“You coming back to bed?”
“In a little while.”
Scott slipped out of bed and walked naked to the shower. He felt grimy, and he wanted to get rid of all the filth before climbing into . . . well, mostly clean sheets. The operation had been simple enough. Tag the briefcase. Track it back to the buyers. Stop the selling of a rare weaponized neurotoxin derived from the harvested brain cells of mutants. All in a day’s work for the X-Men.
Except somehow Scott had wound up in a high-speed car chase, followed by a high-speed boat chase, and after securing the neurotoxin (now sitting in a briefcase in the bedroom), he was on a yacht . . . in a secluded cove . . . with Wolverine.
Even that statement wouldn’t have seemed so odd (after all, the Professor had sent them on a number of missions together and they hadn’t killed each other yet. In fact, to the rest of the team’s surprise, they’d developed a smooth, efficient partnership in the field) . . .
Except after all their usual heroics, Logan had pushed him against the interior of the yacht and Scott hadn’t resisted. He hadn’t resisted either when Logan had kissed him. He probably should’ve been more surprised by that kiss, but he wasn’t. Some part of him knew that it had been a long time coming. Then rough hands were unzipping his uniform, pushing the leather off his shoulders until he was naked to the waist, his uniform riding low over his hips. Logan had slid to his knees, more gracefully (and passively) than Scott had thought possible. If Scott had been surprised by Logan’s skill with his mouth and tongue and ever moving hands, he gave no indication other than to rest his head against the polished wood interior with a contented sigh. Eventually, he’d fisted his right hand in Logan’s hair, pulling Logan off of him before he could finish, Logan’s lips wet with his fluid and Logan’s eyes still burning hungrily.
Scott had pitched his voice low, secure in Logan’s keen hearing, but there had been no mistaking the command in his tone.
Logan’s eyes had burned a little brighter as Scott had stood up and pushed himself off the wall. Scott stripped his boots and the rest of his uniform off, leaving an uncharacteristic pile of clothes behind him as he walked to what he presumed was the bedroom. (He’d never been on this yacht before, and he knew for certain that it didn’t belong to Logan.) Behind him, he could hear Logan also stripping as he walked, and by the time they were both in the darkened bedroom, the only light source from the moon whose light flowed through the open windows near the bed, Logan had pushed Scott back onto the bed, climbing over him predatorily. Scott had made room for the other man, spreading his legs so that Logan could settle between them. Logan picked up where he’d left off, his mouth hot and wet, and still so very hungry. Scott let him finish this time, fisting his hand in Logan’s hair again, this time as a warning that he was near, but Logan had remained undeterred. He drank Scott down like a fine wine, patiently licking him clean as Scott came down from his high. Eventually, Logan had settled on his side facing Scott. Even without turning to look at him, Scott could feel the other man smirking in the darkness, his satisfaction uncoiling in the little space between them. Scott had been feeling too good to pick a fight with his sometime nemesis, so he had also turned on his side to face the other man, reaching between their bodies to grasp Logan’s neglected cock. He’d only pumped Logan’s cock a few times, smearing the leaking precum around the head and down the underside before Logan gripped his wrist to stop him.
“That can wait,” Logan said.
Scott had looked at the other man in surprise, but his expression had remained unreadable behind his visor. “Really?” he’d said, the inflection in his voice turning the word into a question.
“Yeah,” Logan replied. “I wanna come on your cock.”
At that statement, Scott gave a slow grin. That was probably the last thing he ever thought he’d hear Wolverine say. He continued to stroke Logan’s cock lazily, getting a feel for it since the other man had eased his grip on Scott’s wrist.
“You have supplies here?” he asked.
“Don’t need’em,” Logan answered. Despite his earlier words, he’d begun rocking into Scott’s hand, matching Scott’s languorous rhythm. “I heal.”
“You like the pain,” Scott translated.
