Reduce Heat, Cover...
The team had come rushing out when they heard yelling, assuming that Logan had been caught by their runaway mutant foe. What no one had expected to see was both Logans, at each other’s throats.
The older Logan was fending himself off surprisingly well, making purely evasive maneuvers against the younger Logan’s wild swings. The latter of the two was hunched low, almost to a crouch, brimming with unbridled rage. If the amount of blood covering the both of them wasn't enough to know things had gone south, all Scott needed was the way the younger Logan was moving.
When Logan and Scott fought to blow off steam, he was always tempered in his movements, fine with causing some pain when he had a point to make but never going further. The man in front of him was sloppy, out of control, completely consumed by bloodlust. He was missing hits that Logan never would have missed in his right mind.
Taking out the Wolverine was a team effort. For the first time, Scott mourned the loss of his optic blasts to push the man back. Instead, he had to command Ororo to knock him back from a distance. With a concentrated tunnel of wind, she caught him off balance and sent him flying back into a tree. As soon as he was down, Jean and Scott rushed to the older Logan's side to put pressure on the bleeding.
Bobby tried to freeze the young Logan’s limbs in place, but that ended up only serving as a temporary measure as he used his sheer brute strength to erupt from the ice like Juggernaut through a wall. Kurt was fast, grabbing Kitty and teleporting behind him so she could get his hands on his back, able to phase him into the ground up to his waist before he could reach around to her. With Logan's range now limited, Peter could get behind him and out of claw contact zone to yank his arms back at an awkward angle so he didn't have the leverage to break free again from Bobby's next round of ice.
Now mostly immobile, Logan was reduced to thrashing and straining as hard as he could. He was bent as far forward as he would go, as if trapped mid-lunge. His shirt was ripped in multiple places and hung off him in strips, and blood coated the entire front of his sweaty body from the mouth down. All anyone could find it in themselves to do at that moment was stand and stare at him, at a brief loss for words.
Scott’s attention was torn between him and the older Logan, who was slumped against a tree trunk for support, with the back of his hand held to his bleeding nose and a dripping hunting knife in the other. With the imminent threat gone, anger spiked through Scott’s chest.
“Logan, what the hell do you think you're doing?!” he yelled, stomping towards the younger, wild Logan. “This is too far! Were you trying to kill him?! " he threw his finger behind himself to point at the other Logan.
But the young Logan wouldn’t look at him, or anything else. Or, perhaps he couldn't. He moved his head in wide motions to scan around, but his eyes, unfocused, didn't land on anything in particular. While everyone tried to make sense of the situation, there was no sound except the wild, crazed yells and snarls of their trapped friend as he fought to break free. Scott’s chest squeezed.
“Logan! ” he bellowed, desperate for a response and crossing the line from anger into denial.
“Scott.” Ororo approached him from behind and put her hands on his shoulders, holding him back. “Look at him. He cannot answer you.”
He knew she was right, but he didn't want to believe it. It was a long time since Logan had broken down this hard. Not only did Scott not want to see him like this, but he wasn't ready to believe that he'd gone this feral over something so petty.
Keeping her firm but gentle hands on him, Ororo guided him back with some resistance.
Kurt was the first to try to reason with his friend.
“Logan,” he said over the primal sounds the man was making, but with a voice that was miraculously calm. He squat in front of the man to be closer to eye level. “Logan, calm down, Mein Freund. You are safe. You are with family.”
His words had no effect.
Scott turned back to the old Logan while more people tried calming his younger counterpart down, breaking free of Ororo’s grasp in the process. The older Logan was catching his breath and bleeding quite a bit, but didn't seem like he was about to collapse. Jean was pressing the flannel she’d been wearing into a gash on his side. Scott joined her, holding his hand against a different three-pronged cut on his arm. The man only glanced over at him before returning his gaze to the scene ahead.
“Hell of a lot of work just to get to see Jeannie in a skimpy top, huh?” he joked.
“Logan.” she chastised out of obligation, clearly holding no actual grudge against his words. Scott knew he was only flirting to get her to worry less in the first place.
“I'm fine.” Logan said with more gravity, residual anger seeping through. The stream of blood impeded his words. “Jus’ need a couple a’ stitches. Nose might be broken, but nothin’ ‘sides that.” A grim chuckle forced its way out through. “I know I'm gettin’ older, but I'm not that sloppy yet.”
