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Hiding Behind the Truth

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- SCOTT- 

Sixty-two minutes. 

Scott looks down at the red digital display, realizes he’s been running far longer than he’d originally planned to, again. Gathers his scrambled thoughts, slows down and finally gets off the treadmill. Grabs a towel and heads for the showers. 

Still three weeks to go before the new school term starts. 

Scott takes the liberty of using the gym for now, prefers it because it’s in the far-east corner of the mansion, away from the dorms and bedrooms. Chances of his working out in the middle of the night ruining someone’s sleep are minimal. Not that there is anyone in the mansion tonight. 

Warren flew in (literally) two days ago. 

Generously offered up his castle in New Zealand for a holiday to the kids who don’t have a home to go back to for the break. Ro and Kurt accompanied him and the kids, but Scott stayed, to prepare for the new term – schedules and stuff. And Logan stayed, presumably to oversee the reconstruction work and stuff. The Professor stayed, and Scott is pretty sure he has a valid enough reason as well. 

He stands under the shower and loses track of time again. 

Gives in to just a tiny little bout of sensualism as he enjoys the strong torrents of lukewarm water washing his sweat and grime away. Thinks of the time he and the beautiful, blond Angel used to be students here together, at Mutant High. How they’d shower together, exploring each other, fucking each other… wasting water. Remembers the way Warren’s eyes would follow him everywhere he went.

Still do. 

Looks down at his limp, flaccid cock. 

Ruefully he snorts at how he’s not even remotely tempted to touch it. Hasn’t in four months, ever since… ever since Jean. Life is cruel in its deliverance of retribution, he thinks. He left Warren for Jean and the man never quite let go. And now Scott’s a complete wreck because Jean left him for… for what? The greater fucking good?

Turns the knob to scalding hot, resists the urge to sink to his knees right there in the shower stall. 

He hates this life, this heavy burden on his shoulders. 

Why does he always have to be the responsible one? Why is he supposed to carry on like it’s business as usual for the sake of a world that despises him? A thankless, selfish world that captures and tortures him, forces him to be the cause of his own lover’s death? Scott wants to punch something, bad. But he refrains because the gym’s been recently renovated, thanks to the surprisingly sincere efforts of one hairy, regenerative century-old mutant. 

Logan.

A shudder runs down Scott's wet spine. 

The very thought of that man raises his hackles like nothing else. Sonofabitch. Tries not to think of how the man used to look at his Jean, his fiancée  Jean. Doesn’t want to think about how he often caught her looking back at him too. But what irks him the most is the memory of collapsing into Logan’s arms and bawling like a stupid little kid. Maybe there were extenuating circumstances, hell, of course there were. But that single moment of weakness had tipped the scales of balance between the two eternally bickering men for ever. 

Forget bickering. Scott couldn’t even look at him anymore. 

Which doesn’t mean he spins a 180-degree every time he sees the man coming. Nope, far from it. They still talk… about stuff. Like the re-plastering of the northern wall, and new layouts for the gym and the basketball court. They test out new simulations together in the Danger Room, sometimes even lunch together ‘cause hell, there are only so many of them left in the mansion (besides the hired help). They’ve managed to create a semblance of normalcy, a capricious truce. Doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Makes him extremely uncomfortable, that man. His frequent staring, keeping not so subtle tabs on Scott’s whereabouts. Who the hell does he think he is? 

Scott winces at the insistent tugging down below. 

Sure enough, when he looks down, he’s hard as a frikkin’ rock. Throbbing damn near painfully and angrily because… God, it’s been far too long. And yet, he can’t bring himself to do it. It just feels so damn… wrong

Turning the knob from hot to cold doesn’t work either, only stings like a thousand tiny needles piercing every patch of his over-sensitized skin. He finally turns the water off, wipes droplets off his goggles and steps out of the stall. As his lowered eyes travel down to the bench where he laid out the towel, he spots something that wasn’t there before.

