After Genosha

After that painful day, a change occurred within the team. It was subtle; everyone was still reeling from Genosha, yet anxious about what was to come in a world they now found foreign, unrecognizable. Or maybe they were just recognizing the world for the first time as it was, not as the Professor sold it to be. Either way, the gravity of the moment pulled people closer, literally.

Was it to comfort or be comforted? Did it matter? Life was too short, too precious, and they were all realizing that in the most painful way possible.

Morph and Logan already tended to be near each other. It was natural; they were close, they had each other’s back. But now, more often than not, Logan sought out Morph—not the other way around.

And bumping into them didn’t seem to bother him as much anymore. In fact, Morph noticed that Logan’s arm would brush theirs as they stood next to each other, or he’d put a hand on Morph’s back as he walked around them. Once, completely spacing out, Morph walked straight into Logan and all he did was chuckle about it. Not even a, “Watch it, bub!”

Even when they were apart, every time Morph looked over, Logan was already looking back. Same old grumpy face, just...trained on them.

Morph didn’t mind the attention. It was grounding. It was reassuring.

And, yeah, it was just a little thrilling.

Giant Summers Jr. is definitely Scott’s kid, thought Morph, rolling their eyes. Can’t even give us a day to recover before throwing us into a fresh new hell. At least he let them get a good night’s rest before the next debriefing; Morph healed quickly, but they still had a massive headache from getting their bell rung (more like obliterated) so hard by zombie!Trask. They were dozing off even on the ride home.

“C’mon Morph,” they heard Logan’s voice from far away, “time to get to bed.” He was shaking their shoulder.

Morph jerked their head up; they were the last to leave the Blackbird. Fumbling the seatbelt open, they looked up to see Logan’s hand held out for them.

Don’t do something stupid, Morph reminded themself, looking up into his steely eyes. Logan stared back, looking as stern as ever on the surface. But beneath it, even in the dim lights of the ship Morph could see…concern. Worry. Guilt.

Morph hated it.

Giving a weak smile, they reached up and took the hand, allowing Logan to gently lift them up.

“So, d’you think Cable planned to show up right as Trask was saying ‘the future had abandoned us’?” Morph joked, using Trask’s own overly-dramatic voice at the end of it. “Maybe he does take after his mom with that flair for the dramatic.” They put on their most lighthearted smile. Anything to get those creases between his brows to go away.

Logan just held onto Morph’s hand and stared at them, as if they might disappear if he looked away.

“Logan?” Morph asked. They didn’t let go, but they didn’t want to—actually, at this point, they weren’t sure what they didn’t want to do.

Fortunately, Logan broke the silence for them. “When I saw you take that hit, it reminded me of”—he looked down at their hands, turning them over so Morph’s was on top—“of the last time I lost you,” he finished, biting off the words. “And I realized, it’s hard enough grievin’ Gambit—and hell, half the time we used to be at each other’s throats. But you, Morph—“ Logan stopped again, closing his eyes.

Was Logan Howlett, Thee Wolverine, rambling? Was that what he looks like…collecting himself? Morph forgot how to breathe. They’d never seen him like this.

Could I mean as much to him as he does to me?

“Morph, don’t…” Logan tried again, closing his other hand over theirs. He looked up at them with new resolve.

“Don’t go goin’ where I can’t follow.”

As always, as ever, the weight and rough edges of Logan’s words only made Morph feel like they were floating on air. Face lighting like the sunrise, Morph clasped the hand sandwich between them as they found their voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, big guy,” Morph said, smiling down warmly at him.

Logan grinned back, face awash in relief.

Oh god, I’m gonna do something stu—“In fact,” Morph added, “I never do.” They winked. Fuck it.

Logan started to chuckle—then, as the implication landed, he stared in utter bamboozlement. And then—

Then Morph saw something primal and hungry in his eyes.

