Chapter Text
When Scott thought about it later, what shocked him about the whole encounter was not that Logan had held him to the deal (Logan was a man of his word), or that Logan had bent him over his desk and poured out all of his anger, his frustration and his desire into the act, punishing and pleasuring them both at the same time. No, what had really shocked Scott was what had happened afterwards, when Logan had led him to his bed and gently nudged him onto it until Scott had fallen on his back. Then Logan had stripped off his own clothes before setting to work on Scott’s pants, then his cardigan and his shirt, leaving Scott’s clothes in a pile beside the bed. With both of them naked, Logan kneeling in between his spread legs, Scott had never felt more vulnerable or exposed in his life. In front of Wolverine, no less.
But that’s when things really went off-script – if they had been following any kind of script in the first place – because Scott had expected to be taken roughly again. Instead, Logan began leisurely exploring his body, beginning with Scott’s neck before moving downwards, mapping every line and curve as though he were committing it to memory. Scott gripped the bed sheets tightly, his hands balled into fists by his sides. He hated the little noises that he was making, the quiet moans and reactions that he suspected Logan was filing away for future reference, for future ammunition against him. He was almost relieved when Logan turned him over so he could bury his face in the pillow and muffle those sounds, but his body and his scent betrayed him. He was growing hard again and the bed sheets were providing too little friction. He could only imagine what sort of pheromones he was releasing. He knew without a doubt that Logan knew that he was aroused.
Lying face down on the bed, he was certain now that Logan would take him. And he did. There were no invading fingers this time since Scott was still stretched and slick from their previous encounter, only the slow, agonizing slide of Logan filling him. In spite of himself Scott arched back into the motion, rising on his hands and knees to meet Logan with his own force so that his back was firmly against Logan’s chest. He earned a satisfied grunt from the other man and a firm grip on his hip to steady him. Logan’s breath was hot on his already heated skin and then he felt teeth gently nipping him in the juncture where neck met shoulder. When Logan was fully inside him, he stilled, and Scott silently admired the other man’s control. Logan continued his nipping and licking, now across Scott’s right shoulder and down his shoulder blade. Scott had already adjusted to the fullness of Logan inside him, and he had had enough of that teasing mouth. He moved forward and then drove back, surprising Logan with the thrust. Sharp canines bit down on his shoulder, almost hard enough to draw blood at the same time that Logan growled deep in his throat. He lifted himself off Scott’s back and Scott felt big, warm hands gripping his hips tightly. There would be bruises there in the morning. But Scott couldn’t care about that right now, not when Logan began thrusting deeply and evenly inside him. It was different this time. Whereas before he had tried to control his body’s impulses as Logan had pounded into him, not wanting to give Logan the satisfaction of his pleasure (even though he had failed rather spectacularly), this time he matched Logan’s rhythm.
“Touch me, dammit,” he hissed, his cock aching from neglect.
“Not yet,” Logan ground out.
It seemed that even the mighty Wolverine had limits on his stamina, as this round was shorter than the first. Scott knew the other man was close when Logan’s rhythm grew erratic, but still Logan wouldn’t touch him. He was on the verge of touching himself when Logan’s right hand closed over his own, making Scott wonder if Logan didn’t have his own brand of telepathy.
“Don’t you fucking come,” Logan whispered in his ear just before he spilled himself into Scott.
Scott was trembling, his frame taut with unreleased tension. Above him, could feel Logan riding the high of his orgasm, and before he could register what was happening, Logan was pushing him back down onto the bed and turning him over onto his back. Scott collapsed easily, and then a mouth was on him, sucking him hungrily and he instinctively bucked into the wet heat. Those large hands were on his hips again, pinning him down on the bed as Logan’s mouth continued to work him over. Scott was in no position to complain about Logan’s lack of stamina since he wasn’t going to last either. His world was red except for the white he saw when he climaxed and he shut his eyes as he felt that climax approach. He shuddered his release into Logan’s waiting mouth with a force that should have made the other man gag but Logan drank him down, suckling him until Scott was completely spent and boneless on the bed. Logan then proceeded to tongue-bathe him, the stubble on his face scratching against Scott’s thighs. Scott was too blissed out to care as Logan continued his progress up Scott’s body, settling on top of him so that Logan’s chin rested on his folded hands on top of Scott’s chest.