A pair of jeans-clad legs. 

Logan is leaning against the locker. His locker. 

Standing with his arms crossed, relaxed like he’s out in some bar holding a beer, checking out prospects for the night.

Scott blushes furiously under his keen gaze, unwavering, unreadable. Every instinct in his body yells at him to run and hide, but Cyclops the field leader’s ego couldn’t possibly allow that. As casually as he can, Scott approaches the bench. Unfortunately that also means stepping closer to the other man, and he’s still buck naked. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Can’t keep the indignation out of his voice though. Reaches for the towel and almost sighs in relief when he manages to wrap it around his waist, cover his modesty. Logan still hasn't moved an inch. 

“Watching you.” 

The hackles? Yeah, back. Raging and swirling making the hair at the back of neck stand up in nervous salutation. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Logan?” 


*** 


- LOGAN -
 

Logan’s been watching him. 

Ever since his girl took a frikkin’ samadhi in the lake, and took a part of the kid along with her. Still a preppy boy scout he may be, still prissy and tight-assed and a fucking snob of the highest order sure, but it is more act now than ever before. His stoicalness is a painfully evident (at least to Logan) mask that he puts on each morning to block out the concerned glances and condoling words that mean less than nothing to him.

Summers used to be the fucking champion, the leader and motivator. Now, he can barely keep it together to convince others that he still believes in whatever it is they're fighting for. 

Logan tried to resist it, he really did. 

Tried not to follow the kid around with his sharp gaze, tried not to be worried when he took unnecessary risks in the Danger Room. Logan pretended he didn’t hear the sobs at night from Scott’s new room that was just three doors away, buried his head in the pillows to block out the heavy footsteps pacing back and forth all night. Looked away from the dark circles under his eyes when once he took his glasses off to clean the lenses in Xavier’s office.

Only to find himself staring straight into Xavier’s, and again he pretended… pretended not to see the silent plea in the depths of a helpless father’s eyes. 

Then last week, the blond birdie flew in (literally). 

And this time, he didn’t pretend to miss the silent exchange of looks between the two men. Hell, why should he? No matter what their new equation (in the aftermath of Jean) Cyclops and Wolverine still love to get a dig into each other now and then. Was so much fun to watch Scott squirm when Logan cracked a dirty joke (something about tabs and slots, he doesn’t remember now) and in front of Warren at that. Hell, he thinks Scott actually blushed this one time. But apparently Warren wasn’t allowed to stay (or he left on his own, who knows), and Logan found himself quietly cheering. 

So here he is. 

He knows Scott works out at night to tire himself enough to sleep, has known for awhile now. He watches the slender body stand deathly still under the deluge of water night after night. And mostly he leaves before Scott steps out and discovers him and his latest kink for voyeurism. But not tonight. Tonight, Logan gives in to his feral instincts he’s kept at bay for so damn long. Tonight, he screws up his courage and goes for it. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Logan?” 

The kid is obviously pissed, flushed red almost as dark as his rose glasses but not quite. Sonofabitch, Logan thinks, that’s one hell of a boner the boy is sporting and he’s just going to hang it out to dry? 
 
“I like watching you.” 

He shrugs, no reason to beat around the bush at this point. Takes the moment of stunned silence that follows, to recover from a rapid exodus of blood from his brain and straight into his cock. 

Scott picks up a smaller towel and dries his hair, like nothing’s amiss, like Logan is not still gawking his eyes out at a semi-naked him. Logan takes in the beautiful sight of the kid's slender but toned, silken smooth torso, lowers his eyes to the strong thighs and imagines how they’d feel squeezing the life out of him when he puts his… 

“Remind me to take you off of gym class when the kids come back, you perv.” 

Logan ignores the jibe. There is another pressing matter at hand here. 

“How long has it been?” 

“For what?” 

Logan smirks openly, can’t resist. 

“How long has it been since you cleaned out that shotgun in your towel?” 


