A Little to the Left

Scott stirred slowly from his sleep, coming out gently from a pleasant rest. The first thing he was aware of was a dry feeling in his mouth, then the sensation of skin and hair on his lips as he closed them. He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion, only for his hands to fly to his face in a panic when he realized he didn't have his sleep mask on.

“Shit, where-” he tried to prop himself up on elbows.

“Shh. He's talking about the fake world records.”

“Logan?”

Scott thought he'd probably had fever dreams like this as he tried to overcome the dizziness of trying to sit up so suddenly. Recollection of the situation trickled back to him in pieces.

Right. He was in a bizarre, backwards world where Scott Summers would do something like share a bed with the Wolverine on purpose. He would be lying if he said he wasn't still holding out hope that this was just a particularly handsy roommate arrangement (given that his universe’s Logan certainly had problems keeping his hands to his damn self).

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes slowly. There the man was, finally in proper daylight for him to see. He had clearly aged, but wore it well; he had crows feet and bags under his eyes, and a permanent anger line on his forehead that served to keep him intimidating. That, and the deep scars across one of his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose (which looked like it may have been broken and reset). The thick, well-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard was doing him a lot of favors. His hair was a little shorter than Scott was used to, but it was still stubbornly sticking up as it always had. It occurred to Scott in that moment that if Logan had aged, that meant this world’s Scott had too. And if Logan of all people, who smoked and drank like it would kill him not to, had aged better than him, he was going to be a special kind of mad.

Logan’s eyes flicked over from Scott’s phone, which he was now holding up for his own viewing pleasure, and Scott realized he'd just been staring at him.

“You sleep alright?” He asked, tone as unwaveringly gruff as ever. Like Scott had wandered in from a mission, and was not still actively curled up in his arms.

“Yeah, fine.” He couldn't believe he fell asleep like that. On Logan. He was torn between guiltily confessing to Jean as soon as he saw her and repressing this memory so deeply even she could never find it.

In trying to pull himself into a sitting position, he found that one of his arms had been slung over Logan’s stomach the whole time. He pulled it back nervously with a clear of his throat.

“Did you take the dogs out yet?” Logan asked.

He had no idea if this world’s Scott had done that before he took over his body. “No.” He lied, hoping that would buy him some alone time. Logan grunted in response.

Scott stretched, joints old-man popping uncomfortably as he did. He felt a hair in his mouth and pulled it out.

It was, utterly unmistakably, one of Logan’s chest hairs. He wanted to gag.

“I need to go brush my teeth.” He said urgently and spedwalked to the adjoining bathroom.

Before he could even look for his toothbrush, he was caught by his own reflection in the mirror.

His eyes. Those were his eyes. His eyes. They were dark brown. Stern. Wrinkled at the corners. His.

He couldn't tear himself away. He wanted to burn what they looked like into his memory. The last time he saw his entire face, he had no idea it would be the last. He could see the moisture accumulating in the corners of his eyes before he felt the tears fall. Trying to wipe them away before Logan could notice was the only reason he finally looked away.

Taking a sharp, deep breath, he grabbed the toothpaste and tried to stop thinking about it. About everything. There were two toothbrushes on the side of the sink, and he thankfully didn't even have to guess whose was whose, since one was only moderately used and the other looked like it had been set upon by a wild animal. Scott picked up the regular one and tried to avoid making eye contact with the mirror again for the sake of keeping it together.

Logan lumbered into the bathroom behind him, because god forbid he have a moment to himself. Without a word, Logan turned on the shower and started stripping. Scott heaved a loud, self-pitying sigh. Logan, shirt in hand, cast him an amused look through the mirror.

“Oh no,” he said sarcastically. “Did I ruin your perfect morning?”

“Yes.” He deadpanned.

“Boo hoo. You lost two entire hours of daylight. Think of all the poor sticks that could have been shoved up your ass by now.”

“You know, some people's idea of a day off means being productive.” He said around the toothpaste in his mouth. “Getting something worthwhile done. Not that you would know anything about that.”

“But if I did, what would all the self-respecting Scotts of the world do, without me to bother them?” He smirked, maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror as he pulled his pants off.

Scott had been loathing the thought of trying to talk to this universe's Logan, not knowing what exactly their relationship was. He was expecting he would act like some sort of doting partner and not… you know, Logan. To his surprise, the back-and-forth was coming easily. If it weren’t for the fact that the man in question was completely naked behind him, you could convince him everything was normal.

