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cyndrarae

Rebelling against Reality since 2003

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JM: Young tilted head closeup
cyndrarae

X-Men: Honor.. (1/3) (Logan/Scott, Scott/Jean)


Title: “..Honor..”
Disclaimer: Everything X-Men belongs to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Just my way to vent.
Fandom: X-Men Movies. This is post-X1 and X2 hasn’t happened yet.
Summary: Sequel to “To Love..” Logan’s POV on the arrangement between him, Scott and Jean.
Pairing: Jean/Scott, Scott/Logan
Author’s Notes: Part 2 of a 3-part story. Starts off right where Part-1 ends so you need to read that one first. Words in //..// are thoughts or mental communication. Slight OOC, blatant AU etc. Sorry if the language is all wrong considering Logan should have a Canadian dialect or… something like that?
Rating: R. Please see warnings.
Warnings: Slash and spanking. PLEASE skip if its not your thing.
Feedback: Will be very much appreciated.
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What’s your color?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean no race or creed or political affiliation. I mean – like, Marie - she’s like the snow now ain’t she. White. Pure, untouched, a perfect picture of everything fair and beautiful. Guess ice cube sees it too. I bet if her daddy was around, he’d rest easy knowing she wasn’t gonna get mauled on dates. He’d also weep his heart out for a daughter who’ll never know the warmth of human touch again. Ah hell, human anything is overrated if you ask me… ‘kay maybe not. Hell good thing *I* aint her dad.

No sir. Am not.

Then there’s the other woman in my life - Red.

Hot, sizzling waves of deep wine red, of her long hair and the fire in her eyes. Of her lips, that furious blush of a rising sun, or even a setting one. Doc is everythin’ a man hopes for in his woman. Her great passion for… everythin’ really, burns everyone she touches, every mind she strokes. All that power, so deeply hidden I doubt even she knows it's there.
Jean’s red.

Jean is all he sees.

All he knows, all he’s ever wanted…

***

“Bite me.”

“I think I’ll pass thank you.”

“Fine then let me.”

“You’re such a canine. Why do we call Hank the beast? You’re the beast.”

“Fuck Hank, let's go home.”

“Oh I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Have you seen how huge and furry his paws are? Which isn’t exactly a *bad* thing strictly speaking…”

“Huh?”

“You know now that I’m actually considering it, Hank’s not so revolting after all. Least he doesn’t stink like you do.”

“Doc your boy is askin’ for it again.”

She pretends to be mildy amused and kicks the bottle she’d been clinging to all night. Intervenes right when I was about to bang my head in frustration, or maybe his, hadn’t quite decided which yet.

Sudden rush of… envy I guess, and possessiveness goes through me when she holds him. Nor do I bother to *not* project it to her. It passes quickly enough, but leaves us wondering if we’d ever overcome it. We didn’t know. I imagine she also suffered a mild case of repressed anger, and umm, wounded pride? I had been toying with her, this she now knows. Oh she was one majorly pissed off psyionic. And that night when I glanced across Scott’s quivering body in my arms at Jean Grey, for a second I thought her eyes flared red.

I *swear*.

She kisses his mouth fully, rubs his achin’ butt so slowly, and sensually, knowin’ I’m watchin’. And I hold on to the kid tightly, make lewd suggestions as part of our usual banter, *knowing* she’s listenin’. Yeah I’d been using her, so what?

Flirting with Jean was, well, mostly my way to deny the conflicting… umm… feelings I was having for her partner. Her very decidedly masculine partner, despite the softness of his voice, the elegance of his hands, the mysterious depths of his eyes. Not to mention that body, so lithe and so delicious I could… man I could feast on him forever.

Scott.

Haven’t pinned him with a color yet. I’d go for blue ‘cause see I kinda got this thing for blue (What? I can't have favorites?) but ever since that last conversation, it only brings to mind x-rated images of a certain huge-and-furry-pawed-scientist droolin’ all over my boy. Makes me growl.

Anyway. Jean yeah. So there she is glaring at me the same time that she’s frenching the boy. And then I hear her in my head.

