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“What are you guys doing in New Mexico, anyways?” Logan asks as he helps Laura load her bag into the trunk.
Jean and Ororo shrug in unison.
“Business,” Ororo says simply. Logan rolls his eyes.
Scott is still at work. He has four hours until he gets home. That should be plenty of time.
He shuts the trunk. He crouches in front of Laura, even though she comes up to his chest now, and she hugs him, her skinny arms looping around his neck. He squeezes her.
“Be good, kiddo, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He kisses her cheek. She smiles up at him as he stands, and gives him a thumbs up.
“Good luck!” she says, and behind her, Jean bites back a laugh. Logan smiles back at his daughter, then looks up at Jean and scowls.
“What?” she says easily. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance he freaks and walks out.”
“Thanks, Jean, that makes me feel awesome,” Logan says meanly. Next to him, Laura shrugs.
“Hey!” he says, betrayed.
“She has a point.”
Logan shuts his eyes for a second, and he can hear Jean and Storm snickering, and he thinks for a brief moment that maybe this was a mistake.
He then reminds himself that no, this is a good idea, Scott will like this. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Whatever. Just get in the car.”
He watches them drive off, waving from the front door until they turn the corner. He shuts the door, then locks it. He lets out a long breath. He starts getting ready.
It hadn’t even been his idea, really. He’s always known that Scott goes weak in the knees for a little romance, but he never asked that of Logan, probably because he assumed he wouldn’t go for it.
But that was the other Logan, the one whose body he hijacked after saving the world. From what he’s heard about him the guy was a real asshole.
The other Scott had also been like that, an honest to God sap when it came to things like flowers and long walks on the beaches or whatever. Logan still never really did any of that when he had the chance, but he had just figured they’d have more time.
He shuts his eyes again, and pushes down the wave of nausea. Stupid breath in. Remember where he is. Stupid breath out.
So maybe no matter what he just sucks at being a boyfriend. At least he can try to fix that now.
He showers first, then changes into a dark blue button-up that Marie had given him for Christmas and his nice pair of pants. He trims his beard a little. He brushes his teeth. He leaves the bathroom once he realizes he’s just standing there nervously checking himself in the mirror, wasting time.
Jean and Storm had picked up the flowers on their way over. A dozen long stemmed roses, blood red, and he’s not copying Scott, just returning the gesture. They sit in the vase on the kitchen table, an odd splash of color in the otherwise beige-and-white room.
Okay, so. Shower, check. Nice outfit, check. Flowers, check. It’s too early to start making dinner, so he heads to the bedroom.
He had washed the sheets this morning right after Scott left for work, then made the bed the way Scott always bitches at him to, with the top sheet tucked under the mattress and the comforter all smoothed out. He’d even fluffed the pillows.
Laura had suggested rose petals on the bedspread (she’s only thirteen and she said that and Logan had gawked at her in mute horror), but that seemed too cheesy, so then she’d insisted on candles, and Logan thought that maybe she shouldn’t be helping him with this. She had rolled her eyes, then written CANDLES on the little notepad they had been using to keep track of their ideas.
So there’s a few candles on both of their nightstands, and some on the dresser. Scott will probably bitch and moan about the wax. Logan smiles to himself. Bedroom, check.
There isn’t a whole lot left to do — he probably didn’t need to start this early, but he had been nervous, in a dumb, fleeting way that was unfamiliar and unwelcome.
He goes around the house, putting things back in their proper place, straightening the photos on the walls, opening the curtains then closing them when it puts him on edge. Nobody’s found them yet, and he doesn’t like to take too many risks. He hates it when Scott gets called into the shop, because that old fuck makes him turn off his phone so even if there was an emergency it’s not like Logan could call him. Laura hates when Scott gets called into the shop because Logan will practically crawl up the walls with nerves until he gets back. Today is only slightly different.
He would never admit to anyone that he’s grown slightly more paranoid and stand-offish over the years, but he can’t deny that fact to himself. Sometimes he feels like an animal pacing its cage, ready to strike but not knowing what it’ll be at. Scott tells him he shouldn’t think of himself as an animal, ever, even if the metaphor works. He usually just rolls his eyes.
He has a beer. He goes to the garage and opens the hood of his truck then realizes he probably shouldn’t get his nice shirt all greasy. He goes back in the house.