Well, that wasn't exactly true either. He saw Logan naked plenty, too. The team shared a shower room after missions and training, so they'd showered together countless times. Even if it weren’t for that, the hazard of being indestructible for a living and having destructible clothing meant they all saw him naked from time to time. Seeing Logan without clothes was just something you had to accept as part of the job description; it was beyond helping.

He did his best not to stare, but the myriad of scars covering Logan's arms and torso was a strange sight. There were obvious stab and gunshot wounds that looked many years old. There were also a few larger lines that appeared to be from surgeries, and a few deep imprints marred his skin from where entire chunks of flesh had been lost. Scott knew Logan too well to be surprised by any of it, but the sight of Logan actually retaining the damage he took was… unnerving in a way that Scott wasn't prepared for. He didn't want to think about what it said about the injuries his world’s Logan sustained on a daily basis. Nobody wanted to think about the reality of the harm he underwent for them. It was the only way to put up with him.

Scott slathered on shaving cream while Logan stepped in the shower.

“Wonder if it's time to trim this thing.” The old guy called over the sound of running water.

“I really hope you're talking about your beard.”

“Every time I cut it you start whining at me.”

“It looks good on you.” He said sincerely.

“But I tell you to try growing yours out and you won't even humor me.”

“We don't all have thick hair like you. When I grow my beard out it just looks like I'm going through a depressive episode.”

“Maybe I like that. Gets you off your high horse down to the same level as the rest of us.”

“I'm not taking that from someone who still looks like he's on steroids without even trying.” Scott didn't know that was true, but he could guess. The snort that came from the shower told him he was right.

This was going well. Maybe he could do this after all.

Scott still had a hard time keeping his focus off his own eyes, but he took the time shaving to take in the rest of his appearance. He was, in fact, getting older; he had defined gray streaks in still-messy hair, worry lines, graying stubble. His hairline had started receding just a little bit, probably unnoticeable to anyone who didn't see him every day. He was skinnier, too, with the most of the bulk he’d built up from years of workouts and training having left him. He wasn't going to pretend he wasn't a little jealous of Logan's ability to keep the muscle on, but more than that, he found himself glad that this version of Scott didn't need it.

Logan stepped out of the shower and toweled off behind him. Then, any hope of getting through the day without incident left Scott when Logan walked up behind him put his arms around his waist. He pressed his whole body into his back. His still damp, completely bare body. He buried his nose in Scott’s hair and inhaled deeply.

“You're still wet.” Scott complained, using all his willpower not to push him off.

“You're gonna change anyway.” he murmured into the side of his head.

Scott watched him in the mirror as one hand crept up to grip his chest and the other wrapped tighter around his waist. Hot breath tickled his ear as a gentle, feather-light kiss was planted on the sensitive skin behind it.

Right where he liked it.

Scott prayed silently that Logan couldn't feel his heart pounding out of chest. All his focus went into controlling his breathing. He became overwhelmingly aware of the heat radiating off of Logan behind him as another, firmer kiss was pressed into his neck. Even as he watched the events unfold in the mirror he couldn't make himself believe it.

The kisses trailed down the side of his neck, each one wetter and more forceful than the last. Scott's stomach churned at the sensation and a tingling heat spread through his gut, his body reacting on its own to the stimulation. He begged it not to, but there was little he could do when Logan was kissing harder and his fingers were digging into his skin as his grip intensified. He was hugging their bodies together now, and Scott could feel the rise and fall of his lungs against his back as his breathing sped up. Scott wasn't stupid, he knew what was happening. He just didn't know what to do about it. Forgive him, it wasn't in the job description.

There was a quiet moan. Teeth brushed against skin and he finally jolted.

“Brush your teeth.” He said quickly to cover for himself, and tried to make his own body calm down. He felt betrayed by how excited it had become. It's instinctual, He told himself. Just physicality. Biology. It would happen to anybody.

Logan grunted in complaint into his neck.

“Brush your teeth!” He insisted, now moreso mad at the principle of it.

Logan reached past him to grab the other toothbrush and Scott tried so, so hard not to think about the feeling of the hard mass pressed against his behind that could only be one thing.

Scott leaned forward and rinsed his face while Logan ferociously scrubbed his teeth behind him, and Scott got an idea of how his toothbrush ended up like that. Logan did not wait for Scott to move before leaning around him to spit in the sink.

“That was not long enough.”

“What are you, my dentist?”