//Only for Scott. *Only* for Scott.//

***

I was attracted to her the first time I saw her, then I envied her when I saw who she was with. That first time I saw them together, in the garage, so quietly he’d slipped his one hand between both of hers, in the middle of a fucking class full of children. And they say *I* have no sense of propriety.

How I ached to hold his hand in both of mine, how I cringed from his indifference.

Once I accidentally came upon Cyclops… oh alright, so I knew he worked out in the Danger Room every fucking night. To cut a long and embarrassing story short, he rejected my advances. You know I’m hardly a class act, just go for what I want. And I can be *particularly* persuasive if I want. But that night, with this guy, I actually made an effort. Not that it did me any good.

Said he was ‘a heterosexual’ and with Jean and did not want it any other way and all that shit. Quite a convincing act he put up, except he forgot one minor detail…

I could smell his arousal from twelve feet away.

Next night I locked the room behind us, indulged his sparrin’ awhile then knocked him over and pinned him to the ground beneath me. Zero millimeters away and there was no question about it - yep, the kid wanted me as bad as I him. But his sense of loyalty and… damn it… *love* for the good doctor kept him from reachin’ out, taking what he desperately craved, and what I was so desperate to give.

He struggled to get away and it coulda been so damn easy to press into him that much harder, silence his whinin’ lips with my own. But I let him go, I did. Guess I admired him for the qualities I don’t know if I’ve myself ever had. Love. Loyalty. Guess I was goin’ soft in the head.

I visited him three nights in a row, keeping my distance, acting with decency and fucking not getting anywhere. Swallowing of pride doesn’t come easy to The Wolverine you know. Fourth night I stopped myself, resolved not to allow the pretty boy to wield this… this power over me any more.

Next day to my *absolute* satisfaction and delight I noticed Cyke was actually sulking. Endearing as that was, I decided not to push my luck. So I started going again, relishing his proximity in those nightly sessions as much as I’m sure he did mine.

Those were times we never argued the way we did by day. Simply ‘cause there was no one around to pretend for. Most nights we’d work out in silence, some nights we’d actually talk. Well he’d talk and I’d listen. He can go on and on, did you know that? He’d discuss upcoming missions, new kids and their powers. Which ones to focus on, see who could be trained for the X-Men and shit. And he’d ask me what I thought and two times out of ten I’d not just shrug a ‘whatever’ but actually tell him what I thought. Oh yeah, those nights I’d actually take a more than passin’ interest in what went on in the mansion besides the missions. But the conversations never got personal. No Jean, no family, no life-histories and I was grateful for that. We were flirtin’ in our own way – sweatin’, punchin’, kickin’. He’d probably resigned himself to making the most out of those sessions alone. But I could not.

I just ain't the compromising type.

The heat from his body, his fresh lingering scent, his barely bit back grins everytime he went one up on me, his ragged breathing on my face every time we got close, night after night after *frustratin* night, drove me crazy until I couldn’t stand it no more. That was when I started pushin’ again.

“You’re scared shitless.”

“You’re entitled to your opinions.”

“I won't hurt ya kid, trust me.”

“It's not me I’m worried about.”

A quiet confession that spoke volumes of his quiet strength. Strength that became my weakness.

Every instinct of survival I’ve ever owned screamed at me to bail… to just get the fuck away from the freak’s home and that would be the end of this torture. And for the first time in fifteen years, I didn’t listen.

Then there was desperation and then there was anger. I wonder how Scott explained to Jean the bleeding gash at the back of his skull from when I once rammed him hard, too hard against a wall. Good thing he was keeping his mental guards up those days.

“You can't hide behind Jean all your life Slim.”

“I love her.”

“Sure about that?”

A hand abandoned his collar to grope him over his sweats hard before I could stop myself. His face twisted, with pain of being betrayed by his own body. Hurt that I was violating him when he’d trusted me not to, his voice sharper than a snake’s hiss.

“She’s my fiancé. She will be my wife.”

“And what the hell am I?”

