Scott watched the light play off the blade of his switchblade. It was an old knife with a shiny black handle, worn in places from his grip. The blade was kept sharp. What good would it be otherwise? He ran the blade's edge along the top of his hand, just scraping the skin. The sensation went straight to his groin.
He remembered the feel of it against his chest as Jean had played with it -- rarely cutting, but always teasing, taunting him with the thought. He could see her wicked grin and feel the wetness of her panties as she straddled his body. They hadn't always needed actual sex. That was before she came back from the dead - a frighteningly puritan goody-two-shoes. She thought it was sick now, perverted.
How can you call it twisted you hypocrite? He longed to scream it at her, but never spoke the words. He didn't want to hurt her, hurt the shell of the bad-girl she'd once been, the girl he'd loved. He was bored with her. They weren't in love. But the band on his hand was tighter than any handcuff could be.
He pricked the tip of his finger and watched the blood drip down the blade. He licked it off the blade, then sucked at the shallow wound. God, he'd missed that flavor. The sharp bitterness of copper and salt burst on his tongue. Maybe she was right, but it just felt so good.
A quiet snort accompanied a soft "snikt". "Mine's bigger," Logan growled into Scott's ear, arms wrapping around his stomach, caging him with six blades. Scott leaned back into the strong embrace. "Thought I'd find ya hidin' out down here."
The small storeroom was mostly abandoned, except for the three large crates in the center of the room. Scott was sitting on the farthest one in, back to the door. The light came form a bare bulb in the ceiling. "How?" Scott asked.
"Yer fightin' with Jeannie again."
"Why ain't you comforting her?"
"She don't love me, Cyke. Not since she came back."
"So? Neither do I." Logan's claw caressed Scott's chin and he bit back a moan.
"Love ain't what ya need right now," he growled. "What ya need is sex."
Scott squirmed in the grip. He could feel Logan's hardness against his back. "I don't. . . you know I can't. I'm married now, Logan."
"Really?" Logan snorted. "You and Jeannie ain't married in anything but name."
"I made a promise."
"I won't touch ya. Least not with my fingers." The claws brushed against each other.
"Please, don't. . ."
"Don't what?" Logan growled again, a menacing sound that had made lesser men run. "That girl ain't got what it takes to make ya come so hard ya see stars. She can't make ya shiver and scream. She can't fuck ya 'til ya cry."
"Logan don't do this. I'm not that strong."
"Words can't hurt ya. Remember bein' with me, Slim? Remember my mouth on yer throat, my claws on yer stomach, holdin' ya down. Remember how I used to breath fer ya until ya nearly fainted from it. Remember the taste of our blood mixin' together in yer mouth when ya licked my claws clean."
"Remember pourin' out all the dirty little thoughts that crossed yer mind, Slim. Remember how it felt to be stretched around my cock. Remember how ya promised everything to me, if I'd just let you come."
"Shut up. Damn it! I never promised you anything." Scott's voice was harsh, panicked. His cock throbbed against his jeans.
Logan licked at the sweat on Scott's temple. That gentleness undid Scott's resistance. His head fell back to rest on Logan's shoulder. He moved carefully in the cage of claws to remove his wedding ring. He held the gold up to the light. Logan took it carefully and set it on the first crate. Scott felt cold, deprived of Logan's grip.
"Don't order me around, Runt," Scott snapped back. Logan pounced, forcing the taller man to the floor. Scott's fingers released his knife. It clattered to the cement floor. "Yer lucky if I lube ya before I fuck ya already. Don't push yer luck." Scott lashed out with an easily deflected right hook. Logan's rough palm settled over Scott's mouth. The shine of his claws so close made Scott whimper in need. "Be good, my fucking slut. Take off yer shirt."
Logan's fingers didn't move. Scott's fingers trembled as he plucked at the buttons of his flannel. Logan's cock protested its tight confines. Scott's shirt finally opened, Logan took it off of him. "That's better, ain't it, Slim?" he soothed. He traced over the battle-hardened torso with his blades.
"Oh, God, Logan," Scott gasped, wiggling under the restriction of Logan's weight. He wanted to touch his cock, but it was pinned under Logan's ass. He settled for freeing Logan's cock from its confines. Logan's smile was vicious. He made sure Scott was looking him in the eyes.
"I'm gonna fuck ya until ya cry." Logan stood. "Get yer pants off."
Scott hurried to comply, wanting nothing more than Logan's heat on his skin. "Hands and knees, Slim."
"I want to see you."
"Later. First time, hands and knees. Then, I'll fuck ya all over this room 'til yer sobbing."
The sound of Logan's claws retracting and extending made Scott's cock twitch. He went to his hands and knees, the cold concrete biting into his skin, making it better and worse. The lube was cold, but Scott was thankful for Logan's forethought. At the moment, Scott was so hard he could barely string together one thought.
Then, without further preparation, Logan was filling him. There was little gentleness there, only heat pressure and the overwhelming knowledge of Logan's presence. Then, there was movement. Pain and pleasure built up behind Scott's eyes. Then, a single claw traced the length of Scott's spine, leaving a trail of blissful agony. Scott moaned as he came, hard and forceful. His body milked Logan's cock. The Canadian enjoyed the sensation, but waited it out, then started thrusting again.
Scott's arms betrayed him and he collapsed to his forearms. Logan rode him hard, the savagery of his thrust increasing until Scott's litany of moans was nearly screams. He thrust deep and came, hands leaving bruises on Scott's hips. He eased free. Scott trembled, panting. This was what made him come alive. This is what he missed so badly his jaw ached. He didn't move, knowing from somewhere deep in his memories that Logan loved seeing him ready for the taking. Logan's hands were gentle as they stroked down his back and over his thighs. Then, Logan's tongue was lapping at the line of blood he'd left.
"Ya taste good, Slim," Logan rumbled. "If ya wanna see me, get on yer back on those crates or else I'll fuck ya right now."
Scott considered, then pushed himself up. The crates were slightly warmer than the ground and just the right height for Logan to have complete access to Scott's body. Scott spread his legs in invitation. Logan stood between Scott's spread legs, flipping Scott's knife end over end. He plunged it into the wood just below Scott's ear. The blade rested against Scott's jaw. Scott stroked his cock, wishing for Logan's healing factor, but knowing he was tapped out. From here on out it was Logan's pleasure. Well, to be fair, Scott would enjoy it, but there was no way he'd orgasm again.