“Those teeth aren't growing back, Logan. Try to keep them.” He turned around to walk away, which did unfortunately leave him face to face with Logan. Naked Logan. That was still happening.

Despite all his better judgement, Scott's eyes drifted down. Logan was wearing his dog tags, and alongside them on the chain was a golden band. He looked no further than that.

Logan was staring at Scott, who was now pinned helplessly between him and the sink. He couldn't quite place the expression in his eyes, but it was intense, and a little familiar. Like he was lost in thought searching Scott for something, for some kind of answer. He wasn't sure what Logan wanted from him.

A hand caressed Scott’s hip and Logan finally stepped away. Scott unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let's go walk the dogs.” said Logan.

-

While Logan got dressed in the bedroom, Scott changed in the bathroom and hoped it didn't come off as too weird, then waited downstairs. When Logan came down shortly after, the dogs and cat greeted him with such enthusiasm that Scott would have guessed they hadn't seen him in days. Animals always gravitated to Logan, he supposed. He sometimes wondered if it wasn't some secret fourth superpower he was hiding or something. Scott was fully ready to let him take the dogs out on his own, but when Logan passed him one of the leashes, he couldn't think of a good enough excuse to get out of it that Logan wouldn't immediately counter.

Their neighborhood was nice, with small houses, decent-sized yards, and plenty of trees. Scott could see why he (who preferred the city) and Logan (who would rather be out in the wilderness at any given point) would be able to compromise on it. Scott held the leash of the big dog who was with him when he woke up earlier, apparently named Daffodil, while Logan reigned in the two other significantly more energetic hounds, Thistle and Thorn. They were constantly playfighting each other and stopping to bark at every bird, squirrel, and stick they passed, while Daffodil sat patiently and looked between the two humans for direction. Scott could guess the calm girl was his favorite in this world. He also wondered if he had to fight Logan not to adopt an entire pack of shelter dogs.

Scott was anxious at the thought of an extended interaction given all the things he didn't know about this world, but to his relief, conversation flowed easily. It didn't feel all that different from having to spend time with his world’s Logan, whenever they weren't actively at each other’s throats. Which was less frequent as the years of knowing each other went on, but still a semi-regular occurrence. It was an idle chat about chores and plans for the week; apparently Ororo was going to be in town in a few days, and they were planning a visit. He spent a lot of the walk glancing anxiously at his phone to refresh the news, seeing if there was any word on the mutant escapee acting up. As expected, there wasn't anything yet, but Scott wasn't about to let his guard down.

They passed through the backyard before heading inside, and Logan stopped to let the dogs out of their harnesses to run around the part of the yard that wasn't overtaken by vegetables.

“Grab some green onions.” Logan told him.

Scott stood in place with his hands on his hips, and Logan shot him a disparaging glance and sighed. “Please grab some green onions. Jerk.”

While Scott located the onions and grabbed a handful, Logan threw some chicken feed on the ground from a giant bag and opened the coop. He bent down inside of it and emerged with a few brown eggs.

“You want omelets? We gotta stop letting these sit around. They're better fresh.”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

And while the chickens bawked outside, the dogs crowded his legs at the table, and Logan whisked eggs by the stove, Scott understood why he would enjoy this life, even if didn't understand how or why he chose it. It's the kind of simple, domestic day-to-day he'd always dreamed of but didn't think he could have. It didn't look exactly like he thought it would, mainly because of the angry hairy guy who usually hated his guts lovingly making him brunch, but it was nice.

Of course, he would have rathered it was Jean. The question had been gnawing at him quietly behind the confusion. Where was she, in this world? He saw her in the family photos. Nathan was born in this universe. Did they break up? Was she dead? Things with Logan had started to feel so normal so quickly that Scott almost considered the possibility that she was out of town and Logan was just crashing with them. And yes, that was only because he was already trying to block out the memory of getting groped earlier this morning.

Eggs hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle and Scott refreshed the news again.

“You're worried about something.” Logan broke the silence. It wasn't a question, just a matter-of-fact observation.

“You can tell?”

“You sound like an idiot when you say shit like that.”

Scott clicked his phone off and set it down. He'd always kind of assumed that Logan was able to read him like a book because of his enhanced senses, but maybe it was time to accept that he did just have a beat on him. There was no point in lying about it, Logan would know.

“I'll tell you about it later.” He was just waiting until the X-Men showed up to explain things, so that was technically true. It didn't stop him from feeling a little guilty, though.