Don’t know, don’t ask me why I said that. Don’t ask me why it was suddenly so important for me to be fuckin’ *acknowledged*. I squeezed harder. It took him a while to speak through the haze of pain and arousal I had successfully trapped him in.

“You’re… an inconvenient distraction. You’ll leave, and you won't matter anymore…”

He was deliberately trying to enrage me, put me off so I would leave him alone for good. Or maybe he was really worried that I’d leave? My fist around him melted into gentle stroking and he gasped harshly. But he didn’t shove me off.

“I ain't leavin' kid. And I will NOT give you up.”

The red glow behind his glasses died, and I felt irrationally abandoned in the dark. Cyclops has had lotsa practice withdrawing behind that silent mask of his. I knew he would use this time to recompose himself, then casually walk away from me like I hadn’t been fondling him the past minute and he hadn’t been letting me. Nope, couldn’t have any of that. I needed that glow back. I squeezed again, hard, and he struggled.

“Jean’s your excuse isn’t she? What if I take her away from you Cyke? What will you do then?”

I felt more than saw his scrunched up eyes open and flash red with an anger that was… oddly stimulating. It was *something*, something other than the blank rigid stares he’d usually fix me with. He shook from head to toe with unadulterated rage, shoved at me with all his strength. Then described me in a particularly obscene vocabulary I didn’t think the kid was capable of, punched the living daylights outta me and left. We never sparred nights after that.

I sat on the floor where I’d fallen and watched him go, smirking through a bruised but rapidly healing jaw.
That night, I learnt to appreciate the fine and truly orgasmic art of provocation of a certain Scott Summers.

***

“Asshole”

“Dickhead”

“Illiterate geriatric”

“Juvenile delinquent”

All that rage, all that sexual frustration… prettily disguised with sharp words and empty threats, stinging insults. Jean became a contention not just because it was expected of two alpha men as us, more so because she was *the* reason, still is, why Scott will never be mine.

Not completely.

So when a depressed and unbelievably inebriated Jean Grey asks me to… wow… *spank* her boyfriend in *front* of her, damn it how could I not?

The little contact I once had with him during those workout sessions had ended months ago. How could I now pass up the opportunity to feel Scott so close, so intimately? To vent all that anger I’d suppressed so long - for rejectin’ me, for teasing me with his very presence, his scent… his luscious body. For all the sleepless nights and early mornin’ boners. For all the disturbing *emotions* he provokes out of me that are stronger than lust, and deeper than want, fiercer than any desire I’ve ever felt? I was reduced from the mighty Wolverine to this pathetic wimp of a defence instructor livin’ in a school full of children! I used to be a loner, a fearsome beast prowling the cold wild. I was a hunter once, and what am I now? A fucking babysitter that’s what. I couldn’t even bring myself to leave ‘cause just the thought of him going out alone on dangerous missions, riskin’ his life without me there to… to…

Damn it!

He was responsible, he ought to pay.

To Jean who obviously wasn’t thinking too straight, it was a twisted last ditch effort to get her boyfriend back. Fuck that. Hey I’m no saint okay? All I wanted was to touch Scott, to hold Scott, punish Scott for what he was putting both himself and me through.

To hurt him like lovers usually do, make him *need* me back.

Obviously his policy of ‘repress and it shall go away’ wasn’t workin’ too well on his girlfriend either, I’d seen Jean and Scott grow apart steadily each day and couldn’t help quietly hurrayin’… waitin’ for my opportunity to move in. This in all probability, was it.

Okay so I didn’t intend for it to go on as long and as hard as it did. But it was her game, she started it. He’s a hard one to break, though have to admit feeling him squirm and writhe in my lap with such desperate frenzy… it felt… hot, and incredibly sexy. The supple smoothness of his butt beneath my coarse hands, the perfect roundnesses, warm soft skin… no tan lines, natural gold all over.

Goddess he’s beautiful (yeah I’m channelin’ Ro this week).

