To Remember
Pairing: Victor/Logan
Setting: X-Men Origins: Wolverine movieverse.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, obviously. Unbetaed.
Word Count: 5350
Summary: "You really don't remember? How did you lose your memory?"
* * *
To Remember
by Randi
Logan sits and drinks beer at a tavern in a barely-there Pennsylvania town. The weather's cold outside, and they seem to have the heaters turned up a tiny bit higher than necessary. The establishment is dimly lit, with the news pattering quietly from the small television set on the wall. Logan's not really watching it. He has nothing to do and nowhere to go. Nothing to do besides drink, finger his dog tags, and glower at anyone who bothers him.
Generally, no one does.
He hates his life, and who can blame him? It's been almost eight months since he woke up with no idea who the fuck he is or what the hell's going on.
"Fancy meeting you here," a low voice says from behind him.
Logan doesn't react at first. Despite the small size of the city, the bar is busy and populated, probably because it's the only one for miles around. Lots of people in the joint have friends; most of the folks who frequent it seem to know other patrons. A few of the younger couples even spin around on the tiny dance floor. Logan doesn't know anyone. For the umpteenth time he wishes he hadn't let the man on the island get away. The young man with wide eyes, who knew his name and claimed to be a friend. Logan should have gone with him. But he'd been in shock, confused, and if he's honest with himself, that stunned fog hasn't completely lifted.
"I said, hello. Anybody home?"
Logan looks over his shoulder and takes the stranger in at a glance. The man has lots of short hair, but as much of it is on the sides of his face as his head. He has a masculine, lived-in face and an arrogant set to his jaw. There's an air of cold menace about him.
Menacing to another man, that is. But no danger to Logan.
Logan turns back to the bar and motions the bartender for another beer. "Whatever it is, pal, I don't want any," he says in a flat voice without looking back.
The stranger pauses a moment. Just as Logan thinks he's going to be left alone, the man asks in a silky voice, "Did you miss me?"
That gets Logan's attention fast. He turns and looks the stranger over more carefully, taking in more details. Long black coat, black trousers, a few days worth of stubble on his faintly lined face. Perhaps 40. His expression is even, but Logan picks up a vague sense of malice from his eyes and the way he holds himself. The man's got an odd mix of smells, too--rare, bloody red meat and the outdoors, pine trees and damp earth. His arms are at his sides, but Logan can see his thumbnails and a few of his fingernails, and they're longer than a woman's and rather pointy.
Weird.
"That depends," he says bluntly. "Who the hell are you?"
Logan's been in a foul mood all evening, so when the stranger doesn't answer right away, Logan hops off the bar stool and gets in his face. The stranger is so close their thighs are almost touching. His expression, his inflection, his words all send Logan into instinctive suspicion. The stranger looks at him doubtfully. To show the man he means business, in one smooth motion Logan grabs the lapels of the man's black coat and shakes him. Not too hard, just enough to get the message across. "Who are you? What can you tell me?"
The stranger's eyes drop to where Logan's fists grip the front of his coat. "Tell you," he repeats dubiously.
Logan frowns, scrutinizing him. He can't tell if this guy is friend or foe, and so he shakes him harder. "About my life!" he shouts. "Who are you, and what can you tell me!?"
The stranger doesn't answer, and Logan doesn't like it. He yanks the strange man to the side and throws him into the bar. The man stumbles backwards and crashes hard against the wood, but he doesn't seem hurt or even fazed as he straightens, still looking at Logan.
"You two! Take it outside," the bartender calls sternly.
One corner of the stranger's lips quirk. "Let's do as the good gentleman says," the stranger suggests to Logan. In an exaggerated movement he inclines his head towards the bartender.
The bartender glares at them.
"Fine." Logan pushes by the man and stalks out of the bar. The wind outside blows frigid air and a few icy snowflakes into his face, but Logan doesn't care right now, doesn't care about anything but pressing this annoying, amused stranger for information. For a second he fears the man won't follow him, that Logan will turn around to find he's disappeared into thin air. Gone just like that, the way the man on the island melted away. But when he glances back, the strange man's just a few feet behind him.
He walks a couple steps from the barroom door, underneath the brightness of a floodlight, then turns on the man, crossing his arms. "I wanna know everything you know about me, starting with your name and how we know each other. Now."