Logan's claws found their rest just under Scott's chin. Logan seated his cock in Scott's body again. He grinned ferally at the tiny whimper his thickness drew from Scott's mouth. "Gimme yer hands, boy," he snarled.
The claws bit in. Scott gasped. "So I can get 'em out of my way."
Scott complied, only half surprised when Logan handcuffed him. Logan pinned the cuffed hands over Scott's head with the knife. Satisfied that the message had been received, Logan stroked, touched, bit and cut his way down Scott's body. Scott twisted and moaned at the sensations. Logan started to thrust - deep, firm motions that seemed likely to tear Scott in half. Scott's moans turned to a strangled whimper.
"God, oh God, Logan. . ."
"What is it, boy?"
Scott shook his head, unable to form a full thought.
"Thatís better." Logan came again. He stayed inside his lover's body. He stroked the straining thighs gently. He detached himself slowly. He tucked himself into his jeans. He took Scott's left hand and slowly placed an adamantium band onto the middle finger. "With this ring, I thee we." He kissed Scott's forehead. He loosened the knife. Then, he left.
Scott pulled his wrists free of the crate. He pulled his jeans on and put his knife away. He fumbled with his shirt, before just dropping it. His eyes were blurry from unshed tears. He put his wedding band on, then looked down at the steel cuffs. He sank to his knees. He hadn't picked handcuff locks since. . . since Jean came back from the dead. He had three options, Gambit, Storm or Logan. He put his forehead on his hands. He could already feel the bruises forming. He could hear Jean's voice somewhere far away calling him a "perverted slut" and much, much worse.
"Break's over, Slim," Logan stated. "I ain't takin' those cuffs off 'til ya ask Red to sign the papers in yer office."
"Fuck you, Logan. She's my wife."
"She thinks yer sick. She thinks she can cure you. Is that what ya want? Ya want to be a mindless, perfect drone of a husband who has sex once a week in the missionary position? That's what she wants. She ain't our Red no more, Slim. She don't play games. She don't like danger. She's Jean-lite. She's pasteurized. You need dirt, Slim."
"I need to think."
"Ya need to feel." Logan rubbed his claws together. "You need to feel my cock in yer mouth or up yer ass. You need. . ."
"Stop. Just stop."
Logan could smell the tears. He pulled Scott's shades off and watched the moisture escape, despite all of Scott's willpower. "Decide, Slim. Decide. Who are ya deep inside? Are ya her poster-boy pretty or are ya the boy that used to beg me to fuck him with my claws?"
Scott shivered. "I'll ask her. Just take off these damned cuffs."
"Are ya mine?"
There was a very long moment of utter stillness where even the dust seemed to freeze. Finally, in a voice so soft that Logan strained to hear it, Scott said, "Yes."
Scott sat behind his desk. He read through the divorce papers again. All he needed was Jean's signature. It was a no-contest document. Jean knocked on the door-frame. "Hi, honey. What's up?"
"Close the door, Jean." She did, surprised and a little worried. She crossed the room.
Scott handed her the papers. "Will you sign this?"
"What! No, I won't divorce you over a stupid little fight."
"It's more than the fight, Jean. That's the symptom, not the disease."
"Honey, that's not true."
"You and I grew apart after you died, Jean. That's perfectly normal. I just wish I'd recognized it before I married you."
"It's only been three months. We can make this work."
Scott dropped his knife onto the desk's blotter. Jean's mouth pinched into a tight frown. "There's some things I won't give up."
"Scott, sweetie, you're just sick. It's easy to cure. We'll just phase it out of things."
"That would mean it was in them to start with. You don't even like looking at knives. You used to get so hot that your panties were soaked if I just brushed your cheek with the handle."
"I never got turned on by knives."
"That's revisionist history. You only remember what you want to remember and I'm not letting you get into my mind to fuck with my memories. How do you think I reached you during the Hellfire club, huh?"
"But could I have found you in that dark place in your mind if I hadn't known the capacity you had for it? I have scars from you, from your knifework. You carved your initials into my hip, remember? You came just from watching them bleed."
"That wasn't me! That was the Phoenix!"
"That's the problem then. I don't love you. I love her."
Jean slapped the papers down on the desk top. "You're just trying to hurt me, Scott. I know that. I know you're angry and you can't express it any other way."
"Iím not angry. I'm just tired of having to give up who I am to be what you want! I'm not perfect."
"I don't want you to be perfect. I just want you to be sane. I can make it go away. I can reach inside and kill this nasty little obsession with a thought, if you'll let me. I can make it so you aren't perverted anymore."
"You used to like my perversions. And don't tell me it was the Phoenix because it was well before she took you over. Back when I was the bad-boy of the group. When Warren was your 'solid' choice. I've tried, Jeannie. I've tried to be the boy you want, but I just don't have it in me."
"Scott, it's okay. We can work it out. I'll fix this little flaw in your mind and. . ."
"You will *not* touch my mind. I don't care if I have to ask the professor to break our link. I will not allow you to manipulate my sexual desires. I wouldn't let you talk for me and I won't let you fuck for me."
Jean slapped him across the face. "You're a sick bastard, Scott. I just want to make the sickness go away."
"It's not sick."
"You're stuck inside of it. It's sick. It's twisted. You're a perverted horny slut. How dare you try to tell me. . ."
Scott kissed her hard. "Do you remember what my blood tastes like?" he snarled into her ear.
She pushed him away, tears in her eyes. "I can't do this. I can't watch you destroying yourself."
"I'm not, Sweetheart." The endearment was bitter. "Just let me leave, Jeannie."
"No. We can work through this. I'm sure of it."
Scott took off his wedding ring and dropped it down the front of her shirt. "I don't think we can. Not anymore." His voice was cold. "Yes, I'm angry. Will it make you happy if I admit to that? Would anything I do make you happy if it doesn't involve you taking part of me away and turning me into Mr. Fucking Rogers?"