Once Scott is half an hour out from being home, Logan starts dinner.
“What’s his favorite food?” Laura had asked him just last week, her legs crossed and her notepad perched on her knee.
“I don’t know,” Logan had shrugged, then upon noticing the look of outrage on her face had said, “Do you?”
She had closed her eyes and taken a deep breath in, her voice eerily even as she said, “You’ve known him for thirty years.”
She had made him text Jean, who had said that if he’s making dinner for Scott to consider just ordering out. But that wasn’t nearly romantic enough, so then Jean had told him that anything Logan makes him will be good enough, but if he has to know, Scott really likes tomato soup. Logan had sent back, of course he does, he’s boring as hell, and Jean had said, but you love him anyways, and Logan didn’t say anything back.
Heating up a couple cans of soup didn’t seem very romantic either, but he doesn’t want to test his luck and try to cook some fancy ass meal that he ends up ruining. He cooks dinner for the three of them usually, but it’s always pasta, a frozen pizza, something easy with less than four steps. Scott is the one who makes them eat vegetables and knows how to cut the produce into even little cubes.
He puts the soup on the stove, lowering the heat a little so he can set the table. They don’t have nice silver or wedding china or anything, but at the very least they have real bowls and spoons, so that will have to do. He sets out another candle and lights it, the flame making the white tablecloth underneath it a warm, glowing orange.
He fidgets as he stands waiting, watching the pot to make sure it doesn’t burn, staring at the clock until the minute passes and then starting the process over.
At 5:52 instead of 6:10 like every other fucking day Scott walks right through the front door, calling “Joe sent me home early!”, and promptly steps into the kitchen.
Logan freezes. Scott pauses in the doorway, looking curiously at the roses on the table, the two places Logan has set, the candle. He turns to Logan.
“What is this?”
“Uh,” Logan says, his brain blanking as soon as he tries to answer.
“Well?”
“Welcome home,” he tries weakly, and Scott crosses his arms over his chest, not angry but getting there; frustrated and annoyed.
“What did you do?”
“What? Nothing! I just — ”
He stops. He constructs a decent enough sounding answer. He swallows before saying, “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”
Scott uncrosses his arms, looks again at the table and at Logan like he’s seeing it all in a new light. His shoulders slump minutely.
“Logan,” he says, like he doesn’t believe him. Something in Logan’s stomach twinges and he steps forward, brows furrowing.
“Honest, Scotty. I just thought you deserved a nice night. Been workin’ awfully hard lately.”
He tries to smile. It comes out more like a snarl. How is he so bad at this?
“And this was your idea?” Scott says, and Logan steps back again, sheepish.
“It was — okay, no, it was Laura’s, because I guess today is the day you got here and I even said why don’t we do something with the three of us, but she said — ”
“Today is — today is what?”
“Two years in New Mexico,” Logan says automatically. “Well, for us I guess it’s more like two years and seven months, but — ”
“Oh,” Scott says suddenly, loudly. His mouth twists in a familiar way and Logan steps forward again, then again, until he and Scott are standing pretty much toe to toe.
“What’d I do?” he says softly, trying to sound like he’s joking. He doesn’t.
“Nothing,” Scott says on an exhale, and he tips forward like he can’t help it. “Sorry, really, I’m fine, I was — that was unexpected, that’s all.”
Logan carefully brushes his fingers over Scott’s hip, then circles his arm around his waist, pulling him closer.
“What, I can’t do something nice for my guy?”
“Your guy,” Scott mumbles, shaking his head, but Logan knows that he likes it. “Of course you can, that’s not what I meant. This is just — this is a lot.”
“Too much?”
Scott pulls back a bit, and gets a soft little smile on his face, and his voice is very quiet when he says, “No. Not at all.”
Logan kisses him because he’s known Scott long enough to know when he’s waiting to be kissed. He is suddenly pulled back to that day, two and a half years ago, and he remembers saying their goodbyes in front of Scott’s car, remembers watching him stand there and thinking that if he could just kiss him this wouldn’t be as awful. He hadn’t, but he's doing it now, so that’s what matters.
He pushes Scott up against the doorway a little, wedging his knee in between his legs.
“I got something real nice planned for later,” Logan growls, because he knows it drives Scott crazy in a weird way. His words, not Logan’s. Logan is happy to do anything that drives Scott crazy.