The stranger grins at him, momentarily baring sharp white teeth and elongated canines. Logan finds himself staring, and it occurs to him that this guy's really kind of creepy.
"If we're going to play games, everyone should know the rules." The stranger cocks his head. "So tell me, what kind of game are we playing here?"
Logan doesn't like his smug manner, not one bit. Losing his temper, Logan decks the guy once, twice, three times. "I'm. Not. Playing." Not quite hard enough to break his nose, and not hard enough to really satisfy Logan's desire to wipe the smirk off his face. The single punch Logan lands on his chin should be hard enough to give the guy one hell of a jawache. But not only does the stranger not fight back, he hardly reacts to the blows.
The man leans forward slightly and Logan's tempted to hit him again, harder, when he realizes with a start that the man is sniffing him. The stranger suddenly starts to look surprised. Logan has only a second to think about what that might mean, that this man observes from scents the way he himself does. He gets distracted by the startled look.
The lines of the stranger's face settle into puzzlement. "You really don't remember? How did you lose your memory?"
The snow's starting to pick up. A couple guys shuffle up the hill from the parking lot and pass them, ducking through the door into the bar.
"Since I lost my memory, I don't fucking know, asshole," he snaps, unable to keep his voice from rising. "Think about it." He knows a few people in the parking lot are looking at them, but they could be ants for all he cares. His focus stays entirely on the mysterious man in front of him, and maybe it's paranoia, but the stranger's looking at Logan now like he knows a lot of things Logan doesn't.
But then Logan forces himself to lower his voice, cause neither the show of violence nor the show of anger is working with this guy, and cause he doesn't want to draw any more attention from the parking lot. He doesn't care overmuch about people witnessing their argument, but he doesn't want any interference in this conversation, either. He takes a deep breath, and releases it, and adds, "I don't know how. I was hoping if and when I ran into a friend from my past, they might have some insight."
The man's eyes move over Logan's face with an intensity that makes Logan damn near uncomfortable.
"But something's telling me we weren't friends, were we, bub," Logan says, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. Because he's frustrated, and he's disappointed. Oh, so disappointed. To finally run into someone who knew him from before, and it's not a friend. Not necessarily an enemy, perhaps, but this man doesn't feel like a friend. It figures. Maybe, given the way he is--the proneness to rages, the metal claws, the rapid healing made for fighting--maybe he didn't have any friends.
For a nanosecond something like seething fury ghosts across the man's face, but then his expression smooths into inscrutability again, and it happens so quickly Logan isn't even sure he really saw it. The stranger says only, in his low rich voice, "Oh, we were much more than friends, Jimmy."
Logan's disturbed by the implications of that, and so he seizes on the name. "Jimmy? My name's Jimmy?"
The large man shrugs. "No, not really. It's what I called you. Your name's Logan. Or at least, that's what you called yourself."
Another man who knows his name. Well, that's something. Logan stares at him. "What's your name?"
He watches Logan closely as he answers the question, surveying Logan's expression like he's looking for a hint of change, or some small sign that Logan recognizes him.
"It's Victor."
Victor. Victor. Logan searches his brain, letting the name echo, but it comes back with nothing. Blank. No Victor in the memorybanks.
"You really don't remember," Victor says for the second time, his voice wondering now. The snow's getting heavier, decorating their hair with frozen white flakes. With one fingernail Victor thoughtfully scratches his temple.
In the soft white light from the outdoor lamp, Logan sees Victor's fingernails--really sees them, up close. Thick ugly claws the color of old yellowed cream, made for killing, and they look dirtier and somehow longer than they did in the darkened bar. "Jesus," he says.
Before he can react further, Victor jerks him forward into a passionate, slightly angry kiss, masculine scent and teeth everywhere and the tang of blood, of fresh meat. Logan is too surprised for a second to break it, and then the scent, the taste is almost almost jogging his memory, and he gets lost in the kiss, tasting and feeling Victor's aggressive tongue and trying to remember. Victor's whiskers rub against his own. The kiss goes on and on and he gets his tongue bitten and forgets to breathe before the man finally relinquishes his mouth and pulls his face away.