"I don't want a clone, Scott. I want you and just you. I don't want what Jack created."
"That is me!" Scott snapped. "I'm not the one who was reborn after being sterilized. I'm not the one who died!"
"I'm still alive. I'm here. The things you remember are the Phoenix!"
"Then why the fuck should I stay married to a pale comparison? She was alive at least. She loved living. You don't like anything that's not perfectly staid. You're like the worst Stepford wife ever created."
"How dare you."
"Dare? Me? I dare a lot, Jeannie. I can't be who you want me to be. You don't want me. You want the picture of me that you have in your head. Let me go, or I swear I will take this to court. Somehow, someway I will get out of this. All I have to do is tell them you're trying to use your telepathy to manipulate me. Oh, the poor disabled, abused husband. Abused by his mutie wife."
Jean slapped him again, fury rising in her eyes. "Fine. If that's really what you want, we'll do a separation. You can move back to the mansion anytime you like."
"I already have, remember? You threw me out last week. Now, either sign the papers or get out of my office."
Jean spun on her heel and left the room with a spectacular slam of the door. Scott looked down at his shaking hands. He sat down. He pushed his glasses up to the top of his head and let the tears fall into his arms.
Jean stopped in the hallway, hearing a small sound from Scott's office. She opened the door a crack and saw him crying. Her lips trembled. She ran out of the mansion and all the way back to their home, no, her home. How could he do this to me? She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. I just want to help him.
Scott wiped the tears away. He washed his face in the half-bath between his office and the library. He took a deep breath and went to see the professor. "Sir?"
"Come in, Scott." Charles smiled kindly at him. "What can I do for you today?"
"Break the link between me and Jean."
"Close the door and sit down." Scott shut the door and sat in the visitor's chair. "Now, why do you want me to do that?"
"She has implied that she wants to go into my mind and erase part of my history, change my views on certain, if you'll excuse me, sexual activities and make me 'sane'."
Charles frowned. "Surely it was just a joke."
"She thinks I'm a perverted slut. She swears up and down that I'm sick and twisted and just need to be cured."
"Cured of what?" Charles leaned forward. "I assure you, you cannot shock me, Scott. I've known you since you were sixteen. Teenagers have a very active imagination."
"Are you saying you used to spy on me, sir?" Scott smirked. "How naughty."
"Answer my question."
"I have a thing for knives."
"So does she."
"No, sir, she doesn't." Scott took a deep breath. "She claims it was the Phoenix that had that fascination, not her."
"And have you confronted her with the fallacy?"
"I showed her the initials on my hip the other night. She thinks I put them there. I couldn't have put them there. I'm right handed."
Charles closed his eyes. "This is a rather drastic move, isn't it?"
"I've already asked for the divorce, Charles. We fight more than we do anything now. Please, sir. I can't do it alone." Scott's voice was soft.
Xavier looked at his son sadly. //Lay down on the couch. This may hurt.//
Scott nodded. He laid down, eyes closed. He heard the hoverchair settle next to him. The professor's hands were warm on his temples. There was a stabbing pain and then thankful darkness.
Charles tucked the quilt around Scott's body. "Sleep well, Scott."
//Charles! What's wrong with Scott? He's gone!//
//No, Jean, I've merely cut off your link to him.//
//How dare you interfere in our relationship! He doesn't know what he wants.//
//Yes, Jean, he does. He laid out his arguments for me and if for no other reason, he should not be linked into your mind until you've both sorted yourselves out.//
//He's my husband.//
//Not in his mind, Jean. In his mind you two are already divorced.//
//This isn't fair. He sprung this on me today.//
//And did you agree to it?//
//To a trial separation. That's all. And we'll still see each other at the Mansion.//
//Perhaps not. Perhaps it would be best for one of you to go to Scotland for the duration of the separation.//
//Consider it, Jean.//
//The answer is no. I'm not leaving him. And I want to do my best to get him back. Give me a chance, Charles.//
//I will not let you harm him in any way. Not physically. Not mentally. Not emotionally. And definitely not psychicly.//
//I don't want to hurt him, just help him.//
//If he doesn't want your help, then that is a manipulation.//
//It's for his own good.//
//That's the worst kind of help, Jean. He's not addicted to drugs or alcohol. He doesn't need an intervention. He's functional in the here and now. Let him be himself, Jean.//
//He's still mine. God help anyone who tries to take him away.//
//Be careful, Jean. I don't want to have to intervene in your relationship.//
//You just did.//
//No, just your powers. He needs to be on an equal footing with you and he cannot do that if you have the ability to manipulate his thoughts and feelings.// Xavier felt the frown on his mouth. //If you want to win him, Jean, you must do so the old-fashioned way.//
//Sir?// Jean was confused.
//By words and deeds. The way you did when you were teenagers. He is not yours by some pre-ordained writ in the stars. Win him, Jean. I don't want to see the two of you break up, but I will not watch my son hurting because he can no longer remain in your relationship.//
Jean winced. //Yes, Charles. I understand. I know what he needs.//
//Very well. We will see where this leads.//
The team adjusted to the new housing arrangements with barely a whisper. There was more discussion of whether or not Gambit should cut his hair or not. Scott had voted yes, but just so that he could grow his without disturbing the status quo. Logan had just snorted and said that it didn't matter to him. Gambit had been surprisingly reticent on the topic until Rogue gloated at him, "See even Scott agrees with me, sugah."
"I ain't cuttin' it. That's final, woman. Deal wit' it." Remy had pointedly turned his back to her and asked Scott about his motorcycle.
Jean settled next to Scott dressed to kill. "Honey, let's go out," she said with a sweet smile.
"No," Scott stated. "Go play with Ro."
Jean's lips pursed. "Scott, at least try for me."
"I've given up on trying. I'll never be what you want. Just let me go."
Remy's smile turned fixed as he watched the room go from teasing to sub-zero in less the five seconds. He could practically see the fire burning in Jean's eyes. He wanted to look away, but this was too big. If Scott and Jean couldn't manage to stay together what did that say for his chances of ever finding something stable. He covered the sudden change by getting up. "I'm gonna make some coffee. Any of y'all want some?"
"I'll take one," Scott said.
Jean drew herself up. "Stop avoiding me, Slim."