*** 


- SCOTT -
 

Scott can’t believe what he just heard. There really is no level too low for this fucking arrogant, obnoxious, vulgar illiterate frikkin’ lout of unknown origin, to stoop to. He turns away quickly, hoping Logan didn’t notice that he’s started to tent again outrageously. 

“Really not in the mood for male bonding, Logan.” Cranes his neck back so Logan sees the plastic smile on his profile. “But thanks!” 

Then turns back away, and prays the pig-headed man would just fucking leave. Logan carries on like he didn’t hear a word. 

“Ever since Jean?” 

Scott gulps his rage back, turns then. 

“Get out.”  

Logan steps in closer instead, God this man was impossible! Scott wants to back up, but he won’t let himself. He needs to stand his ground. 

“I know your scent.” 

What? 

“Could smell you on Jean all the time. Used to drive me crazy.” 

Scott doesn’t stop to question the mild sense of relief at hearing someone else speak her name. Everyone else around him pretends like she never existed. Gnashes his teeth once his brain is done processing the rest of that sentence and... fuck, he is pissed. 

“You’re a demented bastard, you know that?” 

Logan smirks, takes another step closer. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” 

“What do you want, Logan?” 

Another step. “I miss that scent, Scooter. More than I miss your girl.” 

The tone of his voice, so low and gruff… and now Scott does back up, because fuck… was he reading those words right? Did Logan just say what he thinks he said? 

“L-Logan…” 

“Scott.” 

Aargh. His erection chooses that very moment to twitch in utter anticipation (of what? No… fuck, don’t go there!) Had Logan ever used his given name before? 

“Ju-Just… stay where you are.” 

Logan smiles then. Scott hears his own voice echo back to him and it sounds breathless and forced and he is utterly mortified. Can’t stop retro-pedaling until he is interrupted by the wall of lockers just behind him. And Logan is still advancing on him. Maybe he’s kidding? Maybe he is supposed to laugh? So he does. 

“Cut it out dude, this isn’t…” 

Funny. 

But he doesn’t get to complete. The Wolverine is suddenly right in his face and not for the first time, Scott wonders how a man with such bulk and mass can move so damn fast. Logan lunges at him, crushing him into the lockers with his body weight and Scott lashes out reflexively. But the other man anticipates his move and grabs his wrists in his own hands, flinging them hard against the wall on either side of Scott’s head. Scott tries to kick out but there is hardly any space to so much as twitch between the two bodies. 

“What the fuck, Logan!?!” 

He struggles with all his strength but Logan is simply too heavy, simply too determined to see this through. 

“You can deny yourself all you want, Cyke. How will you deny me?” 

“Sonofabitch, let me go!” 

Logan buries his face in the crook of Scott’s neck and takes a deep whiff, like a hound dog familiarizing itself with its prey. He bites down at the pulse point so sharply that Scott stops struggling, frozen in fear that Logan might actually rip the flesh off with his razor sharp teeth. The fear in turn spikes his erection and Scott lets loose a groan (or a moan, but he doesn’t want to think about that) and throws his head back against the locker, hitting it hard. He thinks he can actually see red spots or stars in his lenses and goes lax completely. 

“That’s a good boy.” 

Logan growls ever so softly, bringing Scott back to reality. His chest heaves with the effort of breathing, he tells himself it’s just the air conditioning making achy pebbles out of his nipples. 

“Logan. I am not consenting to this. You can’t…” 

“Shhhh….” 

What the- ? Fucking bastard!! How dare he shush him? But God, the way Logan tongues at his jugular, kneads the skin of his wrists in his gigantic paws, and the warmth of his frame against his own cold, naked body… 

Shit.

Scott realizes a flimsy towel is all that shields him from Logan’s animalistic urges and he has no doubt the other man can already feel the erection underneath. That’s the other thing puzzling him, what sort of a closeted sicko must he be, to actually enjoy this? 