“Yeah, I bet,” Scott says lamely. He was never as good at dirty talk as Logan was, and its lack of necessity in his life over the last few years is endearingly evident whenever they’re in bed together.
But Logan smiles, dazed and loving, and kisses him again, delighting in Scott’s small gasp when he pushes his tongue into his mouth.
Scott pulls back again, eyes wide, and says, “Where’s Laura?”
“With Jean and ‘Ro, don’t worry. I’ve got everything figured out.”
He waggles his eyebrows, and Scott laughs, hushed and happy, something just for Logan.
Scott kisses him this time, short and sweet, like he’s saying thank you. Then again, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
“Hey,” Logan mumbles, regretful to break up his little appreciation demonstration, “why’d Joe let you off early, anyway? Guy’s usually a real ass about that stuff.”
Scott pauses. “I — I don’t know, actually. Said he got a call… from someone…”
They look at each other, eyes wide with their mutual realization.
“You don’t think she — ?”
But then the smoke alarm goes off, and any worries about Laura probably not but still possibly threatening Scott’s boss are pushed from their minds as Logan pulls away and says, “Shit!”
He rushes to the stove, turning the heat off, frantically waving his hand around in an attempt to clear the smoke away.
“Is anything on fire?” Scott asks from behind him, panic clear in his voice.
“No, but this pot is done for,” Logan winces as he deposits it in the sink. It didn’t burn through the metal but there’s no way they’re getting that charred soup off anytime soon.
“Shit, Scotty, I’m sorry — ”
“I can’t believe you fucked up soup — ”
“ — ruined our dinner — fuck you! You’re the one who can’t keep his hands to himself — ”
“You kissed me — ”
The smoke alarm beeps again, and Logan reaches up to pull the cover off so he can take the batteries out but ends up ripping it half-out of the ceiling. He blinks at the mess of plastic and wires in his hand, and then at Scott, who looks equally dumbfounded.
“That hasn’t happened in awhile,” Scott says slowly.
“Yeah,” Logan realizes. He hasn’t underestimated his own strength and then reaped the consequences in a long time. “Hey, well, that bodes well for tonight then, huh?”
He pulls his mouth into a genuine grin, and Scott lets out this adorably exasperated chuckle and pushes past him to examine the remnants of one of their good pots.
Scott helps him put up the two bowls and the silverware and even takes the pot out to the trash can. The roses stay on the table, and he pinches a petal between his thumb and pointer finger.
“I can’t believe you got these,” he says, then smiles at Logan anyways. Inconsistent.
“Well, you know,” he shrugs, and hooks a finger through one of Scott’s belt loops to tug him forward. “Thought I’d return the favor.”
“You’re the one who likes getting flowers,” he says distractedly, then leans forward and kisses Logan like that’s what he really meant to do.
“Hey, come on,” Logan says, tugging Scott again by his belt loops, towards their bedroom. “We can eat later.”
“But our romantic dinner,” Scott pretends to complain, letting himself be pulled along.
Logan snorts. “Let me make it up to you,” he grins, and Scott rolls his eyes.
When they get to the room Scott takes in the candles with a delighted smile, kissing Logan on the cheek, then the forehead, pressing his lips to the corner of his mouth.
“You didn’t even do the wine and dine part,” he murmurs, moving his hands to the buttons on Logan’s shirt.
“There’s champagne in the fridge,” he says a little belatedly. Scott grins. Logan helps him with the buttons, then lets him push the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor.
Scott pops the button on his pants, pushes the zipper down with his thumb. “Don’t know why you bothered dressing up if you were just trying to get me into bed.”
“I wasn’t — wow, you’re eager — I wasn’t just tryna get you into bed. I mean, that was certainly part of the plan, but it was a little more nuanced — ”
Scott laughs, loud and giddy, and bends forward to kiss his neck, his jaw. Logan sighs.
“Quit talking,” he says in Logan’s ear, his breath warm and his voice practically liquid honey. Logan inhales sharply and manages to push down the retort that springs into his mind. He is very, very curious about where Scott is going with this.
But he still doesn’t really expect Scott to drop to his knees literally right then and there and smile up at him like he has no idea what he’s doing.
Logan blinks down at him.
“Just wanna do something nice for you,” Scott says innocently, because he may not be well-versed in dirty talk but he is profoundly adept at being an absolute shit.
