Father and son approached each other from opposite sides of the open space. The Krakoan Arena wasn't in use at that time of day for the Crucible, but rather served as just a simple training ground.
When Wolverine got a good look of what his son was wearing, his nose curled. "Well. Get a load of you."
"You like it?" Daken modeled it for him, turning in a slow, smug circle. He was garbed in the skin-tight uniform of a Shiar Imperial Guardsman. The one known as Fang.
"Like it? Me and that outfit have a history. How'd you get it anyway? Wait..." Wolverine winced. "You're not still using those pheromone powers of yours, are ya? I still remember that time you got into Johnny Storm's pants—"
Daken grinned. "It was Ben Grimm's, actually. But no, dad. I didn't seduce Fang to get his outfit."
"Oh. Well, good."
"I haven't done that in years."
"Good. Other heroes were startin' to give me dirty looks. Sayin' I ought to do a better job keeping you in line."
"Well, I'd hate for my proclivities to reflect badly on you."
"Heh."
They stood for a minute, taking each other's measure. It was a beautiful summer day. Like every day on Krakoa.
"For your information, I got it for saving the Empress's life."
"Now that's my boy."
"I also wanted, you know..." Daken gave a sort of shrug. "A way to differentiate myself from you. Be my own man. Not just a 'Wolverine'."
"Nothin' wrong with that."
The two men looked at each other, and both gave something like a smile. Then they unsheathed their claws. The spar had begun.
They paced around each other, hunting for weakness.
"Your buddy Fang ever tell you how I got that uniform off him back in the day?"
Daken scoffed. "You kidding? He brings it up every time we hang out. You stripped it off him during your first fight."
"Yup. Left him bare-ass naked right in the middle of his team."
"Well," Daken chuckled, "Don't think you're gonna do that to me."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that, bub. Might not have been the wisest thing to wear to a spar with me. Me and that outfit, we've got a history."
They drew together then and clashed. The unmistakable sound of sharpened adamantium rang through the arena. They exchanged slashes for awhile, enjoying the opportunity to let loose for once. They both had healing factors, so they couldn’t really be wounded. Not permanently.
But Wolverine wasn’t going to let Daken walk out of there unscathed. And, like all fathers, even if he couldn’t hurt his son physically there was always his pride. Wolverine waited for his moment, then struck. All it took was a few precise cuts, just like in the old days. He took a few slices in the process, because nothing an X-Man ever did was without sacrifice. But they'd heal. They always did.
Daken's outfit, on the other hand...
First it drooped on one shoulder. Then the other. One seam opened on the hips.
Daken looked down at himself.
"Oh, for fuck’s—"
The whole thing fell off him in ribbons.
Wolverine unsheathed his claws with a smirk. "Heh. Looks like your old man's still got it."
A flustered Daken folded his hands over his crotch. "Yeah, ha ha, very funny. That thing was custom fitted!"
"They'll send you another."
"Seriously, you don't have any spare trunks lying around I can borrow, do you?"
Wolverine quirked an eyebrow. "Since when are you modest?"
"Since I started dating Aurora. She's got jealousy issues."
Wolverine chuckled, then took his naked son by the arm. “She’ll understand,” he said. He lead him over to the stands where the bleachers were. Confused, Daken stumbled along with him. "By the way, Fang ever tell you what else I did to him that day?"
"Huh? What're you talking about?"
"He wouldn't just hand his threads over. I had to... convince 'im first."
"And how did you—whoa!"
In one swift motion, Wolverine took a seat and yanked Daken bodily forward. His son fell with a startled cry and ended up where all Fangs who fought Wolverines ended up—bare-ass naked, pinned over Wolverine's knee with his tight, muscular backside hiked in the air.
It was a position Daken instantly recognized, even if he’d never been in it before. "Oh, hell no! Don't even think about it, old man. This was supposed to be just a regular training session!!"
Wolverine smirked. "It was, 'til you wore that costume."
He looked him over. Daken was a good-looking young guy, he had to admit. Didn't have all his body hair and was a little leaner than himself, but other than that was every inch his genetics. Right now Daken was struggling and wiggling in alarm, especially when Wolverine gave those smooth cheeks of his a friendly pat. With all the chaos and bustle of life in Krakoa, he and Daken had never had much chance for real father/son interaction.
Well, that was all going to change as of today.
He raised his calloused right hand over that well-toned butt, and gave Daken his first ever spank. Daken yelped loudly at it and a hand print blossomed across both cheeks, prompting Wolverine to grin and give him another.
SMACK!
"OW! Quit it!"
"Sorry, bub. This is what ya get for wearin' that costume around me. Maybe next time you'll know better."
"Ow! C'mon, this is—Youch!—Oh, I am going to gut you for—Owwww!"
“Oh calm down. You’ve got a healing factor. Five minutes after I’m done your ass won’t even be red anymore.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better!? OWWW!”
Wolverine just smiled and kept up the spanking, providing a fun show for the few mutants who were hanging around the arena that day. Oh, and another way he and Daken were alike? Daken had been beggin’ for a spanking for years. Brattiness must run in his genetics too. And he cursed like a sailor when he finally got it.
Every crack of calloused palm on those bare buns made the guy wince and jerk. Every yelp he gave just encouraged Wolverine to spank him harder. It was one of those symbiotic-type relationships. Good and rough. They were men after all. They wouldn’t know they respected each other unless it really hurt.
But underneath it all, it was still lighthearted. Yeah, he'd wanted to put Daken over his knee since the very first time they’d met—long before Dark Reign even, when he’d really earned it. But this wasn’t like that. This was one of the good times. So even as Daken kicked, bucked, and swore and his butt turned ruby quartz red, he was laughing too. It was a memory he’d keep with ‘im. His crazy old man.
All the while the island of Krakoa listened in, gathering intel and probably learning a little something about male bonding while it was at it.
What was that phrase again? Oh yeah.
Krakoa was for all mutants.