It had been many years since Scott had felt the weight of a man on top of him. Logan was heavy and Scott suspected that Logan wasn’t resting his complete weight on him; otherwise that adamantium frame might have crushed him. Without quite realizing it, his right hand had come to rest on Logan’s back, absently scratching one of Logan’s shoulder blades. When Logan responded with what could only be described as a growl of contentment, Scott stopped, uncertain of what he was doing. He could feel Logan’s heated gaze on him but he refused to look down. It’s not like Logan could see his eyes anyway. After a few moments, Logan rolled off of him and sprawled beside him on the bed. Scott also rolled onto his side, his back to Logan. He wanted to sleep and he hoped that Logan was done with him for the night, although by the conditions of their agreement, Logan could do what he pleased for the whole night. Dusk ‘til dawn. Hadn’t that been the deal?
He slipped off his glasses, folded them and placed them on top of the bedside table. Then he lifted himself on one elbow as he slid open the drawer of the bedside table, reaching for the precise spot where he knew his sleep goggles lay. He sat up to put them on, aware the entire time that Logan was watching him although the man hadn’t moved an inch. When Scott settled back down on the bed, it was again on his side, his right arm now under his pillow. Whatever message he was trying to send clearly didn’t reach Logan because the other man simply spooned behind him, putting an arm around Scott’s waist to draw him closer until he felt Logan’s breath on the nape of his neck. Surprisingly, Scott didn’t tense in that unexpected embrace. Perhaps he was too tired to do so. He drifted off to sleep with one word in his mind: tenderness. It was a word that he had never associated with Wolverine.
* * * * *
When Scott woke the following morning, he was alone. The covers were drawn up around him, although he hardly remembered using them the night before. That was when the memory of what he had done with Logan hit him and he bolted upright. Bad idea. He wanted to attribute everything to a very vivid dream except the soreness that greeted him when he moved proved to be evidence to the contrary. He grimaced as he sat at the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair. Of all the stupid things he’d done in his life, this seemed pretty close to the top. One-night stands weren’t exactly his forte, and he wasn’t even sure that this thing with Logan qualified as one. Scott shook his head. It didn’t matter. He would deal with Logan when he saw him.
Scott wasn’t intentionally avoiding Logan and neither did he think that Logan was doing the same, but the two of them didn’t see each other until the scheduled training session in the Danger Room late in the afternoon with the rest of the team. There was nothing outwardly different about Logan and Scott wanted to think that he too was behaving normally. That illusion was shattered when the training session began because Logan was even more belligerent than usual, exasperating not only Scott but also the usually implacable Ororo.
“Logan!” Ororo snapped after the fourth time the simulation failed due to one of Logan’s ‘improvisations.’ “Surely even you can see the benefits of Scott’s strategy.”
Logan leaned against the wall of the Danger Room, producing a cigar from god-knows-where and snipping the end off with one of his claws.
“You can’t smoke that in here.” Scott’s admonition was sharp and automatic.
Logan gave him a feral grin but his attention quickly returned to Storm whose voice and features had become the perfect embodiment of her name. She was standing beside Scott, hands on her hips and she looked like she might strike him with lightning right in the Danger Room.
“We’re a team,” Storm was saying, a line that Scott had often heard himself repeating to their wayward member. “You can’t just think about yourself out there anymore. You may not realize it, but your actions put others at risk.” Storm dropped her voice. “Not everyone on the team has your experience.”