Breathing hard, in no small part because he just kissed another guy, Logan's as confused as he's been since waking up on the island. "We were ... lovers?" The audible incredulousness in his final word is so intense Victor laughs.
Logan growls at him.
Victor presses his lips together, forcing himself to reign in his blatant amusement. "Sorry honey, I'm just so taken aback you've lost your memory." He nods solemnly. "Yes. Yes we were. Lovers."
Logan stares at him in disbelief. Logan's slowly become aware that he might not be completely straight, as he's realized his eyes follow not just the beautiful women he sees from across the room, but also the occasional slim young man. His sexual preferences may have been on the flexible side. But he would never have thought this large hairy guy would be his type.
Logan studies the stranger. It's not that Victor's unattractive, not at all. He's charismatic. In fact he makes a first-rate case for the pull of animal magnetism, despite his obvious entertainment at Logan's predicament, and being annoyingly vague and not at all forthcoming with information. In his scent, along with the smell of rare meat, are notes of fresh air and the open forest. But the guy's bigger than him for godsakes, stockier and with powerful shoulders. Solidly built, like a trucker, except packed with muscle. Victor's even got facial hair sort of like his own. Victor's altogether too masculine.
For him.
He thinks.
"I didn't think I was gay," he finally starts to say. "At least--"
Then there's a yell from the parking lot. "Get out of here, you queers!"
They're still standing only inches apart. Victor glances towards the parking lot and smiles, a nasty predatory smile that sends pangs low along Logan's spine. For some reason, Logan can't help but think Victor wants to kill the man who shouted it.
Logan did know this person, he's sure of it. Logan inhales deeply. Something about Victor's scent is so familiar, but he can't place it.
"I don't think you're gay, Jimmy," Victor says reassuringly. "Only with me."
It doesn't make Logan feel better. "Are you gay?"
"Nah, I'm openminded." Victor flashes one of his disingenous smiles.
Logan pauses another moment, and another shout comes from the parking lot. "HEY, YOU!" Logan glances down, sees a few men clustered together. The heckler has his hands on his hips.
"Let's take a walk," Victor suggests. "Get inside."
"I don't wanna take a walk," Logan says angrily, coming to his senses and banishing all the gay talk from his mind, cause he cannot have dated this guy. He just couldn't have. No way Victor's his type. "I don't wanna take a walk or go anywhere with you. History or not. I want you to spill everything you know right here, right now."
"Okay," Victor says. "We can stay here, but we'll have to kill those guys down there if they won't shut the fuck up."
Logan spares another glance towards the parking lot. He doesn't think Victor's kidding. "Fine. I have an RV across the lot."
Victor shakes his head. "I have a better idea. Let's go to an actual building."
Logan sighs. "Fine."
* * *
Victor leads and sets the pace, walking with long, purposeful strides. A few inches of packed snow have built up, crunching under Logan's boots. As they start to walk away from the pub the wind picks up, howling so hard they don't even bother trying to talk on the walk over. The temperature drops quickly. Logan's not comfortable, but the cold doesn't concern him the way it does most people. Frostbite and hypothermia are not things he worries about. The cold doesn't seem to trouble Victor much either.
Logan has nothing to do as they walk and can't stop himself from thinking helplessly about the gay thing. He eyes Victor, thinking about sex with him. Having it, and what it must be like. If what Victor says is true, they already have. "Unbelievable," he mutters.
Victor glances back at him, and Logan marvels for a second--the wind is whistling so loudly past their ears, he never would have guessed Victor would hear him. "What?" Victor shouts.
"Nothing," he shouts back.
Victor leads him to a roach motel about ten minutes away. Victor passes the tiny glass-walled office. Assuming he already has a rented room, Logan keeps following him. Finally, at the farthest unit from the office, Victor stops in front of the door and kicks it in, breaking the cheap lock.
"You've got to be kidding me," Logan deadpans, but after a quick look left and right he follows Victor inside. Victor just smiles and shuts the door, then fastens the safety chain and flicks on the light. The room's quiet after the shrieking of the storm outside, although they can still hear the whistling of the wind more softly now. Victor runs a hand over his short hair, brushing the snow and ice off the top of his head. Snowflakes continue melting on his cheeks.
