew, too.
"Good," he finally answered.
Both men looked at each other, silent, neither one moving. Logan read more than he could accept in Scott’s body language and finally he gave a curt nod, and left the room.
Outside, in the hallway, he screwed his eyes shut and briskly shook his head. He still had no idea what was going on, just that they were tiptoeing around each other.
No, not really, part of him interjected.
You’re courting.

 * * *

Relaxing on the couch, watching a game and listening to the crackling sound of the fireplace was exactly what Logan had had in mind for this evening. It was the first time he didn’t seek the anonymity of a bar and indulge in alcohol and thankfully none of the kids were around. Leaning back into the cushions he switched on the TV, watching the game start.
Suddenly an enticing scent reached his nostrils. Scott Summers had just entered the room. Logan felt his body react, reminding him of how much he craved to touch the other man, reassure himself with the tactile sense that he was really okay.
Scott came into view and Logan’s eyes immediately went over the slender form. Dressed in a dark turtleneck and equally dark pants, Scott looked every bit not like his usual self. His hair was finger-combed into place and a strand hung over his forehead. Logan grinned to himself. Not so perfect anymore, but very edible in his appearance.
Scott stretched out a hand that held a bottle. "Beer?" he offered.
Logan scented the air, took in the faint smell of soap on warm skin, and sensed the determination. Scott was making an offer.
"Sure."
Offer accepted.
‘Kay."
Scott handed him the chilled bottle and Logan took a sip. Just the right temperature. He nodded at the couch; an invitation.
Scott took it.
They silently watched the game, drinking their beer, until Scott made the next move, bringing them closer together. It was a move that leaped across the invisible boundaries that had existed between them so far.
Their bodies touched and Logan almost automatically adjusted to the weight against his shoulder. What came next was like a dance, slow and sensual, lasting through the second period of the game, and it ended with Scott resting with his back against Logan’s chest; with Logan’s legs left and right of the lithe form; with one of Logan’s hands on the firm stomach, entwined with Scott’s.
"Cyke?"
"What?"
This was it. The leap. He could end it now – or not at all.
"Nothing," Logan croaked, surprised at the way he seemed to like this, having Scott that up and close.
The warm and fuzzy feeling that slowly started to develop in his stomach didn’t originate in the beer alone. It spread and encompassed the emptiness inside him, the part yearning for something he didn't want to confess he had.
He had made his choice, his decision.
Logan's nostrils flared, taking in the scent again, storing it firmly in his memory. His thumb rubbed over the back of Scott’s hand holding his, feeling the texture of the skin. The half-empty beer bottle stood forgotten on the side table as Logan’s second hand rested on a strong thigh; doing nothing.
Somewhere along the line of the evening Logan ended up with one hand under Scott’s shirt after the other man had shifted a bit. He didn’t even realize it at first, only a slight gasp alerted him to the fact that he was no longer touching fabric but soft skin. Scott’s head was slowly falling back on his shoulder, and Logan closed his eyes to the sensation of silky strands tickling his nose, the rise and fall of the other man’s chest, and the overall sensation of Scott’s unique scent. Flattening his hand against the smooth stomach he just lay there, taking in every breath, every minute movement, reveling in the somewhat intimate moment.
His heart started to race when he realized his choice of words.
The game was forgotten, his focus solely on the handsome man in his arms.
His hand explored the abdominal muscles, up the curve of the ribs, to the chest, feeling the heart beat under the silkily deceptive skin. He encountered the heat of bruised flesh, but experience told him that none of the marks were dangerous; just colorful. One finger brushed a little nub and Scott twitched, biting his lower lip, the moan stuck in his throat.
Logan was suddenly acutely aware of where they were. Right out in the open, in the TV room. It was late, but some kids here never slept, or very little, and there was a good chance one of them stumbled over them.
With Logan’s hand under Scott’s shirt.
He inhaled sharply and buried his head in the crook of Scott’s neck.
"Scott?" he breathed, lips moving against sensitive skin.
"Yeah?"
Gawd, Scott sounded rough and husky enough to get a man to lose his last restraints.
But Logan held on tight to his reactions. Not here, not now. Not like this.
"Public place. Not good."
That drew a shaky laugh. "Probably."
Logan withdrew his hand and Scott turned, the damn visor keeping his eyes hidden, but the body language was open and easily readable. Logan reached up and flicked a strand of hair off the smooth forehead. It was a gesture that surprised him. It was… tender. He just didn’t do tender. At least he never had.
"I won’t be a substitute," he stated, voicing his last fear, his last doubt, challenging Scott to take offense and leave.
"You aren’t," was the serious answer. "You never were. She knew, Logan. She knew about me the day we became lovers. She knew I liked men and women. She knew what was developing here. We were still together, keeping up the pretty picture, but the relationship had been on hold for a while now."
So Jean had flirted with Logan, but she had known that her boy-friend was steadily moving away from her in his direction? So what did that say about Jean? Or about Scott? And where did it leave him?
"You were right, Logan. She set me free. I understand it now, even if it hurts, but… this… this thing between us… it didn’t just start a few day ago, right?"
No, it had started when he had first laid eyes on the arrogant little son-of-a-bitch, disliking him from the start – and then getting to know the man behind the red shades.
Logan’s hands had come to rest on the narrow hips and he just about kept them from sliding lower.
"We should move this party somewhere more private," Scott added, voice dropping lower.
He growled an affirmative and pawed for the remote to shut off the TV. He hadn’t followed the game anyway, though he actually knew the score and how much time was still left to play. Mutant powers; blessing and curse.
 

They ended up in Logan’s room, his territory, and part of him approved. Logan knew Scott had changed from the room he had shared with Jean to another soon after her death; he would have done the same..
Landing flat on his back on the bed, Scott over him – why the hell was it always him ending up on the bottom in the first place? – he felt Scott’s lips claiming his, and with a soft groan he gave in, opened up under the other man. Scott’s hands were roaming over his body, not stopping at the shoulders. And then it were hands on his skin, slipping under the fabric of the shirt, and Logan moaned when Scott reached his nipples. God, he hadn’t known he was that sensitive, and he arched into the tender yet teasing touch, his mind whirling with the mass of sensations hitting him.
Far away he heard a sobbing sound and realized it was his own voice, heard Scott chuckle before his neck was attacked again, and some part of his mind realized Scott was parting his legs, settling in between them and then there were hands…
Sanity returned, piercing the fog of lust and need and want, pushing away the desire rising from deep down inside the primal part of him.
"No! Scott, no … "
He grabbed the wandering hands by the wrists and pulled them up.
"Logan?" Scott’s voice was hoarse with desire – as was his own, he realized.
"No, Scott. Don’t."
"Logan? I thought you…?"
God, yes! a part of him wanted to scream when he looked into Scott’s puzzled face, noticing the frown. {Yes, I want you. I want to feel you, want to lose myself in you, but I can’t.}
"I can’t, Scott."
He wanted to roll away, avoid those scrutinizing watchful eyes, but Summers would have none of it. Straddling his hips he grabbed Logan’s shoulders and held him down.
It would be so easy to toss him off. Scott was nothing compared to Logan’s physical strength, but he didn’t want to hurt. Neither did he want to lose contact. It felt so deliriously good, so wonderful, so alien and new.
"Why? I know you want me, at least you’re reacting to me."
A slight twitch of his hips brought pressure on Logan’s groin and he barely suppressed a moan.
"See? Now, what’s your problem? That it’s me and not Jean?"
Logan bared his teeth in a snarl. Jean was dead and even before her death, she had never stood between them. Scott had been the initiator of their encounters, Scott had set the pace, and Jean had been… not a participant.
"Or is it that the great Wolverine can’t see himself with a man?" Scott went on mercilessly. "Are you prejudiced, Logan?"
"No. Now get the hell off me, Summers!"
"No way. Not this time, Logan. I want answers, and I want them now. You want me off? Really? Then make me."
Logan clenched his fists but didn’t fight. He felt muscles coil, ready, but he didn’t use his strength. His claws stayed put; he stayed put.
"What is it, Logan? You’ve never been with a man before, or what?" Scott demanded.
It was a rhetoric question, but Logan found himself inhaling sharply.
{Too close to home, bub.}
"Not that I know of… "
"What about women, then? You prefer ‘em soft and curvy?"
"Not that I know of…"
It was barely a whisper, but this time Scott seemed to really hear it.
"Holy…! Logan?"
His captor sat up, staring down at him with shock on his features, then a frown marred the handsome face.
"How long since you escaped that lab?"
"Fifteen years."
Scott exhaled sharply before he slid off Logan and sat at his side.
"And you haven’t had… anyone?" he inquired softly.
Logan shook his head, not looking at he young man at his side he was so aware of right now. It wasn’t shame that coursed through; he was never ashamed. It wasn’t embarrassment either. It was more a feeling of inadequacy; because his memories were locked away, out of reach, and he couldn’t even recall such a simply act as sex with another person.
"No."
"Not even a hooker?"
He gave a little snort of laughter, but it missed the humor. "I was on the road, remember? There was a hooker every now and then, but it was only… "
"A blow job in your car. Or in an alley, just to release some pressure," Scott finished the sentence, his voice holding an odd quality.
There was a hitch in it that made Logan prick his ears. He turned to finally look at the other man.
"Yeah, something like that. How do you…?"
"Know?" Scott shrugged. "Been there, done that, as you so colorfully put it once."
"Scott?"
That really didn’t fit his image of the perfect Scott Summers.
"I was on the other end, Logan."
Logan’s eyes widened as the true meaning of what Scott had just said hit home.
"Shit."
Another shrug. "Yeah. Life. My past. Too bad I can remember it, hm?" The wry smile was back and Logan decided he didn’t like that expression on Scott’s face. "But this isn’t about me. I’m out of it. It’s about you, Logan. Did I interpret something wrong here? From your reaction I’d say you want me."
"I do."
"Then what… oh."
Scott stopped and his expression was suddenly very thoughtful.
"What?" Logan demanded.
"Logan, let me rephrase this, okay? You want me?"
"Yeah."
"Yet you reject me. You react to me…" One finger slowly running over his thigh made him shiver, emphasizing the words. Scott smiled. "You react to me a lot. But… you don’t know how."
"Bub, the mechanics haven’t changed over the last years, I’ve been told," Logan said dismissively, putting a growl into his voice.
"I don’t want mechanics. Neither do you."
And then Scott bent over him slowly, meeting his lips, body pressing against his, but this time there was no urgency, just tenderness and caring and… Logan didn’t want to think about the rest, as his body demanded its right to feel.
"Let me show you, Logan. I’ll go slow, promise." Husky voice breathing into his ear, followed by an equally gentle nibble at his earlobe.
Logan moaned his agreement when his arms came up again, fingers weaving into soft auburn strands. Scott did go slow as he had promised but then somewhere along the line of floating into the sensations of feeling Scott’s body against his, of the things Scott’s hands and lips and tongue were doing to him, he felt said hands closing around him, and this time he didn’t fight it.
Lifting his hands over his head and clasping the headboard hard, he bucked helplessly into those hands, suppressing a moan that was forming deep in his throat and the wish to close his eyes and simply let go. Gluing his gaze to Scott’s face instead, he arched into the touch of those long slender hands as Scott brought him over the edge.
 