Storm’s last statement provoked a reaction from Wolverine who pushed himself off the wall, hands clenched at his sides, his cigar forgotten. Everyone present knew that she had been referring to Bobby and Marie, the two newest and youngest members of the team. Scott glanced in their direction. Bobby looked uncertain and Marie only had eyes for Logan. She knew (just as Scott knew) that Logan would never willfully put her in any danger but there was a chance that he might inadvertently do precisely that in the field. And if that ever happened, Logan would never forgive himself.
Scott took this moment to intervene. He placed a hand on Ororo’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked at him, an apology in her eyes. Scott gave her a faint smile, an assurance that everything was all right. It was a welcome break, Scott thought, to have someone else with authority give Logan a tongue-lashing.
“We’ve had enough for one day,” he told the others. He motioned to Henry who was in the control room to power down the simulation. Henry nodded and the lights in the Danger Room returned to their usual state.
“Bobby,” he said, turning to the young man. “You still need to fine tune your control. We’ll do some one-on-one exercises tomorrow.” Bobby nodded in reply. “And Marie,” Scott continued, “a little more hand-to-hand training with Logan would be a good idea.”
Scott shot Logan an inquiring look for once not expecting any kind of resistance, not if it was for Marie’s benefit. Logan nodded gruffly, his face still marked by a scowl from Storm’s previous comment. Finally, he turned to face Kurt, who was standing a little distance away from the rest of the group, observing them quietly with his pensive eyes.
“Nice work today . . . Nightcrawler,” Scott told him. Those yellow eyes lit up and Kurt nodded almost shyly in acknowledgement.
“Tomorrow, same time,” were Scott’s final words, drawing the training session to a close. He remained where he was as this latest incarnation of the X-Men filed out of the Danger Room and headed for the showers. The original five had gone through their growing pains, but the harmony and efficiency that that team had achieved made Scott wonder if he’d ever regain that precious dynamic. He was pondering this as Logan fell into step beside him in the hallway, but he crinkled his nose when the other man finally lit his cigar. Smoking wasn’t allowed anywhere in the lower levels, but better Logan smoked in the hallway than in the Danger Room.
“You know that’s not allowed out here either,” Scott couldn’t help but say, the usual disapproval seeping into his tone. Beside him, he could already feel Logan smirking.
Instead of the smart comeback that usually fell so easily from Logan’s lips, he merely said, “You didn’t expect me to follow your orders every day, did you?”
Scott stopped in surprise. Actually, he’d been trying very hard not to think of that possibility, trying to convince himself that the deal with Logan had been a one-time affair. Now Logan was confirming otherwise.
Logan stopped as well and turned to face him, purposely leaning in as he did so. He smelled of sweat and smoke, much like he did the night before and Scott willed his body not to react. Sex and fighting were far too similar, especially where Logan was concerned. Logan was inhaling his scent, and Scott wondered if the other man was thinking the same thing. The answer appeared to be ‘yes’ when that feral grin spread over Logan’s face and he dropped his voice even though there was no one else in the hallway.
“Ya’d hardly be able to keep up with me, One-Eye,” Logan half-taunted. “And besides,” he added, straightening up. “We can’t have our Fearless Leader too tired or too sore to go on a mission.”
With those parting words, Logan puffed on his cigar and swaggered down the hallway, leaving Scott too stunned to say anything in reply.
* * * * *
Logan was a handful in training for the rest of the week but when the time came to go on a mission, he followed Scott’s orders to the letter. His docility left the other team members flabbergasted.
“Do you think he’s all right?” Ororo murmured as she sat in the co-pilot’s seat of the Blackbird on the way back to Westchester.
Scott fought to contain his smile and managed to casually shrug instead. “Logan’s unpredictable,” he replied. He gave her a sidelong glance. “I thought you’d be pleased in his change in attitude.”
“I am.”