The room's dingy, with the standard bed, desk and chair. The carpet is brown and icky, and Logan's standards aren't exactly high. Surveying the bed, he'd bet the sheets haven't been washed in their last dozen uses. Then he turns his attention fully to Victor.
"Whatever. Okay, I'm here." Logan crosses his arms and looks at Victor expectantly. "Start talking."
Victor takes a step closer to him and brushes the snow off Logan's hair, too. Logan shifts uncomfortably to his other foot, but he doesn't object. The gesture's filled with affection, and maybe it's true, maybe they were friends (or more?) after all.
"Forget talking," Victor says. His voice is measured, low and nearly hypnotic, and he slips a hand between them to cup Logan's cock through his jeans. "I want to show you."
Logan draws a sharp breath and uncrosses his arms quickly, not sure if he's going to shove Victor away or punch him again or--something else. Grab him and take control? He ends up doing nothing, but only stands there as Victor's hand presses purposefully against him. Victor unzips Logan's jeans and slips his hand inside, rubbing Logan's cock through the much thinner material of his briefs. Even with restricted movement, Victor seems to know just how to touch him, sliding his fingers around in gentle, delicate circles.
Logan's torn over whether to put a stop to this, but the welcome sensation temporarily brings all mental processes to a slow, sliding halt, and he stands still and lets it happen. He hasn't gotten laid in months, and what Victor's hand is doing to his cock is making his leg muscles melt.
Then Victor releases Logan's dick and shrugs out of his black coat. Their eyes meet, and after a moment, Logan takes off his leather jacket. Logan feels strange disrobing so matter-of-factly, and with all the fantasies and scenarios he's thought up about meeting someone from his past, he never imagined anything like this, undressing himself in a cold motel room with a man like Victor.
A this-is-a-bad-idea thought occurs to him: what if Victor wants to be on top? He eyes the larger man uncomfortably. Logan so does not want to go there.
Victor finishes taking his clothes off first. He drops his trousers to the floor and steps out of them, and he isn't wearing any underwear. He stands there naked and watching. Logan knows it would be pointless to try for surreptitiousness, so he lets his eyes flicker to Victor's package as openly as he can handle while still feeling more or less heterosexual. Even soft, Victor's dick looks awfully big. Logan sheds boots, plaid flannel shirt, T-shirt, socks, belt, jeans. He starts to unsnap the clasp of his dog tags, then thinks twice and leaves them on. Thumbs hooked around the elastic waistband, Logan hesitates at his briefs.
"Take them off," Victor says smoothly.
Logan doesn't obey right away. Uncertainty tugs at him again. He doesn't know a damn thing about this guy. He doesn't altogether like the idea that a possible former enemy could be getting him to willingly strip naked in an unrented room. Not that he couldn't leave if he wanted to. He can certainly take care of himself. You just never know. Victor seems to be as tough and as strong and as hard to hurt as he himself is, and while he knows nothing at all about Victor, this man could know major things about Logan that he himself doesn't.
He wavers again, then makes up his mind. This is not a good idea.
Nearly naked with a strange man and on the cusp of backing out, Logan drops his chin to his chest. He draws a breath that's almost a laugh, because while his life sucks most days, this evening has really turned out to be nuts.
"Look, Victor, this is insane. I didn't come here for this. I don't want to have sex."
"You will once I suck your cock," Victor answers calmly.
The words send an immediate surge of excitement through Logan's gut, but he swallows and tries to tamp down his rising lust. "Why can't you just tell me what you know about me?"
"I want you to remember." Victor nods at the bed. "Sit."
Logan reluctantly drops his briefs and sits on the edge of the bed. The coverlet is a hideous grungy orange, and feels scratchy on top of that. He's oddly nervous, not that he has anything to be nervous about. He can leave anytime he wants. But Victor kneels in front of him, and Logan feels his cock already half-hard and getting readier by the minute at the prospect of breaking his self-imposed dry spell.
He has another second-thought moment when he meets Victor's gaze and sees the voracious look in Victor's eyes; he doesn't know what Victor's hungry for, but that look of rampant animalistic appetite isn't conducive to wanting to put your cock in someone's mouth. He didn't panic over Victor's curling claws and he doesn't panic over this, none of his body parts are ever in real danger, but the look in Victor's eyes would give any man on the planet a smidgen of pause.