Getting his breathing back under control Logan sighed as he felt lips brushing over his own, and he responded eagerly.
"God… Scott, that…." his voice sounded rougher than usual when he looked up to meet his lover’s gaze.
Lover. Scott Summers his lover.
Was the right term for what they were doing, for what they were becoming?
Whatever …
"Yeah. It was."
Scott smiled and curled around him, fingers drawing lazy circles over his chest, running through the short dark hair in a way he could only describe as tender. Logan pulled him closer when he felt something poke his hip.
"Scott?"
"It’s okay."
"Okay?"
"Of course. You turn me on, Logan, but I don’t need to."
"But you want to?"
"Logan, I’m a man, of course I want to."
"Then shuddup, bub, and let me take care of you."
"Logan…"
Whatever protest Scott had wanted to utter, it was silenced by a searing kiss. Logan had never kissed Scott, never initiated it, he realized now. Rolling over so he was blanketing the slender body was something else, too. Running his hands over said body he remembered what Scott was able to do with his hands and fingers, lips and tongue, and he did his best to mirror that.
From the sounds Scott were making he was doing all right – yet when he slid his hand into the loose sweat pants he almost bolted. Closing his fingers around a hardness that wasn’t his own was – strange, to say the least. Scott moaned softly under him when he felt his hands close around his own, re-adjusting his hold and encouraging him to move – and then there suddenly was a bundle of passion lying underneath him, as he complied.
Scott’s fingers were digging into his back as he moaned deep in his throat, spreading his legs to grant Logan further access, hips bucking into his hand. Scott was arching into his touch, making sobbing sounds, and Logan watched in utter fascination the display of emotions on the normally so reserved face. And then he realized another thing – it was him causing this. Scott writhing in pleasure, moaning with desire and sobbing with need, digging his fingers into his back again as he…
"Logan!"
…cried out his completion, pulling him incredibly close into a kiss that could have melted glaciers.

*

Logan was aware of the warm body blanketing him, strong arms around his chest, and a gentle breath ghosting over the hairs of his chest. He felt warm skin underneath his callused hands, hair teasing his nostrils, and long legs around and between his own.
Scott.
In his bed.
Asleep.
Logan had been aware of him subconsciously throughout his sleep, even throughout waking, and he had classified him as no threat.
Don’t attack.
Mine.
No one had ever shared his bed. Mainly because he didn’t trust himself in his sleep. While the nightmares only came when his mental defenses were down, he was still a dangerous man, and he didn’t trust anyone.
Until now.
They had been in each others arms when Scott had dropped off and Logan hadn’t been far behind. For a moment, he had thrown caution to the wind, followed his instincts, and he had let Scott stay. It had been an incredible risk and he tensed at the thought of a subconscious attack on the man he had just slept with.
The man he had just… slept with.
Logan gazed at the lithe form, sprawled over him so trustingly, so… vulnerable. Why did Scott trust him this much? Fall asleep in his arms… leave himself open to any form of attack. What was this between them? Fuck buddies? No. Not Scott’s style. But what were his emotions in this? Was it a game? How serious was the younger man about them?
About both of them. Together…
They didn’t even like each other… or did they?
Logan’s thoughts were whirling, trying to find an answer.
Scott had initiated all of this… while Jean had been still alive, so it wasn’t a coping process. But then… what was? What was he to Scott?
He was running a maze of emotions right now, chasing a rather elusive one. So he tried to look at it from the outside in.
What were they doing?
They had had sex.
It had felt good. For both of them.
Was it just the physical relief or something else?
He didn’t know what it was for Scott, but Logan had just come to realize that it was more for him than just an encounter. More than sex. It was something he couldn’t name right now, something he was rather reluctant to label, but Logan knew it was serious for him. They were nothing if not different, him and Scott, but something inside Logan needed the other man.
For now, he would work with what he had. For now, he would follow Scott’s leads. It would be enough.
Scott shifted and his respiration changed as he woke. The glasses still firmly in place, the auburn head lifted and a lazy smile graced his lips.
"Hey," he mumbled, voice rough from sleep.
"Hey."
"Slept well?"
Logan raised one corner of his mouth into a half-smile. "Yes."
Scott pillowed his head on the broad chest again, one hand playing with the hair.
"Me, too. Best sleep I had in a while."
Logan caught the playful hand and enclosed it with his own. His eyes fell on his knuckles.
Careless. How could he have been so careless? One bad dream and he could have sliced Scott apart. But there had been no bad dreams, no restlessness, and he felt… pretty good. His sense of time told him that they had slept for eight hours, which was more than what he usually interpreted as sleep.
"Logan?"
He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. "I’m okay."
Scott pushed himself up, tousled hair falling across his forehead and Logan immediately reached up and combed it out of his eyes. The younger man leaned forward and kissed him gently.
"Second thoughts?" he inquired softly.
"No. Not at all," Logan answered immediately.
"You’re just not used waking up with a guy in your bed?"
He snorted. "Not used to anyone in my bed."
"Not even a woman?"
"No."
Scott was silent for a moment, then folded his hands on the broad chest, resting his chin on them. Logan was rather effectively trapped underneath. If he want to, he could get out, but he didn’t want to; it felt good.
"Why?"
"Too dangerous."
"The nightmares?"
Another affirmative grunt.
"You don’t have them all the time," Scott stated.
"No."
"Like pulling worms," came the teasing chuckle.
Logan reached up and cupped the angular face, stroking his thumb over the morning stubble, but he didn’t elaborate. Scott silently accepted his refusal, smiling.
"I’m up for a shower," he said after a while, making moves to get up.
Logan watched the naked form walk over to the bathroom, enticing and dangerously handsome in its nudeness. A southern part of him agreed and urged him to follow. With a low growl he jumped up and stalked after Summers.

* * *

The rain had started somewhere throughout the afternoon and it was coming down in sheets by nightfall, beating against the roof and the windows. No one was bothered by it much. The children were either in their own rooms, studying or playing, or were lounging around the common rooms. As it was, Logan was doing his own lounging, in his bed, Scott cuddled up to him in his arms. The younger man sighed softly and the hand resting across his ribs stroked gently.
In a way, the rain was a calming sound, the only sound in their room, and Logan listened to the force of nature while playing with his lover’s hair.
"Scott?" he finally broke the silence.
"Hm?" came the soft, content sound.
"Tell me about yourself."
The hand caressing him never faltered, but Scott tensed slightly. "About what in particular?"
"How did you come to be here?"
"The professor found me."
Logan chuckled. And here he had thought he was the brisk and curt one. "I know that, Slim."
"Then why ask?"
He rolled them around, looking down into the shaded eyes, no longer trying to pierce the quartz covers. He would never see his lover’s eyes, but it didn’t bother him any more.
"Because I know nothing about myself, my own past. I’m a blank slate. I want to know about the most important part of the presence." And maybe my future, he added silently, afraid to say it out loud.
Scott gazed at him, then one hand rose and brushed along the sideburn. "I wish I could forget my past," he murmured.
"Never say that. Memories are important, Scott. Very important."
The hand remained for a moment longer, then fell limply to the mattress. Scott turned his head away, his face showing the internal battle he was waging. Logan knew he wasn’t the only one with scars on his mind and soul. He would have them on his body, too, if not for the healing factor. All the mutants here had come from a less than stellar experience into Xavier’s home. Hated, despised, tormented, feared… terrified. Scott had given him a brief glimpse into his past already, but Logan was curious. He wanted to know what had shaped this man into who he was.
Always seeking perfection. So tightly controlled. So stiff.
Well, not any longer when it came to their personal encounters, he mused. Scott was a very passionate man, vocal, a bundle of sensuality and fire. So far, they hadn't gone past the stage of kissing, exploring and a handjob, but damn, it felt good.
The rain beat against the window with renewed vigor and the wind rattled at the shutters. It was the perfect day for cuddling in bed.
"I was fifteen," he finally said.
"When you got your powers?"
"Yeah. Happened at the prom. Blasted a hole through the boys’ bathroom wall into the girls’."
Logan chuckled. "Now there’s something to remember."
Scott grimaced. "Yeah. Didn’t open my eyes for nearly three months after that. Until the professor found me. Even after I got the glasses I was afraid to look."
He drew a shuddering breath and Logan moved so he was holding the younger man loosely against him, giving him enough room but relaying a sense of comfort.
When had he ever felt he needed to comfort someone? Not even with Marie had he been that much at ease. He had an instinct to protect the weak, the young and the defenseless. Scott was far from weak and defenseless, and his youth was hidden behind impressive masks and walls. It just felt right to be protective. And good.
"Your parents just let you go here?"
Scott laughed darkly, humorlessly. "My parents were dead at the time. They died when I was little. Five."
"Sorry."
"It was a car accident. I spent a while in the hospital myself. Hit my head pretty hard, hairline fracture and all. After that, they put me into foster care."
"No family?"
Scott shook his head. "None that could take care of a five-year-old. They paid for the foster care, but that was about it." He was silent for a moment, then his hands briefly clenched into Logan’s white t-shirt. "I changed foster homes a lot in the beginning. Until I was maybe twelve, I had a new family every year. Changed school just about as often. And I ran with bad crowds."
Logan raised his eyebrows in surprise. Scott Summers? In gangs?
Scott looked at him and chuckled. "Yeah, me and street gangs. Did a lot of bad stuff, Logan. Lots of it. The worst time was when I was eleven. I ran away, stayed on the street, supported myself with… everything."
Logan understood, remembering a certain talk they had had not too long ago.
I was on the other end.
He clenched his jaws at the thought of an eleven year old Scott on the streets, doing everything – even that - to survive. How could he still let someone touch him so easily? Logan wondered. Another man at that. How could Scott trust him, Logan, that much?
He squeezed one slim shoulder in sympathy.
"The cops picked me up one day, Social Services put me into an orphanage, but I didn’t stay there long."
"Ran away again?"
Another laugh. "No. Another foster home. In the beginning I fought them, but they never gave up. I think they finally managed to get through to me. Until that day at the prom, I thought I had my life back in order."
Logan rubbed across the soft skin of Scott’s neck, feeling the goose bumps under his fingers, and he soothingly caressed one temple.
"Even though I was a mutant, they still tried to help me, but I was so scared. I had thought I could be normal, but suddenly…" Scott’s voice trailed off.
"What happened after the professor found you?"
"Came here. There were only Ororo and Jean at the time. Now and then someone visited, but we were a small group. I finished school, went to college. Somewhere in between I fell for Jean." He snorted. "I was seventeen, Logan. Completely smitten. She was graduating already, had her first doctorate and working on her second. She was seven years older than me," he added softly.
He hadn’t known that. Scott looked very young and when they had met the first time, Logan hadn’t seen anything but a kid in the slender man. Twenty – twenty-one max. Then again, who was he to talk about looking his age?
"Didn’t know," he rumbled. "Did you ever see your foster parents again after your got your powers?"
"No." A soft whisper, almost sad.
"Why not?"
"I couldn’t control what I was. I was afraid."
Control. It was all about control. Logan played with a strand of hair.
"Why don’t you have control, Scott?" he asked, aware that he might be touching the sorest of all spots.
"The car accident. Brain injury. The professor said all mutants are born with the gift to control their powers. Some have to train, some just know how to. I… I had control… but it was shattered."
So you have to exude control over everything else instead. Your voice, your body language, your every move, your every decision. Logan frowned. It wasn’t right to put such restraints on someone; self-inflicted, too.
He had never bothered with restraints. Those that had held him down had been destroyed, one way or the other.
"Doesn’t make you different."
The red glasses reflected the soft light as Scott raised his head, staring at him.
"It does. I could be looking at you now, without my glasses, and you would see my eyes. No danger of hurting you, killing you, blasting a hole into the wall. You could see the color of my eyes… I could see yours."
Pain was audible in Scott's voice and Logan framed the narrow face in his hands, thumbs brushing along the protective shielding, sealed to the skin, then across the cheeks.
"My eyes are brown, Scott."
Scott gave a broken sounding laugh, half a sob, shaking his head.
"My hair is black," Logan went on, voice a quiet rumble, soothing and calming. "And you’ve got the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen."
"Oh god, you sound sappy," Scott whispered, hiccupping between laughter and sorrow.
"Yeah. I’ll have t’kill ya if ya tell anyone."
"No one would believe me anyway."
"So… what's your eye color, Slim?"
Scott was silent, the rain outside once again the only sound. "Blue," he finally answered. "They were blue once."
"Bet they still are."
"You can’t know. No one will ever know."
"Does it hurt?" Logan suddenly changed the subject matter.
Scott’s features showed his confusion.
"The energy in your eyes. Does it hurt?"
"No. Not really. Sometimes my eyes itch. Its okay."
"Good."
Logan drew his lover down into a gentle kiss and Scott opened up to his questing lips and tongue, answering the kiss with his own.
Scott caught his hands and Logan followed the inquisitive fingertips that ghosted over his knuckles with a wary eye. The younger man didn’t ask, but Logan heard the question nevertheless. It was the same Rogue had asked when they had first met.
"They do hurt when they come out. Briefly."
Scott’s fingers stilled, his hands covering Logan’s fist. They looked at each other, surrounded by nothing but the elements themselves as clouds churned across the sky and released their load upon the countryside. Finally his mouth descended again, mapping Logan’s, nipping and licking, teasing. Logan responded, encouraged, and curled his free hand around the strong but slender neck, holding Scott in place.
They lost themselves in the intimate contact, ignoring the world around them, ignoring the weather, the people in this mansion, just about everything but the other one.
How come I’m on the bottom again? Logan mused with amusement as he carded both hands through Scott’s hair, content to just kiss the other man till the air ran out.
Even that thought fled a second later.