To answer Logan’s question, Scott had rolled them over so that he was on top. He braced his hands on either side of Logan’s body, rolling his hips in that same easy motion so that their cocks brushed against each other. His dick was already beginning to show signs of interest again. He’d bent down and whispered in Logan’s ear, “I like it smooth.”
Before Scott could pull away, a hand had clamped down on the back of his neck and Logan was holding him in place, giving him another bruising kiss. Scott was quickly learning that Logan wasn’t about finesse in the bedroom, much like the Logan he knew outside of the bedroom. Logan liked things hard and fast, rough and a little messy. This wasn’t lovemaking, and Scott gave Logan what he wanted, making do with come and spit instead of lube and condoms. Logan trembled beneath him, falling apart on Scott’s cock with an animalistic growl as Scott continued to pump in and out, feeling his own peak building until he’d followed Logan over the edge. His knees grew weak as his orgasm washed over him, but he didn’t put his weight on the man on his hands and knees before him. Scott kept his grip on Logan’s hips, one hand flat on the small of Logan’s back as he filled Logan’s ass with his come. They’d stayed that way, Scott still buried to the hilt, until their breathing had evened out again. Only then did Scott pull out.
* * * * *
Logan wasn’t lounging in bed as Scott had half-expected the other man to be. The bed was unmade but Logan was nowhere to be seen. Scott pulled out a terry towel bathrobe from the closet and put it on, walking outside into the main living space of the yacht. There he found Logan, standing naked in the moonlight, facing one of the open windows, a tumbler in his hand. Scott could appreciate the sight. Logan had a very nice physique . . . and a very nice ass. He didn’t say anything as he walked to the side table where there was a decanter of brandy and poured himself a drink. Then he walked over to where Logan was standing and took a seat beside the other man on the plush semi-circular leather booth embedded against the yacht’s curved wall.
“Whose boat is this?” he asked, after taking a drink.
“Does it matter?” Logan asked back.
“A little,” Scott admitted. “It’d be nice to know that we’re not on some drug dealer’s weekend getaway.”
Logan finally glanced down at the other man, a wry grin on his face. “We’re not on some drug dealer’s weekend getaway,” he repeated.
Scott smiled into his brandy as he took another drink.
“You freaking out yet?” Logan asked him quietly after some time had passed.
“No,” Scott answered calmly, and it was the truth. He looked at Logan. “Did you expect me to?”
“Hell, I thought you’d be freaking out the moment I pushed you against the wall.”
“Why did you?” Scott pressed. “Push me against the wall?”
Logan was quiet for a long time, finishing his drink before he answered. “I don’t know what it is about you, Summers,” he said, as though he were talking to himself. “Half the time I wanna kill you; the other half I wanna fuck you senseless.”
Scott put his glass down on the table in front of him, twirling it slightly in his hand. “Well,” he said. “Here’s hoping you don’t do the first half of that statement.”
Logan wasn’t smiling as he finally took a seat beside Scott, with Scott shifting sideways to make room for him. “I don’t really like you,” Logan stated.
Scott somehow managed not to smile at Logan’s matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t really like you either,” he said in return.
“And we’re not friends,” Logan continued.
“No,” Scott agreed. “But we are teammates.”
“Teammates,” Logan repeated. He was looking at Scott intently now, one arm stretched out along the curve of the semi-circular booth, his fingers near enough to brush against Scott’s shoulder. “I wish I could look into your eyes,” he said suddenly. “Ya can’t get the measure of a man until you can look into his eyes.”
Scott shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. “That’s not possible,” he said.
“Sometimes it is,” Logan countered. “Like right now. From certain angles, I can almost see your irises. I can see how your glasses keep your power in check, how the beams are refracted by the lenses. What color are your eyes? Do ya even know?”
Scott’s expression was thoughtful. “Blue,” he said, after a moment.
“Blue,” Logan repeated, as though the color pleased him.