He writhes beneath Logan. No… he is not enjoying this. Not at all. But then Logan presses his own hard erection against his, and Scott is so shocked by the overwhelming sensation, it throws all other trains of thought off-track. Logan grinds against him (up and down and repeat) until he moans again and unconsciously starts to grind back. With a horrified jolt Scott realizes how quickly he is going to ejaculate if this carries on another second! Fights to get his wrists back from the brute, in vain. 

Logan is still burrowed into his neck, licking up from his collarbone to his jaw-line and back, literally like a feral beast, or a wolf. Then suddenly he raises his head and his open mouth hovers bare millimeters over Scott’s. 

“Your mouth says one thing, your body another, bub… think I hafta go with the one that doesn’t wish me dead twenty times a day.” 

“F-Forty. And trust me, I do wish it with every drop of blood in my body!” 

Logan chuckles and grinds in again, nuzzling into Scott’s ear and cheek and leaves behind a delicious sting of stubble burn before returning to suck at the bobbing projection in the front of Scott's throat. 

Delicious?  Did he really just think that?

Scott flinches. Hard. He is steadily losing control, and… no, he couldn’t allow himself to… No. He just couldn’t. 

"Logan..."

Logan pulls away just enough to fix him with a cold gaze, and something akin to frustration and… hurt? Scott isn’t quite sure. Then he scowls, and mutters through audibly grinding teeth. 

“Fine.” 

He backs off then, taking his entire body weight off of the younger man and Scott thinks it’s over. Logan was going to let him go, abandon this madness and walk away. Which is good, right?

For a split-second he regrets the loss of warmth and an insane urge to pull Logan back threatens to overcome him but Scott suppresses it. The fear dissipates only to be replaced by an irrational sense of rejection, and he sags ever so slightly. 

It’s over. 

And then he gasps, because in the very next and very short instant, he is grabbed by his arms, pulled away from the wall and roughly turned around, only to be shoved back against it with a loud crash. The maneuver knocks the breath out of him and he’s too stunned to react when Logan yanks the towel off his body. The entire bulk of the Wolverine lands against him once again, but this time his bare butt is directly in contact with Logan’s denim-clad, enormously sized bulge. 

“Oh God…” 

The cold steel of the locker tickles his weeping erection and Logan’s furnace warmth heats him up from behind. 

“Logan… please….” 

Even if he is aware that he is now resorted to pleading, he still isn’t too sure what he’s asking for. Logan is grinding into his ass again. 

“Pretend all you want, pretty boy. It’s how you live your life now, don’t ya? Pretend you’re okay. Pretend Jeannie ain’t dead and you owe her some kinda fucking loyalty, or some kinda penance, or whatever.” 

Scott winces his eyes shut, because try as he might, there was no denying the cruel words. 

“Pretend I’m Warren.” 

He doesn’t get a chance to counter, mind reeling with all the truths and the not-truths, because Logan's left hand lets go of his left wrist and comes around to grasp his cock into a warm, strong fist and fuck this is too damn good and too damn hot and he hasn’t come in four months! 

“Aaah!!” 

That is it. That is all it takes.

Scott comes with a wail that seems a cross between a moan and a sob, and it feels like he just keeps on coming and it hurts like hell both inside and out. Logan continues to jerk him in short, stiff pumping movements and Scott isn’t fighting him anymore. Hell, even spreads his legs further apart to allow his tormentor easier access. He mewls, surrenders to the myriad mix of sensations… of relief, and pain and ecstasy… of liberation

Euphoria.

“Shhh, I  got ya, kid. I got ya, shhh…” 

Scott drops his head back until it lands on the broad chest. Feels good to let someone else carry his dead weight for a while, doesn't even care that the bastard is shushing him again. When he stops leaking at last, he is content to just stand there, exhausted. Not protesting anymore, not caring, not worrying… not thinking. Everything shuts down, his body and his mind.  