"I told you, I am not interested. If you want to go out, find someone else."
"Jeannie, let it go," Logan said in a reasonable voice.
Jean scowled at him. "You want this marriage to die, don't you?" she demanded.
"Yes," Scott said flatly, "of course that was my intention when I married you. Why the Hell else would I have said 'I do' than wanting to be a total failure in my personal relationships?"
Xavier was in the kitchen. He'd already started the coffee. Gambit glared at him. "Sit down, Remy, I think we have things to discuss."
"Stay out of m' head, M. Charles," Remy purred, eyes flashing.
//Remy, sit down. I understand that you are unsettled. Let's talk. It can't hurt to talk over a cup of coffee.//
Gambit sat at the table. //I hate mind-talkin' and y' know it, Professeur.//
//You'd rather everyone knew your personal business?//
//Get t' the point.//
//Scott and Jean's relationship has never been stable. You need to know that, I think.//
//But they seemed t' love each other so much.//
//You loved your wife very deeply.//
//And it hurts when you see two people you thought were in a similar relationship break up. It's understandable.//
//Why are they doin' this? I can't see the reason f' the poison between them.//
//That's something I am not at liberty to discuss. There is a good reason. A fundamental reason. Things aren't going to change as much as you fear.//
//Bullshit, M. Bullshit.//
Jean's mouth opened, then clicked shut. "Fine. I'll go out by myself."
"Scott, this is my last offer."
"And this is my final answer. No."
Jean stalked out of the room, heels clacking on the floor. Logan put a casual hand on Scott's thigh and squeezed. Scott glanced at him. "Lemme go get ya that coffee. I can smell it brewin'. Ain't no chickory in it either."
"Good. I might not get heartburn from it then. Make sure he's still breathing, hm? I think I heard the professor in the kitchen."
"Maybe I ain't gonna get coffee then."
"Logan." Scott's tone was mild, but still sharp enough. Logan snorted a laugh. He patted the younger man's head as he passed.
"Maybe you should grow a tail."
Scott snorted. "Do I look like a thief?"
Logan grinned nastily at his lover. "Ya want me to answer that question, Slim?"
"Coffee." Scott pointed toward the kitchen.
Rogue propped her chin on her hand. "So tell me, sugah, when did you develop PMS?"
Scott shrugged. "So are you on or off with the thief right now?"
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Least ya could do is answer mah question."
Scott looked at her, blank-faced. "PMS? You must be seeing things, Rogue."
"Are you really breakin' up with Jean?"
Everyone in the room seemed to lean a little closer. Scott shifted uncomfortably. "I've asked for a divorce, yes."
"Damn," Rogue breathed. Her eyes were wide. Scott looked towards the kitchen in hopes of seeing his coffee appear. He was going to need it to make it through the rest of the evening.
"Coffee ready?" Logan asked.
"Almost, mon ami," Remy answered. His eyes were distant, focused somewhere beyond the professor's head. The thief shook himself, eyes settling on the professor with undisguised dislike for a moment. Then, the Cajun looked to Wolverine. The Canadian was getting out two mugs. He measured out Scott's usual three-quarters of a spoonful of sugar and pulled the cream out of the fridge. Remy watched the solemn preparations. He knew the answer to why suddenly and it made his heart-rate jump. He left the kitchen, escaping to the garage and off of the campus. Logan and Charles stared after him, nonplussed.
"What the fuck was that about, Chuck?"
"He was upset that Jean and Scott are getting a divorce. I don't know what spurred him to leave."
Logan snorted. "Right." He poured the coffee and added the right amount of cream before taking it back to Scott. "Here."
"Thanks," Scott said absently. He was working on a crossword puzzle. The rest of the team had drifted towards the television set.
"Welcome." Logan nodded towards the stairs. "Come on up and talk to me."
Scott smiled sadly. "Sure."
Bobby watched them go. At least Slim was talking to somebody these days. It hurt to realize just how far apart the original five had gotten. He hadn't even noticed that Scott and Jean were fighting.
Scott sat cross-legged on the footlocker at the base of Logan's bed. Logan was on the floor on one of the tatami mats he used for meditating. "So ya asked."
"I told you I would." Scott let the coffee's heat leech into his hands. The adamantium band around his finger had stopped feeling strange at about the same time he'd told Jean he wanted the divorce.
"And what did she say?"
"She agreed to a separation, but only so that she has a chance to win me back." Scott's snort of disgust made Logan smirk.
"She don't know what the competition's offering."
"She doesn't know who the competition is," Scott corrected. He smiled wanly. "She forgot I'm bi."
Logan snorted. "Her loss. My gain. How ya holdin' up?"
Scott shrugged. "At least you can't see cuff-marks on my wrists for once."
The Canadian cocked his head to the side. Scott grinned, he loved the little mannerisms that made up what he remembered as Logan: strong, mean, with a dose of puppy-dog that doesn't know its own strength. Scott sipped his coffee. It was just the strength he liked it, which meant Charles must have made it. The Cajun favored a sharper flavor to his coffee. Scott inhaled the rich scent of it. Logan just watched him, not saying a word. He unsheathed his claws, scraping them against one another, idly. Scott bit his lip.
"You're cruel, you know that? Iím trying to drink my coffee."
"If I'm hot for you I can't be hot for it."
"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"
"Just remember to concentrate in the Danger Room. Wouldn't want to have to tell Chuck his boy bought it because my claws gave him a hard-on."
Scott laughed. "Fine."
"I got a serious question for ya, Slim."
"Oh?" The sound of metal on metal stopped, making it easier for Scott to concentrate.
"Are we gonna keep this quiet? Like before?"
Scott looked down, not wanting anything distracting him. He stared at the coffee, hoping for the right answer. "Until she signs the fucking papers, yes. But I'm not going back to her. I had the professor break our link."
Logan bowed his head. That was a larger step than he'd ever have asked of the young man. Scott looked old for a moment, and Logan's heart nearly stopped. He'd forgotten how hard the past few years had been on the boy, no man. He had to start thinking of Scott as a man. They had to do it right this time, make it last. Scott put down his empty mug. "Logan?"