Scott was about to say something else, but Logan had leaned in, grasping him by the chin so that he could kiss him. The hand gripping his chin moved lower, holding Scott by the neck as Logan plundered his mouth.
“You always kiss people you don’t like?” Scott queried when the kiss ended, Logan’s hand still cradling his neck in a rather possessive manner.
“You break a lot of my rules, Summers,” Logan muttered, still leaning into him. His eyes were shut and he seemed to be inhaling Scott’s scent. Memorizing it, perhaps.
“Maybe we should set up new rules then.”
Logan opened his eyes at the suggestion. Scott could see the spark of desire there. “What kind of rules?” Logan asked, voice low and a little raw.
“The kind where you do what I say, and not just in the field.”
Logan snorted. “If ya think I’m gonna follow your rules in the bedroom –”
Logan didn’t get to finish the sentence. Scott cut him off with another kiss, this time moving so that he was straddling the other man. Logan’s hands automatically gripped Scott’s waist, supporting him before he could even process what he was doing. He could get used to the feel of Scott’s weight, deciding that he liked it; he liked the solidity of him, and damn. Summers knew how to kiss.
Logan was trailing his lips along the side of Scott’s neck when the other man began to speak again. He resisted the urge to bite down, to claim and mark the team leader in some way.
“Learned something interesting about you tonight,” Scott was saying, his hands traveling down Logan’s back.
“Yeah? What’s that?” Logan murmured, lips still busy against Scott’s neck.
“You want to be dominated.”
The words were whispered like silk against Logan’s ear and he could feel his dick twitch in response. He knew that Summers could feel it too.
“It’s not that you like taking orders,” Scott went on, his voice pitched lower and richer. Smooth, just like his seduction. “But for all your rebellion, you like taking orders from me.” He paused, licking a stripe across the shell of Logan’s ear, causing a shiver to ripple through Logan’s body. “You know what else? I like giving you orders. I like it when you submit. I’ll enjoy punishing you when you don’t, and I’ll enjoy rewarding you when you do. I can be a generous Master.”
Logan was almost vibrating with the tension. Scott’s words had gone straight to his cock, his body accepting the proposal before his mind could catch up. “How?” he managed to get out, even as his hands were seeking the bare skin beneath Scott’s robe. “When?”
“After dusk,” Scott answered, his voice steady and calm. “We’ll have to work around the training schedules, classes and missions, but I’m good at time management.”
“Some place off the school grounds. For privacy.”
“And Jean? You gonna tell her about this new arrangement?”
Scott’s frank manner gave Logan pause and he sat back to get a better look at the other man, one hand on the tie of Scott’s robe and about to undo it. “Ya don’t think Jeannie’s gonna be bothered by this?”
“No. Why should she be bothered?” Scott questioned. “What we do won’t change my feelings for her. This isn’t about love. It’s not even about sex really, although I imagine there’ll be quite a bit of that in the future.”
“Not about love, not about sex?” Logan repeated. “What the hell is this about, then?”
“It’s a power play,” Scott stated. “We’re just changing the field of play. Fight or fuck. Isn’t that what you called it? Maybe not in those words, but it’s what you meant.”
Logan stared at Scott. His chiseled features looked even more striking in the moonlight. Once again, Logan found himself drawn to the sunglasses and the eyes that he couldn’t see behind them. It made Scott so difficult to read, and the other man’s almost superhuman control of his emotions meant that his scent always remained clean. Even now, beneath the latent desire Logan could smell, Summers gave nothing away. He was about to say something but a faint noise outside put him on alert.
Scott instantly sensed Logan’s shift in demeanor and Logan could practically see Cyclops switch into combat mode. Seamlessly, the two of them moved as one, Scott sliding off Logan’s lap as Logan unsheathed his claws with a soft ‘snikt.’ Someone was on the deck of the boat. They heard the person stumble in the darkness, followed by a quiet curse. Logan stepped forward as though he meant to shield Scott, an action that Scott found both endearing and unnecessary. More and more, he’d noticed Logan’s protective instincts come to the fore, and he was starting to wonder if there wasn’t something more to it, but there’s no time to dwell on that now. A figure silently entered the main cabin of the yacht and then the light was switched on.