Scott huffed. “What happened? Why did he attack you?”
Logan shook some of the blood off his hand and returned it to his face, still refusing to look at Scott.
“I started it.” he said, like it was no big deal.
“What? ” Jean and Scott said in unison.
Logan had no further response.
Scott checked in behind him at the younger Logan. He wasn't belting out like he was before, but he continued to jerk around erratically in a useless attempt to escape, crying out between his snarls and growls. Logan should know he couldn’t pull himself free of Kitty's phasing, so the fact that he was still trying disturbed Scott. Logan either didn’t remember, or had so little awareness of his surroundings that he didn't understand that's what had happened. Neither option was good.
“Jean, I need you to see if you can calm him psychically.” he said in a measured tone, trying not to sound as upset as he felt. “Peter, take the other Logan back inside.”
Jean nodded, and Ororo jogged over to take her place in putting pressure on the wounds while Peter used his size to support him.
Scott stood with the others who were surrounding the restrained Logan. The man’s furious eyes darted around as he swung his head at the direction of every small sound, baring his teeth at anything that moved. The energy that possessed him had transitioned from an unhinged rage to something more akin to a cornered animal, lashing out in helpless terror.
Jean knelt in front of him at a safe distance and closed her eyes. After a few seconds, Logan stopped squirming, and it seemed like it might be working. Then, there was a new round of violent movement and Logan shook his head like a dog fighting a muzzle.
“No! No, it's okay, settle down.” Jean snapped out of it at the same time as him, either expelled from his mind or retracting at his reaction. Even in this state, his defenses against psychics were strong. She began reaching her hand out to comfort him, but he jolted forward quick as lightning to bite at it. Startled, she jumped backward onto her feet, where Rogue caught her.
“I almost had him.” Jean fretted. “Being restrained is making it worse, but he'll attack us if we let him go. I want to help him, I want-” her words sped up as the anxiety worked her up.
“You did the best you could.” Rogue reassured her. “He's too far gone.”
“He's usually chilled out by now.” Bobby observed, and he was right. Logan had gotten good at recovering when he flew off the handle, much better than when he first joined up. Most of the time he could snap himself back out of it as soon as he pulled away from the fight, and/or had a friend with him to talk him back to normal.
The only exceptions would be a) when he underwent serious pain and bodily harm that even he couldn't handle, or b) severe emotional distress, such as trauma flashbacks.
“You said being restrained is making it worse?” asked Scott. “Is it… taking him back?” he said, unsure of how to ask whether or not it was one of his PTSD-but-we-don't-call-it-that-because-he's-touchy things.
Jean nodded, but didn't elaborate. Scott put his hands on his hips and craned his head back. It was hard to think about how to tackle the problem, when the problem in question was growling and writhing in anger and fear at his feet. Kitty was kneeling to be on his level, speaking to him slowly, repeating his name frequently while Bobby was standing at the ready to freeze him again if he needed.
“If that is the case,” Kurt said, suddenly resolute. “then the solution is simple.”
Before anyone could stop him, Kurt teleported behind Logan and used his impressive speed to shatter the ice holding back each of Logan's hands with two swift kicks. They barely had time to shout at him to stop, because as soon as Logan's arms were loose, Kurt popped himself in front of the half-buried man to wrap his arms around his neck in a tight hug.
Every one of them took a battle position, ready to step into action, but the moment they were looking for never came. Confused, Logan held his arms out, having paused mid-motion to grab at the sudden intrusion. His face was frozen, the tiniest hint of recognition in his eyes. He sniffed through his hyperventilation, and something more human flickered subtly across his expression. His raised arms faltered, and started drifting slowly downward.
“We're here, Logan.” Kurt said, sounding for all the world like nothing was wrong. Whether that was for his own benefit or Logan's was not obvious.
Unable to contain themselves any longer, Rogue and Kitty rushed onto their knees in front of Logan, whose face was going blank, all semblance of anger leaving him something empty as a mannequin. His eyes went wide, glazed over.
Kurt retracted himself and crawled back a foot or so to give him space, then immediately regretted it when Logan fell forward onto his face. If not for his open, glassy eyes and the final low growl, Scott would think he was passed out.
“I think he's out of it.” Scott said to Jean, but not daring to look away yet. “You should go see if they need help stitching up the other Logan, and let us know how he's doing.” Scott wanted to have his bases covered, and Jean could communicate with him across the distance. Reluctantly, she tore herself away.