Ororo hesitated and looked behind them where Logan was strapped into his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he grimaced. Clearly, flying did not agree with Wolverine. He was seated directly behind Scott and if his mutant ability had been optic blasts he would’ve blown a hole through Scott’s head the moment the Blackbird had taken off. Ororo looked back at their field leader. “Do you think he’s ill?” she asked, rephrasing her previous question.
Scott almost laughed out loud at the suggestion. He’d always thought that Logan had a few screws loose. It probably came with the territory when the military fucked with your memories. “Honestly, no,” he said, unable to keep the humor out of his voice. “But you can always have Henry check him out,” he added. “That is, if you can get him down to the med lab.”
But Henry didn’t possess Jean’s particular charms, was the thought that crossed his mind that he didn’t say aloud. He was surprised that the thought of Logan and Jean in the same sentence didn’t bring up all the usual feelings of anger and jealousy. He was wondering what that meant when he realized that Ororo was looking at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Logan’s not the only one behaving strangely.”
Scott aimed for mock offense. “Are you saying that I can’t be cheerful?”
“Cheerful isn’t in your vocabulary, Cyclops,” Storm deadpanned back.
This time Scott didn’t bother to contain his smile as he dipped the Blackbird, hearing the expected growl behind him.
* * * * *
That night Scott was slammed against the wall of his room and greeted with a bruising kiss before the door even had a chance to close. They had arrived in Westchester long after the students had gone to bed, except for the one or two students that didn’t sleep at all. Scott knew that the Professor was still awake. He had been mentally summoned as soon as the Blackbird was secure in the hangar. He preferred to perform the post-flight checks himself, but Storm had shooed him away likely knowing that the Professor was waiting for him. Scott didn’t feel too badly about leaving her when Henry appeared. It was just like Blue to turn up when help was needed. As he had walked out of the hangar, he had felt Logan’s eyes boring into his back and he suppressed the shiver of anticipation that threatened to go through him at the thought of what Logan might have in store.
“The debrief could’ve waited until morning,” Logan growled now, pinning Scott against the wall as he nuzzled Scott’s neck.
Scott felt helpless against the full-body assault of Wolverine and he had his hands on Logan’s wide shoulders in a feeble attempt to keep the other man at bay. “No, it couldn’t,” he breathed as Logan palmed him through the leather of his uniform. They were both still in uniform.
“Yeah, One-Eye,” Logan insisted. “It really could’ve.” He squeezed Scott’s hardening cock tighter, almost viciously, and Scott could feel tears of arousal and frustration wetting his visor. “I think you were trying ta get out of our deal,” Logan whispered, snaking a trail up Scott’s neck with his tongue until he was nipping Scott’s earlobe. “You wasted half the night flying us back and then you wasted more of it holed up in Chuck’s study. That sort of behavior deserves punishment. Wouldn’t you agree, Cyclops?” Logan leaned back, his hand easing the pressure it had exerted on Scott’s cock, but still stroking him through his uniform.
Scott was pissed. And aroused. Somewhere along the line the phrase, ‘Fight or fuck’ had become quite literal with Wolverine, and the urge to deck the arrogant man or to be thrown down by him onto the bed and fucked through the mattress was almost too much to bear. Scott settled for somewhere in between, pushing Logan back with a force that took the other man by surprise.
“I wasn’t trying to get out of anything,” he seethed, pushing himself off the wall and stalking towards Logan. “The debrief couldn’t wait and the Professor knew that.” He was about to say more, but stopped abruptly when he saw that Logan was watching him carefully, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The room was dark except for the moonlight that streamed in through the two large windows, lighting Logan’s face and the strange expression Scott saw there. Scott’s anger bled away and he stood with his hands at his sides, his composure returning to him. When Logan didn’t say anything for several long seconds, Scott broke the silence. “We gonna get on with this or what?” he asked defiantly, steeling himself for whatever punishment Wolverine was going to dole out.
“You’re hiding something,” Logan said flatly. “Something about the mission we did. There’s more to it that you’re not telling the team.”