And to have him helplessly upturned over my knees, only made them weaker. Both his hands in one of mine, fingers clutched into such stubborn fists. And the crazy heat at every part of my body touchin’ his. Those precious few moments are still stark vivid in my mind. I felt hot, and restless and painfully turned on, I felt mesmerized and powerful. I felt carnal and possessive, like Scott *belonged* to me. And that I was wholly and solely responsible for this utterly exquisite, utterly defenceless child. A child who in the last few months had pushed everyone away and alienated himself… from everyone who cared about him, Jean… me…

Couldn’t care less for her, I just had to bring Cyke back, back to *myself*. Even if it meant giving him the thrashin’ of his life.

But when his suppressed whimpers and violent shivering registered and broke through my obsessive reverie, I didn’t want him hurting anymore. Jean wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t go on.

Scott couldn’t possibly describe what he felt that night even if he tried, which he isn’t likely to do anyway. He goes all red and fidgety if we bring it up at all, which I adore but he hates so we don't. Never mind his eventual hard-on, that most likely happened ‘cause he was all pressed up against my own, rather intimate you see, and later probably he reacted to the mixed sensations of pain and soothing caresses on his highly sensitized backside.

He hated being vulnerable like that. But that very vulnerability finally threw him open for both Jean and me to get through. All the pain he’d been keepin’ from her, and all the yearning he was holdin’ down for me broke through his careful front, broke him down. Jean was sober in an instant, I was humbled and overwhelmed with a sentiment so intense, the word ‘love’ doesn’t even *begin* to cover it.

Uh-uh, that’s what I said. I know… hell its weird. Freakishly weird. But it’s true. Here I’ll say it again - Love.

“Jean please… I… I’m sorry… I love you, with all my heart…”

That hurt. Very much. He wanted me, but he still loved her.

“When… after he came… I d-don’t know… I don’t know what happened… I was too ashamed, scared if you f-found out… if you read it in m-my thoughts…”

That pretty much said it all didn’t it. Doc was a mess, I bet she was blastin’ herself brutally for having been so blind and vain and complacent.

//Go on say it! Some *fucking* telepath I am!!//

I kept my trap shut.

Okay so I wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Jeannie right then but I *am* territorial and, well, she happens to come with the territory. I felt for her, I *got* her. I knew why she went all loopy and got piss drunk then got me to take it all out on her lover. But hell we were both wrong. She and I were both guilty of the same crime - selfishness. We’d both been too self-absorbed in what we wanted out of Scott to see what we were putting *him* through. He was torn between his lifelong love for her and newfound feelings for me that he’d had no experience with whatsoever. He was young and he was scared and did the only thing he thought was right, and all I did was make his life hell every time he stepped out of his room. All Jean did was fret about how he wasn’t fulfillin’ her emotional needs.

Together we broke him, we needed to put him back together again.

Love. Guilt. Rage. Lust. I was too warped to think straight. I only remember feeling content holding a surprisingly pliant Cyclops in my arms, resting his head on my chest, burying my chin in his soft auburn crown. All the fight had gone out of him, he only wanted to feel safe and loved and maybe… forgiven. Consoled me immensely to know I could give this comfort to him. I massaged his arms that he left limply twisted like they were still bound behind him. And I rocked him gently, don’t know where that came from but at the time it seemed the most natural thing to do.

I coulda rocked him forever.

I kissed his blindfolded face, just barely brushing his lips with mine. Unbelievable how intensely I could feel the heat at every inch of my body touching his.

Scott had obviously underestimated his partner’s feelings for him, thinking she’d feel betrayed and dump him or something. But Jean surprised me with a single lift of a perfectly shaped eyebrow toward Scott’s lower anatomy.

“Logan.”

The kid didn’t see it, eyes tightly closed and all, and reflexively curled up into me anticipating a hateful outburst to follow in her velvet voice. I drew him closer to myself, think I was trying to hide him from her myself, from the whole damn world. But when I looked up to meet her eyes and caught a glimpse of what shone through her unshed tears…

Could it really be that simple? Would Jean really?

//Would you really…?//

“Don’t you want to do something about that?”

***

Oh hey, we’re mutants alright. We were *born* freaks. Besides who the hell cares what the world thinks. I could tell you and Jean will agree when I say this – Scott smiles more now than before. Sometimes for no reason at all, sometimes when he thinks no one’s watching. That amazing smile… any potential plans I may have had to leave hereby stand thwarted. For good. But you know things didn’t quite work out when we began. Fact is, the whole situation got fairly confusing fairly quickly.