Logan always forgets just how much Scott likes doing this, blowing him; it’s easy to get caught up in the moment and easier still to convince himself that Scott was just doing it because he felt obligated, that he hadn’t really been looking at him like that, hadn’t been making those little noises against him.
But he blinks at Scott again and thinks that maybe he really does just enjoy this that much. He basically takes pride in it, at this point, gets all cocky about being able to rile Logan up the way he does. Logan would never in a million years tell him how hot it makes him, but it does. It makes him totally fucking nuts.
Scott slowly slides Logan’s pants down his legs, and Logan steps out of them, and then Scott brings his head forward and mouths at Logan’s cock through his boxers. Logan feels his knees nearly buckle.
“Fuck,” he says through his teeth. Scott smiles against him.
He really gets Logan going, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to the front of his underwear, clearly enjoying the way Logan is trying to bite back the sounds rising in his throat.
He threads a hand through Scott’s hair, tugs, and Scott exhales shakily. He seems to remember himself a little, and he manages to look at Logan, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath. He looks ridiculous. Logan feels himself twitch.
“This is alright, yeah?”
Logan remembers not to roll his eyes. Bodily autonomy is just as important to Scott as it is to him, even if it makes him feel stupid and helpless sometimes.
A lot of people did things to you without your permission, Scott had said a long time ago, very gently and tentatively like he was trying not to upset him, so I’m going to ask, even if I think I know. I’m always going to make sure.
“Yeah,” he croaks out, and Scott grins again.
“You wanna sit down?”
Logan just nods, and sits down heavy on the foot of the bed. Scott settles in between his legs, nudging his knees open. Logan tilts his hips up and Scott pulls his boxers off. He spits in his hand, just to be a real asshole because it makes Logan tip his head toward the ceiling in disbelief, which means he isn’t prepared for Scott to grip him in one hand and then lean forward and take the rest of him into his mouth.
Logan takes in a quick, startled breath, eyes slipping shut, his fingers digging into the mattress. Scott wastes no time working up an easy, relaxed rhythm. Logan lets his muscles untense, leaning back on his elbows, narrowing his focus down to the slick heat of Scott’s mouth, the matching movement of his hand, his little whimpers and moans that shoot right through him and vibrate in his teeth.
Scott used to get real wild when Logan let himself slip a little, when he would let himself give into a more primal part of his brain and forget everything else around him. But as they’ve gotten older, as their relationship has gotten more serious, they’ve both learned to take things slow. Logan appreciates the gradual, gentle build up, and it gives Scott the chance to make a little performance out of it, switching between his mouth and his hand so he can spill encouragements out into the skin of Logan’s hip, hiding his face but letting his mouth run free.
But it’s Logan who’s talking now, unable to help himself, very much enjoying the sight of Scott in between his legs.
“Don’t think I ain’t gonna — ah, return the favor,” he says, because if Scott likes blowing Logan too much than Logan likes fucking Scott too much. He’s downright obsessed with the way his face crumples and shifts at each movement, the way his chest flushes and heaves, the way he arches when Logan reaches between them and works him with his hand.
“S’quite the anniversary present,” he says, his words a little slurred and more sincere than he really means to but it’s not like he’s lying, either. Scott pulls off of him, staring at him a little slack jawed, lips shiny with spit.
He leans up and kisses Logan, snaking his hand in between them and grabbing him again, smiling when Logan breathes in deep through his nose.
“What was that for,” Logan mumbles. Scott smirks, kisses the corner of his mouth again.
“Anniversary,” he says like he’s making fun of Logan, but Logan can tell that it meant a lot to him.
He pushes Logan all the way back and pretty much crawls on top of him, kissing him, twisting his wrist in the way that makes Logan feel like he’s been dipped in fire.
Scott sits up, looking down at him with a bright, excited expression on his face.
“Fuck me,” he says plainly but firmly, telling and not asking, and Logan feels his insides stir, but he makes sure to keep his face pulled into an irritated scowl. He doesn’t want to show his hand quite yet.
“Yes, sir,” he grumbles, and Scott grins, and he thinks he looks just as stupidly gorgeous as he did the day they met. Annoying and pretty; annoyingly pretty.
