an X-Men movieverse story

by dirty diana

written for challenge #5 at firstlines1000. Post-X2.

Scott's body feels abused, skin bruised, muscles aching. But as near as he can tell, he's still in one piece. That's a start. He opens his eyes and sees that night has fallen, a sliver of moonlight coming through a crack in dark bedroom curtains.

Feet shuffle in the doorway, and he recognises the sound as the noise that woke him up. "Way to lead the team, Scooter. Very impressive. I especially liked the part of the plan where you got your ass kicked."

Scott licks his lips, trying to push the dryness out of his throat. "Fuck you."

"That's pretty big talk, considering I just saved your life."

"You didn't," Scott says. Right now he's too dizzy, too dented, to work out what it is that Logan really wants. The pain is distracting him from anger, distracting him from everything, a welcome change. Scott closes his eyes again and tries to sink into it, but he can hear Logan, standing beside the bed. Staring at him.

With a jolt, Logan's knee comes down hard on the bed, slammed like a brick against Scott's bruised thigh. Scott bites his lip, waking fully, as the pain shot through his body and dissipated. "Sure I did. You should say thank you."

"Fuck you," Scott says again.

It earns him another kick, the muffled sound of denim hitting denim. The pain is sharper this time, more than he can hold on to. "If you're going to keep giving up on us like that, Summers, I'd rather have the Professor wheeling us out there. Or one of the kids."

"If you do that again," Scott murmurs softly, "I'll blast you into the next room."

Logan laughs softly, but not like he doesn't believe it. Like he does. "Good. That's good. Then what?" And Logan is on top of him now, a weight that has become too familiar. He's crawled onto the bed, straddling Scott, knees sharp against his sides.

"I didn't give up today." He doesn't know why it's important that Logan knows that, that he wouldn't let the team down.

"I didn't say that you did." The sound of Logan's voice is harsh, even in a whisper. "I was there when you gave up, kid. It was months ago."

Five months and twelve days. If anyone's counting. Scott still marks the time, since Alkali Lake.

"This isn't what I signed on for, you know." Logan's voice is getting softer, and harder to hear. "One day soon, you're going to get us all killed. I don't really need to stick around for that."

"So why don't you go?" Scott asks, roughly. "No, wait, let me guess. No one else will put up with you."

Logan smirks, finding that funny. "Something like that."

Scott is feeling heavy, sick to his stomach. The darkness is sneaking up, behind his eyes, the nausea creeping over him in waves. Scott's hands are moving, unsteadily, up Logan's thighs, past the waist of his jeans, pushing up his shirt, touching bare skin.

Scott pretends not to know why he does this. But he knows.

Logan bends down and kisses him. The pressure of Logan's lips against his is soft, a bare taste, and that hurts harder than any punch. His tongue, warm and salty, searches Scott's mouth gently. Then he pulls away. His fingers close tight around a bruised wrist, pressing hard into sore flesh, and slowly he draws Scott's hand away. "Not tonight, kid."

He says it like he's sorry.

"Next time," Logan says as he leaves, "I might not be around to save your life. Then what?"

Scott doesn't have an answer for that. He closes his eyes, and lets the silence in.