an X-Men movieverse story

by dirty diana


The contrelamontre couch challenge in forty minutes. Post-X2.

They had knocked over the couch. It had fallen backwards, hitting the floor with a padded thud, taking with it the end table and a blue reading lamp. Ororo entered the room to investigate the sound, and that's how she figured out that Scott and Logan were fucking.

She said fucking, in her head, not having sex, or making love , because in her head that's all that it could be. They weren't touching by the time she got there. They weren't even on the same side of the room. But Ororo was a scientist at heart, and she saw the evidence and trusted her own eyes. The way Scott's hair was mussed, and his shirt untucked; the way that Logan wouldn't even look at him. Just righted the couch, and walked out.

Scott picked up the lamp and the table and set them in place. Then he followed.

She tried to talk to Logan first.

"He's still hurting," she said. "Since Jean..." Then she stopped, because she didn't know a way to finish that sentence that Logan wouldn't take the wrong way. "You are too. I know that."

"No offense," Logan said roughly, "but you don't know much."

Ororo shrugged, and wouldn't be chased away. "I know that Scott's state of mind is very fragile right now. You could hurt him if..."

She didn't get a chance to finish that thought, before Logan's brittle laugh filled the room. Ororo didn't know what she'd said that had been so funny.

So she discussed it with Scott, in the quad, bringing him a glass of iced tea like a white flag. "I like Logan," she said to him, and knew immediately that that had been the wrong place to start. "I like him, but he's dangerous."

Scott looked at her, and didn't say anything. His mouth drew a sharp straight line, tight across his face. Ororo looked back at him. Things that hadn't held any meaning all the times she'd seen them before were making sense now. Sharp red lines on his wrists that disappeared up the sleeve of his shirt. Bruises at the open collar of his shirt, not the light colour of a more than casual touch, but the dark purple of intended hurt. She hadn't seen any marks on Logan, but then, there wouldn't be any.

Not just fucking, then. The thought flew through her mind, sharp and flat. Not really fucking at all.

"You can't..." she stopped to think, and tried again. "You can't be...does it make you happy?"

That wasn't the right place to start either. Very politely, Scott drank his tea.

"Scott," Ororo said again, "people are going to get hurt. You can see that, can't you?"

Scott's tongue moved wet across his lips, the only indication that he was even listening. "People are already hurt, Storm," he said quietly. And he handed her the empty glass, then got up and walked away.