an X-Men movieverse story

by dirty diana

sequel to Easy. Beta by sffan.

The walls of the mansion feel like they're moving inwards. Logan's skin itches with the feeling, every day remaking the decision that he made at Alkali Lake. To stay. Because if he wasn't made for this, then he wasn't made for anything, and the heaviness of that thought is too much to deal with.

Logan isn't going anywhere. But that doesn't make it easy. 

He found Scott in the kitchen. He wasn't looking for him, he was just there, reading the newspaper. He didn't acknowledge Logan's entrance.

Logan can hear, by the lack of kid noise, that they're the only two in the house. "You didn't go on the fieldtrip?" He says it the way he says everything else. Like a dare. A challenge. Just to see how Scott will react, this kid pretending to have control over everything. 

The kid barely reacts to that, these days. Since the day that he moved in. Scott walks around as if Logan simply wasn't there. It takes more than words now, like a hand on his arm, pinning him down, a whispered "faggot" in Scott's ear, to make the kid blush and scowl.

"Fuck off, Logan," Scott will answer furiously, and walk off in the direction that he came from.

Scott isn't playing today. He doesn't even look up. "No," he answers, folding the newspaper neatly, returning the pages to order, leaving it on the kitchen table. Then he gets up. 

As Scott walks by, Logan's hand reaches out, almost without thinking. Just the light touch of Logan's hand on Scott's hip. 

Searching for control.

Scott spins around in an instant, and before Logan knows it he's pinned against the kitchen counter, Scott facing him. Still no expression, Logan's hand lingering against his thigh. Logan is trapped. "What are you doing?" Scott asks.

"Get out of my way."

Scott doesn't react to that, almost as if he hasn't heard. "What. Are you doing?"

Logan inhales sharply, while he pushes the impulse down, then almost chokes on the scent that attacks him.

God. The kid smells like Jean. It's faint, but it's there, underneath wool and cologne and unscented soap, and he has to remind himself that Jean can't be, isn't in the room. Logan inhales again, searching for the things he smelled in his room, nights ago. But those things aren't there. Embarrassment? No. Fear? Gone. Lust?


And that's an emotion that Logan knows well. One that he knows what to do with. Roughly his fingers squeeze Scott's hip, the top of his thigh.

Scott doesn't flinch. "Answer the question."

"Is that an order?"


Everything would be easier if he could see Scott's eyes. But he can't, doesn't even know what colour they are, so he has to make do with watching his mouth.

There it is. Fear. Flared up, and pushed down. Scott leans forward, and kisses him.

Logan growls gently, in warning. Watching Scott watching him. "You know what you're doing, Summers?"

Scott doesn't answer that, just leans his head to one side, and brushes his tongue across his lower lip. Thinking something. 

With a growl Logan releases the anger he's been holding back, knocking Scott to the floor. Logan follows him, on top of him, holding him down, and Scott's fighting back, pushing back but not trying to get away, kissing him instead. Kissing him hard, and Logan feels a sting, tastes blood, his own.

It's clearer now. Because if this what Scott wants - if this is all that he wants, a roll on the kitchen floor, a hard and fast fuck - then Logan can do this. He has done this, more times than he's bothered to count. And if this isn't what Scott wants, then he better say something. Before it's too late.

Scott doesn't say anything at all.

Logan's hand slips underneath Scott's shirt. Searching. Testing. Touching soft skin, no scars, squeezing too hard. He presses his mouth to the smooth hollow of Scott's neck, and this time the blood that he tastes is Scott's, metallic and bitter. Tongue and teeth together trace a line across Scott's shoulder.

He can feel Scott's breath coming harder, faster in his chest. Scott raises a knee off the floor, pushing between Logan's thighs, searching for leverage. Caught by surprise, Logan loses his grip, and tumbles onto his back, Scott on top of him. Logan's body hits the unforgiving white tile with a jolt that rocks them both.

Scott's not the only one breathing too fast. Logan growls, his fingers digging tighter into Scott's back. He sinks his teeth into Scott's shoulder, and Scott groans, the first noise that he's made.

The sound travels down Logan's spine and settles in his cock. He can feel it, and knows that Scott can feel it too, hard against his thigh.

Control. Logan's hands slip down to Scott's hips, grasping, pinching, hurting.

"Faggot," Logan whispers, and feels Scott shake, inhales the lust and anger mingling inside him. Scott's legs spread, pinning Logan against the floor with hard thighs, breathing in against his skin with shallow, desperate breaths.

Scott's weight is solid and heavy on top of him. Logan has stopped moving, frozen and still, waiting to see what the kid will do, daring him with silence.

Scott reaches for the zipper on Logan's jeans, and his throbbing cock releases into Scott's fingers. Logan grunts, as Scott's hand moves against him, long rough sweeps of his palm.

Scott's mouth, so close to his, is tight and determined. Logan jerks his hips, thrusts into Scott's hand, and comes spurting sticky hot over Scott's palm, choking back a groan.

Scott's hand is on his own jeans, releasing his own cock. They're really touching now, small patches of bare skin, mouths and hips and cocks. Scott vibrates against him, and he is hard as stone between Logan's thighs.

The sound Scott is making is something between a moan and a whisper, as his body thrusts against Logan's own.

"Yeah?" Logan asks him, hips pushing off the floor, letting him in. "Want this?"

Scott grunts, rocking against Logan's spread thighs. Cock hard and moist, driving, taking. He groans, and comes wet and hot against Logan's skin. Logan can feel the tremors rocking him as he gasps out short breaths.

He releases a sound that is almost a laugh, one hand rising up to touch Scott's hair. "Feel better, kid?"

Scott doesn't answer. Scott doesn't look at him, as the strength returns to his limp, wasted body. He pulls himself off the other man with a bare groan. Then he pulls himself together, buttoning his jeans, smoothing his hair. He glances up.

"If you tell anyone..." Scott begins.

Now Logan really is laughing, a cheap hollow sound that bounces off the floor. "Shit, Cyke. Why would I do that? Who would believe me?"

Scott's mouth closes in a tight, grim line. "Leave me alone," he whispers quietly. "She's gone. Leave me alone."

Logan doesn't have a comeback for that. Scott's voice is thin and desperate to his ears, and he's never heard Scott sound like that before. The desire to hit him hard, make him bruise, sweeps over Logan like a wave that's he's sinking into. "Whatever," he answers finally.

Scott looks at him. Nods. And leaves.

Logan rests his head against the floor, watches the ceiling where it meets the walls, blinding white against white. 

He's not going anywhere. But that doesn't make it easier.