"I just don't want to fuck it up this time. I don't think either of us could handle the break-up."
"We don't break up." Scott smiled. "We kill."
Logan's barked a short laugh at that. He moved across the room to kiss his lover. Sitting on the locker, he was just the right height for Logan to loom over him. Scott tilted his head up for the kiss. Logan explored Scott's lips and mouth gently. Then, as he was about to leave the kiss, Scott's hands wrapped into his hair. Scott changed the tenor of the kiss with the simple action of pressing his tongue against one of Logan's too sharp K-9's. The tang of blood made Logan's pants fill out. He devoured Scott's mouth latching onto the young man's tongue and sucking to catch more of the salty flavor. Scott moaned as Logan's hand ran down his back and into his pants. He pressed himself against Logan's body. He was light-headed by the time Logan pulled back, blue eyes dilated.
"Get out of yer clothes before I do it fer ya."
Scott licked his lips, then pulled his tee-shirt over his head and dropped it in a heap on the floor. His jeans followed, settling over the hiking boots he'd taken off when he sat down. His briefs joined the pile. Logan ran a finger along Scott's cheek, then down his jaw. Scott turned into the gentle touch. Logan extended a claw, stroking Scott's cheek carefully. Scott's breath caught. He ran his hands up under Logan's shirt. "It's not fair. You're all covered up. I want to touch you."
Logan smirked. "I'm never gonna be fair to ya, Slim."
"I might be nice on occasion, but not fair. Use that pretty mouth of yers while I get my shirt off."
Scott's jaw worked. "If you think you're that close. . ."
Logan kissed him. "Put it to work or stay quiet."
"Bossy bastard." Scott undid Logan's belt and freed his cock. It sprang to attention as he kissed it and Scott laughed, the warm breath making the cock twitch. Scott lapped at the head, then blew on it. He'd gotten Logan tied up one night and spent hours tormenting his cock. He knew every pressure point that would make the man squirm. He swirled his tongue around the end as if it were an ice cream cone. Logan growled deep in his chest in appreciation.
"I'd wet it good," Logan threatened idly. Scott took the man's cock in one long gulp making the Canadian shout. "Oh, shit, boy. Maybe I'll just fuck yer mouth tonight."
Scott grinned around the cock, scraping it with his teeth. As long as he got to feel Logan's claws on his skin, he'd call it a night well-spent. Logan wrapped his hand in Scott's hair, feeling the familiar softness of it twist between his fingers. He extended his claws. The tips of them rested on Scott's shoulder blades. He fucked Scott's mouth. Scott's hands fisted in the material of Logan's jeans, tugging them down so he could run his hands over Logan's ass and feel the muscles flexing. Logan came, ramming his cock down Scott's throat. Scott struggled not to gag. He swallowed reflexively around Logan's head and Logan growled, eyes almost black with arousal. Logan's nostrils flared. He pulled out and up, to bring Scott's mouth to his. He thrust his tongue into Scott's mouth, holding him fiercely into the kiss. Scott moaned as Logan's hand caught hold of his cock. He wanted to ask for more than just a comforting hold, but Logan's tongue filled his mouth and Logan's blades held him still. He was so hard that his cock was leaking. Then, Logan pulled back a bit.
"I want ya to come while I'm buried in yer ass. I wanna watch yer face as ya come fer me. I want to lick ya clean then mark ya up, just a bit."
"Please?" Scott tried, not sure if that was the right response or not. He just wanted action. Logan laughed. He pushed the younger man in the direction of the bed. Scott scrambled onto the cotton sheets, legs spread wide. Logan smirked. He lubed Scott's ass with one hand while his other held just so on Scott's cock to keep him on edge. Then, he was pressing forward and Scott's eyes closed to appreciate the movement a bit more. The slow inching movement was about to drive him mad. He pushed down to force Logan's cock in faster and felt the brush of adamantium just over his face. Logan's claws were out and he was itching to use them. He pressed his hands above Scott's elbows, pinning him to the bed. His claws rested against the younger man's arms. Scott writhed a bit under the tight restriction. Logan started to thrust. Scott arched. His legs wrapped around Logan's waist. His hands wadded up the soft cotton. "Fuck. Logan. Harder. Please?"
Logan growled. He'd go his own pace and that was it. The sooner Scott remembered that, the better off he'd be. Scott's head arched back exposing his throat to Logan's teeth. That was better. Logan bit none too gently at Scott's collarbone. He'd leave a mark. Let them wonder. Scott was close. Logan could smell him, the deep sweet autumn scent mixed with the cinnamon spice of his cologne. Yes, he could taste him. Sweet apples and copper. Scott cried out as he came, his body milking Logan's cock bringing him to completion. Logan laid himself over the boy, lapping at the blood, the semen, the sweat. Scott was blissed, the tiny sparks of his power behind his shades told Logan that. If he wanted anything at all, now was the time to ask for it. Logan had never used underhanded techniques like that, but he could see the benefits. He left a deep bruise on Scott's left hip. He'd be able to casually put a hand on it for the next few days and remind Scott who he belonged to know.
"Anyone ever tell you you're possessive?" Scott asked as Logan finished adding his bruise.
"Yup. You. All the fucking time, Darlin'." Logan's teeth were shining in the lamplight. "I'll catch the lights. Go to sleep, Darlin'."
Scott yawned, eyes closing. He was asleep soon after. Logan watched him sleep, then joined him.
Remy slid up to Jean at the bar. He gestured for the bartender. "Bourbon, neat."
He got his drink. Jean looked over at him. "So they sent out the troops to watch over me?" she asked with a smile.
"Non, chere, looks like I'm short a girlfriend an' y'r short a boy. Want t' dance?"
She smiled at him. "I can see why the ladies always fall for you."
Remy smiled back at her. He offered his hand and led her onto the dancefloor. It was a fairly tame little club with a regular thirties singles crowd. "Now, chere, y' tell Remy all y'r troubles."
"Remy is a gossip," Jean teased, feeling slightly better. She hadn't been out without Scott or the girls in years. She'd been getting uncomfortable with the amount of attention she was getting. If she'd taken every drink that had been offered to her, she'd have been drunk on the floor. Anyways, now they were all glaring at Remy because he'd gotten her onto the dancefloor in less than a minute. He was also dancing *very* close to her. "Does Rogue know your ideas on dancing?"
