“Here you go, baby.” You plant a kiss on his cheek and skip back into the kitchen to get your tea, after setting down a plate full of pancakes in front of your boyfriend.
Logan looks at the pancakes with a small smile, then douses them in maple sugar. Between each bite, he takes small sips of his coffee and seems perfectly content to eat and enjoy the meal you prepared for him.
“Why does she only cook for you?” whines Bobby, as he looks at the stake of delicious pancakes that you only make for Logan. “Doesn’t she care how cruel it is that every Saturday you get pancakes and we suffer?”
“I don’t give a damn, kid.” Logan replies, taking another giant bite. “Suffer all you like. These pancakes are mine.”
By the time, you return with your tea and some toast, Logan is finishing off his last bite. “Were they good?” You ask, coming over to sit on his lap as he pushes his plate away and pulls you to sit on him.
“Always,” Logan says. “You make the best pancakes.” He plants an indulgent kiss on your forehead before picking up the newspaper.
Bobby makes a disgusted noise then trudges into the kitchen. If there was one thing he loved, it was pancakes, and if those pancakes happened to belong to a grumpy mutant even better. Stolen pancakes would taste more delicious than any other. All he had to do was steal them… and not die in the process.
“BOBBY DRAKE!” screams Rogue when she sees what he has clutched in his hands. “You’re going to get yourself killed when Logan sees you’ve stolen his pancakes. Not even like lightly maimed, it’s going to be bloody. I fully expect there not to be enough of you left to bury.”
Bobby grins, “You want a bite?”
“Heavens no!” Rogue replies, covering her eyes. “In fact, I’m going to pretend I saw nothing so I don’t become an accomplice to your stupidity.”
“Chicken!” Bobby laughs, then he proceeds to take a giant bite of the pancakes he had worked so hard to steal.
Bobby sets the plate down in front of a fuming Logan. “Here.”
“You want to die, kid?” Logan asks, he’s flexing his hands as if at any moment he’s going to release his claws.
“I wanted to try them!” pleads Bobby. “One bite is all I took, I swear! Besides, how can you stand to eat them? They taste like cardboard.”
This time Logan does release his claws. “You better pray that (y/n) never hears you say that or I’m going to end your life. These are my pancakes. Made for me. By the love of my life. Made with love. They taste like love.” He grabs his fork and takes a giant bite while Bobby cringes.
“Love?” Bobby looks skeptical.
You flounce into the room and beam at the sight of Logan eating your pancakes.
Logan looks at you and then back at Bobby. “Love, kid. God damn love.”