Logan grunted and Scott assumed that meant he accepted the answer, surprisingly. He had expected him to fight him on it like he did literally everything else, but he was trusting him to follow through on his word.

The X-Men had agreed as a soft rule not to expose the fact that they had come from another universe until they were all together, both as a safety measure and a logistical one. It was a lot more difficult to get anything done when everyone around you was worried you were having a psychotic episode, for obvious reasons.

But a strange feeling settled in Scott’s chest. A sense of certainty. He knew Logan like the inside of his damn visor and Logan knew him like the outside of it. With no proof other than this gut, he was sure, positive, that if he told Logan the truth, he would believe him. Not because he trusted Logan, but because he knew him.

It could take as long as 24 hours for their tech to sync up and send the X-Men to the right place, so he had no idea when they would show up. Scott made the decision that if they weren't back by tonight, he would say something about it to Logan. He felt like he owed him that much.

A plate carrying a frankly gorgeous omelet slid into view on the table. He looked up at Logan, who was staring down at him softly. He wasn't the smiliest guy in the world by a long shot, so when he did shoot somebody a genuine grin, it had a way of making people feel special. Not Scott, of course. But other people.

The older man scooted a chair out and joined Scott at the thick old table. He took bites of food like he did in every universe; as if it killed his entire family. That said, he'd seen a Wolverine variant who took bites out of people as his main fighting technique, so overall he was glad to be stuck with this one. And really, Scott supposed, most of the issues he had with this one weren't actually his fault. This Logan had no idea that the guy he normally did this with was currently in a deep coma of his own subconscious while a version of him from another reality piloted his body.

The thought of cutting him some slack left him as soon as he took a bite. It was good. Really good. It made him the kind of mad that you can only get when someone you usually hate does something you have to admit you appreciate. Was cooking a skill unique to this universe, or should they have been forcing Logan to actually chip in with dinner this whole time? Unlike him, Scott took his time with his food, and moved to wash the dishes before he was stopped by an arm grab.

“What?”

Logan stood up and grabbed the plate from him. “Go sit down.”

“Why?” Scott could never understand how quickly he switched the flip between relaxing and being pissed off about something. It was a talent, he supposed.

“You look exhausted. Go fuckin’... read a book or something. I don't care.” Logan growled the words at him. The discrepancy between his intent and demeanor gave Scott whiplash.

“‘Wow Scotty, you look tired. Go get some rest, I'll take care of the dishes.’” Scott mocked in a purposefully happy tone.

“That's what I said.” he shot back with a serious frown.

Scott scoffed. “I'm fine. I know you don't think I can ‘handle’ myself without help-” the words came out way more testy than he meant. He could tell immediately he was playing with fire.

Logan dropped the fork he was washing in the sink with a clatter. “I'll believe you can take care of yourself when you prove it.” He snapped, turning to confront him.

Scott rolled his eyes, a motion he made with his whole head out of habit. “I can't 'prove’ anything if you decide I'm not capable of doing anything before you even get out of bed in the morning.” He gesticulated his hands incredulously. “I don't have to prove anything to you in the first place!”

Logan looked taken aback by that, brow furrowing even deeper. Scott braced himself for his next argument, but a few seconds passed in silence, Logan’s narrowed eyes searching his face with ferocity. “You wanna take care of yourself, take care of yourself.” He finally spat as he stormed out the back door and shut it behind him forcefully. The commotion sent the dogs barking. Scott sighed in dismissal and tried to soothe them until they calmed down.

He checked his phone again and ran some searches. Still no news on the mutant. Scott felt antsy and restless with no progress to make; every minute he spent lazing around this house was another minute he could be getting closer to their goal of finding a sacrifice. But with no powers and no allies, he was stuck here wasting his time, waiting for his friends to show up like a little kid home alone. To add to his grievances, he was letting Logan be right. This one and the one back home, as well everyone else on the team who held their doubts silently. Scott was a leader; on his own, he was useless. He couldn't run off and save the day all alone. He wasn't Logan.

He wanted to throw something, but he held himself back so he didn't scare the dogs again. They were still walking around him in circles trying to find out what was wrong. He settled for rubbing his hands down his face with a groan and slinking into the living room.

He tried to work off some of his nervous energy by pacing the room. The cat whose name he still hadn't learned watched from the back of a chair with pricked ears and tail flicking in agitation. Scott tried to force himself to focus on reading more about the event that had taken away mutant abilities thirteen years ago in between refreshing the news, but beyond theorizing, it seemed like if anyone knew what really took place they weren't talking about it. There was nothing about if anyone managed to retain their gifts, mutant or otherwise. Scott figured there had to be someone that was flying under the radar, but without anyone with the ability to find them, it was just another dead end.