Then there's nothing. 


*** 

 

- LOGAN - 

Logan stands stock still, letting the kid rest against him, reveling in the sudden peacefulness.

He looks down at his own erection with sympathy and regret, mentally promises himself to take care of it later. Right now, he’s got an infinitely tortured but insanely beautiful field leader to take care of. He sniffs the air now filled with the very scent of Scott he’s missed so damn much. Buries his nose in Scott’s still wet hair and inhales deeply. Wonders what the chances were that Scott would forgive him once he drifted out of the afterglow of his release that’s been a long time coming.

No pun intended. 

Hell, he’s always been an aggressor, and tonight more so than ever. But damn if he’s ever crossed the line of absolute consent one way or another before. Probably helps that the kid enjoyed it, and fuck did he enjoy it. Okay, so he’s probably going to be a whole lot bitchier than usual for about a week. But surely he won’t begrudge him a little manhandling, not after Logan just made him come like that!? 

He breathes in another sweet whiff of Scott's scent, intertwined with ivory and white musk, and it’s then he realizes that Scott is out. Like a fucking light. 

“Shit.” 

Turns the kid around, then bends his knees and hoists Scott up onto one shoulder. Walks back to the other end of the mansion to his new room, guiltily fondling the alabaster cheeks with one calloused hand. 

He lays Scott out on the bed and covers him up to the waist with his plain white bed sheets. Scott immediately turns to curl up on his side facing away from Logan. The older man is getting really irritated by this habit of his. Even in his fucking sleep! 

Against his best instincts, Logan lowers himself onto the bed, stretches out behind Scott. Clasps his hands behind his neck and leans back against the headboard. Wonders what he’s still doing here; wonders why he doesn’t feel the need to leave. Cyke once said it’s the one and only thing he’s ever been any good at. 

Logan watches the kid as he ever so slowly floats back to consciousness. He stirs, then freezes up. It's so easy to pinpoint the exact second in which the memories must have rushed back into the kid’s befuddled brain. Scott stays utterly still, probably thinking he could play dead until Logan got tired of waiting and went away on his own. Logan decides to nip the idiotic idea in the bud, brings an arm around Scott’s waist and softly scratches at his abs. Takes in every inch of his soft golden skin, some covered and some not, that’s in teasingly slight contact with Logan’s own frame, and he can’t help but shiver. 

“You’re gonna throw me out of your room? Now’s the time to do it.” 

He can practically see the wheels turning in the other man’s head. Wishes for a millionth time he could look into Scott’s eyes. Reading the man was a great deal more difficult than any other human, or mutant. 

“No.” 

It’s a quiet response, almost a whisper and if Logan didn’t have animal senses he’d have surely missed it. Sighs in muted relief, loosens his grip around the slim waist and tugs at a shoulder until Scott turns onto his back. But when he keeps his face averted, Logan taps the chiseled chin with a finger until Scott is annoyed enough to look up. Into his eyes. Logan doesn’t understand the sudden surge of… ah hell… affection that he feels at the sight of all that vulnerability on Scott’s face. He needs a diversion quick, before he says something stupid. 

“So… was... 'Warren'  any good?” 

Scott winces. 

“You were right about… about me. And about Jean. But not… not Warren. I don’t, he’s not… I didn't pretend that you were...” 

Ends with a frustrated exhale of air and turns away. Logan licks his chapped lips, this is probably not a time to let loose a victorious smirk so he controls himself. Simply nods instead, and continues to draw little circles with his fingertips on Scott’s belly. 

“What about you?” 

Logan looks up at him, and Scott is tentatively signaling with his eyebrows towards his evident erection. Logan bites back a chuckle but he might as well have guffawed in the kid’s face. 

“You came too fast, kid. And then you, uh, passed out.” 

Scott scowls and pouts at the same time. Raises a hand to whack him in the chest and Logan lets him. 

“Guess I should return the favor then?” 