* * *

"I won’t be gone long. Just two days."
Logan watched as Scott packed some clothes into a small bag and zipped it shut. The toiletries had already been thrown inside, together with a spare set of glasses and visor.
"Yeah. You keep repeatin’ yerself," he growled.
Scott looked up, a smirk on his lips. "I have to with an old man like you."
Another growl and Logan had the younger man pushed against the wall, the bag lying where it had fallen. "Old, hm?"
Scott wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him even closer. "Just the right age," he murmured and claimed a kiss.
Logan was only too happy to give it to him, devouring the other man’s mouth eagerly. They parted after a long time, Scott drawing a deep breath.
"Damn."
"Experience, bub."
"Thought you couldn’t remember?"
He grinned ferally. "Memory is triggered by scent, touch, taste, sound or smell. Guess what? Something got triggered."
And he covered that tempting mouth again, wanting nothing more than to keep Scott here, with him, close by, but the feeling was quickly shoved into its box again and locked. Logan had no idea when this need had developed or why. Scott was going with the professor to Washington D.C. No big deal. He had been parted from him before.
Nope. He hadn’t.
He had been parted from Cyclops, X-Men field leader, but never from Scott Summers, a man he lo… he stopped and shook his head. Don't go there. Ever since coming back, ever since all the tragedies that had swiftly followed his return, the two men had been around each other.
No. Big. Deal, he insisted, pushing away the strange emotions coursing through him.
"Take care," he rumbled.
"Always do."
Scott stepped out of his embrace and bent to pick up the bag.
"See ya in two days."
"Yeah," Logan mumbled. "See ya."

* * *

Two days.
He could do two days. No sweat.
Logan prowled through the mansion, peripherally aware that the children were actually giving him a wide berth. He didn’t care. He wanted to be alone and the further away they were, the better.
For them.
For him.
Two days without Scott.
It wasn’t like he was dependent on the other man! He had never depended on anyone or anything except himself. He was self-supportive, accepted no outside help unless critically necessary, and he didn’t have…
Scott.
He didn’t have Scott, the ever-faster developing part of his mind that screamed ‚emotions’ was telling him.
He stopped outside his room and snarled, claws extending from hands curled into fists.
One night had been tolerable, but just thinking about entering the room and sleeping in an empty bed, no chance of holding the slender body, feeling the warmth, hearing every breath, made him itchy.
Two days, one had passed already. One to go.
"Logan?"
He whirled around, claws still extended, teeth bared in a snarl.
Marie faced him, fearless, eyes compassionate, body language disarming.
"I was looking for you," she continued. "I thought you might wanna come and have dinner."
"Not hungry."
Her gaze never wavered. "You haven’t eaten since the professor and Mr. Summers left."
"Not hungry," he repeated.
"It’s okay to miss him."
His brows dipped deeper and if Marie had been anyone else, she would have bolted and sought out the next best shelter. But she wasn’t anyone else; she was Rogue, and currently she made her name all honor.
She stood up to him, out of all the other kids, it was her.
"I don’t."
A small smile played over her lips.
"Sure."
Snakt. The claws retreated and he flexed his fingers.
"He’ll be back tomorrow afternoon," Marie reminded him. "It’ll be okay. How about some distracting dinner?"
He didn’t need distracting. He didn’t miss Scott. That simple.
But one almost sleepless night begged to differ and his mind was running in circles. Logan wanted nothing more than to return to his former state of indifference, of ignoring the world, facing down whoever bothered him, and be done with it. But he had changed. Willingly.
Everything had changed.
He hadn’t had a nightmare in ages. He slept soundly with Scott. Dreamlessly, as usual. He never dreamed. And his physical as well as mental state was rested. It kept the nightmares at bay. It wasn’t Scott who stopped the nightmares, but he made him relax, and that soothed the turbulent waves of his subconscious memories.
"The others there?" he growled.
"Nope. They already had dinner."
He frowned. "And you?"
"I feel hungry enough for a little snack," Marie replied cheerfully.
He gave her a wry smile but followed the young woman into the kitchen, which was mercifully empty.
"So where’s the ice cube?" Logan asked as he scavenged around the fridge.
Marie stuck a spoon into her chosen flavor of ice cream. "His name’s Bobby, Logan, and he’s studying."
He quirked an eyebrow at her and kicked the fridge door shut. "You two still serious."
"Yeah."
"Good for ya."
"Yeah." She smiled slyly. "You and Mr. Summers still serious?"
Logan almost choked on the Dr. Pepper he had unearthed from behind all the green stuff Ororo called food at the bottom of the fridge. Marie’s face was all sweet and innocent.
"What? What the…?" Logan sputtered, then caught himself, scowling at her. "None of your business."
"Hey, you’re snoopin’ around me’n Bobby."
He glared. "You’re a kid."
"I’m not a kid!"
"You are."
"So me bein’ a kid means you gotta know everythin’ 'bout me, but you bein’… well, you, means…"
"It means 'none of your business’," he interrupted her.
Marie matched his scowl, then suddenly grinned brightly. "I knew he was good for you."
"What?!"
She licked off the last of her ice cream and poked the spoon at him. "You like him, Logan. Admit it. It’s why you’re mopin’ right now."
"I’m not moping."
"And you’re in denial."
Marie slid off her chair and deposited the rest of the ice cream in the freezer again. "Gotta go. See ya." And with it she left.
Logan stared after her departing figure, brows drawn in a deep scowl. He wasn’t moping, he wasn’t missing Scott, and he sure as hell didn’t lo…
He stopped himself sharply.
Crushing the can in his hand, he let lose a low growl and threw it into the trash. Then he returned to his room.
Alone.

* * *

The nightmares were as bad as before. His troubled mind dug deep into the inky blackness and unearthed gruesome images.
Demons rose around him, cutting into his flesh.
Cold eyes stared at him, smiling behind faceless masks.
Monsters laughed, raising champagne glasses to congratulate themselves on their torture.
He trashed and fought and killed.
He screamed his rage, his frustration, his pain.
Rage overwhelmed him, erasing everything else.
Snikt.
His claws extended, biting into living flesh, turning the nightmare into a red death.
Running running running.
Fighting fighting fighting.
Get out of here.
Run!
 

He woke with a cry, breathing hard, covered in sweat. Eyes roamed across the ruins of his room, not really surprised by its current state.
It had been a long time since he had trashed it so completely, though.
Weeks.
Months.
Logan ran a hand across his face, feeling a slight tremor course through him. He swung his legs out of what was left of the bed, brushing a few feathers off his body, then stumbled over to the bathroom and splashed water into his face.
Gazing into the mirror, he wasn’t surprised to see haunted dark eyes looking back at him.
"Just a bit longer," a voice murmured and he realized it was him. "Just a bit longer."

* * *

Washington had taken longer than either man had expected and by the end of the second day, it was for certain that they had to stay another night. Scott had called Storm to let her know, but he had been unable to reach Logan. Well, knowing the other man he was out doing god-knew-what.
He landed the Blackbird late in the afternoon, glad to be back, and he and Xavier left the plane. While the professor returned to scholastic and bureaucratic matters, Scott just dumped his bag and went in search of Logan.
/Scott?/
Surprised he stopped. "Yes, professor?"
/Come to my office, please/
Confused as to what might be wrong, Scott walked down the hallway and entered the large room. His confusion grew as he discovered that his mentor wasn't alone. Annie Higgins, one of the younger children at the school, sat in one of the large chairs, looking pensive.
Annie had just turned eleven and had developed her powers before puberty, which was rare. She was a telepath, but she didn't like other people's minds, so she usually turned to animals. She was quite good with all kinds and whatever the breed, however wild, they were tame and docile when it came to this little girl.
"Something wrong, professor?" Scott wanted to know.
Xavier smiled at the girl, encouraging her gently. "Tell Scott what happened, Annie."
"It wasn't on purpose." The voice of the kid sounded, small, almost scared.
Scott crouched down in front of the chair and reached out to touch her. Annie always sought bodily contact when she had been scared and he had early on discovered that a simple gesture did wonders. Storm had worked miracles with the shy girl, who had refused to speak to any person in the beginning, by just holding her for hours, sitting in the arboretum.
"Tell me, Annie," he said softly.
"I know I’m not supposed to listen to people without their permission, but I went by, and it was so loud and it hurt…" Annie definitely was frightened. "I didn't want it to touch me, but it did."
"What was loud, Annie?"
"Mr. Logan."
Scott frowned. "Logan?"
Logan was the last person he would have thought to bother a child telepath, especially Annie. The man's mind could be like a steel trap, or so Jean had told him once. Scott's was already controlled and disciplined, but Logan's, lacking self-applied control, was cut off from a telepath because of his walls. The man liked his privacy and he never showed the outside world what he really felt – except when it was anger.
"It was last night. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to get some milk and when I went to the kitchen I heard Mr. Logan screaming." She pointed toward her head. "It was so loud and there was so much pain and terror, and it hurt… " The girl looked up at Scott, who tried his best not to frighten the terrorized kid even more by shaking her. Her eyes were already filled with tears. "I know I mustn’t listen, but he screamed, and it hurt so much. And then he cried. Mr. Summers?" she added very carefully.
"Yes?" It was all he could get out through the icy claws of fear that were holding his heart in an iron grip all of a sudden.
"I… I think Mr. Logan cried for you."
Scott inhaled sharply. "Me?" he stammered.
She nodded seriously.
"Thank you, Annie," he managed as he rose, squeezing her hands once more. "You did great."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"You aren't mad at me?"
Scott summoned a smile. "No, not at all."
/Go, Scott/  Xavier sent, adding a mental smile.
And he went, trying not to run.
 