Scott recognized the mystery guest. “Fantomex?” he said, a little disbelievingly.
“Oui, c’est moi,” was the reply. “Désolé,” he added, taking in Logan’s nakedness and Scott’s semi-untied robe. He hardly sounded sorry. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“What are you doing here?” Scott asked.
“What am I doing here?” Fantomex repeated, heading straight for the bedroom. “This is my boat.”
Scott shot Logan an accusing look to which the other man merely shrugged.
“Told you it wasn’t a drug dealer’s getaway,” Logan reminded him.
Scott sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was getting the distinct urge to shoot off a couple of beams, but he settled on a quick breathing exercise instead. Fantomex reappeared from the bedroom. Scott had no idea what he’d gotten in there and his thoughts briefly flicked to the briefcase that they’d left inside. No, the thief wouldn’t . . .
“Carry on,” Fantomex said cavalierly, with a wave of his hand. He was walking back to the yacht’s entrance, pausing and looking back at the two X-Men just as he reached the doorway. “You should know,” he said slowly. “There are bets on you two.”
“Yeah?” Logan said, his interest piqued. “What sort of bets?”
“There are only three options,” Fantomex explained. “That you’ll fuck each other, kill each other or fall in love. Not necessarily in that order,” he added.
“Did you win?” Logan asked.
“Non,” came the sad response. “But Psylocke obviously did. Storm and Angel too.”
“What did you bet on?” Scott asked.
“S’il te plait, Cyclops,” Fantomex admonished him. “I’m a romantic at heart.”
With those parting words, Fantomex disappeared into the night leaving Scott and Logan in a now well-lit cabin. Scott sighed and drank the rest of his brandy, readjusting his robe afterwards. Fantomex had completely ruined the mood of the evening and sleep had suddenly become very appealing to him.
“Hey,” Logan said, grasping Scott’s arm before the other man could walk away from him. “Your proposal.”
Scott arched an eyebrow. “Are you accepting?” he asked, mildly surprised that Logan had brought the subject back up.
“Maybe,” Logan hedged. He hadn’t released Scott’s arm. In fact, he used it to pull the other man closer to him. “I know you think this is just some kind of power play between us. And yeah, it is. And if you were a bettin’ man, you’d probably have bet on option one,” he added. “I know I would’ve.”
“We both would’ve won that bet,” Scott commented.
“Don’t think option two is off the table yet either,” Logan went on.
“Agreed,” Scott said, a half-smile on his face.
“But option three . . .” Logan trailed off, allowing the preposterous idea to settle between them.
Fall in love.
“It ain’t as impossible as it sounds,” Logan eventually said.
Scott’s surprise was palpable. “You can fall in love with someone you don’t like?” he said, hardly believing the words coming out of his mouth.
“I'm sayin’ ya don’t have to like someone to fall in love with them,” Logan countered. “Hey,” he said again, squeezing Scott’s arm as a sign of reassurance. The unflappable team leader actually looked flustered, and Logan inwardly smiled at finally being able to get under Scott’s skin. “You don’t have to say anything to that.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Scott admitted.
“Maybe you can just give me an order.”
Scott’s look was appraising. Logan could see the self-assured mask of Cyclops sliding into place, assessing the situation.
“Turn off the lights,” Scott said, the undertone of command making the heat pool in Logan’s groin again. “Come back to bed.”
Logan did as he was told; locking up the yacht while he was at it, before following Cyclops back to the bedroom. He and Cyclops weren’t on the same page yet, but contrary to popular belief, he could be a patient man. He would wait Scott out because he had all the time in the world. These days, Cyclops was giving orders that he was more than willing to obey.