Scott climbs off of him and lies back against the pillows. They help each other get the rest of the way undressed, and Logan leans over to switch off the bedside lamp and rummage around in the nightstand. Scott is illuminated by the soft glow from the candles, and he’s beautiful. Logan takes a second to just look at him because he’s nice to look at. Scott squirms, suddenly uneasy since the attention has been turned towards him.
“Cut it out,” he complains, mouth twisting downwards. Logan puts his palm flat on his stomach, then slides his hand up until he’s holding Scott’s face. Scott looks at him the whole time, curious and waiting.
“Make me,” he teases, then leans down and kisses Scott once, then again on his cheek. Scott sighs.
He stretches Scott out, taking his time, drawing it out so Scott twists and groans impatiently. He likes this part, too; watching Scott come absolutely undone beneath him. He likes every part of having sex with Scott, because it’s sex with Scott.
“All mine,” he mumbles without meaning to, and Scott smiles softly, amused and touched all at once.
“Yeah?” It comes out torn and ragged; his cheeks are flushed with color, his hips grinding down on Logan’s fingers.
“Yeah,” Logan nods, and he feels dumb, a little too big and awkward all of a sudden, clumsy in his own skin. He focuses on making Scott’s face contort and crumple, focuses on making him moan low and sweet. He finds his rhythm again. He pushes his insecurities out of his mind.
“I — fuck, I like being — being yours,” Scott pants out, clumsily grabbing at Logan’s free hand resting on his stomach. Logan feels a flare of something in his chest, and finds himself at a loss for words. He just looks at Scott, face open and a little lost, but Scott doesn’t seem to mind.
He moves his hand up to Logan’s face, then his hair, threading his fingers through it gently, thumb brushing his temple.
“I love you, Logan,” Scott says, sincere and honest like no one ever told him how embarrassing that is. Not that Logan is judging him. He just has no idea how he does it. “I love you so — much, God, I love you so much sometimes it fucking hurts. I’ve been in love with you for — for years, ah, can’t believe you didn’t know, sometimes I feel like it’s written on my forehead — ”
Logan stamps down the sound that’s trying to claw itself out of his throat, then leans forward to press his mouth to Scott’s neck. He can’t quite process the words tumbling out of Scott’s mouth, can’t quite rationalize them as being directed towards him, being about him. He scrapes his teeth over Scott’s pulse, fluttering and fast under his skin.
The thing is, Logan has never really felt quite worthy of all the love Scott has for him. Maybe that’s a little embarrassing; here he is, an adult, getting shy in the face of grown-up feelings. But who can blame him? Scott is Scott — he’s the good guy, the team leader, the Boy Scout. Logan is just some asshole.
But Scott loves him, which means he must see something of value in the muddle that is Logan’s general self. Even if it scares him, sometimes, because he’s not used to keeping the things he cares about.
But here’s Scott, this Scott, the Scott who came back to him, who hasn’t gone anywhere since. And he’s beautiful, he’s alive, and he’s Logan’s, probably will be for the rest of his life.
Logan may not be worthy, after all. This whole thing might be some fluke, something that someone upstairs overlooked, let slip through the cracks. How does he deserve this, after everything he’s done? How does he deserve this, all of this, after the life he’s been forced to live?
Here is Scott: beautiful, alive, his for the rest of time. The love of his life, both of them, if he wants to get poetic. Not chosen by fate but instead made through blood, sacrifice, death. Chosen by him.
“Logan?” Scott says, and he blinks, realizing he isn’t moving, and is instead gripping Scott’s hip like he’ll die if he stops. “Logan, what happened?”
“I love you, too,” is all Logan can manage to say. He places a light kiss on Scott’s shoulder, unable to look at his face.
Scott gives him an odd little smile, then taps his hip, quirking an eyebrow.
“Do you need to stop?”
Logan rolls his eyes, successfully breaking himself out of his lame self-pity session. He scissors the fingers inside of Scott, and Scott’s mouth falls open, gasping. He grins.
“Don’t think so,” he murmurs.
Logan fucks Scott bruisingly slow; he fucks him until Scott is begging half-thought out demands underneath him, legs falling open wider so Logan can slide in even deeper.
“Touch me, please,” Scott whimpers, and Logan smiles. He reaches in between them and grabs Scott’s dick, matching the rhythm of his hips and rejoicing in how Scott throws his head back, baring his throat, a deep sigh of relief rushing from his chest.