Heart racing Scott stood in front of the massive oak door that was the entrance to his lover’s room. He wasn’t afraid of the man behind that door, but he feared what he would see, what evidence he would be forced to face for the hell Logan must have gone through again.
Scott carefully pushed open the door – and froze.
Good god…
The room was a mess. No, skip that – it was a war zone. Not a single piece of furniture had been spared, not a piece of fabric that hadn’t been shredded. There were claw marks all over the place, and even the walls sported some, telling of the fury that had been unleashed in here. And in the middle of this destruction sat Logan. His back against the ruins of the bed, his arms resting on his knees, hiding his face.
And then he looked up.
Scott gasped silently in even deeper shock at the look he saw in those dark eyes. It was something so deeply forlorn, desperate and lost he had never seen before in Logan’s eyes.
I think Mr. Logan cried for you.
And he still did.
Logan looked away, and Scott fought the urgent impulse to just go over and take the man into his arms, soothe the pain he had just witnessed, running his hands over the other man’s back and promise him to never ever leave him again.
He couldn’t do that to Logan. It would break him, drive him away. Instead Scott cleared his throat.
"Rough night?"
Logan didn’t look up. "Yeah. What gave it away?"
"Oh, just the slight changes in decoration. I like it, it’s so entirely – you."
Logan snorted.
Scott slowly made his way through the scene of destruction, finding nothing whole anymore. Not even a piece of clothing. He sat down next to the other man.
"You'll need a new bed."
Logan shrugged, but he still didn't look at him.
"Among other things," Scott went on. "Guess you'll have to move."
"I'm fine here."
"I'm not."
Brown eyes shot up and studied him, an intense expression residing in them.
"Anything left to pack?"
Logan looked around. "Hard to say."
"Well, there's still room in my closet for a few more pieces."
"Whatcha talking about?"
"You need a room, I got space to share."
Logan was silent, looking at him, reading him. Scott remained open, letting him, hiding nothing. He was making an offer.
"There're other rooms."
"Mine's closest."
Logan appeared to contemplate it, then finally gave a jerky nod.
Offer accepted.
Scott smiled and rose, offering a hand to Logan. The other man took it after a second of staring at it. They looked at each other, Scott seeing a dozen emotions flash through those dark eyes while the face remained impassive. Amongst the most prominent was relief that Scott was home.
"Let's get out of here," Scott said calmly, still holding Logan's hand.
"Yeah," was the only reply.

 * * *

A soft sigh from the warm body at his side.
A hand slowly gliding over his back before his neck was nuzzled, and Logan didn’t need to open his eyes to know who, when or where.
Scott. Six in the morning. Scott’s room.
Because his own still needed restoration after he had literally shredded it in his nightmare.
"God, Logan, you’re tense."
The mattress dipped when Scott got up and rummaged around in a drawer in his closet. And then he was back, as were the hands on his shoulders. Logan inhaled, taking in the scent that was pure Scott in the morning, not distempered by soap and aftershave. He knew exactly how Scott looked in the morning, not because this was the first night they had spent together sleeping in one bed. Because he had watched Scott sleeping in his arms.
"Logan, did you sleep?"
Okay, so his lover was a telepath, too.
He grunted something that could mean anything.
"You didn’t sleep a single minute, right?"
No, he hadn’t. Not after the last nightmare that had resulted in another room turned into toothpicks. Though he hadn’t had them when sleeping with Scott so far. While he knew he was utterly aware of the other man at his side and had never attacked him in his sleep, a part of him still was afraid. He didn’t want Scott to get hurt by his own hands. So he had just silently enjoyed the way Scott’s body curled around him in his sleep, again amazed like every time about the amount of trust his lover seemed to put into him, being this careless - or fearless? No, Scott Summers positively didn’t fear him, never had, never would. The way he embraced Logan at night, hugged him, curled against him, it was far from needy as well. It was more… protective.
"Logan?"
"Hm?" He shook those thoughts off. He didn't need protecting; he could protect himself.
"Lemme help … "
And then there was cool air meeting his naked skin where the blanket had been.
"What ya up to, bub?"
"Wait and… feel… Stretch your arms."
Logan grunted again but complied, stretching his arms out over of his head. He almost jumped when he felt Scott straddle his hips from behind, naked thighs pressing gently into his side. Scott leaned over him, running his hands in long strokes over his back and shoulders and down his arms and Logan was suddenly more aware of Scott than usual – of all of him. Then he leaned back and Logan heard the pop of a bottle uncorked, a pleasant scent of pinewood filling the air
"Scott…?"
"Shhh … just oil."
He could hear Scott dripping the oil into his hands and warming it, and then those hands were on him, warm and slick and gentle, stroking over his shoulders and upper arms the whole way down to his wrists, strokes alternating with careful kneads, as Scott worked over his arms.
"Strange…"
A soft whisper in his ear, the breath caressing his earlobe and making something inside of him stir. And not only there.
"What?"
"I thought I could feel them."
Fingers wrapped around his hands, entwining with his just the moment Logan tensed, and soft lips brushed over his neck. Logan screwed his eyes shut, trying to relax, but just the reminder of what lay hidden underneath his skin, deadly and lightning fast, made him shiver.
"It’s okay," Scott murmured. "It’s not that I don’t know what you are. That’s part of the package…"
And then slick fingers were gliding over his skin, Scott massaging the entire length of his body, clenching his hands into fists and digging them carefully into knotted muscles, seemingly ignoring the way Logan tried to control his breathing when he reached more southern areas. There he used the palms of his hands, stroking the back of his thighs as he worked himself even farther down.
Logan felt like melting into the mattress when Scott’s hands glided up his legs again, reaching his thighs and parting them. The jolt that ran through his body when Scott’s fingers slipped between his legs made him gasp involuntarily – and totally shut down, his entire being suddenly screaming protest. Don’t touch – there. Scott hesitated only a split second before his hands continued their journey, and this time he was deliberately teasing, and when his hands brushed over his ribs Logan couldn’t suppress a twitch. Damn, but that tickled.
Not much later it didn’t tickle anymore. Scott had added lips and teeth and tongue to his fingers, and he seemed to remember every sweet spot he had ever found on his body so far, and even some he hadn’t, all of this resulting in Logan quivering under his lover’s ministrations and biting the pillow.
And then Scott’s body glided over his in a full body contact, making Logan moan involuntarily as he felt the hard evidence of the other man’s enthusiasm slickly gliding between his legs every now and then. But Scott withdrew.
"Turn over," he whispered huskily.
And Logan obeyed.
Feeling Scott pressed against him when he straddled him again almost made Logan buck. God, what was it with this man? How come he wanted him so much? And why did he allow him to gain such control over him…?
Every coherent thought fled when he felt warm oil dribble onto his stomach, closely followed by Scott’s hands. Again Summers worked himself up, over his chest and up his arms, entwining their fingers while he bent down and gently nibbled at his lips, coaxing them into opening up and letting him in.
And Logan did.
This time it was almost unbearable, Scott’s body gliding over his, the motion eased by the massage oil. This time Logan did buck, feeling a need for something more, a contact, friction, whatever. And again Scott withdrew, but only for a second. Working his way down Logan’s body with fingers and lips he stopped halfway to pay special and prolonged attention to his nipples, suckling and teething them until Logan felt himself arch and whimper. Holy shit, was that really him?
Scott slipped deeper, parting his thighs and settling between them, as he – god yes, please, a part of Logan’s mind begged shamelessly yet silently – closed his fingers around him, starting a slow stroking movement. Logan sighed and arched into the most welcome touch – damn tease – as Scott came up for a kiss. Breaking the kiss his lover smirked at him…
"Scott?"
…before he slid down again. And then Logan had to bite his own fist to prevent himself from screaming as he felt the hot wetness of Scott’s mouth suck him in. Over and over again until he wasn’t able to hear anything but his hammering heartbeat in his own ears, to feel anything but the sensation of Scott doing this to him, molten lava running down his spine and exploding in a wave of heat and passion into his lover’s mouth as Scott finally pushed him into completion.
 

The soft caress of lips brushing over his slowly brought him back into the here and now. Turning, he felt Scott snuggling into his arms, stroking his face and chest gently.
"You okay?" Scott asked quietly.
"Okay?" he echoed.
"Yeah, like all right?"
"No."
"No?"
"No, I’m not ‘okay’. I think I just melted."
Scott chuckled softly, stealing another kiss. Logan ran a hand between their bodies, surprised to find wetness.
"It took care of itself."
He gazed at his lover in surprise, taking in the scent, the air filled with the heavy smell of their encounter.
He loved this man, something inside of him decided. Before it had been just a small voice, unsure and battling against a lifetime of singularly dark emotions. Now it was a strong feeling, growing ever stronger.
"Logan?"
"Yeah?"
Scott caught one hand. "Is that blood on your hand?"
"Looks like it."
"The claws?"
"No."
Scott tilted his head and wiped the dried flecks off. Realization settled in slowly.
"You held back," he murmured. "You can’t let go. You won’t…"
Logan met the inquisitive face but remained silent.
"Is that why you never touch me? When we’re together…?"
"No," he growled.
"Yes," Scott contradicted.
"I’m touching you, bub." As if to prove it, Logan let his hand wander down Scott’s back.
"You know what I mean, Logan."
Of course Logan knew what Scott meant, but he hoped his lover would drop it. He didn’t really want to talk about it; about his nightmares.
And Scott did. Thankfully he did.
"Have a class at ten," Scott murmured and kissed him gently. "Gotta get ready. You go and get some sleep."
Logan was about to protest, but Scott silenced him with a look. Grumbling, he settled into the cushions and drew the blanket over himself.
He had just been given a breathing space, but knowing Scott Summers, they would talk about this again.