Before they could register what was happening, Logan tugged them towards him, surging forward at the same time. Morph managed to lift one hand in time to grab Logan’s shoulder as they crashed into him; Logan, still working the opposite angle, held Morph against him at the waist. Their hips slotted together like they knew this dance. With his other hand now holding Morph’s up between them like he was Mr. Freakin’ Darcy himself, Logan planted a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Morph’s fingers, never taking his eyes off of theirs.

“Is this…okay?” he asked, watching them closely, searching for any signs of discomfort.

Morph wanted to laugh, but for once thought better of it. You have no idea, bub. Instead they leaned in, cocking an eyebrow extra cockily.

“Mmmmm,” Morph said, grinning mischievously as they pretended to consider the question, “could be better.” They lowered their gaze, pointedly landing on his lips.

Logan growled. Heavens to Betsy, he fucking growled.

In a fluid motion, Logan flung Morph’s hand out of the way and pulled them down, his lips claiming theirs.

(And if a whimper escaped Morph in this moment, they’d deny it the rest of their life.)

Logan deepened the kiss as soon as he landed it, one moment licking into their mouth, the next biting at their lower lip. It felt like being devoured. It felt divine.

I should’ve gotten beaten to a pulp sooner, Morph reasoned very reasonably.

The route back to Morph’s room was more treacherous than they remembered; the walls kept bumping into them, for one thing. Also, it looked a lot different when they were stumbling backwards with their eyes closed. But the Blackbird was too public, and had its own security camera besides. Morph did their damnedest to keep making forward progress before the whole mansion tried to check on whatever was making that noise in the hall (which sounded a lot like a battle everyone was winning). But there was no way they were going to take their mouth or hands off of Logan, now that they finally, finally had him.

And Logan seemed to feel similarly. It turns out he was the perfect height to mark up the soft flesh at the base of Morph’s neck while also generously deep tissue massaging their buns for them, and he took these newfound duties seriously. But all too soon, Logan pulled away—just far enough to speak, their noses still brushing. Morph still found it intolerable.

“This is your stop,” he breathed.

Morph was vaguely aware that they were leaning on a door now—That would explain the doorknob-shaped thing jamming into my back.

“Not yours?” they asked playfully, nuzzling his nose.

“Depends,” he replied with peak presumption. “A face this pretty deserves a formal invite, don’tcha think?”

“Oh of course,” Morph hummed, “forgive me, my dear. And would the bushiest mutton chops in all the Shire”—Logan tried to scoff, but a chuckle escaped instead—“grace me with your company tonight? Or do you have some important moon gazing to do?”

Logan’s grin was downright predatory. “I think I got the best view of the night right here,” he said, possessively tightening his grip on Morph’s hips and leaning in.

Morph scrambled for the door handle to hide the sound of yet another whimper escaping them.

They stumbled inside together, still attached at the everywhere-they-could-reach. Morph used the momentum to swing around, lightly pushing Logan up against the wall this time (and giving their own back a break) as they flipped on the light. Morph couldn’t cover Logan by any means, but they could lean their forearm on the wall above him, placing Logan in shadow and forcing him to look up at them. They hoped it looked cool. They were pretty sure it looked cool.

Logan grinned from ‘chop to ‘chop. Definitely looks cool. Morph would swear he was high if they thought it was possible. The thought that they were doing this to him made them delirious.

“And here I thought you had a thing for people with hair,” said Morph, their free hand trailing up his torso.

Logan barked out a laugh. “I got plenty of that to go around,” he countered, hands finding their hips again.

Morph couldn’t take this any more. They couldn’t believe they’d gotten this far, and it was already not enough. It was amazing. It was maddening.

“Hey,” said Logan, catching the pause. “You okay? We can go slow—“

“Noooooo nonononono,” Morph cut in, “it’s not that—definitely not that. No.” They closed their eyes and breathed. “I mean, we should probably talk at some point about—uh, this. Us.” They gestured weakly between them. “I just—“

“I know you can’t smell,” offered Logan unhelpfully.

“Thanks?”