When Scott sat down to pull his other shoe on (and judging by the look on his face probably waiting for the *other shoe* to drop), Jean and I locked eyes.

//Are we really going to do this Doc?//

//He loves you//

Did he? I knew *I* did.

//No, he loves you.//

She did not respond to that. We tied Cyke’s beloved bike on top of his beloved Hummer and I took the wheel. Jean managed to *think* herself back to sobriety, however the fuck that works.

She trusts me with X-Men stuff sure, and she knows she can trust me with Cyke any day. But she didn’t know how to share him with me. I didn’t know how to share period. And Cyke didn’t know what to say or do or even feel, the usually stoic demeanour was in shambles. He hardly said much on the ride back home though, preferring to sit in the back and stare out the window with his visor firmly on, face turned away from us. He had tied his brown suede jacket round the waist so it wouldn’t be too obvious that most of the buttons on his fly were missing. Crossed arms, spine straight, feet set apart solidly, his composure shaken but not stirred. Sat pretty still for the most part, but now and then he'd just have to squirm which he'd do surreptitiously but I noticed anyway. And I felt so torn between wanting to grin and tease him a bit, and wanting to get into the backseat myself and soothe the sting away. And he’d turn toward us now and then, as if to assure us he was still there, or maybe the other way round… and he’d smile. That vintage Scott Summers smile, ever beautiful, ever hesitant… ever apologetic.

As I drove through the iron gates of the X-Mansion, Jean brushed my mind.

//Take him to your room.//

I panicked. Don’t ask me why, I just did.

//No, not tonight.//

There was utter silence at the other end, which did not break until we stopped and Scott got out.

//Are you sure?//

Yes. No. God I so wanted him! I chanced a sideways glance at Doc, the quiet pillar of strength that Scott leaned on and was hopelessly incomplete without. They needed time to mend their relationship before I jumped in and made things worse. He needed her more than I needed him.

//Yeah. Take good care of him Doc. He’s mine too… //

That didn’t go down so well with her, but she smiled bravely. Scott stood outside, his arms crossed again hugging himself in that deceiving stance he hopes everyone sees as intimidatin’ and standoffish. I watched him gaze at me in confusion as Jean started to lead him away. I nodded at him to go on, and he did. I went to my room and my bed alone, tossin’ and turnin’… imagining sounds of passionate love-making from way *way* down the hall.

I burned.

The next evening, Jean asked us if we wanted to go catch some stupid flick. Three of us together. Now that really ain’t my thing, nor did I understand why it was mandatory to take your dates out to the movies. But she *was* making an effort here, least I could do was appreciate that. Turns out she was more sincere about this than I thought - backed out at the last minute leavin’ me and Scott together, alone for the first time since our *coming out* last night.

Awkward, nervous, that night I understood the significance of movie theatres in a new relationship. You need the dolby sound effects to fill up the early silences, need the darkness to pretend your caresses are unintended and the anonymity of a crowd to avoid being judged. I wondered how much Scott could enjoy a movie in nothing but shades of red.

He looked happy enough to me.

Now here’s the shocker - we did not… that is I did not… we didn’t do it for the *whole* week. Guess I was too relieved just bein’ allowed into his life, and I was actually hesitant to make any moves that could possibly upset Jeannie or this insane new arrangement. Apparently she felt the same way. Jean and me, we’d *both* backed off, wanting to honor the other’s space and everythin’ assuming Cyke wanted the other one more anyway.

And in the process, we left him alone between us.

He sorta understood what was going on, but I imagine he was also feelin’ more and more hurt and unwanted with each passing day. He musta thought we were both like mad at him or somethin’. By end of week, the object of our combined affections was a cranky, stuttering, grumbling bundle of nerves. Scott is the shy passive kind, except in battle of course. Even there he’s bigger on defense than offense, gets it from Chuck obviously. Unfortunately when it comes to people, he cannot strategise his moves just as well and that he’s got in common with moi.