When Scott first started leading a team, he used to think that if you didn't have a plan, you didn't have anything. He'd grown as a leader since then, though. He understood now that being able to handle yourself in life-or-death situations meant being able to improvise at a moment’s notice. The problem with that, of course, was that by the very nature of the skill, you can't do anything to prepare beforehand. You just have to trust yourself to know what to do when the time comes, and Scott definitely had some trust issues.

The thought of calling up any other X-Man, Avenger, or other connection in high places this universe's Scott might have crossed his mind a few times, but it always circled back around the glaring problem of not being able to explain how he knew there was a dangerous superpowered person in a world with no superpowers without addressing the elephant in the room. Gambit had tried something like that in another universe once and they held an intervention for him.

Scott finally threw his phone onto the couch in defeat. An hour or two had passed, and Logan was still off drinking, or smoking, or getting in a bar fight, or sleeping with someone's wife, or whatever the hell else it was that Wolverines got up to when they were mad at him. They'd probably get in another fight about it if he got back before the X-Men did.

He wandered over to a bookshelf and tried to pick out something to read, hoping that he could quell his stomach-twisting anxiety by distracting himself. He was aware that meant he was doing exactly what Logan told him in the end, but he didn't have to know that.

Now that Scott was looking again, the collection of seemingly unrelated miscellany on the shelf did make a lot more sense now that he knew they were Logan’s; there was a dusty old cowboy hat, a worn leather sheath with no blade, a framed black-and-white photo of people he didn’t recognize that looked like it survived the first World War, and a rusty harmonica that Scott hoped to god he'd never have to hear. Admittedly, he thought it was just clutter when he'd first glanced at it all, but if they belonged to Logan then each one probably had deep sentimental value.

Scott finally settled on a history book about 70's global politics and reclined on the couch. He didn't learn a single thing, but the process of scanning over the words was somewhat meditative.

He was startled out of it by the sound of barking in the other room, followed by the opening and shutting of the door.

That was fast, Scott thought. Usually he takes a lot longer to sulk.

Logan wordlessly shuffled into the room and stared at him. Scott didn't bother looking up from the book.

“Back already?” he teased.

Logan moved to the chair across from him and plopped down heavily. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and folding his hands together. A few seconds of pointed silence stretched on. Scott cast him a curious glance and was met with an intense stare that he held for a moment before setting the book down.

“What?”

Logan said nothing. He looked down at his hands, then the wall, then the other wall, then his hands again, then Scott. He sighed deeply, begrudging, as if he had been blackmailed into being there. It was a bit like when he was forced to sit in as a substitute for class.

“You-…” he looked away awkwardly at the ceiling. “I know you're… upset about something.” It was like he was forcing the words out at gunpoint.

“I'm- I'm trying to do something about it. I know you're not stupid, but-” he was building up steam now, eyes back on Scott with a restrained force behind them. “if something's wrong, and you're going to take it out on me, fine. But at least tell what it's about. You always get on my ass for that shit. I can't- I can't do anything about it if you don't. I don't like not being able to do something about it. You know that.”

Scott sat in stunned silence, probably gaping. Did Logan. The Wolverine. Just leave to cool down after an argument, come back, and try to communicate his feelings? Charles Xavier was weeping and raising his hands to the heavens in joy.

When Scott didn't say anything Logan's scowl deepened and some of the confidence seemed to leave him.

“You mad at me, Summers?” His words were blasé but the intensity in face was faltering, hesitance creeping in his voice. “Did I do somethin’?”

The guilt hit Scott like a truck as all the humor left him. He had let himself be coaxed into normalcy by their back-and-forth so quickly that he forgot the most basic fact: this was not the Logan he knew. This was a stranger in another universe who had been nothing but decent to him, and Scott had reciprocated by projecting all his problems onto him. He deflated.

“... No, it's not you, Logan.” he was surprised at the softness in his own voice. Logan’s shoulders slouched slightly at the response. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then what? You were fine last night. Did something happen?” he parted his crossed hands in a questioning gesture.

“Sort of, I…” it was Scott’s turn to sigh deeply. He reasoned with himself internally. His wheels were spinning with no leads and Logan might have information that could help him. But if he was wrong about this Logan already, was he wrong in thinking that he would believe Scott’s story?