“Should I lift him up?” Kitty asked, looking back at him with an earnest sadness that made his heart hurt.
“Wait until he wakes up. We need to be sure. I haven't seen him this bad since…” he lifted up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose while his brain came up empty for answers. He sighed. “Since I don't know when.”
“I can freeze him again. Just in case.” Bobby offered, staying at the ready with his palms outstretched.
“Don't you dare.” Rogue threatened from where she was crouched. “You’ll set him right back.”
Their attention was pulled back as Logan took a sharp inhale like he was waking up from a sleep, blinking and stirring.
“Logan!” Kitty exclaimed.
“You scared us silly, you old coot.” said Rogue, squeezing his head close like she was trying to crush him.
Logan rose slowly and blearily. His friends embraced him, Kitty pulled him out of the ground. The fact that that they had to jog his memory was deeply unsettling to all of them, but it didn't compare in the slightest to the shock on Logan's own face. Kitty asked him what happened; why he lost control so badly, but didn't answer.
Scott fought to keep his tone steady over his concern. It wasn't full on memory loss, but lost time of any kind was never a good thing, most certainly not with Logan. And the whole time he talked, he looked… scared. It didn't register with Scott at first, why would it? Logan wasn't scared. That wasn't what he did. It was like they caught him before he had the chance to realize it himself.
Scott had maintained his doubts about the other Logan’s assertion that he started it, but the nervous horror in this one's voice was unmistakable when he asked if he'd hurt him. He sounded breathy and weak.
Scott wanted to be mad. He was so ready to be mad, he had been preparing a whole rant about it. How could he shout at Logan now, like this? On his knees, hollow and shaking, pleading that he didn't hurt anyone he didn't mean to? Any argument to be had could wait.
Logan stumbled getting to his feet, needing help from Rogue and Kitty, one arm over each of the women's shoulders. Scott turned and led the way back, feeling like he was invading on something just by seeing him struggle like this.
After some unsteady steps, Logan was back walking on his own, dead silent. Scott sneaked a glance back at him, seeing a disheveled man weighed down by regret. He decided to keep his eyes forward.
On the way, he felt a brush against his mind, like a light sheet being tossed over him.
Our Logan is okay. said Jean telepathically. He’s beat up, though. The biggest problem is pain, but he's handling it just fine, as usual.
Scott let his relief seep across the mental line.
We’re on the way back with ours. He’s… Scott stopped himself from thinking “he’s fine”. I have no idea, but he's walking and talking again. And more importantly, not trying to kill anyone.
Scott reached the door first. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned back to face Logan, whose attention was on the ground.
“Let me tell the other Logan to go upstairs first, okay?” Scott could hear the contained frustration in his own voice.
“I’ll stay out here.” Logan replied, sounding angry himself.
“Don't be ridiculous.” said Kitty. “You can't stay out here all night.”
But Scott knew that's exactly what he intended to do even before he wearily waved a two finger salute and wandered off behind the house.
“Logan!” Scott called to his back. He didn't turn around. Rogue tutted.
“Leave him.” said Bobby. “You know you can't do anything when he gets like this.”
Scott threw his head back in exasperation. “Whatever happened to not splitting up?”
“Same thing that always happens when we tell him not to split up?” said Kitty, hand on her hip.
“He'll sense danger before us, anyway. You know he's not going to go far and leave us vulnerable like that.” Bobby slapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, he needs to come get food eventually.”
“Alright.” Scott resigned. He leaned his head around the corner Logan had vanished behind. “Stay close to the house, Logan!” He shouted after him, then turned to Kurt.
“Will you stay with him in case you need to make a quick exit?”
“You don't need to ask.” he said with a whip of his tail, then was gone.
Inside, Peter was reading a book on the couch, where he informed everyone else that Jean and Ororo were already upstairs finishing up with the older Logan. Scott headed up and followed the murmur of voices to his bedroom.
Logan was sitting on his bed talking to Ororo, who was across from him on Scott's bed. Jean was beside him with an open metal trunk with some pretty expansive first aid equipment. Scott could only guess whether that was at the cabin out of an abundance of caution stemming from the X-Men's past experiences, or there had been some equally-likely incident on a vacation that had warranted the emergency supplies. She was wiping away at fresh stitches on Logan's shoulder with an extra round of disinfectant.