Logan’s eyes glass over when he feels a hand dip southwards until it reaches his crotch, stroking his bulge leisurely. But he holds himself back, hell he needs to. He still needs to be sure. 

“Cyke, wait. I first want you to touch yourself.” 

The boy stiffens and Logan feels his heart sink because evidently Scott is still deeply entrenched in his obsession with self-denial. How do you make a man happy if he is hell-bent on being miserable? 

Scott starts to bite his lip, but opts to lick it instead. This is when the older man realizes that when Scott stiffened, every single part of him did, including his cock. 

“Maybe I can do both?” 

Oh God, yes

“…” 

“Strip.” 

It is an order. 

Nothing less. Intoned as sharply and with as much authority as if Cyclops had said it in the middle of a crucial mission. He clearly expects to be obeyed and Logan is quick to oblige. Jumps off the bed and starts to get rid of the layers of clothes in such a hurry, it makes Cyke laugh. He knows he’s ripped, he knows he’s hairy, and he recognizes a very faint trace of apprehension emanating from Scott when the pants come off. 

Good. He’s already thinking of penetration. Hell, that’s good! 

Logan comes back to bed and Scott pushes him down until he is flat on his back. Then he climbs on top of him, his eager cock sliding in right next to Logan’s own hard shaft and they both gasp in unison. One is maybe a lot more audible than the other. And apparently that’s exactly what Scott needs to hear because for a change, it’s not Logan who is smirking. 

“Whimpering Wolverine… man, I must be good.” 

Logan scowls back, wraps his arms round the slender body, possibly worried Scott might change his mind, but doesn't look like Scott is about to. Instead the man on top places one hand flat on the bed and digs his toes in for leverage… then wraps his free hand around the two shafts together. Gripping hard and strong like an iron fist. 

The friction builds up once again, reaching a crescendo where it turns to fire, scorching hot all over and under his very skin and everywhere that his body is in contact with Scott’s… and that's absolutely everywhere. His hips rise and fall, working his way in and out of Scott’s very talented hand as he jerks both of them off. Scott stops for a second, looks around and Logan wonders what he’s doing. Then shrugs and raises his hand and spits right into it. 

Holy mother of fuck. Explain how and why is that the most erotic thing Logan’s seen in, like, ever? 

With the new lubrication, the slip sliding turns more urgent and carnal, and it’s not clear anymore who’s moaning what. Logan puts a hand around Scott’s, tightening the stranglehold and meanwhile puts his other hand across the swell of Scott’s ass, squeezing in tandem with the rhythmic stroking. 

Logan didn’t realize how much he’s missed the touch of a lover until this very moment. And maybe Scott is aiming to last much longer than the first time around but Logan has been teased long enough. To hell with staying power. The animal inside of him needs the release and he needs it now

When he comes, it’s with a massive growl, propelled by the look on Scott’s face that’s never looked so young and so frikkin’ satisfied  before. He falls back exhausted, and idly watches as Scott fists himself half a minute longer, then comes a second time that night. Pearly white strings of release decorate their torsos and he knows they’re going to be disgusted later but right now they’re both least bothered. Scott’s face is flushed and the creases on his forehead are smoothened out, and when the red glow disappears and he drops his head onto the chest beneath… Logan allows himself to relax at last. 

“You thought I  came too fast? Judging by your performance I’d guess you stopped aging at twelve, not twenty-eight.” 

Scott is grinning, and Logan just jostles him playfully and smirks. 

“Yeah well, it’s been awhile for me too.” 

Scott scoffs. “Oh and what is 'awhile', like twenty minutes?” 

Logan just smiles and closes his eyes, very much prepared to sink into a deep healing sleep right this instant. But even with closed eyes, he can sense the shift in Cyke’s temperament, like he just figured something out. The younger man shifts until he lies beside Logan instead of on top of him, propped up on one elbow. 

“Logan?” 

“Hmm…” 

“How long?” 