Scott was stunned that Logan had guessed this correctly, but outwardly he remained impassive. The cool mask of Cyclops rarely faltered.
“I thought this was about sex,” he said, just as flatly.
Scott knew that his reply was a simple evasive tactic, but he was also counting on the fact that Wolverine could be quite single-minded when given the proper incentive. Sex seemed like the proper incentive. For a while he thought he had been mistaken as their standoff continued, but it was Logan who backed down first. (Logan was just full of surprises tonight.)
“It is,” Logan said quietly, reaching out and taking Scott’s hand. For the second time in as many weeks, Scott found himself being led to his own bed by Wolverine.
This time Logan sucked him first before he fucked him. If Scott had been expecting a quick, hard fuck as part of his punishment, he was completely wrong on that score. If anything, Logan was even gentler than he had been the first night, taking the time to prepare him before fucking him with long, languid strokes, angling his thrusts just right so that he hit Scott’s prostate every time. It didn’t take Scott long to figure out what his punishment was as Logan brought him to the brink of release time and time again before pulling Scott away from the edge. He wouldn’t let Scott come until he was satisfied and Scott realized with a growing horror that Logan could probably keep this up all night.
“Please,” he said when Logan had prevented his climax for the sixth time. He hardly recognized that strangled sound as his own voice.
“Say something?” Logan asked casually, continuing those maddeningly long, measured strokes.
“Please,” Scott said louder.
“Please what?” Logan sounded miffed.
“For fuck’s sake,” Scott nearly screamed. His whole body was trembling with unreleased tension and his hair hung over his forehand, the rivulets of sweat running down his visor and making his world hazy. He was on his hands and knees, but pretty soon he wouldn’t be able to support his own weight.
“All ya had to do was ask nicely,” Logan said, reaching over and finally taking Scott’s cock in his hand. All it took was a few quick strokes before Scott came, the force of his orgasm ripping through him in waves and he collapsed on the bed, taking Logan with him. Logan was still buried to the hilt inside him, as long and hard as the proverbial ‘rod up his ass’ jokes that Logan liked to crack about his uptight character. Only Logan was doing a different kind of teasing tonight.
Scott lay panting on the bed, dimly wondering why Logan wasn’t finishing himself off. He felt Logan withdraw and in the afterglow of sex, curiosity got the better of him and he rolled over so that he could see the other man. Logan was certainly a sight to behold, sitting back on his heels, cock in hand and continuing those long, even strokes. His gaze was intense. It was a look Scott often saw when they were in combat but this time it was directed solely at him, making him thankful that he was wearing his impenetrable visor. Scott’s eyes drifted down the other man’s body, taking in the broad chest and firm muscles, finally resting on the prize in Logan’s hand. Logan had fucked him three times (not that he was counting or anything) but this was the first time he’d really gotten a good look at Logan’s cock and what an impressive piece of equipment it was. Uncertain if Logan would permit it, Scott reached out and placed his hand over Logan’s. Logan’s hand immediately stilled beneath his, and Scott thought he could feel the pulsing of Logan’s cock through it. He was sitting up now, legs drawn up and spread on either side of Logan. He looked up at the other man, his unasked question hanging in the air between them. Logan removed his hand, placing it on Scott’s hip as he thrust once into Scott’s touch. Scott took that to be permission and he began exploring Logan’s cock. He ran his fingers along the underside and then swirled his thumb around the tip, pressing in between the slit. Logan was not as long as him, but he was much thicker and Scott wondered what it would be like to taste him, to have his mouth stuffed full of that throbbing flesh. The thought distracted him until Logan was growling low in his throat.
“Get on with it, Cyke.”