Logan himself was shirtless and holding an icepack to his swelling face. His nose, cheekbone, and accompanying brow were the worst off, already ballooning and turning a dark purple. There was dried blood all over his face and arms, and several more stretches of stitches covered his torso, some in the characteristic three-clawed pattern. His pants were cut open evenly in a couple places by scissors to access the wounds beneath, but none of those looked bad enough to keep him from moving around.
All things considered, he wasn't doing too bad, given the grisly state Logan tended to leave people in when claws were involved. To say Scott was impressed would be an understatement. As Logan had said earlier, despite some cuts and nasty bruises, he didn't seem to be dangerously injured.
Scott couldn't read him clearly past the icepack and inflated features. He was slouched, listening to the women talk and letting himself be tended to. He didn't acknowledge Scott when he entered past a brief once-over.
“How's it going in here?” Scott asked as he walked inside.
“We’re convincing Logan to let us clean the blood off of him.” replied Ororo as she traded Jean sutures for her discarded disinfectant swab.
“I can do it myself.” He said, a glimmer of humor behind the tiredness in the eye that wasn't covered by ice. “I'm all grown up, believe it or not.”
“He needs to sit still so we can finish his stitches.”
Ororo threw Scott a look, and he fetched a large bowl of warm water from downstairs and a small towel. Ororo was dutifully helping hand supplies off to Jean, compensating for the lack of table to work off of, so Scott set the bowl on the nightstand where could reach and sat on Logan’s other side.
Scott had to pry the man’s hand away from his face and take the icepack to get at his arm, to a quiet protesting noise. Underneath, his eye wasn’t looking great, puffed up and turning red in the sclera and black in the socket, but it hadn't swollen completely shut. The skin was split on his cheekbone and held shut with a piece of medical tape.
Gingerly taking Logan's calloused and bruised hand in his own, he set to his task of gently scrubbing the blood off his arm. The towel quickly became saturated enough to have to wring out and re-soak. Logan watched each of his movements carefully, but didn’t resist.
When Scott pressed the warm towel back to his skin he lightly flinched, making Scott recoil. He opened his mouth to apologize when he saw it was Jean on the other side pulling stitches through.
“Jesus, do we not have any anesthetic?” Scott asked.
“He refuses to take it.” Ororo said with disapproval.
“Don't need it.” he grunted. “Save it for someone who does.”
While Logan was looking away, Ororo wordlessly held up a syringe between her fingers, and Scott understood. Logan's trauma-induced aversion to needles extended to this universe as well.
Scott was cautious wiping the blood away, not wanting to push down on any unseen sore spots. He had to dodge some stitches at the bicep, jolting his hand away at every small movement. Logically, Scott knew that this was Logan and Logan had taken a million times worse. Physically, he was touching around another person's fresh wounds.
“All done.” Jean announced from his other side.
“You've gotten better at those.” Logan commented.
“I'm still no Hank.” she pat him on the thigh and helped Ororo get cleaned up.
Logan smiled, a delicate expression. “Would have liked to see him. I miss the blue.”
“I'm guessing he doesn't.” said Scott.
“You'd be surprised.”
Scott took Jean's place on his other side to keep cleaning him off, Ororo replacing his bowl with clean water.
“Seriously, Scotty, I can do it…” Logan tried to tell him, eyes following the cloth being swept up and down his arm.
“Don't let him talk you out of it.” Jean reaffirmed to him. “He needs to stay put.”
Logan grumbled something under his breath as the women left. Scott shot him daggers and reached to his back, which wasn't too bad off in terms of mess. Logan sighed at the touch and leaned his forearms forward onto his knees to make it easier.
“You said you started it.” Scott said, purposefully even in his tone.
Logan's face became affixed with something distant, something tired. He took his sweet time answering.
“I said shit I knew would piss him off on purpose. And I threw the first punch. Think whatever you want about how he reacted, but I knew what I was doing.”
Scott wrapped the towel around his finger to get between the three long clawmarks across his back.
“Why?” This was like Logan, sure. But not this Logan.
Logan thought that over for another second, leaving only the sound of the dirty water being wrung out from the towel as Scott made his way lower.
“‘Cause I don't like him.” he said with severity. A thoroughly underwhelming answer.
“He could have killed you.” said Scott.
“I pushed him too far.” Water ran down Logan's spine as Scott worked into the groove of a pre-existing scar. “If there's anyone who should have known when to stop, it's me.”