He would sigh quietly if I shifted away, or bite his lip hard when I’d break up a kiss he was enjoying, and I was enjoying wayyyy too much if you know what I mean. Heck I *did* kiss him lots, and I held him… lots. And I did it not just 'cause Cyke can be such a *girl*. No, I did it for me as much as I did it for him. But it was obvious he wanted more, hoping I’d take more initiative. Be the aggressor he knew me to be. Me… I just… I didn’t… damn it okay I admit!

I was scared shitless.

“Logan. Can I talk to you?”

Jeannie pulled me out of a very fulfilling session with the sandbag and I wasn’t too happy about it. She took no time to issue her ultimatum.

“If you didn’t want him why the *hell* did you take him away from me??”

Woah. “Wha-?”

“He thinks you’ve changed your mind about him.”

I didn't believe her, so I looked her straight in the eyes. "He say that to you?"

She looked right back into mine. "He didn't have to."

“…”

“…”

“You know that’s not true.”

She nodded curtly, not meeting my eye. “Let him know. Tonight.”

And she was gone.

That night we walked for hours, erm, holding hands in the forests behind the mansion. We can always talk when no one else is around. And tonight, thanks probably to a couple of beers, he wasn’t holding back at all. He told me about his life - dead parents and a lost brother, short stint as a street urchin, the father figure he found in Xavier, and the one and only relationship in all his adolescent plus adult years. A relationship of eight years and counting. I was wrong to think he couldn’t be an initiator, he’d spent an incredible amount of time and energy courting Jean, convincing her to accept him, a guy six years her junior.

“I think my life truly started after Charles found me, twelve years ago.”

“How old were ya?”

“Fourteen.”

I nodded, wonderin’ if it was weird for Jeannie watchin’ a kid grow up before your eyes then havin’ that same kid profess his undying love for you. Cyke sighed through his nose, digging his free hand in a jacket pocket and lowering his head, lost in memories of what probably was the most significant time in his life. A fringe fell over covering half his shades. I wanted so bad to pull ‘em off and look into his eyes. Jean once said they were blue…

“Do you remember where you were twelve years ago?”

“…”

Sure I did. In a fucking fight cage, ripping some guy’s intestines out because if I didn’t, he would.

“It's okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Damn. I ignored the memories and went to hold him to myself. We stood close to the lake and it shimmered. I breathed in the cool breeze playing in his soft hair, the scent of descending autumn mixed with his freshness of lemons and cedar. It was intoxicating.

“There isn’t much to talk about.”

I said, my hands rubbin’ his shoulders down. I thought back to the last night I’d spent inside a cage.

“I’d say my new life began the night I found Marie…”

“She says she found *you*. And that she saved you.”

“Yeah right.” I grunted.

She did save me, just not *that* night.

He looked up at me and smirked. “And here I was hoping at last you’d thank me for saving your ass that night.”

“I could… right now… if you let me.”

He drew closer and we kissed but not before he quietly whispered, “About damn time.”

Weeks, no, months of pent-up desire poured out from my lips into his. He let me in and I lost myself in the sweet tender warmth that is Scott’s mouth. He has the mouth of a woman I tell ya, expressive and lovely when he lets it, cruel and teasing when he doesn’t. It is breathtaking and truly painful to see those lips move from afar, even more so when they move against your own. Soft red lips that tempt and torment, encouragin’ me to lose the mask that hides the feral within.

I was manic as I pulled his jacket off him… possessed, shredding his shirt to wires and wasted no time pulling his entire length back against mine. Hands roved with a will of their own over his body and his over mine, findin’ places we barely remembered having as the brutal kiss went on and on. I haven’t kissed anyone like that in a long, long time. Somehow I ended up lowering him to the ground trapping his slimmer form beneath mine. I pushed his wrists down by the sides of his head and he gasped as I tugged and finally pulled his jeans and boxers away. He craned upwards to keep our liplock goin’ but I couldn’t wait. I just had to see him, touch him, and when I did he opened his legs askin’ for more.