Victor doesn't give him time to pull away, though, as he immediately takes in Logan's cock and swirls his tongue around the head, and all Logan's reservations dissolve on the spot.
Victor knows how to do everything right. Logan moans as Victor sucks his cock like an expert, exactly the way he likes it. He wasn't even aware until just now that this is what he wanted in a blowjob, but Victor obviously already knows. Logan hasn't been with a man since he woke up in the dirt of the island not knowing his own name. He's been with a couple women, but he's never permitted himself to lose control. He's too dangerous, with his metal claws, and too strong, and he let them set the pace and decide what and when and how fast or slow. But with this large cocky man who's maneuvered him skillfully into bed, all bets are off. He puts his hands on the back of Victor's head and thrusts up into his mouth. Victor stops stroking Logan's balls to grab his hips, sharp nails pricking at his flesh.
Victor flashes Logan a threatening glance as he nips his cock. Not hard enough to hurt, just a warning, but the message is clear: he's not letting Logan fuck his mouth. Logan drops his hands, curling them into fists on the bed.
Victor teases him into a writhing frenzy, until he thinks he may actually lose his mind. He feels it building in him, and he doesn't want it to end almost as badly as he wants to come. Logan cries out sharply when he shoots. He pushes up into Victor's mouth, not able to help himself, and he sees stars when Victor lets him.
Victor licks at his dick until it's on the verge of being tender and not wanting to be touched anymore, and then leaves off. Logan falls back on the bed, breathless. The mattress is hard and lumpy, but he hardly notices.
"Jesus," Logan mutters.
"What?" Victor gets up and goes over to his long black coat where it's been thrown over the chair.
"We really slept together, didn't we."
"Uh huh," Victor says. He produces a small bottle of lube from a coat pocket and coats his hard cock with the liquid. "Spread your legs."
"No!" In an instant Logan goes from bonelessly relaxed to red alert. He scoots up the bed, clamping his legs together protectively as the muscles of his ass tighten without conscious thought. "No way." He sits up, grimacing slightly. "I'll suck you off too, okay?"
Victor scoffs. He comes back to the bed and grabs Logan's wrists impatiently. Logan's face darkens and for a minute they struggle. "So you lost your memory, I've fucked you a thousand times before, get over it," Victor snaps.
"A ... a thousand times?" Logan's about to pop his claws and fight Victor outright, but he winces at that. "Literally? How long did we know each other?"
Victor's next words change his mind.
"Shhh, Jimmy, come on. I want to help you. I want to make you remember," Victor says softly, earnestly even, loosening his grip on Logan's wrists. He presses his large, slick cock against the side of Logan's pelvis. Logan glances at it. It's a monster. He can't get fucked by that thing.
Logan raises his eyes to the broad, naked man before him. Victor's eyes contain real affection. And something else; Logan's not sure what. Logan wasn't at all confident before that Victor truly wanted to help him remember anything. He sure wasn't forthcoming about answering any questions, and he seemed to be enjoying a private joke at Logan's expense. But now, Victor genuinely seems to want to help him.
Or at least, Victor genuinely seems to want to have sex with him. Logan wavers again. When it comes down to it, he's got no idea what Victor's after. Victor's words from earlier in the evening drift back to haunt him.
What kind of game are we playing here?
Logan lets his gaze drop to the strong hands loosely encircling his wrists, to Victor's vicious, ugly nails.
The idea of casual sex doesn't bother him; it might be one thing to have sex with a person you don't know. He doesn't know why he remembers that and not his own name, but he does. But he's found it's truly empty sleeping with someone you barely know when you have no idea who the fuck you are, either. Empty like sexual abyss empty. And that's why, after having a couple casual encounters, he's avoided having any more. He's never met anyone who knew him from before, save the one he let get away when he first woke up.
The bottom line is, he can't walk away from this opportunity. He can't walk away from this person. He might never get another chance.
If what Victor says is true, maybe the sex, this sort of sex that he would never have agreed to have otherwise, will make him recall something of his previous life.
Besides, he reminds himself, he can always leave.
Logan becomes aware of Victor watching him. Victor lets go of his wrists, face expressionless.