“You need to stop blaming yourself for the things he did.” he couldn't keep the frustration from creeping in that time. Scott scrubbed at the sweat and blood crusting up the hair on his lower back, wiping across the uneven rows of self-inflicted scars across his hips. They were down by the jeans, where people wouldn't see them.
“Someone's got to be accountable.” Logan rumbled. “Like I said, I knew what I was getting into. Worse n’ that,” his voice turned aggravated, “he was doing his damndest staying outta my way to avoid a fight. I had to go chasing after him, and when I saw he was losing control, I kept pushing.”
Logan shook his head to himself. “I went lookin’ for a fight, and I got it. No one to blame but myself.”
Scott stood up and left for the bathroom, taking the bowl with him and running Logan's words over in his mind. Of course, he was biased towards this version of Logan, but he couldn't deny his story either. He knew the younger Logan too well, seen for himself that the man had been bottling his feelings up and keeping away. Scott couldn't remember the last time he spiraled out of control like that; he always tried his best to keep that part of him either suppressed inside, or away from the team and civilians.
Scott was torn. Ultimately, he wasn't there to see what happened for himself. Maybe that was his crime.
He changed the water out again and picked one of the full-sized towels and two new clean smaller ones. Returning to the bedroom, he set the bowl down and stepped around behind Logan to spread the bigger towel out on the bed.
“Lie back.” Scott instructed, focusing on wetting and squeezing out the fresh cloth. “I can't reach your chest like that.”
With a strained groan, Logan unfolded and eased himself back onto the towel, stiff and moving as little as possible. He sighed once he was in a resting position, in pain or relief or both. He rested his arms over his stomach and closed his eyelids, his age betraying him with how drained he looked.
It was pleasantly unusual seeing him in such a state. Scott was doing a bad job at staying mad at him, if that's what he was even doing in the first place.
“What’re you smirking at?” Logan said, eyes only opening to look at him once before closing again.
Scott didn't realize he was making a face. “Nothing, you're just…” Kind of sweet like this?
Scott shook his head to himself. Not that.
“Just what?”
“Old man.” Scott commented simply.
Logan hummed in suspicion. Scott sat next to him where he could reach the water on the nightstand, careful not to disturb the bed as he did.
His access to Logan’s front was blocked by the man's arms, one hand atop the forearm of the other, like he forgot that's what Scott had him lay back for.
“Put your arms at your sides.” Scott told him.
Logan moaned in complaint and nestled his head back further into the stack of pillows. “Don't wanna move.”
Look who's so tough now?
Scott fought a chuckle, and pried his fingers underneath the man's rough, heavy hand to lift it up. Logan opened his eyelids to watch as Scott gingerly set his arm aside, like he was handling something much more precious. Logan gave no sign of moving the other on his own, only observing Scott from where he lay propped up. Scott knew there was no way Logan wasn't baiting this display, having seen the man stand up before with only the bare minimum musculature left on his skeleton to do it. But Scott was feeling generous so he complied nonetheless, rearranging his second arm as he did the first.
A mean bruise was already forming on the ribs beneath, deep red turning to purple in wide splotches. The whole patch was easily the length of Scott's forearm. He placed an open palm on the affected skin and felt the muscles jump beneath his touch.
“Are you sure you didn't crack a rib?” Scott asked as he took the fresh towel and smoothed it over the wound as delicately as possible.
“Yeah, I would know.” his stomach clenched as he heaved a short, dry laugh. “The first time I broke a bone after being able to break bones again- no, I didn't miss that.”
That got a sympathetic laugh from Scott as he dried to detangle the dried blood from Logan’s thick mat of stomach hair. If someone had gone back a week ago and told Scott he'd not only be doing this, but not minding doing it, he'd recommend them for a psychiatric evaluation and then possibly throw up in his mouth a little at the thought. But here he was now, running his fingers through the wet curly hair to try to break it up, and- well, no, it still wasn't a pleasant experience, but there were worse ways to spend an evening.
Scott could see the snide comment about it sparking to life in Logan's eyes as he stared down at him. He only had the beginning of a hope that he would keep his mouth shut formed, when it was shattered in its infancy.
“Having fun down there, Slim?”
“Bold thing to say to someone in my position right now.” Scott said, lingering the towel over a spot on his pelvic crest where skin was split over a welt.
“Can't help it.” Logan reclined his head back to look at the ceiling. “My Scotty's too used to me pickin’ on him. You still get all riled up about it.”