* * *

Logan started to adjust to school routine, mainly because Scott was a teacher and had a schedule for this semester. His lover teased him about considering teaching classes as well, but Logan gruffly pushed the idea away. He had no formal schooling like the rest; at least none he remembered. Teaching the kids about life on the street wasn’t exactly what Logan had in mind either. What he knew was how to fight and how to survive.
"Survival classes," Scott murmured lazily.
Logan, feeling unusually relaxed and at peace with himself, something he had never experienced before, tilted his head upward. They were at the other end of the wide expanse of garden and woodland of the Xavier estate, soaking up the sun on a wonderful Sunday afternoon. Both had gone for a jog and finally ended up here, deciding to give it a rest.
"I ain’t no boy scout," Logan muttered.
Scott laughed and rolled them so he was sitting on Logan’s hips. "No, that you aren’t."
Logan looked into the angular face, taking in the dimples, the ruby cover over his lover’s eyes, the sunlight playing with the auburn strands, and he reached up, running a finger along the rubbery seal that lay across the skin. The glasses were actually no different in design than normal sunglasses; fashionable and even with their red color nothing extra-ordinary. Only the sealant underneath was different.
Exploring the tight fit, he wondered what Scott would look like at the end of summer, spending time outside and getting a tan, except for his eyes. Raccoon, probably, he mused, smirking.
He had seen his lover twice without his glasses; once inside the Statue of Liberty, the second time throughout Scott’s emotional breakdown after Jean’s death. They had never been together without the protective cover because one twitch from Scott and even closed eyes could leak a deadly beam.
Logan explored the permanent fixture to his lover’s face as if he had never seen it before, and Scott held still, permitting it. Logan could still remember the smell of panic in Scott’s scent all those months ago when Sabretooth had ripped off the visor and he would never be the cause of that panic himself.
Scott leaned into his touch and smiled, then lowered himself down so he could kiss him. Logan closed his eyes, focusing his senses on the man above, his feel and smell and taste and sound, wrapping strong arms protectively around the sinewy frame.
"So, what do you say?" Scott murmured when they parted and Logan could just imagine the sparkle in his eyes.
"Say what?"
"About the survival classes?"
"You serious?"
"Utterly."
He tousled the already unruly hair, drawing a dimpled grin. "It’d scare the kids to death."
"They’re tough."
"I know that."
They had gone through the terror of masked and heavily armed strangers tearing apart their protective haven, and they had come out of it alive.
"I take that as a yes then."
"It’s an 'I’ll think about it, Slim’," Logan rumbled.
Scott grinned more and Logan knew the other had already won. He would give it a shot. He had nothing better to do throughout the days anyway.
With a growl he flipped his lover on the back and attacked his neck, drawing an appreciative gasp from the other man. Logan had applied himself to the exploration of Scott Summers with the same fierce determination he showed in a fight. He sought out and memorized erotic spots, and he secretly delighted in transforming the field leader of the X-Men into a vocal bundle of raw nerves and sexual desire. He copied Scott’s moves and experimented a little, surprised by how quickly he had adjusted to a male lover.
Lover.
That implied a certain amount of emotions Logan was not yet ready to explore. And it encompassed one particular emotion he didn’t dare name.
Pushing the t-shirt off the lean stomach, Logan nibbled his way down south to the belly button. He grabbed Scott’s hips to keep him from bucking and twisting, grinning against the sun kissed skin as he hit another hot spot. Logan pushed the sweatpants down, exposing more of the delicious skin, feeling Scott’s hardness brush against his chin. Scott was biting his lower lip and pushing up toward the torturous mouth. Logan had no idea when the idea struck, what possessed him, just that he wanted to see the younger man lose it like Logan had lost it two days ago. In that wonderful heat.
So he experimentally licked over the hard flesh.
"Logan!"
The exclamation was hoarse, full of surprise and filled with arousal and need.
He lifted his head, smiling at his lover. "That a permission?" he rumbled.
"Gawd, yes!" Scott pushed himself up on his elbows, exhaling slowly. "But you don’t have to," he added, fighting for a semblance of control.
Logan hated control, so he copied his earlier move and Scott bit his lover lip again.
"I want to."
Scott surrendered, collapsing onto the grass again, and Logan smiled as he pulled the pants off completely. He recalled what his lover had done to him, how his mouth and tongue had moved. He might never have done it before, but what Logan lacked in experience, he made up with determination.
Scott’s reaction showed him the way and he eagerly followed the lead. The tension growing inside the slender form, the tremors and soft exclamations, the vocal encouragement, it all told him where to go and when Scott had reached his limit.
With a cry of release, Scott bucked into the hands that had joined the lips. He curled up reflexively as Logan licked over the softening organ a last time, groaning in protest.
"Logan…"
The older man chuckled. He had learned one thing in the time they had now actively pursued the sexual side of their relationship, and that was that Scott was very sensitive in certain southern areas after climax. He gathered him into his arms and nuzzled his neck, kissing a path up to his lips.
"Not bad for an old timer," Scott murmured against his lips.
He snorted, one hand caressing a lean curve of ribs.
Scott caught the hand and interlaced their fingers. "Logan?"
"Hm?"
"Tell me why?"
He frowned. "Why what?"
Scott let his fingertips play over the knuckles, dipping into the valleys between them where normally the claws came out. "Why hold back? Why can’t you let go?"
Shit, not again!
Logan sat up abruptly, dislodging his lover, and ran a hand across his face, shaking his head. "Drop it."
"Not this time. Talk to me, Logan."
"With you it’s always talk!" the older man exploded, snarling, eyes flashing. He was going into the defensive and it wouldn't be a pretty outcome.
Scott met the anger calmly. "No, not always. For a long time, I didn’t have to talk. Not about myself, not about my emotions. I’m relearning, too, Logan."
He drew a deep breath. Of course. Jean had been a telepath; nothing easier than just letting her read what you feel.
"What’s wrong?" Scott inquired softly.
Logan clenched his eyes shut. "Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s… great. Real great. Never felt like this before."
"But…?"
He glared at the ground, not really equipped to deal with this openly; verbally.
"The morning… when you asked me… when I told you I was fine… That night, I killed you."
Scott was silent for a second, frowning. "You killed me?" Another second of silence. "Nightmare?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
Logan raised his eyes to the sky, studying the clouds, wishing the questions would stop as the nightmarish images rose again.
"With these." He held up one fist, but he didn’t extend his claws. "We were together and I just… lost control. Stabbed you. You died."
"Logan…"
"Leave it!" he snarled, getting up.
Unlike Scott he was still fully dressed and while he had felt aroused before, now that need had suddenly vanished.
His lover quickly slipped into his jogging pants and followed the retreating man, calling his name.
"I said: leave it!" Logan exploded, all the anguish and terror reflected in his voice and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. "I killed you, Scott! Don’t you understand? I killed you because I lost control!"
Anger clouded his vision, but the same anger was suddenly on bright display on Scott’s face. Strong hands grabbed him, whirled him around.
"It was a dream, Logan!" Scott said in a clipped sounding voice. "It was a fear that has nothing to do with reality!"
"How do you know, Summers?"
"I don’t and neither do you!"
"So you wanna play guinea pig and see what happens?"
"No, I want you to trust me and to trust yourself!"
"I don’t trust myself," Logan hissed. "These," and he held up both fists, "are deadly."
"Just like these," Scott shot back and pointed at his covered eyes. "Don’t you think I’m not afraid of dislodging the glasses and hurting someone? Killing you? It can happen!"
Logan was breathing hard now, the anger growing, but he wasn’t giving in to it. So far, he had it under control.
"It’s not the same. Never the same."
"Because you’re Wolverine and I’m not?" Scott growled, slowly losing all semblance of the controlled team leader, too. "You trusted yourself enough to let me love you, Logan, so why hold back that other part of yourself?"
"Because I’m dangerous, Slim."
"No, you’re human. And you’re afraid. Maybe about the claws but maybe about something else, too." Scott straightened and squared his shoulders. "Maybe you’re afraid to love me in return."
And with that last blow he turned and walked away.
Logan just stood there, stunned beyond words.
Scott loved him.
Nothing else registered but those three words.
His lover. Logan still had to swallow at the word, though he thought it sounded way better than fuck buddies. Besides, that would have required certain activities they hadn’t achieved so far. Logan relived the moments he had shared with Scott, nights together, doing nothing but sleeping, and him waking up refreshed and relaxed, not tangled in sweat soaked sheets or – far worse - coming back from a fit of rage and fury where he had wreaked havoc on the interior. Thinking about it, since he was with Scott he had done that just once, and that had been when Scott… had been… away…
His mind skidded to a screeching halt, refusing to wrap itself once again around the deeper meaning of what he was experiencing with Scott, and definitely refusing a certain word starting with a certain letter. No frigging way he was in love with that mule headed… This time his mind keeled over. Logan froze, feeling the beginning of a panic set in. Wait a sec – panicking because he was … okay, get it … in love with Scott Summers? That there was doubtlessly more than just sex, though they hadn’t even … hadn’t even … and not because Scott wasn’t willing, far from it.
Logan groaned and buried his face into his hands.
Great. Now what?

* * *

Professor Charles Xavier sat in his study, his back to the desk and his work, gazing out the high windows that gave him a good view of the landscape around the mansion. It was a nice day, sunny and warm, and despite the forecast of some more rain, it promised to be a nice week. But the weather was furthest from Xavier’s mind, which was at the moment discretely keeping track of two special people. Special not because they were mutants; not because of their powers, but because of what was developing between them.
Xavier was a telepath, a man with psychic abilities that enabled him to read and even control people’s minds. Even though he could read everyone around him, he never spied. It wasn’t just good manners to give them their privacy, it was also a matter of trust. Still, all minds touched him like a gentle rain falling on his skin and some left sensations behind he couldn’t ignore.
Like Scott and Logan.
Xavier had been aware of them for a while now. He couldn’t really say when he had seen the change in their relationship, had felt Scott’s interest in the older man. He simply knew that whatever had been between Scott and Jean, it had stopped a while before that. Many had labeled them the perfect couple, but maybe perfection wasn’t everything. Maybe perfection dulled a relationship.
The professor had watched events unfold, witnessed the two men dancing around each other, carefully testing the waters, and now everything was suddenly progressing in leaps. There was no way to ignore the emotional ripples emanating from them both, and neither was there any way to ignore the sudden spikes.
Xavier smiled softly. It had come as a surprise for Logan just how intense Scott could be, how deep he felt, how unrestrained he was if he let himself. He knew his student very well, had seen him grow into the man he now was, and he knew what lurked behind the facade of control and distance. Jean had been the first to breach the wall Scott had erected around himself, but Logan had truly torn it down. But while Scott and Jean had had a kind of peaceful harmony in their relationship, the two men were as different as could be.
Then again… maybe not. Two wounded souls. Both needing someone, the nearness of another person that surpassed friendship. One afraid to ask, afraid of himself. The other afraid of losing again. In a way, they were fighting the rapidly developing relationship while subconsciously wanting it.
Logan and Scott, Xavier mused. If they could even out the emotional waves, if Logan could accept what Scott was willing to give, if he could see past his fear, this might just work out. They had pushed and shoved and fought; they had made up and gotten closer, only to push again. It was a struggle, a dance, looking for something neither man really knew what it was.
Scott needed Logan, and Logan needed the younger man just the same.
Brushing over Scott’s mind, Xavier sighed. This would have to resolve itself on its own. There was nothing he or anyone else could do. Of course, there were rumors running around the school. There were two other psychics here, one empath, one telepath, and they couldn’t help but pick up the ripples and waves from the two men.
Yes, they were heading for interesting times, and he wasn't so sure it was actually a Chinese curse.

* * *

Logan had spent a day brooding over what had happened, thinking about the words, thinking about his emotions, and for the first time in his life, he actually analyzed himself. It was a new experience and he really didn’t like peeling back layers of his psyche and looking at himself. What he was. Who he was. What he felt.
And shit, he felt a lot that had nothing to do with anger or rage, two emotions that had gotten him through his past life, but they wouldn’t really solve his current problem.
Scott Summers loved him.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t return the emotions, but he had yet to voice them. At least to his lover. Logan had never had a serious relationship before; at least none he could recall. To say it bluntly, he hadn't had any kind of relationship before. He had never been this close to another person, except to kill them. He had never made love nor loved; only sex, the simple physical act.
Scott had changed that.
Exhaling sharply, Logan walked through the silent hallways of the mansion. Classes were on and so there were no kids, but also no teachers. No Scott. He knew Scott’s teaching schedule inside out. Since his own survival courses wouldn’t start until next week, something he still had his doubts about, he had a lot of free time.
Logan entered Scott’s office and looked around. Everything was neat and tidy and clean. A surface reflection of the man who could be so much more, who could lose it under Logan’s hands, who shed his masks because he trusted him. Logan sank into the chair and ran a hand over the smooth surface of the table.
And he loved him.
Why?
They were like oil and water, never fitting together, rubbing all the wrong ends, but there was still something in Scott Logan needed; something he recognized in himself, too. Were they really so different?
The door opened and he looked up, something inside of him rippling with anticipation and also anxiety as Scott entered his office. He reached out with his senses, wrapped them around the lean form, wanting nothing more than to touch the other man.
"Logan."
He winced at how flat the voice sounded, but there was also a distant pain in it that hurt Logan in turn.
"Hey," he said, feeling suddenly unsure of what exactly he was doing here.
"What do you want?"
He exhaled slowly. Showtime.
"You," was the low answer.
Scott simply stood there, stunned. Logan rose and reached past his lover, pushing the door shut. This was between them; no listeners.
"Logan..." Scott started again, but he raised his hand, evading the red visor.
"I ain’t the man for many words. You know that. So shut up and lemme speak."
Scott’s stance shifted a little and it told Logan more than any words. His lover was listening.
"What I said... what I did... I was... wrong. Behaved like a world-class dick." He clenched his hands into fists, then forced himself to relax again. Finally he raised his eyes and looked at the other man. "I’m afraid, Scott. You were right about that."
Again, Summers’s body-language shifted, radiating surprise.
"Never felt like this before. I know fear, but this is... new. I’m... shit!"
Damn, it was hard to put into words what was inside him, what he needed the other to hear.
"I’m afraid of you and what you’re doing t’me," he finally continued. "What you make me feel."
Scott was holding on to himself with an effort, Logan realized. Controlling his responses, trying to give him the chance to finish what he had started. A subliminal tension vibrated off the slender body and it was affecting Logan in turn. In the silence between them, with Logan fighting to voice his feelings, he finally reached out.
"What do you feel, Logan?" he asked, voice unsure.
Logan suddenly wrapped his arms around him and pulled Scott close, burying his head against the smooth column of his neck. "I love you," he murmured, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear.
But Scott heard it. The way his body suddenly stilled, then melted against Logan’s, was indication enough.
They stayed like this for a long time, neither man moving, and Logan’s hands described a random pattern over the shirt-clad back, his face still hidden. Finally Scott touched his head and gently but determinedly made him look up. Lips ghosted over his and Logan answered the kiss, letting Scott in.
"I love you," Scott whispered when they parted.
For the first time, Logan felt like smiling, and while his lips and all their muscles were unaccustomed to the expression, his eyes were not. Scott smiled back, caressing his face, their bodies pressed together.
"You really are a big softie inside, hm?" he murmured, a teasing note in his voice.
Logan's eyebrows dipped and he glared with as much energy as he could muster. Granted, it wasn't much. People said that in the first few months of a relationship, lovers didn't fight; it was too new, too intense. Well, 'people' had never met them, Logan decided. So far, they had fought more often than not, had more differences than not, and he saw no changes forthcoming in the immediate future. Then again, it would be a dull life without these differences.
Scott gave him a cheeky smile, not the least bit impressed.
"I'll kick your sorry ass across the gym for this," the older man threatened.
"Sure. Gotta catch me first."
Logan's arms tightened around the narrow waist. "Already gotcha, bub. Already gotcha."
And he wouldn't let him go, he thought. Not for anything.