“I love you,” Logan finds himself saying again, because it’s all he can think, he loves Scott so much it’s rushing through him like river water, cleansing and ice cold, a force of nature churning inside of him. “Scotty, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life, I — ”
“Logan,” Scott interrupts, and he says it like it means something, “Logan.”
They look at each other, and in that moment Logan feels like he’s nothing but this feeling, this bright, blooming ball of love and want and need, spreading through him and into Scott, connecting them, grounding them to each other. The world falls away and it’s just the two of them, in this quiet candle-lit room on the far edge of the universe.
Logan has never been more in love. Scott has never looked more perfect.
He registers Scott tightening around him, registers the way his face screws up and the spatter over his hand. He registers Scott’s hands scrambling up to grab at his shoulders, his hips meeting his halfway. He registers him saying, “Yes, come on, it’s your turn. For me, please, please.”
He registers these things, knows they happen because he hears and sees and feels them happen, but all he can think is how vastly he cares for the man below him, in a way he’s not sure even he understands. A seed planted in another time, thirty some-odd years ago, now a warm and steady love, deep like the roots of an oak tree. Unwavering and strong.
His hips stop, and he pushes as deep as he can into Scott. He feels himself come, feels it wash over him like rain. He feels Scott relax underneath him.
He rolls off of Scott and onto his back, but Scott just cuddles up next to him, even though they’re still on top of the covers and also he’s getting cum all over the clean comforter. Logan suddenly understands a small portion of the grief Scott has to go through when dealing with him and his poor household manners.
He doesn’t say anything about it, only because he’s a bit afraid to break the silence. Now Scott can ask him anything and Logan can’t distract him with flowers or dinner or crazy-good sex. Plus, his brain is still trying to catch up with this overwhelming surge of emotion coupled with his absolutely mindblowing orgasm.
Scott lets them lie there in silence for a long few minutes, the candles burning down to nothing, the room lit only by the soft glow of dusk filtering in through the curtains.
He syncs his breathing up with Logan’s, and Logan can hear his heartbeat like he used to be able to, and he waits until that’s in sync, too. He closes his eyes, and he could almost fall asleep, if Scott would let him. He thinks if he tried hard enough he could fall asleep without Scott really noticing and then maybe he could just avoid talking all together and making an ass of himself by being a coward.
Scott kisses his neck, then presses his mouth to Logan’s, and Logan presses back, because he can’t help himself.
“I’ll be right back,” Scott mumbles, then silently slips out of the bed, wincing a bit as he stands, and Logan grins to himself. He’s still got it.
He maneuvers himself into a sitting position. He feels a little emptied out, but in a good way. Not hollow or numb, just — open. He feels good.
Scott comes back with a wet wipe and Logan frowns a little when he notices he’s put his underwear back on.
“I’m not going to walk around the house naked,” Scott says, affronted.
“That’s a shame,” Logan mumbles, and Scott throws the wipe at him.
They peel the bedspread off and push it to the floor, because that can be dealt with tomorrow. They untuck the top sheet and crawl under it, but not before Scott runs to the kitchen and comes back with two small glasses (not flutes, because Logan had forgotten to get those like an idiot) full of champagne. He hands one to Logan, smiling a little coyly, and he takes it gratefully. They clink glasses.
“So,” Scott says after taking the traditional first sip and then setting the glass on his own night table . “That was fun.”
Logan snorts, because Scott is still a dork even with sex hair and his stupid post-orgasm smile.
“You think?” he mutters into his glass, then takes a long pull. He makes a face. He should have gotten better champagne.
“Is this — I mean, not that I would complain, but — is this going to be a yearly thing?”
Logan swallows, and he remembers Laura’s stern words: Do you really think that he would say no, if you asked? Do you think you have anything to lose?
He opens his mouth to say something, and he could say it, he could, he feels the words trying to push themselves out past his teeth, but he just — can’t —
“Marry me,” he blurts out, and Scott’s jaw actually drops, and they stare at each other for a horribly tense, silent minute.
Logan wants to put his fucking head through the wall, because there were a million other ways he could have brought that up, a million other ways that didn’t sound like the thought scared him even if it kind of did, but not too bad that he didn’t still want it.
But he had just said it like that, not even a question, not even with a line or a wink or a smooth, easy smile to make Scott flush pink and elbow him.