Scott grinned. It was the smirk that he knew was likely to earn him a punch in the gut from the other man and if he didn’t get on with it, this handjob might end with the same outcome. Scott stopped his explorations and began the same long, smooth motion that Logan had used on himself. He picked up the pace when he felt Logan thrusting steadily into his hand. Logan’s breathing was erratic, the fingers on Scott’s hip digging fiercely into his skin. Just when the other man was on the verge of coming, a hand gripped him behind the head and pulled him into a bruising kiss so that he swallowed the sound of Logan’s cry. Scott felt the sticky wetness over his hand at the same time that Logan’s tongue invaded his mouth and his senses went into overdrive.
This shouldn’t be part of the deal, his mind screamed, but his body appeared to have no objections as his own hands wrapped themselves around Logan’s waist and molded them together, Logan’s softening cock now leaking the last of its come against his stomach. The kiss continued and Scott felt like Logan was exploring his mouth, imprinting his taste in the same way that Logan had mapped his body on that first night. And Scott let him because Logan tasted so damn good and he was a fantastic kisser to boot, not that Scott was a slouch in that category either.
“Please don’t do that,” Scott whispered when the kiss ended and his chin rested on Logan’s broad shoulder. Logan was sucking on the side of his neck, teeth threatening to break his skin. He suspected he might have to wear a high-collared shirt the next day.
“Don’t do what?” Logan rumbled, and by god the man sounded content.
“No kissing,” Scott said firmly.
Logan jerked away and his eyes flashed, but he still held Scott loosely in his arms. “I call the shots at night, Cyclops,” he warned. “That’s the deal.”
Scott shook his head. “No kissing,” he repeated. “I’ll blow you, I’ll do whatever else you want, but not that. That’s not about sex.”
Logan’s face grew hard, his jaw set. “Kissing is your deal-breaker, Cyke?”
Scott’s expression was equally determined when he nodded his head. “Yes,” he said, putting all the force and command of Cyclops into the single word.
Logan’s eyes were traveling over his face, trying in vain to read him. Scott could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Logan was weighing his value in the field against not just having Scott at night, but perhaps more importantly, whether professionalism during the day translated into something more personal at night. When the deal had originally been struck in the heat of another fight, Scott had taken it literally – a fight in exchange for a fuck (or two or three). Now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe Scott was over thinking things, as he had a tendency to do. Maybe kissing didn’t mean anything to Wolverine; at least, maybe it didn’t mean the same thing that it meant to him.
Logan was nodding slowly, the hand that had held the back of Scott’s head now cradled his neck while Logan ran his thumb over Scott’s bottom lip absently. “Fine,” he agreed, his voice still hard. “No kissing.” He pressed down on the lip and Scott opened his mouth automatically. Logan pushed his thumb inside and Scott sucked on it, swirling his tongue around the digit as he watched Logan’s pupils blow wide.
“Lie back,” Logan ordered, and Scott did as he was told.
It was going to be a long night.
* * * * *
That second night led to a third and a fourth, the days turning into weeks and the weeks turning into months and before Scott knew it, the deal had been in effect for three whole months. Logan’s participation in the team was near flawless and he certainly couldn’t argue with the regular (if not raunchy) sex. The deal evolved as time went on, with unwritten sub clauses being added, but they never encountered the sort of impasse Scott had felt about kissing. Indeed, Scott had learned a number of important things about Logan, the foremost being that despite his renowned unpredictability and unreliability, Logan was very much a creature of habit and it didn’t take long for Scott to see a pattern emerging in their encounters.
In the beginning, the deal only mattered during days when there were missions. In particular, on missions in which Scott and Logan had to work together as a team. The training sessions remained a battleground and if the other members of the team wondered why Scott and Logan continued to disagree during training but made an impressive pair in the field, no one dared to ask. It was at the end of the third week that Scott began to notice a shift in their dynamics in training as well. Logan was less combative, and when the first training session passed without an incident from the other man, Scott knew to expect him that night. Gradually, the tension between them eased in the training sessions as well and by the middle of the second month any disagreement they had seemed to be perfunctory, a coded signal to let Scott know that Logan wouldn’t be paying him a visit. At that point, Logan was spending around five nights a week in Scott’s bedroom. Logan always came to Scott’s bedroom and he always left soundlessly before dawn. He never tried to kiss Scott again.