He grinned at her. "Ah, chere, best way t' get close when y' ain't allowed t' get close." He pulled her closer with one arm. He sipped his bourbon as they moved slowly to the backbeat. She shook her head.
"You have a death wish," she told him. "She'll kill you if she finds you dancing with another woman."
"She'd leave m' f' lookin' at another woman, Jeannie." He grinned at her. "She can't blame m' f' playin' wit' y' though. Y' need someone t' play wit' t'night. Someone t' tell secrets to that ain't about t' tell. Like secrets me. Keep 'em real good."
"Oh, yes. I know. Like your English and Communications degree." She smirked at him. "Why not tell everyone you majored in theatre?"
Remy snorted. "I take that t' mean that you want Remy t' lay off on the accent a bit."
"That would be nice. It can get thick."
"It's my real accent you know. I had t' train really hard t' get it acceptable. Still a few words I can't manage. So tell me about the real Jeannie. You ever go t' school?"
Jean shook her head. "Only things I learned from the professor. I was behind in my schooling when I was sent up here by my family. I was going to be a model. I was a model for a little while. Never a really famous one. Warren introduced me to the right people." Jean shrugged. She sipped at her white wine. "I was an X-man and that was enough for me. Besides, I was the only woman on the team. The boys loved me."
Remy nodded encouragement as he moved her into the middle of the couples. He liked the casual contact of the dancefloor. Jean wasn't used to it. He wondered if it bothered her shields. She drew closer to him, leaning to speak into his ear.
"Are you sure you want to know me? Scott doesn't seem to like me anymore."
"I ain't Scott. D'accord. Let's get out of here. We'll find someplace better t' talk." With some regret he led her out of the club and to the street. "You want t' ride wit' me or drive y'self?"
She pursed her lips at the motorcycle. "I'll drive. Follow me. I know a place. There's a lake just outside of town."
Remy nodded. He put on his helmet, just to keep her from lecturing him. He hated the damn thing. It cut off his sightlines. He followed her begging her mentally to speed up because his reputation was going to be shot if someone caught him doing the speed limit. //It's not safe to speed.//
//Merde. Woman. Don't nobody do the speed limit on this road.//
//I do. And that means you get to.//
Remy didn't formulate a response. She could sense his displeasure clearly enough though. She shook her head with a smile. Remy would probably never grow up like Scott did. The sharp pain in her heart startled her. Scott wasn't dead, but the loss of the link made it feel that way. She pulled into the park. Remy stopped beside her. He pulled off his helmet and hung it on the bars. He'd only worn the thing to please her and if it disappeared it would be no great loss.
Jean took a moment to appreciate the image the Cajun presented in his jeans and tee-shirt, hair loose around his shoulders for once. The rubber band he'd held it back with must have been caught in the helmet and pulled free. He was pretty to look at and listen too, but she wasn't attracted to him like most women seemed to be. He was just too much. He cocked his head to the side, studying her. He was curiously non-sensual about it. "Follow me," she said, to break the moment.
They walked into the forest and Jean couldn't help but look over her shoulder to make sure he really was there. She couldn't hear his feet and she couldn't sense his mind. He was like a ghost. Maybe that was why she was so willing to talk to him. He wasn't real to her. Not the way everyone else in the Mansion was. He didn't feel vibrant or alive when she tried to touch his mind. He was cold and distant, like a mountain. No, that wasn't right. He was more like a deep, quiet pool. Dangerous and unpredictable, hiding secrets. She would drop hers into that pool and watch it sink away into the depths.
She stopped in the small picnic clearing. She sat down at the table and he sat cross-legged on top of it. He lit a cigarette. It flared to life, casting a dim light onto his face. The moon washed over them, draining the color from the scene. "Scott likes knives."
"Oui? What's the problem then, Jeannie?"
He blinked at her, eyes glowing with the curious fire that seemed to be a code to his moods. "Why not?"
"It's sick. Twisted. I just can't stand it. It's wrong to hurt your lover like that."
"But I t'ought you liked that edge of death in your lovers. Scott, Logan, Warren. They all got their angers and edges."
Jean shivered, a moue of distaste on her lips. "It's a sickness that can be cured."
"And you didn't know befo' you married him? I don't buy it, chere."
"I knew. I saw the Phoenix's memories. But she's not me and that wasn't our relationship." Remy was quiet for a long moment, waiting for her to say something more. She shook her head. "Don't you get it? He's got this idea that I'm that bitch."
"Lots of folks do," he said softly to her. "Most folks don't get the chance to start over. You did and the first thing you did was hook up with the boy you knew thought you were as twisted as he was. You changed the rules, chere, but you didn't tell no one, did you?" There was a sadness in his voice that she'd never heard before. "Seems to me that a woman marries a man knowin' what she's getting, she ought to keep what she bought. Ma Belle knows that I'm a t'ief. Always did, but she bought that trouble. She's kept it too."
"And you cheat on her."
"She cheats on me. We got our agreements. Seems you and Scott had an agreement too."
Jean shook her head. "I never agreed to it. I've never even thought of it."
"Scotty never asked for it? Maybe he don't need his knives that badly."
"He has. I told him exactly what I told you. It's sick. It's perverted. And he needs to be saved."
Remy looked at her steadily. He sighed. "Good luck, girl. You gonna need it."
"I'll win him back. Don't you worry." She smiled at him. He shook his head. "I know what I'm doing."
"Non, chere, you ain't got no idea." His lips curled up into an almost cruel little smile. "Mebbe y' need a real competition, chere. First one t' bed him, wit'out knives wins."
"Your girlfriend will kill you."
Remy laughed. "Come on, Jeannie, y' really believe I'm in love wit' her? What y' say, Jeannie? We got a fight or not?"
She blinked at him and then laughed. "No way, Remy. I needed the laugh though. You'll keep my secrets." She tried to make the sentence a command, but it bounced off of his shields.
"Ain't no fun knowin' if I don't keep 'em is it? Besides, y' already know about my degree. Scott doesn't know does he?"