“I'm not riled up.” Scott defended himself.
“You wouldn't say that if you could see your face right now.” he breathed another half-laugh that made his stomach bounce up and down under Scott’s touch. Whenever it clenched, it made the abs under the skin all the more defined. “Or are you so used to your shades that you forgot I can see the way you look at me?”
Scott said nothing. Logan laughed again.
Scott worked his way up to Logan’s chest as he leaned over him, skin hot under his fingers. The man's eyes were trained on Scott's face as he wiped him down, unbothered by the intimacy, though Scott saw that coming a mile away.
He had to shuffle closer to Logan and turn further inward to reach comfortably, one leg folded up on the bed. Noticing his awkward position, Logan shimmied in toward the center of the mattress to give him more space.
“Careful, Jesus, the whole point is to not tear anything open.” Scott scolded, but kicked his shoes off and sat further in nonetheless. “How are you doing?”
“Been a lot worse.” he said grumpily, following Scott’s hands as they left to rinse the towel. “Better with you here.”
“Don't flirt with me while I'm doing you a favor.” Scott cleaned his chest in wide, circular motions. It was more or less untouched by injury; he'd done a good job protecting it, leaving Scott once again impressed. A lesser fighter would be in pieces.
“Maybe you forgot, but I'm not together with the Logan from my universe.” Scott chuckled to himself. “You can probably see why.”
Something changed in the way Logan watched him as he worked his way up the clavicle and to his neck, where the skin was starting to loosen with age. Scott couldn't get a read on him. He took the hand towel he'd left untouched and used it to dry off the water that had accumulated in his body hair, then took the wet one back and moved in towards his face.
“Here.” Logan said, propping himself up into a reclined sitting position where Scott didn't have to lean over as far. He once again scooted closer to Logan to clean his face.
Logan had thankfully washed away the blood around his mouth, the mint on his breath signaling he'd brushed it out of his teeth as well. Cupping Logan's face to turn it towards himself, he felt something electric down his spine and lifting his shoulders. There was a certain thrill to it, touching the face of a man who he suspected would usually try to bite his fingers off for it. This one, however, let his face be tilted sideways, bending to his nonverbal command. That did something to Scott.
Time dripped to a honey-like crawl as he approached the task with even more delicacy, touches as gentle as he could manage around the sensitive swelling on Logan’s face. He ended up keeping his hand on his jaw to hold his head steady. Scott thought he must have been doing a good job with it, because for Logan's always-hard expression he was relaxing into the touch, content to peacefully watch Scott’s own face as he worked. That, too, shifted something around inside of him.
“Close your eyes.” Scott told him, and once he did, folded the towel into a corner and wiped gentle lines against the creases of his eyelids where traces of blood had hidden. The uninjured eye was easy, the bruised one not so much. The second Scott put pressure on it, Logan inhaled sharply. The kicker, however, was that instead of flinching away, he turned his face further toward Scott. He brushed the towel as lightly as possible against the skin.
Logan’s eyes stayed closed as Scott once more dried him off, holding his chin stable between his fingers. He only opened them again when Scott set the towel back down.
He was a sight like that, leaned back shirtless and beaten, mercy to Scott’s smallest touch. Even then, there was no less intensity in the bright eyes he met Scott with as his face rested in his hand. A constant silent challenge that would never leave him, even in this fragile position.
If someone had filmed them in slow motion and replayed the scene frame-by-frame, maybe they'd see who leaned in first.
Their mouths met each other in the middle, breathing fast. Before he even knew what he was doing, Scott was leaning over Logan so the man could rest his head back on the pillows. Scott's fingers were finally running through his beard and Logan was reaching up to grab at his side. Barely retracting, Scott took his arm and forced back down to the bed where it was supposed to be resting.
This earned him an angry sound from Logan that drew Scott into a fervor. He kissed faster, unrelenting, hands drifting across his face, neck, chest. He felt pressure at the side of his jeans as Logan hooked a finger in a belt loop and tugged, silently bossing him to get where he could reach if Scott wasn't going to let him hold his arms out.
Caution to the wind, fully aware he was making every mistake in the world and drawn in by the toxin of it, he crawled across the supine man and positioned himself over him on his elbows and knees, careful only in supporting his own weight as he pressed against him so as not to put too much pressure on his injuries. Now within range, Logan was able to put his hands up on Scott’s hips without moving too much.