* * *

Marie and Bobby had met up in the kitchen for an afternoon ice cream session. Looking through the freezer, Marie unearthed a half-empty box and held it up for Bobby’s inspection.
"Yep," he agreed and held up two spoons.
Marie chuckled and closed the freezer. "So, have you signed up for Logan’s class?" she asked her boy-friend as she opened the box.
Bobby grimaced. "I’m not sure. I mean..." He shrugged. "He’s kinda scary."
Marie laughed. "He’s not."
"Uh-huh. Don’t want to get on his bad side. Knowing him, you're always on his bad side anyway."
"He’s really okay. I mean, look at him and Mr. Summers."
"What about him and Mr. Summers?"
She rolled her eyes. "C’mon.... you heard the rumors."
Bobby cleared his throat. "Sure, but... they’re rumors. Annie’s not really picking up, you know.... from them.... right?"
Marie just looked at him.
"Right?" he pressed.
She smiled.
Bobby’s expression faltered. "No way!" he protested.
"Why not?"
"I mean... Mr. Summers is... he is..."
"A man?"
"Yeah! And Logan’s..."
"A man?" she repeated.
He screwed up his face in a frown. "He’s Wolverine."
"And he’s human, Bobby. I’m glad he found someone special."
Bobby gestured wildly. "But Mr. Summers?" His teacher? Scott Summers, Cyclops? The man who had been with Dr. Grey?
All this ran through his mind and he was trying to get a hold on his runaway thoughts, as well as the images rising unbidden from whatever corner they had been in.
"They’re a together...?" he asked numbly.
"Uh-huh. Isn’t it great? Y’know, Logan moved into Scott’s room a few days ago."
"Uh, I heard he trashed his place."
"Sure did. But he could have gotten another room, right?" There was a twinkle in Marie’s eyes.
"And they... I mean...?"
"Do what people in their situation normally do? Sure." She grinned.
Bobby made a choking noise. "How do you know?"
She grimaced. "I’m not peeking, alright? It’s just an assumption."
"Hey, kids."
Bobby whirled around and gave off a little squeak as the low growl of a greeting reached his ears. Logan raised his brows as he walked past the startled teenager to the fridge. He got himself a Dr. Pepper, the next best thing to alcohol in this place as he had once said, and opened it.
"Hi, Logan." Marie smiled at him.
Bobby felt like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart was racing, a faint blush was creeping up his neck, and all because suddenly one of the two men he had thought about being.... well, together... had just shown up. Not good, his brain decided, as teenage fantasy conjured up rather lewd images.
Oh gawd....
He screwed his eyes shut and hoped no one would notice.
"What’s up with him?"
So much for that.
Marie sat down next to her boy-friend, still smiling. "Oh, he’s just going through a phase."
"Ah." Logan gave Bobby a peculiar look as he took a swig from the can.
Bobby Drake tried to sink into the floor.
Logan opened the fridge again and took a second can, then suddenly tossed it across the room. Bobby was startled to see Scott Summers standing in the doorway. Scott caught the soda and smiled.
"I thought you owed me a drink."
"That’s the best you can get around here, bub."
"And you think I’ll let you off the hook now?"
Logan gave him a wry smile. "Paid in full."
Scott tossed the can back and Logan caught it deftly. "No go."
The older man shrugged, but there was a smile in his eyes that caught Bobby off guard. The images of those two together coalesced in his mind again. No, no, no! But by now teenage imagination was on overdrive.
"Gotta go," he mumbled and slipped off his chair, making a hasty retreat.
"What’s up with ice cube here?" Logan asked as he watched the quickly disappearing boy.
Marie gave him an innocent mile. "Oh, he just has an active imagination, that’s all."
Logan scowled at her, which earned him another sweet smile.
"And you knew what he said, right?" she added, a knowing expression in her eyes.
Logan scowled more. Ever since the first time she had taken part of his powers, taken part of his mind however briefly, Rogue had developed an innate understanding of the older man. The second touch that had saved her life yet again, almost killing him yet again, too, had only increased that sensitivity. Of course Logan had heard part of the conversation. His senses were extremely fine-tuned to whatever was happening around him, and while he had learned to ignore input, his ears perked up when he heard his name. Or lately, Scott's.
Marie just grinned and waved, then left the kitchen.
Scott shot him a puzzled look. "What was that all about?"
"I think we were just stripped naked and thrown into bed together. Not such a bad idea anyway." Logan gave his lover a playful look.
Playful Logan. It boggled the mind, but in the privacy of just them, a new side had started to emerge.
"Down boy," Scott laughed.
Logan growled.
"Do you have a problem with the kids knowing?" Summers suddenly asked.
He shrugged. "Do you?"
"Nu-uh! This isn’t about me. It’s about you."
Logan shrugged. "Don’t care."
"Good."
Surprise registered on the scruffy features. "You don’t mind?"
Scott smiled. "No."
Scott Summers didn’t care what the world thought about him? His amazement must have leaked through because Scott gave him a smile.
"I’m already a mutant, Logan. A freak. I can be a gay mutant freak."
Logan walked over to him in three strides and pushed the other man against the wall. "You’re not a freak," he snarled. "Never say that."
Scott looked at him, a slow smile spreading over his features. He leaned forward and kissed Logan gently. "Okay, so I’m a gay mutant."
"You’re Scott," Logan replied. "Just Scott."
"I can live with that."
Another kiss. "Good."
"Don’t you have class to prepare for?" Scott wanted to know as he dove out under the muscular arms to get himself a snack.
"Nope. I thought I’d drop the bunch off and let them find their way home, then do a head count who made it."
Scott scowled and Logan gave him a grin.
"You wouldn’t..."
"I would."
"Yeah, you would," Scott muttered. "But you won’t."
"I won’t?"
"No, you won’t."
"How come?"
"Because."
Logan frowned at him. "Because what?"
"Just because."
A snort, followed by a grin. "Maybe."
Scott smiled. "Good."
"Now about that undressing and getting us into bed part..." Logan changed the topic.
"You have a one-tracked mind."
"So?"
"It's four in the afternoon, Logan. I've an appointment with the professor in half an hour, there are papers to grade, and in case you forgot, you promised Ororo to help her with some of her stuff in the garden."
Logan scowled. "Right." He hated it when Scott was right.
"I'll see you later, okay?" Scott stuffed the candy bar he had found into his mouth.
Logan just nodded and waved him off, leaning back against the kitchen counter to finish his soda.
Life sure had suddenly turned complicated.

* * *

A pair of cobalt eyes in a face the color of milk coffee regarded the serene scene with quiet contemplation. It was already way past the children's bedtime, almost one in the morning, actually, and the house was silent. Some children never slept, but they had the manners not to intrude, using another of the many rooms to occupy themselves.
Scott slouched on the old leather couch, legs stretched out and resting on the low wooden table in front of him. The TV was on, running an old black and white classic movie. He appeared completely at ease, relaxed, like there was nothing but this moment in time. Ororo had rarely seen the other man in this state of mind. Usually he was busy with whatever school matters required him to do. Or his position as field leader, assisting the professor in his search for mutants in need of help, organizing matters, and flying to remote places with any of the team to check things. While Scott was still doing all of that, he had apparently finally found a kind of balanced center.
With his head pillowed on Scott, Logan was the same picture of serene peace, his eyes closed, face relaxed; asleep. Peace and serenity didn't really come to mind when thinking of the man codenamed Wolverine, but like Scott, he had found a center. Namely in the other man.
Ororo had caught on to their relationship throughout the first turbulent phase. First there had been the slow progression into what could be called friendship. Their initial state had been one of barely concealed distrust and almost no tolerance. She suspected it had a lot to do with the different personalities and expectancies of life colliding and clashing.
Scott tried to be open, see the good in people, approach them and become a friend. Logan was wary, distrusting, and he generally pushed others away because he craved solitude. Or so he had claimed.
When Ororo had become aware of the further developments, from reluctant ally to trusted friend, she had secretly cheered. It was good for Logan and Scott needed the other man to push him, tease him, get him out of his shell. None of the others had ever managed to make Scott open up and let go; it had taken Logan's jibes and sparring to crack the walls.
But then the friendship had become a relationship, which included more than just hanging out together for a beer. That had alarmed her, mainly because like Xavier and Jean, Ororo was protective of their youngest teacher and field leader. If Logan hurt him, he would have to deal with one pissed off Storm. And yes, there had been more turbulences, bad times, and misunderstandings, but she had held back. She had taken her cues from the professor who was very much aware of those two as well, and it had paid off.
Today, while she was still a bit unsure as to where this was leading, Ororo could see the tentative bond forming between the two men. They still had a long way to go, but the past had made them stronger.
Scott's head suddenly turned and he looked at her, a greeting smile on his lips. She smiled back and nodded, acknowledging Scott as he held a finger to his lips. Don't disturb Logan's sleep.
Gracefully, silently, she left the two men to themselves.

* * *

"Hey Logan."
"Hey."
"Say, do you have plans for this evening?"
"Not yet."
"Good. Then you have now."
Logan shot Scott a sharp look. "Whatcha up to, bub?"
Scott just grinned widely – Logan hated that grin. Really. He did. Made his body tingle in places where a grin shouldn’t make it tingle. On the other hand…
"A hard... ride."
Definitely a tingle, yessir.
"Meet me in the garage in twenty, okay?"
"’kay."
Logan looked after the departing form of his lover, appreciating what he saw, yet curious. He knew Scott well enough to know he had something in mind.