It was at the start of the third month that things got really interesting; for better or worse, Scott wasn’t certain. All he knew was the deal was growing more and more complicated and Logan remained unperturbed by these changes, which was unsurprising given that he was the instigator of said changes. Since one of their unwritten clauses since the night of ‘the kiss’ was that they never spoke about the deal itself, Scott was in a conundrum and did his best to go with the flow, which was no easy task for a control freak. The subtle shifts began simply enough. Logan began seeking Scott out a little earlier instead of ambushing him in the bedroom. Usually, Scott was bogged down by paperwork, whether it was marking papers or tests, lesson planning or some other administrative-related duty for the school. Scott preferred to do paperwork on his desk in his bedroom; occasionally, he would stay behind and use an unoccupied classroom at the end of the day. He never locked the doors wherever he was and Logan would slip inside and wait for Scott to finish. If he was working in his room, Logan would stretch himself on the window seat of one of the large bay windows, light a cigar and begin reading one of the magazines he often brought, usually something about hunting, guns or ammo.
The first time this happened Scott had done a double take since that window seat had also been Jean’s favorite, but there was no way Logan could have known that (could he?). No one had used it since she’d died and ‘conflicted’ didn’t even begin to describe what it felt like seeing Logan in that seat instead of Jean. Scott could barely wrap his head around it but when he opened his mouth to call Logan out, he found himself complaining about the cigar smoke instead. In fact, he always complained about the cigars but since he never phrased his complaints as an order, Logan merely ignored him and puffed away, blowing the smoke out of the open window. Scott didn’t think about what it meant that he never actually told Logan to stop smoking or that he never told Logan that window seat had been Jean’s favorite, but he suspected that it had something to do with the fact that cigar smoke was part of what made Logan Logan, just like Canadian beer, denim, dog tags, his healing factor and adamantium. And if his unconscious refused to acknowledge a comparison between Logan and Jean, then that was the business of his unconscious.
If Scott wasn’t done with his paperwork by 6:00pm (6:30pm at the absolute latest), Logan would rise from the window seat, stub out what was left of his cigar on his palm (if it wasn’t already finished), walk over to Scott’s desk, take him by the hand (during which Scott would make a feeble protest that he still had too much to do) and lead him to bed. On these days they would sometimes miss dinner, too sex sated to make the effort to dress and head downstairs. Later in the night they would have to fend for themselves with heated leftovers. Scott also learned during this time that Logan was something of a sandwich guru, making virtually anything tasty from what he found in the fridge. Honestly, who knew?
Scott told himself that eating dinner alone with Logan late at night was a necessity. Eating was a necessity. The fact that he was also spending time with Logan out of the bedroom and in a non-professional manner was something that he tried to ignore. And he certainly didn’t think about the fact that he was growing used to Logan’s company; that he was starting to find the other man comfortable and familiar. Companionable was probably the word he would’ve used to describe their evolving interaction, if, y’know, he ever actually thought about it. Besides, after dinner they’d polish off their beers and head back upstairs for another round of sex, this time slow and languorous and that’s what this was really about.
Scott began to have doubts again when later in the month, after a particularly satisfying round of sex Logan got up and began to dress. Scott eyed him from where he was lying on his back, vaguely disappointed that Logan was calling it quits early. (It was still very early.) When Logan had zipped up his jeans, he picked up Scott’s discarded clothes and threw them at him, hitting Scott squarely in the face. Scott sputtered.
“Get dressed.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get dressed.”
“Why?”
By now Logan was fully clothed, hands on his hips. “Who’s in charge at night, Cyclops?”