"No," she admitted finally. "I found out by accident. I was talking to an old friend, who ended up teaching one of the classes you were in."
Remy shuddered. "Now dat's creepy," he said. "T'ought Charles tryin' t' analyze m' reaction t' y're separation was nasty, but, girl, y' got some major luck. An' damn y' getting old. Never t'ought about y' bein' old enough t' teach school."
"You're old enough, barely."
"But all the folks I taken classes from got higher degrees. I just got a BA and I done some of it from a hospital bed! Merde." He shook his head. "Dangerous night. We just lettin' all sorts of secrets out ain't we?"
"Hospital bed?" She stepped closer, some mothering instinct activated at the thought of Remy in a hospital. He hated the med-lab with a passion that bordered on pathological. She reached to touch his shoulder and he moved away from the contact. She blinked. Remy loved being touched.
"Oui. Got hurt real bad durin' a power spike m' first year. Had t' take most m' classes from bed. Didn't matter too much. Had a teleconferencing deal set up so I could be 'in' class f' discussions and all, and I managed t' cram a lot in. Not a lot t' do when y' can't get up."
"How long, Remy?" Jean's voice was soft.
"Spent six months in bed and more in PT," he said after a long, deep look into her eyes. "Dey said I weren't never gonna walk again, Red. I wanted t' die rather than that. If I hadn't had m' work, I'd have done it too. Roofing joist broke m' spine, most m' ribs, and both legs. Had t' have surgery t' repair m' lungs, m' stomach, and pull out m' spleen. Don't go tellin' Henri neither, woman," he hissed suddenly. "Y' gave m' somethin' big, I give y' somethin' big in exchange. D'Accord?"
She nodded. "I understand. If you need to talk about it, I'm here."
"Mebbe y' should be there f' y'r husband instead." There was no rancor in the thief's tones. Still, she took it for the refusal it was.
"I'll win him again, Remy, and there won't be any more of this stupidity."
Remy turned and headed for his bike. "Remember y' got competition, chere. Y' just don't know from where," he called over his shoulder.
She laughed, not worried in the least.
Scott woke up, curled in Logan's arms and perfectly content to stay there for the rest of the day. He breathed in the familiar scent of Logan's skin and snuggled closer. The muscled arms tightened around him. "Mornin', Darlin'," Logan murmured.
"Ya need to get up?"
"Nah. Everyone'll assume you got me drunk last night anyway."
"We only brought up coffee?"
"So? I've got a stash of good stuff in my room. Always kept it there."
"You drink alone a lot, Scooter?" There was a dangerous edge in Logan's voice and Scott pulled away to look at him, adjusting his shades automatically.
Always. You know that, babe."
"Thought you were over that."
"Drinking alone? Nope. I prefer it. I only get drunk after the bad ones. Takes all of say, two fingers to put me to sleep without nightmares."
Logan chuckled. "I always ferget yer a cheap drunk."
"Cheap drunk. Not cheap slut."
Logan traced the healing cut on Scott's back. "No?"
The younger man shivered. "Okay, for you, I'm cheap. Everyone else pays double." He pressed a kiss to Logan's chin. "I've got work to do."
"Might want to see Hank first."
"For a cut? Nah. I'll just pour some peroxide over it."
"Lemme take care of it then." Scott stretched. Logan could smell sex and blood on him.
"Your shower fits two."
The Canadian chuckled. "Definitely cheap for me."
Jean groaned as she woke up. I only had a glass of wine, why do I feel like I have a hangover? she wondered. She looked at the bedside table and found an empty vodka bottle staring at her. Her eyes widened. She tried not to move too quickly. It was Citron flavored. That meant it was hers. She just didn't remember drinking anything when she got back to the boathouse. The thought disturbed her. She didn't do things like that. Scott was the one who got drunk when he was upset. She smirked slightly. Not that getting Scott drunk took more than a double shot of scotch. That's why she drank vodka in the first place, so that she could get smashed too.
She dragged herself to the shower and turned it on cold. She must have finished half the bottle given how horrible she felt. She emptied what was in her stomach down the drain. She rinsed her mouth with the shower water. She brought the aspirin bottle to herself using her TK. She took four and finished her shower.
Bobby snickered at Jean's haggard appearance. "Looks like you had some fun last night. I've got black coffee."
"Hand it over and I won't have to hurt you," she said, voice low. He put a cup into her hand. It was black and hot.
"So, do you think you'll be able to face the Danger Room this morning?"
"I'll be fine."
"Want to talk about you and Scott breaking up? Because from what I figure you've been married like fourteen years now, given that whole future world thing."
"Bobby, I don't want to talk right now."
"You sure?" He cocked his head at her. "From what I can tell Scott's talking to Logan and you're talking to Remy. And given that Remy usually moves to the other side of the room when you come in, I never pegged him as your confessor."
Jean frowned. "I don't remember talking to him. I must have, because I remember him at the front door of the boathouse and he hasn't been down there since he helped us move in."
"Are you sure you don't want to talk to me? I've known you forever. You saw me through Opal."
"I don't want to talk to anyone. Where is Scott anyway?"
"I'm assuming he's nursing a hangover in Logan's room since that's where the last batch of black coffee went."
"Must have had all of three beers."
Bobby laughed softly. "I'm here if you change your mind."
Scott jumped back from the window with a yelp. Logan shook his head. "Just open it." Scott unlocked the casement and their resident thief swung into the room.
"Storm throw ya out?" Logan asked. He offered a mug of coffee to the Cajun. To Scott's surprise the young man settled on the floor by Logan's door, ignoring the smell of sex in the room and the rumpled bedclothes.
"Ma petite never t'rows m' out. Rogue ain't exercisin' this mornin'."
"I thought you were a night owl."
"I is. But I got this boss that gets m' up at sick hours of the mornin' f' trainin'."
Logan snorted. "So what's the intel on Jeannie."
"Merde, let a body savor his coffee."
"Cut the shit, Gumbo."
"Fine." Remy's accent settled into the gentler Southern he used when he was reporting. "She thinks Scotty will get over his kinks for her and that she doesn't have any competition to worry about. I challenged her and all, but she's sure Scotty's hers."