Ultimately, it was his own conscience that weighed him down. He owed Logan an explanation. He doubled down on his resolution to tell him tonight if the X-Men were still AWOL.

Logan scanned him carefully while Scott took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Can I tell you after dinner? I need a little time.”

He looked Scott up and down, paused, and nodded silently. Neither of them said anything for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. There was a vulnerability in the awkwardness that Logan was holding in his hunched shoulders, staring down at his hands again. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen his Logan like this in all the time he'd known him.

His world’s Logan. Not “his” Logan.

“Thanks for talking to me.” the words left Scott’s mouth before he knew what he was saying. The tension left Logan’s frame and his expression softened. Someone would think that having a single healthy discussion had physically pained him.

Logan stood up and wandered over. “You want to just order something in?” he was still a little quiet, but otherwise light and relaxed again, like nothing happened. Scott joined him in standing, thinking of the takeout menus he'd seen in the kitchen.

“Sure. What were you thinking?”

He shrugged. “You can pick.”

“Are you sure? You definitely have the leverage to choose right now.” Scott quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Then we’re doing the burger joint you hate.”

“That’s petty.” Obviously, he didn't know the place and thus did not care, but he was glad to be done trying to have an emotional conversation with someone he technically didn’t know, and be back in the comfortable realm of harmless bickering.

“Oh no.” Logan crooned mockingly and got up in Scott’s face, not entirely dissimilar to how his world’s Logan had confronted him before he left. Scott couldn't help cracking a smile. “Scott Summers is annoyed. Call the fuckin’ press.”

“Well, you're never really satisfied until I am, anyway.” Scott didn't step away this time either, holding resolute against Logan invading his space in playful intimidation.

“Fine, you can order, if you want to be a control freak.” he leaned in and raised his eyebrows, smug expression on his face that Scott wished he could smack off. “Happy?”

“No.” He scoffed, tensing his muscles reflexively at the predatory spark that was growing in Logan's eyes.

“No,” Logan mumbled, not needing to speak up. He was so close that Scott could feel his breath. “No, you never are.”

Lips pressed against Scott's closed mouth with a gentle certainty. There was rough mustache hair pressing against his face, but that thought occupied such a small place in his mind next to the shock he was experiencing. He wasn't an idiot, he had seen it coming, but some part of him had still held desperately held to the belief that it was all just another ploy from Logan to get a rise out of him.

He knew he should pull away, but there was some kind of disconnect between reason and action that probably had something to do with the fact that Logan was pressing harder and the burgeoning realization that hands had been on his hips this whole time. He thought it was over when Logan pulled back, but he just wet his dry lips with his tongue and came back, opening his mouth against Scott's. And Scott just let him. Whatever gears needed to turn, whatever circuits needed to connect to tell him to stop, just weren't working in that moment.

He thought Logan would kiss like a wild animal, taking what he wanted without relenting. Not that he'd thought about it, of course. But Logan was known to get around, so it’s not like the curiosity would be completely out of place. But he wasn’t curious, and he hadn't thought about it. However, if you were to ask him, hypothetically, to guess what kind of kisser Logan was, it wouldn't be this. This was… patient. This was calm and controlled. Gentlemanly, even. He went further only when Scott let him. And for some reason, Scott let him. And then Scott was kissing back. And his arms were around Logan's burly torso, his pulse in his throat, their midsections flush with each other. One of Logan’s hands had moved to his lower back, pulling him close. Scott kind of understood what Logan’s partners saw, if only for a moment. It was secure there, in the arms of someone who would fight a god with their bare hands for you if you asked them to. Which Scott knew he would, because he had.

The scratch of beard hair on his chin snapped Scott back to reality and he jerked his face away. Logan’s mouth was still hovering near his. Scott tried to get his breathing under control and moved his hands up to Logan’s shoulders to gently push him away. He could see that his eyes were still closed right up until he was forced to back off.

Scott hadn't realized he was expecting a certain look of affection and softness that anyone would expect after parting from a kiss until Logan opened his eyes, because that's not what he got. His gaze was piercing, knowing, intense. It was exactly the way Logan always looked at him, and that's what startled and confused him the most.

A small, tender smile spread across Logan’s face while Scott looked him up and down openly. Logan planted one more quick kiss on his lips and walked off to the kitchen, hands and cocky gaze lingering until he finally had to turn around.

Scott collapsed listlessly onto the couch and cursed himself in silence.