Holy mother…

I remembered the last time I’d cupped his manhood in my hand. I also remembered the other, softer, feminine hand that had held him the same way I had. God, I winced. I must have been pretty damn obvious because Cyke raised his head.

“Logan what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Could I tell him? Could I tell him I didn’t want anyone else touching him ever again? Could I tell him he was mine only mine damnit!?!

Yeah right. Instead I did what I could.

All speech and concern was lost the moment I engulfed him with my mouth. He’s well endowed and yet there simply wasn’t enough of him to satisfy the growling hunger I felt deep in the pit of soul. I sucked him for an eternity, hard and fast like I like it. Who knew the mighty field leader could curse like that? He was loud and uninhibited and his rigorous squirms were rewarding enough. I went on and on and didn’t stop till he’d come twice and with a scream, each time. When I slid back up to kiss him full, his arms went around me, pulling me down to rest awhile, but I wouldn’t. Rather couldn’t…

I couldn’t wait to bury myself deep within him, mark his body as mine, erase the shuddering memory of the woman who still owned his heart.

I shrugged his hands off to roughly flip him onto his stomach. Cyke naked is a sight to behold. Those slender shoulder bones jutting out and that slim waist bloomin’ out into those perfect curves of his butt… damn Cyke is sex personified and he didn’t even know it. Tremors racked his spine when I gripped his pert right cheek none too gently. In my selfish urgent need I forgot something, and the proud bastard that he is, didn’t bother to remind or stop me either.

It was Scott’s first time, and I was being a selfish, insensitive prick.

I stretched myself on top of him, let my teeth closed round the flesh at the back of his neck. When a predator grabs you by the scruff of your neck you gotta stay still. One hand continued to knead the beautiful ass below.

“L-Logan.”

“Hmm…”

“What you did that night, I… I don’t… please don’t do that.”

I stilled, I cursed myself. I sniffed him – the fear wasn’t palpable but definitely there. Hell he was trembling with it and I hadn’t noticed! Goddamnit, this wasn’t some nameless fuck in the back of some nameless bar, this was Scott.

My Scott.

In that moment, I felt myself making the transition back from Wolverine to Logan, wonderin’ when and how the hell did I get there in the first place. My hands melted and ever so slowly I turned him back over to face me, wishin’ for the millionth time I could look into his eyes. I kissed him, softly this time, my arms going round his torso and pulling him closer into myself. There is a certain waiflike quality to him that I find extremely sexy but am sure he’d take great offence to, so don’t ever mention it. This was also the first time he’d brought up the spanking. Sure I’d mentioned it many a times myself, but that was just ribbin’ him. Scintillating as it may have been for me, I knew he dreaded it with all his heart, if not the rest of his body.

Yeah. Don’t mention that either.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Relieved, he tried to smile, wondering at the sudden change of pace… not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Okay.”

I kissed him again and we lay together a long time, stroking, caressing, nibbling, until the anxiety passed but his confusion grew. Which soon manifested into fidgeting.

“Umm, don’t you want to…”

“Shhh… how about a dip in the lake?”

The smile broke through this time, and he frowned in surprise.

“You serious?”

“C’mon it's not that cold.”

I grinned back, and jumped up to strip. He sat up staring after me utterly perplexed while at the same time checkin’ me out up and down. I pulled him up to his feet and then tugged him towards the lake. He laughed, his magical laughter.

“What the hell are you up to, old man?”

When we were about four steps away from the edge of the pier, he stopped as if he’d just realised what we were about to do. Consciously he looked around to see if anyone was watchin’ and I rolled my eyes.

“Wuss.”

“I was just… hey!!”

He didn’t get far ‘cause I scooped him up and he let out a big undignified squeal that I relished. Dropped him into the water and dived in just as he uprighted himself. We laughed and we splashed each other and we played in the water, naked and carefree as newborns. Shit I can't believe I actually did that, but gotta admit it was so much fun. So liberating and so… fulfilling to simply hold him and kiss him and *see* him, glistening in the moonlight. I did not fuck Scott that night.

I made love to him.

***


Continue to Part 2 >>

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