*

"You’re late."
Logan swallowed at the sight of Scott Summers in his motorcycle leather gear. God, this stuff looked great on that slender frame – and Logan knew exactly what was underneath those clothes.
"I’m right on time, bub. Keep your shirt on." {Lose it later}. "Where’re the keys?"
"Where’s your gear?"
"I don’t need it. Healing abilities, remember?"
"Does getting injured hurt, Logan?"
"Yeah. So?"
"That’s why I want you wearing your gear."
"Look … "
"I'll let you drive back."
"I can drive anytime I want."
"Nope. Your gear?"
"Okay, I’ll go get it. Satisfied?"
"For starters."
Logan grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, but he walked off again to get his gear.

*

 Logan couldn’t help a faint smirk as he noticed the oh so casual way Scott was leaning against his bike, arms crossed over his chest, watching him and pretending to be pissed. But he was watching him, and from the slight change in body language, not to mention the whiff of pheromones that greeted him Scott liked what he saw. Logan normally didn’t care about his attire, but he had to admit the heavy black leather gear had something.
"Okay, now gimme the keys."
"I don’t think so. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going." Scott swung one leg over the bike, settling down and looking at him expectantly. "Well, are you coming?"
{If I have to look at you in that tight outfit a minute longer, yes, I will!}
"Do I have a choice?" Logan grumbled and settled behind Scott, suddenly unsure where to put his hands.
Scott chuckled when he started the bike.
"Not really. Hold on tight."
"Whoa … "
And then Logan really didn’t have a choice as Scott hit the gas and the bike made a jump start that would have thrown him onto the concrete if he hadn’t grabbed Scott’s waist – tightly.

*

The ride indeed was hard. But after a little time Logan got used to the feeling of Scott’s body that close to his – not, as if he hadn’t had Scott close before – but the proximity of his lover, the scent of leather, aftershave and nature itself as well as the vibrations of the powerful engine under him had their effects – his nerve endings were literally vibrating with impatience.
After a one hour drive through forests and across wide expanses of countryside, Scott slowed down and turned into a narrow side road which Logan would have ignored if he hadn’t known about its existence. The route was more a path than anything else and Scott had to maneuver carefully. Just when Logan was about to question what this was all about the wall of trees and bushes around them opened up – and Logan understood.
The place Scott had driven to was peace in itself. Large willow trees were bending over a deep blue lake, huge pines and birch trees stretched out into the sky. Copses and undergrowth prevented any curious peeks. Scott stopped the bike in front of a little cabin, and Logan noticed the small boat landing that led into the lake, perfect for fishing or a lazy afternoon in the sun. No sounds except for mother nature’s own it was the embodiment of perfection.
"Logan?"
The questioning voice drew him out of his musings.
"What's this?" he wanted to know.
"You could call it my hiding place. Sometimes even I need some solitude."
"I bet Jean loved it."
"She was never here."
Logan suppressed his surprise at that. Scott had never taken Jean here?
{Yet he took you…}
{Shuddup.}
 "C’mon, Logan, I’m not getting any younger."
He noticed that Scott had peeled himself out of his leather gear and was standing beside him, wearing just an old worn-out jeans and a white t-shirt. And the man was looking simply edible.
"This is one hell of a hiding place. Think only Cerebro could find you here."
"You could."
Logan glanced at Scott, surprised again by the way his lover showed his trust with these two words. He understood that there was more in them than what might be heard in the first place.
You could.
You could find me wherever I’d hide.

*

When Logan stepped out of the small bathroom of the cabin Scott called his hiding place he found his lover sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, reading. Scott looked up and something in his body language made Logan stop and frown.
"Scott? You okay?"
Scott put the book aside and nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Logan’s body.
"What, bub? You’ve seen me naked before."
"Yes, I have. Never told you that you’re a handsome man though, Logan."
Logan snorted in surprise and let himself fall down on the bed. "Wouldn’t say that."
"But you are. Why do you think half of the girls and some of the boys are drooling after you."
"What?"
Scott grinned. "Yep. You’re not shy when it comes to your body, but it’s just because you don’t even realize it, do you? Even now you're standing there buck naked and you don’t even mind. Me looking."
"There’s nothin’ t’mind."
"That’s what I meant.  When I saw you the first time it was – like a primal part of me wanted to throw you against a wall and kiss you into the next millennia."
"You’d get one hell of a surprise if you’d tried."
Scott smirked.  "What do you think Jean got? She sensed it the very moment. It’s not that she didn’t know I swing both ways but I never acted on it before – or felt it that strongly."
"I thought you were annoying."
"I know."
Scott took in a deep breath when Logan ran his fingertips over his exposed chest and flat abdomen, letting it rest there and bending over to steal a kiss.
"It’s been almost six months since you kissed me in the gym."
"Yeah."
Hand taking up on wandering further south, not even pretending to stop at the waistband of his lover’s pants. Scott gasped and moaned, fingers weaving into Logan’s hair impatiently as he slid down the offending piece of cloth that hindered the roaming hand’s ways. Letting his eyes wander over Scott’s body as if he hadn’t ever seen it before, taking in the scent of Old Spice and Ivory Soap that clung to his lover, combined with faint traces of leather …
"Logan? I’m feeling a little self-conscious here…"
Logan grinned and eased himself down on the lean body so openly displayed in front of his eyes.
"Don’t be. No need  t’hide on yer part … "
Taking Scott’s face in his hands – careful not to dislodge the glasses – he bent to coax his lover’s lips open only to find he was eagerly awaited. Scott seemed to melt into his touches, caresses and teasing, reacting and responding vocally with moans and gasps to each and every one of them while Logan worked himself down his body until he found himself resting between his lover’s spread legs.
Then Scott surprised him again.
Catching one of Logan’s hands he guided it between his legs as he had done before, but this time he urged it a little beyond that. Logan was about to freeze when he felt his fingertips brush over that special area, but Scott almost mewling at the minute stroke, hips bucking uncontrollably into his hands changed his mind. Concentrating on his lover’s reactions he took the other man’s hardness into his mouth while maintaining the slow teasing.
Ten minutes later Scott had astonished him again. Logan knew his lover could become vocal – more than he had ever thought the control needing man could ever be – but now Summers was literally losing it, panting rapidly, moaning with every stroke Logan made.
"Logan… could you … please… ?"
Scott was begging?  For him to – do what?
"What, Scott?"
With a sharp intake of breath Scott groped for something in the nightstand’s drawer and tossed it at him. Catching the small bottle Logan recognized the aroma immediately – pinewood scented massage oil. Frowning he looked at his lover questioningly.
"You want me to…?"
"Yes… only if you’re ready… "
Was he ready? Logan felt his heart speed up with the mere thought of touching Scott in that way – but hey, if someone would have told him some months ago he would be lying in bed with this man, all naked and hot and bothered and liking it, too… he shrugged. Only one way to find out. Pouring the oil on his hands he slipped back between Scott’s thighs …
"Tell me what to do, bub. Don’t wanna hurt ya here."
His fingers wandering over Scott, he followed the breathless instructions until he finally slipped one finger inside the man, part of his mind still screaming at him as to what the hell he was doing here, touching a man like this, behaving like a goddamn faggot… No, this was Scott, the man he loved, and he was enjoying it to the fullest, as his ragged breathing and undulating movements showed.
And then his finger brushed over a small nub and Scott cried out, muscles clenching and relaxing. Logan frowned and experimentally searched for the spot again, causing a long guttural moan. Well, lookee here …
"It’s the prostate gland you just found, Logan... " Scott explained breathlessly.
"It’s causing… such pleasure…? " Logan asked, stroking it again.
The answer was far from coherent yet nevertheless unambiguous.
Obviously.
Logan smirked and continued his ministrations, closely examining his lover’s reactions.
He felt Scott tremble underneath him, panting so fast Logan was wondering if he wasn’t close to hyperventilating; fists clenched into the sheets so hard the knuckles were already white. Muscles clenched and relaxed around Logan’s fingers and he knew his lover was close. He was sobbing with every sharp intake of breath, bucking every time Logan’s fingers brushed the small nub inside of him.
And then he gulped in a lungful of air, arching his entire body so tense as if he would break every second – only to scream Logan’s name as climax rushed through his body again and again.
 

"Uhm … Scott?"
"Yeah?"
"Would you like… you know … "
Scott smiled and ran a finger of his hardness, making it twitch with increased interest.
"Feel you inside me?"
"Yeah."
Part of Logan was surprised at how easily Scott talked about having intercourse with a man, especially after his past experiences. Then again, Logan suspected Scott had had help from Xavier.
"No, I wouldn’t like it. I would love it. But Logan, not unless you think you’re ready. This is one hell of a step, some men never achieve that."
"Would you want… damn, you know what I mean."
"Do it to you? No. I’ll show it you if you want, but honestly it’s not really number one on my priority list."
"It’s not?"
"No, it’s not. What did you think, that just because I’m a guy necessarily has to mean I like to be the active part?"
"Looked quite active to me in the past, bub."
It earned him a playful swap and even more teasing.
"Logan. No, I like to be on the receiving end."
Logan groaned at an especially sensitive spot was stroked and grabbed his lover’s head for a firm kiss.
"Receiving end or not, now you better take care of what you’ve caused."
"Your growl is my command."

* * *

It struck them unprepared and there wasn't a student or teacher not affected by it. Some were bedridden for a few days, others just had a day of sniffles or runny noses, while yet again one or two complained about a sore throat for a few hours and that was that. Among them had been Nightcrawler, who had nursemaided the children affected the most. Summer flu at its best and there was nothing much to do but administer medical help in the right amount and quantity.
Xavier, short of a doctor since Jean had always taken care of them, had called an old friend by the name of Dr. Hank McCoy, and he had readily treated whoever displayed any worse symptoms.
Logan's healing factor made him immune to the flu bug, but Scott wasn't so lucky. He had been one of the last to go down, but also one of the three worst cases. While the other two, Rogue and Kitty, were already back to school and healthy, Scott struggled with the tiny invaders into his system.
"Keep him hydrated," McCoy told the other man. "Medication every four hours. If his temperature rises, call me."
Logan nodded, looking at the slender man in the large bed they shared. "Okay."
"I'll come by this evening. If something unforeseen happens, call me. Immediately, Logan."
Another nod. "Sure."
McCoy gave him a smile and a nod, then left, closing the door after him. Logan put the medication bottles on the nightstand and turned to look at his lover, who lay limply on the already partially soaked sheets. His fever had developed just this morning and it was raging through his body with a vengeance. McCoy was reluctant to already put him on a saline solution to help his body keep hydrated. For now, introducing fluids the normal way should help.
"So much for the fishing trip," Scott whispered, managing a smile, then his sore throat threw him into a coughing fit.
Logan shrugged. "Fish'll keep."
Scott closed his eyes, groaning to himself when the coughing fit abated. Logan had long since learned that there was nothing else to do but wait.
They had planned on leaving the mansion for a day or two, return to the cabin and bring the fishing gear this time. Scott had also voiced the idea of Logan showing him the Canadian wilderness, but Logan himself was reluctant to go to places where his only memories were of working, fighting and drinking. Maybe with Scott it was different, but he didn't want to risk it.
"Go get some sleep, Slim," he instructed and brushed back strands of sweaty hair. "I'll wake ya when it's time for the medication again."
The answer was a twitch of lips, then Scott surrendered to his exhaustion and fell asleep.
 