Scott seems to shake himself out of his stupor, and he nods, and he nods, and Logan has never been more nervous about what someone is going to say.
“I’m not saying no, but I think — we have to talk about this, but it’s not that I don’t want to, or that I wouldn’t — ”
“Hey, Scotty,” he tries to soothe even though he kind of feels like his insides are melting, “calm down. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, I just — I suck at this,” he says, meaner than he actually feels.
“I know,” Scott says sweetly. Logan rolls his eyes.
Another quiet second, and then Scott says: “So, you want to marry me?”
Logan tries to keep himself calm and even and honest like Scott deserves. “Yeah, I think so. I’m pretty sure.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scott teases. “And how long have you wanted to do that?”
Logan really tries to think, but it’s not hard, because he knows exactly what first got him thinking about it. “Remember when we were on that video call with Jean and Ororo, and Jean said it as a joke, something about how we were bickering like an old married couple?”
Scott smiles, a little confused. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I just — it was a joke, but then Storm said not married yet, and I — I couldn’t stop thinking about that, about the yet, because… because I have no idea why you would ever want to marry me, and — ”
“Don’t do that,” Scott says, frowning like he’s upset. “You have to get over that. I love you, Logan. I chose to be with you. That’s never going to change.”
Logan pauses, momentarily stunned into silence at the urgency and fierceness behind his words.
He gets a hold of himself and is able to say, “I just never really thought I was husband material.”
Scott shrugs. “You didn’t used to be. I mean, I certainly wasn’t either. I literally cheated on my fiancée.”
Logan snorts, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe that.”
“Well, you were very convincing,” Scott mumbles, and Logan waggles his eyebrows again, leaning in when Scott leans back, laughing.
“But,” Scott continues, and Logan settles down, “I think that we’ve both matured, and with Laura there’s a certain incentive to be… better to each other.”
Logan nods, because this whole night was practically her idea in the first place; all Logan had said was I think I need to propose to Scott.
“So,” Scott says again, more of a sigh, and his face scrunches like he’s closed his eyes. “If you’re really asking, I think… I think my answer would be yes.”
Logan says nothing for a terrible, screeching moment, can’t think of anything to say for a stuttering second, but then he tips forward and presses his mouth to Scott’s, and Scott wraps his arms around Logan’s shoulders, absolutely melting into him.
“I can’t believe you want to marry me,” Scott says when Logan pulls back to breathe.
“I can’t believe you said yes.”
Scott shrugs: fair enough. Logan tips their foreheads together, and smiles, because he’s going to marry Scott Summers like that isn’t a ridiculous and awful idea, because it isn’t.
For the first time in his life, it isn’t.
“I can’t believe you want to marry me,” Scott says again, quiet and a little reserved, like he’s saying it to himself.
Logan shrugs, and Scott leans the rest of the way into him, resting his face in the crook of his neck. “I’ve told you, I’m crazy about you, Scotty. Absolutely fuckin’ whipped.”
Scott snorts a dumb little laugh against him and pulls him closer. Logan can’t help the heat that pools in his stomach as Scott brushes against him. He shifts forward without thinking, seeking friction, then reels back, mortified.
“Wow,” Scott says, laughter in his voice.
“Sorry, I — ”
“Not everyone heals as fast as you,” Scott scolds, but he circles his fingers around Logan, and Logan raises his eyebrows, a little surprised. They’re not used to having this much consecutive alone time; the fact that they have the house to themselves all night blares in his mind like an alarm.
“You just proposed to me,” Scott says, then pulls his hand away, and Logan scowls. “Did you get me a ring?”
“Uh,” Logan says, and Scott pulls too far back, very far away.
“Oh, come on,” Scott exclaims. “I deserve a ring.”
“It’s on its way,” is all Logan says, then kisses Scott again to try to get him to forget about it. He doesn’t, the bastard.
“Poor planning,” Scott says, but Logan just keeps kissing him because it’s all he can do at this point. He pushes him down to lie on his back. Scott laughs, so Logan laughs.
“I love you, you big idiot,” Scott says, and Logan plants a kiss on his cheek, a big swelter of affection rising under his ribs.
“Then why don’t you marry me?”
“Soon,” Scott promises.
Logan grins. “Yeah. Love you too, Scotty.”
He kisses him again.