"That's all you're gettin' beyond the fact she got herself drunk last night. Made sure she was just passed out b'fore I came back t' the mansion."
"So how long have you known about me and Logan?" Scott's eyes narrowed behind his shades. He didn't like the fact that the thief knew, but it was too late to do anything about that.
"Figured it out after you told off Jeannie and I saw Logan makin' your coffee."
Logan reacted to that. "Me makin' coffee tipped ya off?"
Remy picked at the knee of his jeans, eyes fixed on the fraying threads. "Yeah. Jeannie don't make it right."
"What?" Scott frowned. He shared a surprised look with Logan.
"Jean puts in a full spoon of sugar, but y' only take three-quarters. She ain't never bothered t' find that out."
"And how do you know that?"
Remy shook his head with a secret smile. "Gambit's a spy, cher. Lots of t'ings he knows. T'anks f' the coffee. Oh, Scotty? Y' might want t' wear a different shirt t'day if'n y' don't want folks t' know."
"Damn it, Logan!" Scott put a hand to his throat. Logan laughed deep and low.
"Cajun's just teasin' ya, Babe."
The thief left his mug on the floor just inside Logan's room.
"So, when did he become your personal source?" Scott asked.
Logan raised his brows. "What yer askin' is did I ever fuck him?"
"Nope. Kid used to sleep with Creed."
Scott coughed up his coffee. "What?"
"Yeah. Met him when he was free-lancing. He was beat to shit." Logan shrugged. "Offered to kill Creed for him. He laughed at me. Told me it was just an op and that he was fine. He didn't even feel it." The Canadian shook his head. "Wasn't make-up. Creed was playing jealous, overbearing lover. Whispers say he managed to get not only the a backdoor into the Pentagon's computers, but he also managed to get a contract from the DOD to increase their security."
Scott laughed. "I should ask him to contribute to the operations fund."
"Yeah. You should."
"So how long have you known him then?"
"Damn, he was maybe seventeen when I met him. So, say five years?"
Scott froze. "You're telling me he's younger than Bobby?"
"Yup. He's Kitty's age."
"Well, damn. I had him older than that. Not that he'll talk to me when it isn't team related."
"I think that'll be changin', Darlin'." Logan's smile showed a few too many teeth. "He don't trust Red, but he trusts me." The Canadian crossed the room and caught Scott in a soft kiss. "I'm headin' out for a run. You comin'?"
"Nah. I think I'll just hide out here for awhile."
"Wouldn't mind find ya in my bed when I get back."
"I'll probably be in my office by then."
"Paperwork or playing World of Warcraft?"
"I plead the fifth."
"Scott, please talk to me," Jean said to the closed door.
"I'm in the middle of something. Give me half an hour. I'll meet you in the den."
"How about the library?"
Jean walked slowly through the hallway. Her mind felt wrong, like a mouth missing a tooth or an hand missing a finger. She found herself running her fingers down the spines of the books. She pulled out a volume of poetry. It was dog-earred from years of study. The front pages were labeled in Charles' messy script and Scott's neater hand. This had been the first book Scott had been able to read after getting his glasses. She remembered those days. Scott was gawky, thin, and prone to blink-flashing as opposed to reacting to what was really in front of him. After two years of blindness, he'd had trouble adjusting to processing visual information again. She remembered the feel of his hand on her arm. She shook off the morose flavor of her thoughts. Scott wasn't dead. She had to stop thinking that way.
She put the book back on the shelf and went to find a book that didn't have any memories attached to it. She found an old Agatha Christie she didn't remember and settled down to read for awhile. She was thoroughly into the mystery when the couch dipped next to her. She glanced up to find Remy with a textbook balanced on his knee and a highlighter behind his ear. He looked as though he'd just wandered off of a campus somewhere. "I blame you," was all he said. He put his feet up on the seat between them and shoved his back angrily into the corner. "Charles found out. I currently hate you."
She bit her lip to stop her giggle from escaping. It would do him good to have something to work on that wasn't physical or fodder for a daytime meolodrama. "And what has Charles decided you need to learn?"
"Charles," the name was purred with dangerous posion, "decided po' Remy needs t' get his Masters so he can officially be a teacher 'stead of a student at Xaviers. He *decided* that dis po' boy is going t' be his next poster chile. I. Blame. You."
"I haven't told him anything. I swear."
"Bah." Remy buried his nose in what she realized was The Complete Works of Shakespeare. "Sonnets. Hate poetry, me."
"I think Hank has a copy in French?"
"Non, I go askin' Hank f' books we get distracted an' start talkin' about philosophy again. He'll lure m' into his lab an' then pounce f' blood."
"If you'd let him give you a physical, he'd back off the demands for blood."
Remy glared over the top of his book. "Stop bein' sensible." He pointed his pen at her. "Right now."
She shook her head and went back to her book. She looked up when Scott finally made it to the library. He looked relaxed, which meant he probably didn't have a migraine. He settled into the arm chair. "Gambit, clear out."
The thief looked at him for a moment. He saluted and left the room. "So talk, Jean." Scott steepled his fingers like Charles and stared at her. She shifted on the couch.
"I need to understand why exactly you're mad at me."
He barked out a laugh. "Seriously? This is what you want to talk about? You threatened to fucking *reprogram* me to your specifications. If you want a robot that badly, get a god-damn vibrator." Scott stood up. "I'm not doing this. Talk to Charles. Talk to Moira. Talk to fucking Magneto, but do not try to play up that you don't understand exactly what is going on here."
She could feel the edges of her mind reaching out for the remainder of their link. She was firmly rebuffed by the shield of Scott's angry thoughts. "Scott, we were friends before we were lovers."
"True. And you screwed Warren and Alex before you decided that you liked me best. They were too vanilla for you." Scott bent toward her. "They still are. But Lorna has Alex now and Betsy has Warren. Maybe you should make a play for Bobby. Last I heard, he was still amused by simple sex. Emma was planning to change that though, so I'm not sure anymore. Or better yet? Take Charles." Scott turned and sauntered out.
Jean swallowed. She looked down at the pages of her book and refused to cry. He was just hurt and angry and trying to lash out. She could outlast his mood.
Return to XM Bedroom
Return to the Library
Return to the Main Page