McCoy came back as promised, checked Scott's temperature and nodded to himself. Logan knew it had dropped slightly, but he wasn't out of the woods yet and fevers had a tendency to spike before really dissolving.
As it was, this night proved to be just like this. Scott was almost burning up, his temperature so high it worried Logan enough to call McCoy, but around four in the morning it broke.
It took another three days for Scott to be able to leave the bed and by then he was doggedly announcing that he would be taking a shower first thing. Logan smiled in amusement as his lover made his way to the bathroom on wobbly legs, clutching Logan's arms with whatever strength he could muster.
"You'll collapse in the shower and where'll that get ya?"
"Clean," came the answer.
Stubborn. Persistent. Single-minded. Scott Summers.
Sighing, Logan finally surrendered to the unstoppable force that was his sick lover and he climbed into the shower with him. Scott insisted to wash his own hair and it almost burned up the last of his energy to make it through the five minutes it took altogether. Toweling off was left to Logan, who bundled the slender man into a towel and rubbed him vigorously, drawing a faint protest. When Scott was finally in the bedroom again, dressed in sweater and pants, he settled him in a chair.
"Stay. I'll get something to eat and we gotta get the sheets changed. Ain't lying down there again."
"I can go downstairs," came the protest.
"Yeah, right. Ya ain't going anywhere, bub. You're on sick leave."
Scott glared at him from behind the glasses. "I'm fine, Logan. Fever's broke and I can go downstairs!"
Logan scowled, but something dark inside him decided that if Scott wanted to end up flat on his face, so be it. He wouldn't stand in his way.
 

He had to give it to him: he was more than stubborn. He was a mule-headed dick. Scott had slowly made his way downstairs, then along the wall, using a hand to keep himself upright, and into the kitchen. School was on, so there was no one around. Scott's classes had been taken over by Kurt, who was happily teaching the children about Theology and Mythology, and Hank, who was subbing as a science teacher while he was here.
"Whatcha up to?" Logan wanted to know, giving the fridge a closer look.
Lots of green stuff. Milk. Yoghurt. No meat. Figures.
"Toast," came the soft answer and he turned around.
Scott sat slumped in the chair, looking beat. Logan was drawn between amusement and worry.
"Toast with what?"
"Just toast."
Another scowl, but Logan pulled out the bread and walked over to the toaster. In the end, he threw in a bowl of soup and glared at Scott long enough to make the reluctant patient eat it all.
"You'd make a good nursemaid," Ororo remarked as she entered the kitchen, getting herself a vegetable drink.
He shot her a dark look. Scott hid a smirk behind his spoon.
"You eat and don't say a word," Logan growled, taking a bite from the sandwich he had made for himself.
"How are you feeling, Scott?" Ororo asked.
"Fine."
Logan grimaced and she smiled more.
"I think the worst is over," Ororo went on. "The children are all fine again and except for a sniffle here or there, there aren't any stragglers."
"Good."
"Hank said he has to return to his work in a few days. If nothing new occurs, that is."
Scott nodded and finished the last spoon of soup. Logan just refilled the bowl.
"I can't eat all of that!"
"You can. Now shut up and get diggin'."
"Logan!"
"I said shuddup. You were sick, you lost weight, you gotta get back your strength. Now eat."
Ororo chuckled. "I'll leave you two boys alone. Play nice."
Logan smirked as Scott ate a few more spoonfuls, then pushed the bowl away. He hadn't expected his lover to be able to finish the second bowl, but he was glad to see he had managed a bit more. Scott really needed to strengthen again and if he played it stubborn, so would Logan.
 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Scott shot his lover an annoyed look from behind the shades, but Logan didn't really have to see those eyes to know that there were dark smudges under them and they would be red-rimmed.
"I'm working."
"No, you're sick. You're supposed to be in bed!"
"I'm fine, Logan. And I've to catch up on paperwork."
Logan growled something uncomplimentary and stalked over to the slim man, grabbing him unceremoniously…
"Hey!"
…and pushed him into the bed. Scott plopped down, anger crossing his features.
"You stay in bed!" Logan ordered.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll sic not only McCoy but also every single kid on you till you do!"
"You wouldn't!"
The kids liked their teacher and most of the girls simply adored Scott. They would jump on the chance to 'baby-sit' him.
"Try me, bub."
A glaring contest ensued. Logan smirked as Scott lowered his eyes, probably too tired to fight any longer. Normally, his lover wouldn't have given in just like that.
"I have responsibilities," he murmured.
"And there's more than just one teacher out there. They can help out."
Scott sighed. "Yeah. I know. It's just…"
Logan threw the blanket over the thin body and sat down on the mattress, giving him his version of a smile. "…that you're a work-a-holic."
"Am not."
Logan's expression said it all.
Scott frowned at him, but he finally curled up and after a few more minutes, he dozed off. Logan made his way over to the chair and kicked his feet up on the bed. He grabbed the folders Scott had been working on and browsed through them.
Way over his head, he decided and dropped them onto the desk again.
When it was clear that Scott would remain asleep, he left the room again. He had a survival class in twenty minutes. Those were actually proving to be fun and the kids were tougher than he had thought. And resilient, if not innovative.
Maybe it had really been a good idea to start these classes. He'd never confess it out loud to Scott, though.

* * *

It took another week for Scott to regain enough strength to walk through the mansion without falling flat on his face. For the first few days after finally getting out of bed he had regularly fallen asleep throughout conversations or watching TV. There hadn't been an evening where he had seen the eight o'clock news because he was already out like a light. Rogue had smiled, watching them as Scott's head had fallen against Logan's shoulder, the younger man deep asleep.
Logan had just shot her a dark look and finally carried Scott off to bed. Their bed. He had never changed back into his own room, even though it had been restored.
Today, almost two weeks later, both men had finally gone on their long-planned fishing trip. Back to the cabin, back to the lake, back to being completely alone without a soul to disturb them.
Logan leaned back against the tree, rested one arm one his bent knee and watched his lover’s lean frame take a swim. Scott had slowly slipped out of his shirt, allowing Logan a very good look at his defined backside, before he got rid of his jeans. Glancing back over one shoulder he smiled at Logan, before he dove into the still waters of the lake without so much as a splash.
"Tease," Logan murmured, readjusting himself against the tree.
Scott didn’t need extended senses to know what he did to him – and he did it deliberately, too.
After some rounds, the younger man left the lake and slowly walked over to him, droplets glistening on his tanned skin, and there was a telltale smile on his face. Logan let this eyes wander over the body he had come to know so well, the long legs, narrow hips, flat abdomen and broader shoulders, not to mention lips that cried out to be ravaged.
From his lover’s body language Logan could tell he was watched just as closely, and then Scott stepped closer, straddling his hips before he landed in his lap. Slowly running a hand over Logan’s chest he parted the shirt and stroked the skin underneath, the double sensation of cool wet fingertips on his heated skin making Logan gasp. But he returned the favor, allowing his hands a little wandering of their own. He was rewarded with a gasp and a shudder before Scott bent over and claimed his mouth, tenderly teething the lower lip, tongue teasing him until Logan opened up under him. He heard Scott moan softly into the kiss when his fingers met an especially sensitive spot, and shiver slightly while he slipped his shirt from his body. Logan barely suppressed a groan at the feeling of Scott’s cool slick skin pressing against his own.
"You’re wet… "
"You’re not…"
And then Scott’s fingers trailed down his stomach toward his waistband, slowly undoing his jeans and slipping inside, not having enough room to actually move – especially now.
"Get rid of these, Logan…," he whispered huskily into his ear while nipping at a soft spot behind it Logan hadn’t even known was there.
So he could only nod and raise his hips a little as Scott slowly worked his way down his body to his hips, caressing, teething, licking and suckling. When he finally reached his destination Logan desperately fought not to writhe and moan under those talented fingers, still wondering how Scott always managed to do this to him. Then his jeans were gone and Scott was back, gliding up his body, again using every inch of his own to tease, enflame, ignite.
"I want you," he breathed, nibbling at one ear.
Logan pushed him back a little, looking at the ruby red shades, trying to pierce the reflective cover, tried to see into the eyes of a man he had come to love so much. Instead he looked at the reflection of himself, the sudden panic leaping up, the fear. Yes, he loved Scott, but he didn't know if he was really ready to take the final step. He could hurt him more than anything else.
"Logan."
His name, uttered softly, gently, lovingly.
"It'll be fine."
Fingers caressed his face and Scott kissed him, his lips, his jaw, up to his eyes and over to the ears.
"It'll be okay," he murmured. "You won't hurt me."
"What…" He stopped, then forced himself to calm down. "What do I have to do?"
Scott smiled. "The same you did before. Preparation is everything. I'll guide you through it. Trust me."
He did. Completely.
 

Slick, hot, tight – Logan trembled with the effort not to thrust as Scott slowly slid down on him, as he was buried in the body of his lover… in Scott, my god, he was in Scott, how could he ever let that happen, how could he ever allow himself to go that far, but sweet Jesus, it felt so good and so right, and…
Logan moaned deep in his throat as he felt Scott’s muscles clench around him, release him again, and he reached up over his head to grab a root of the tree they were lying under.
"No… Logan, no…" Scott’s hands closed around his wrists, and he leaned forward to claim another kiss. "Logan, I need you to... touch me…"
And he pulled Logan’s arms down and around him, on him, close, and Logan gritted his teeth against the flash of sudden panic.
"You won’t hurt me, Logan… you never will…"
Logan gasped, both in shock about the words and the sensation of Scott slowly starting to move. How come his lover knew, how come he wanted him nevertheless, trusted him enough to let him… to even and then Scott’s head flew up and he trembled and sobbed and god, what the hell…
"Let go, Logan… I want you to let got… please, I need…"
He looked up at his lover, and there was an expression of utter trust and bliss and something else Logan didn’t have any words for at the moment on Scott’s face. Something deep and old inside him shattered under that expression. He moaned in surrender, and to his ears it sounded a lot like a sob, and why were his cheeks wet all of a sudden? Wrapping his arms around the lean trembling frame of the man he loved, he pulled Scott close to kiss him, to make love to him for the very first time - and Logan let go.
This time his own cry of completion matched his lover’s.
Logan felt Scott’s weight resting on his body where the younger man had collapsed and for a split second an irrational fear rose inside of him – until he felt his lover’s breath on his skin. Scott looked up at him and slipped from his body to curl up at his side, bending to kiss him softly.
"wow … " he whispered.
"Wow, indeed. I didn’t know it could be like this." Logan ran a hand through his lover’s auburn hair.
"How could you? You’ve never been with anybody."
"You knew."
"No."
"No? Didn’t Jean make you…?"
"No, not like that, Logan. Not like you. Damn."
"What?"
"I need a shower."
Logan chuckled, and after sharing another tender kiss he watched the retreating form of his lover.
For the first time in his life it was good. He had found a place he wanted to stay, a family of sorts, weird and definitely out of the ordinary – like himself – but surely never boring. And he had found a safe ground in one Scott Summers.
Life was good indeed. No catch.
Logan frowned. Why should there be any?
"Logan? How about you light the fire for the fish we caught?" Scott called from the cabin.
Right. Why should there be any?

* * *

They had been back for two days when the call came.
/Scott, Logan, please come to my office/
Maybe a new mission, maybe something else. Logan wasn't really worried – until he entered Xavier's office and took in the expression of the man before him.
"Professor?" Scott asked, his body language telling Logan that his lover had picked up on something as well.
Xavier gazed solemnly at them. "I called you here because of a matter that concerns you both."
Logan stiffened, a dozen scenarios running through his mind, all involving him and Scott and their relationship.
"Logan, there is something I think you’d like to see."
The professor tossed a large manila folder onto the desk. The scent of old paper, stored in a not too dry environment reached Logan’s nostrils and he shuddered. His eyes were drawn to the old folder, yellow with age, stained and dirty. But that wasn’t what froze him. It was the writing. In clear sharp black letters it said: Project Soldier X, Subject: Wolverine.
And there was an insignia on it, well-known and familiar – and utterly shocking.
It was his file.