Scott’s heartbeat was in his throat, a buzzing in his face and deep lurch in his stomach. He had no idea why, but it felt like it was his very first time with another person all over again. His fingers were back in that thick beard, combing through and grazing the skin beneath. Scott’s middle finger found a deep scar on his jaw buried there and traced it.
He thought Logan must be deafened by the sound of his heart pounding as hard it was, before remembering that he had the same hearing as Scott did now. However, like he could read his mind, Logan put two fingers against the pulse point in Scott’s neck as if to see for himself what he was doing to him. The fingers stayed there a few long seconds before he smoothed his open palm out over the skin.
They were both lost in each other, too enthralled to stop. The very first time, Logan had been kissing a husband who wasn't there. Scott, too, was kissing someone else who looked just like him, because he hadn’t come to know this Logan yet. What Logan was thinking now, Scott didn't know and didn't care. All he cared about was this man, the strong hands keeping him steady, the contact of their torsos against each other, the tongue overlapping his and the nose pressed into his cheek. The failing in his internal restraints as Scott nipped his lip. This was not his world’s Logan. This was in spite of him, perhaps even to spite him.
They were playing a game. Who would be the first to call it off, who would be the first to say it was wrong. Scott was sure he was losing.
He had been doing his best to hold himself against Logan lightly so that he wouldn't hurt him. The man, unsatisfied with this, wrapped a hand around his lower back and attempted to pull him down further. Scott tried to resist him for his own good.
Then, Logan put his hand on his cheek to break their kiss. Instead of pulling back, however, he led Scott’s head to his neck, where Scott happily planted smaller kisses. Logan lifted his own head up off the pillow to reach around Scott's ear and place the gentlest kisses behind it, causing Scott to arch his back into Logan's body.
Then he did something out of the furthest left field. He did something that might change Scott forever. His lips brushed against his ear, feather-light. It tickled the tiny hairs there as he whispered, breathy and indulgent:
“Prettyboy.”
A dam that Scott wasn't aware he had broke and flooded onto the man beneath him. He melted all over Logan, sinking onto him, mouthing one wet, open kiss after another onto his neck as fast he could. A laugh from Logan’s throat vibrated against his teeth. It was like his limbs had gone soft as butter, unable to do anything other than be on Logan as he reeled. The word was already playing over and over and over in his mind, blowtorching away any resolve he had left.
Without meaning to, Scott put pressure against one of the cuts on Logan's stomach, one shallow enough not to need stitches. Logan inhaled sharply, but Scott didn't even have the time to break away and apologize. Instead of flinching away, Logan was pushing himself further into it, sucking in air in pleasure.
Freak.
They didn't last too much longer after that. Maybe it was Scott moaning into Logan’s mouth, or maybe it was the tiniest rhythm picking up in Logan's hips. Scott could feel Logan slowing his pace to ease them to a stop and tugging on his hair to pull him away.
“Okay.” he breathed the second their lips parted. “That's enough of that.”
Scott rested his forehead on Logan’s for a second while they caught their breath.
“Besides,” Logan continued. “you got one of your own.”
“...I don't want him.” Scott said angrily around peppering kisses at the sides of his mouth. “I want you.”
The air left Logan beneath him. The man put both hands to Scott’s face and pushed him back, calmer and more certain than before.
“I am him, Scott.” Logan guided Scott's head away and forced them to see each other face-to-face. There was a loving look gracing him, but firm at the same time. His cheeks were flushed, the eye not squinted by swelling holding a hint of sadness. He raised his eyebrows for emphasis as he spoke again, more definitively. “I am him. He's me.”
Scott blinked and gave a small shake of the head in an unsure, disbelieving motion. “No, he-...” he wasn't the same. He wasn't even close.
His brain was still spinning and heart pounding. Logan withdrew his hands and sighed.
“Look.” Logan said with finality and grabbed Scotts hips again to keep him from moving them. Scott propped himself up at arm's length and hung his head, still trying to catch his breath. “We should talk about some things.” Logan sounded patient, understanding. Not like the other Logan at all. Scott didn't know where the hell he got off saying they were the same.
Logan continued while Scott refused to look at him. “Why don't you go to the bathroom, calm down a minute by yourself. I'll wait out here, alright?”
Scott nodded and sighed. He maneuvered off of him awkwardly while avoiding his injuries as best he could, with special attention paid to not touching their hips together again. There was… a situation down there.