Rather than give the arrogant man the benefit of a verbal answer, Scott petulantly got off the bed and slowly began to dress. He didn’t look at Logan the entire time he put on his clothes, but he could feel the other man watching his every move. That’s another thing he’d learned about Logan but had secretly always suspected. The guy was a total voyeur. Scott could make him hard with a simple strip show, and once upon a time he’d had a lot of practice stripping.
“Is this a new game, Wolverine?” he finally asked when he was done.
“Let’s go,” was Logan’s answer as he headed for the door.
Scott remained motionless.
When Logan realized that Scott hadn’t moved, he stopped, his hand on the doorknob and looked at him. “I said, let’s go,” he repeated.
“Where are we going?” Scott asked carefully.
“It’s a surprise,” Logan answered.
Very slowly Scott walked around the bed towards the door until he was standing in front of Logan. He was about to break one of their unwritten rules but Logan’s behavior was making him uneasy. “Uh, listen,” he said, biting his bottom lip before glancing up at the other man. “What we do here,” he began, vaguely gesturing towards the bed. “It probably shouldn’t leave this room.”
Logan let out an exaggerated sigh, more theatrical than Scott had thought him capable of. “Ya can relax, One-Eye. I ain’t gonna molest you in public. I have a reputation, too.” Logan opened the door and shot him a pointed look, waiting for Scott to move.
Scott held his ground a moment longer, matching Logan’s pointed look even though the other man couldn’t see behind the ruby quartz lenses. Then he let out a theatrical sigh of his own and walked out the door.
* * * * *
Logan’s ‘surprise’ turned out to be so pedestrian that Scott almost laughed at the domesticity of the situation. They wound up in the room with the largest television and the most comfortable sofa where Logan flipped the channels to ESPN 2 to watch . . . hockey. Scott shot him an incredulous look as he settled beside him on the sofa.
Logan shrugged. “It’s the play-offs,” he said by way of explanation. When Scott didn’t look appeased, he added, “I hardly ever get to watch these games live.”
“Is this some new cruel and unusual punishment?” Scott asked.
“Hey,” Logan said, jabbing him in the chest with an adamantium-laced finger. “If I watch hockey, then you watch hockey. Them’s the rules.”
Scott shook his head and turned his attention to the screen, the white ice a pink hue and the players whirring by in shades of red.
“Got a favorite team?” Logan asked after a minute’s silence.
Scott gave him a sideways look, lips curling into a wry grin. The most he knew about hockey was that the puck had to be put into the opposing team’s net in order to score a goal. Once Logan found that out, Scott Summers’ education in Canada’s national pastime truly began.
So hockey was added to their routine (and Scott tried desperately not think of what it meant to have a routine). Scott suspected that Logan’s interest in the game waned a little once the team he was cheering for was knocked out of the playoffs. His suspicions were confirmed when during the second period of the first semi-final game a wandering hand unzipped his slacks and slipped into his briefs. His breathing hitched and he instantly froze.
“Logan,” he hissed. “Not in public, remember?”
“There’s no one here,” Logan replied calmly. “And I can sense anyone coming down the hall. Your secret’s safe, Princess.”
Scott gritted his teeth, ready to launch another protest but Logan was doing that thing he couldn’t resist with his hand and he was quickly losing the ability to form coherent sentences so with a frustrated groan he gave in, letting his head fall back against the sofa. Logan redoubled his efforts, the game forgotten and when Scott jerked and came, his world flashed white as it so often did when he was with Logan. When he could finally see straight again, he made a face. There was no way he was going to finish the game with this sticky mess in his pants. Logan was leaning over him, propped on one elbow, one hand still massaging his softening cock. He had that smirk that infuriated Scott to no end, no matter how many times they’d done this. It was a secret, knowing smirk that Scott wanted to wipe off his face, a smirk that said he knew just how to please the younger man. What goaded Scott most of all was that Logan was absolutely right. That smirk always triggered the fight or fuck response in him, but this was the first time, sitting in the den with the hockey game in the background and Logan’s face so near his own, that he had to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss the other man.