He swallows, opens his eyes then. 

“You were not the only one living in self-imposed exile for the last four months, Cyke.” 


*** 

 

- SCOTT - 

For the longest time, Scott didn’t know what to say. The words uttered earlier that night now returned to his mind but he still couldn’t believe what they were telling him. 

“I miss that scent, Scooter. More than I miss your girl.” 

Oh God. He surely could have done without being reminded of Jean right now. The guilt that has been his sole companion ever since she died starts to surface again… eating away at his newfound sense of peace and poisoning the perfection of this moment. 

“I didn’t understand it myself, for a long time. Thought I was chasing your girl, but I was wrong. Turns out I was chasing you. It was always about you. And when last week I realized you and Warren were… before Jean…?” 

Scott winces, his chest tightening up and he is having trouble breathing, let alone talking. He starts to turn away again when Logan puts a hand on his cheek and clearly struggles to look through the quartz to reach his eyes. Scott thinks maybe he gets farther than anyone else has in a long time. 

“That day, at Alkali Lake, you turned to me in your grief. Not to Chuck, not to your friends. You chose me.” 

“…” 

Logan gets a faraway look in his eyes, “Just like Marie did, a long time ago but…” 

Scott swallows, the intent behind the analogy slowly becoming clear. Marie is probably the only person on the face of this planet that Logan really and truly loves and cares for. Scott looks away then, already knowing how the sentence is supposed to finish. 

“But... afterwards, I pushed you away.” 

Logan doesn’t react. Scott continues to hold himself taut, practically vibrating with anxiety and… something indescribable. Like maybe months of bottled up pain. Or maybe it is the catharsis of months of bottled up pain. Looks like Logan is waiting for him to say something, anything. But when still Scott can't find the courage to open his mouth (for fear he'd start bawling right out) he gives up and sighs. Settles for playing with the grown-out curls of auburn hair at the back of Scott’s neck instead. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to turn my way again, ever since.” 

Scott stays silent as death. 

A part of him wonders if this is an intricately planned prank. Maybe Logan’s idea of payback for kicking his ass repeatedly in simulations? Making him run errands to stock up the kitchen before school term begins? But a bigger part wants to believe, so, so bad. Wishes the clock would stop… just stop right here in this moment where everything feels so perfect, and so right.

So… not wrong

But yet another part of him is ready to cave under his inherent fears and insecurities, making him want to protest that maybe it's too fast and too soon, and that maybe it isn’t right and no he doesn't want Logan he doesn't deserve Logan no no no… 

“Scott.” 

“…” 

“We don’t have to pretend anymore.” 

We, not you.

Scott exhales, tears threatening at the edge of his eyes and for once he’s glad for the cover of his glasses. Even if Wolverine actually did have a heart, doesn't mean he would let slip any opportunity to call him a wuss. 

Scott looks out the window into the night that’s silent and numb and dark. He lived in that night for two years, until Charles gave him vision, and hope for a better future. Then came Jean, who loved him enough to push the endless void of darkness away. When Jean died, he regressed… returned to take solace in the pitch black of denial and despair he once was so acutely familiar with. It felt safe, after all, no hopes and no expectations meant no betrayals and no disappointments, right? 

People deny the reality that’s too harsh to accept and choose to live in their dreams. But Scott’s been living in his nightmares. He knows he’s been hiding… subsisting, barely functioning. And he knows it’s not what Charles needs from, or wants for him. It’s not what Jean would have wanted for him either, if she were here. But she’s not. 

Jean is gone. 

“Jean is gone.” 

Logan starts. “Yes. She is.” 

Somehow, right in this moment, the night didn’t feel so safe anymore. 

Logan did. 

Scott slowly turns towards the other man then, and it is like turning toward the light after a century of darkness. 

“But we’re still here.” 

Logan smiles. “Yes Scott. We’re still here.” 


** END ** 

A/N: Pls let me know what you think?