He clambered off, almost tripping as he dismounted from the bed and earning air puffed through the nose from Logan behind him. And that's how Scott knew he was really screwed: he didn't even turn around to shoot him a glare.
Scott left the bathroom door cracked for ventilation behind him and argued with his pounding heart to calm down. The mirror reminded him that this wasn't his face, wasn't his choice to be making. In the heat of the moment, he'd forgotten.
He was pink from his forehead to his neck, rosy at the cheeks. Eyes glossy, hair tousled. He was a mess.
Scott washed his hands in cold water to give himself something to do, then splashed it on his face. He mocked himself for thinking he was out of excuses last time he kissed Logan. Then, he was at least trying to help in the only way he could think of at the time.
Now? Now? What’s the excuse now?
A sliver of Logan's shirtless form was visible through the gap in the door next to Scott’s reflection. All he could think about was how this was bad, bad, bad. He splashed more water on his face and considered just sticking his head under the cold shower.
Initially Scott didn't think it was that important that it was a man he was with, when it was infinitely crazier to him that it was Logan . He was currently in the process of doing a complete 180 on this opinion.
Fine, sure. It's Logan. But it's the one he actually likes, one who's a good guy and acts like it for once. Whatever. Fine, right?
But that was a man Scott just tried to get in the pants of. He wrote it off before as merely a difference in sexualities between universes, the kind he'd seen among several of the others. Scott had never been interested in men. If he had, he thought Jean would have at least brought it up. There was no cop out here now, no workaround. He wanted that man. Was it that Scott was only into hairy, jacked older guys? Was that the kind of person he was? He didn't think so, but he sure was learning a lot about himself lately.
There was a throat clear in the other room.
“You know, uh…” Logan started. “When I said you had one of your own, I was talkin’ about Jean.”
Scott turned the faucet off and leaned his face on the mirror with a thunk. “You, of all people, are not going to tell me off right now. I mean, come on,” he got worked up, pushed himself back using the sink and spun around. “Jean can make out with you behind my back, but I can’t?”
That earned a surprised laugh from Logan. He was looking comfortable, legs crossed and arms back resting on his stomach, staring forward while he listened. Scott walked past him to the AC in the window, took his shirt off, and sat down directly in front of it.
“You holdin’ up, Summers?” Logan asked like it was funny.
“Shut up.”
The cold air was doing its job, which was partially to cool him off and partially to stave back a minor psychological breakdown over the alarming lack of self-control he'd suddenly found himself with.
There was nothing but the hum of the air conditioner to console him for a minute or two.
“Hey, Slim?”
“What?” Scott groaned, a miserable sound.
“You been working yourself to the bone again back home?”
He didn't answer.
“Y’know, I hear,” the sheets rustled as he adjusted himself. “that if a person pushes themself too hard, only doin’ what's expected of ‘em all the time, they'll snap. Maybe... act out, do something they normally wouldn't?"
“Go back to being an asshole.” there was no heat in his words, it was more of a complaint.
“What for?"
“Because it's really annoying when you're right. Especially about me.” Scott heaved himself back to his feet, having enough of the chill. He slipped his shirt back on and sat on his own bed, across from Logan.
The man looked him over with lazy amusement, then turned his head back to the ceiling. He was unperturbed by Scott's condition, leaving him to wonder if it had been similar with his Scott at first.
“Could you get me some water?” He asked after a few moments of Scott watching in silence.
He obliged. Thankfully, downstairs there was only Rogue rifling through the fridge. Scott hadn't realized how late it had gotten, but the sun was setting through the window. He could hear cheers and shouts from outside; the rest of the team had moved on and were playing a game. He was jealous.
Scott didn't acknowledge Anna Marie while he took out two mugs and filled them in the sink. He could feel her penetrating look, likely taking in his ruffled appearance. Knowing her, there was a good chance she was piecing the puzzle together already. He left while disregarding her entirely, not wanting to find out for sure.
Upstairs, He handed Logan one cup and took a drink of his own. Not realizing how thirsty he'd been, he chugged the whole thing and immediately refilled it in the bathroom.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Scott asked, sitting on his own bed.
“I think I should tell you about what things were like. When everything first went down.” he drummed his fingers anxiously against his stomach. “There's a lot. I'm not sure where to start.”
“Take your time.” said Scott. “I'm listening.”