“I mean,” he continued, realizing he really needed to expand on that thought, “I didn’t mention this before, because my sniffer is better ’n anyone’s so it wouldn’t matter, but…I could smell it. Your attraction.”

Morph froze, eyes wide.

“I thought it was just your libido…it was always just there. Especially if, ah…depending what equipment you were usin’ that day.”

That’s it, thought Morph, I’m gonna die now. I’m just gonna curl up and die right here.

Bless his heart, Logan plowed ahead, too lost in thought now to notice their mortification. “And you seemed so comfortable with it—always wanting to talk, or hang out, joke around.”

Morph felt their face turn a shade of red that would be a dangerous concentration of blood for a human.

“Uh…uh huh?” they replied, their voice sounding far away and several pitches higher than normal. Oh good, maybe I can stop breathing, pass out, and pretend this never happened.

Logan cupped their face with his hand. “I didn’t need that to want you, but…” he trailed off and leaned forward, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the space just behind Morph’s jaw. “It drove me crazy, Morph,” he mouthed at their neck. “I’m drunk off it right now.”

Oh. OH.

Logan pulled back to look at them again, tracing Morph’s cheek with his thumb. “I felt guilty, knowin’ only I knew. Not knowin’ how to tell ya—if I should tell ya. I didn’t want to lie, say it didn’t affect me; but I didn’t want to scare you off either.”

Ohhhh, we are BACK BABY!

“Logan?” Morph asked weakly, slowly resurrecting from the Utter Humiliation Circle of Hell (if that didn’t exist, it did now).

“Yeah?” he said. He almost looked bashful.

Morph lowered their (numb) arm, instead using it to raise Logan’s chin back up towards them.

“Thank you,” said Morph, kissing him to show they meant it—slowly, intentionally, their other hand settling on his bicep. They felt Logan relax under their touch. “But that’s enough talking.”

Logan, more than happy with that plan, resuming with renewed, unbridled vigor—pawing at Morph’s chest, kneading at their back, licking up their neck.

The more they touched, the less restraint either of them had. Any idea that came into Morph’s head became an urgent necessity: nibble his ear; give him a hickey (that elicited a rumbling laugh when Morph pouted at it quickly disappearing); get his shirt off, now; pinch his nipples; shove my thigh between his legs and see if he—

Oh. He liked that.

Logan gave one involuntary grind into the friction Morph had created, then shoved off the wall, guiding them to the bed. Turning, he sat down and pulled Morph into his lap, running his hands up and down the long legs bracketing him.

“So,” he said smugly as Morph settled in, resting their arms on his broad shoulders, “what’re we workin’ with tonight?”

Morph laughed nervously. This was always, always the tricky bit. (And a fast way to kill the mood, depending on their partner’s reaction.) They found the fastest way to closure one way or another was to kick it back.

“Depends,” they replied, laying the confidence on thick, “whaddaya want?” They waggled their eyebrows for good measure.

Logan stopped moving and stared at them, perplexed.

“Well?” Morph asked, hoping it sounded encouraging. Oh god, what if he didn’t think this through? Thinking ahead was never his strong suit. What if he doesn’t like my…flexibility? What if he likes it too much? What if he wants someone else entirely? Worst of all, what if he says nothing? What could that mean—

“Morph,” said Logan, saying something. His expression was somehow more deadly serious than usual.

“I want you.”

Morph felt their voice catch in their throat.

“Well,” they coughed out eventually, blush creeping up their neck, “Th-that isn’t a problem. But there arelogistics—“

“Morph,” he said again. “I know a little somethin’ about the importance of bodily autonomy. I will never tell you who or how to be, here.” His hand rubbed their lower back.

Where did this smooth talker even come from? Morph wondered, breaking into a smile that betrayed more relief than they intended to. They grabbed Logan’s face in both hands and gave him a quick, earnest kiss.

“Okay then,” they conceded, pulling back to gaze at him. “Tonight...I’d like to match.” Despite it all, they still held their breath waiting for his response.

Logan only grinned lasciviously. “Yeah, I can handle that.”