Steeling himself, Logan pushes the scratchy coverlet down so they can lie on the sheets. He lifts and drops his shoulders in a tiny shrug, giving in. "All right."
Victor nods and adds more of the gel to a knuckle as Logan lies back. Victor's face remains impassive, but Logan senses his approval. Victor reaches down and lightly pokes Logan's asshole with his knuckle, smearing the sensitive spot with lube. To Logan it feels like a violation, but manageable. Then Victor wipes his slick hand on the pillowcase, pushes Logan's legs up and nudges Logan's tightly clenched opening with his dick.
"Relax," Victor whispers.
"I can't relax," Logan hisses. "I've never done this."
"Yes you have," Victor says.
"Well, I don't remember," Logan says crossly. Victor's breath still smells faintly of blood and raw meat, and it's agitating and arousing him at the same time. Echoes of echoes. He still can't remember. "Aren't you supposed to do a little more preparation for this?"
Victor lifts a hand and taps index fingernail to thumbnail twice.
Logan feels stupid. "Right." Victor would tear him up inside, and while the bloody puncture wounds might not last, they'd hurt like a bitch and probably feel degrading as hell.
Victor reaches for the lube once more. "You want to do it?"
Logan shakes his head no. "Just get on with it."
"Mmm, romantic." Victor sounds amused again.
Victor bears down on Logan's ass, putting what feels like all of his weight on his cock. He presses Logan's legs farther back until it feels like Logan's just about bent double. Logan tries to relax, and finally the head pops in. Logan's face contorts from the pain, but he holds back the cry that rises into his throat. He wishes Victor couldn't see him.
There's something way too personal about this.
Something way too personal about being fucked in the ass. And there's his deep thought for the day.
His mind whirls that he's actually doing this.
Victor pushes inside him slowly, but not slowly enough. Logan sucks in a rattling breath.
Retracing your steps, he thinks to himself. Maybe the memories'll all flood back. When Victor's balls-deep in him, Victor growls and locks his teeth in Logan's throat. Logan gasps, but while the bite's solid, it doesn't break the skin, and then Victor's fucking him. Logan takes it, grunting slightly. Victor's probably being gentle, but his lips are cold, and the rocking motion of his hips feels far too intense to Logan.
Victor releases his neck and growls again, still grinding into him, and harder now. Logan looks up at him. Having Victor lay into his throat was weird enough, but the full-body press, the face-to-face with the large, hairy, snarling man fucking him is just too much. He closes his eyes, but the feeling of being fucked like a woman on his back persists.
"I need to ease into this," Logan mutters. "Let me roll over."
Victor raises an eyebrow, but he pulls out to allow Logan to flip onto his stomach, then slides back in and continues fucking. His cock slips in much more easily the second time around. Logan turns his head sideways on the pillow, and Victor's inward presses banish all thoughts from his mind. He can't think at all. Can only feel. He moans, not even trying to hold it back anymore. The feeling's a damn good one, especially when Victor runs his claws lightly down Logan's back.
Victor ends up riding Logan fiercely, and Logan can't deny his body's response. When he starts moving his hips in tandem with Victor's, the larger man roars. He thrusts all the way in when he comes.
* * *
Logan looks at the ceiling. He props himself up on an elbow, takes a few moments to peer closely at Victor's face. He clenches his fists in the sheets, looking like he's trying to concentrate.
"Do you remember anything?" Victor asks quietly.
"No." Frustrated, Logan pounds his fist into the bed.
"Damn." Victor'd been hoping Logan would remember him and nothing else. That would have been perfect. Victor stands up and starts putting on his clothes.
"So answer my questions, goddamnit. We tried it your way. How old am I?"
"Old," Victor says curtly, pulling his shirt on. "I don't know how old."
You wanna know everything I know about you? You couldn't fit it in a dozen books, Victor thinks. For the hundredth time he wonders how the hell this happened to Jimmy.
"So we were boyfriends? How long have we known each other?"
Boyfriends. Victor grimaces, shoving his feet into his boots. "I didn't say we were boyfriends."
"You said we were lovers. Were we..." Logan trails off, looking for words. "Were we not in a relationship? Where are you going?"
"I can't believe you don't remember what we meant to each other," Victor says resentfully. He glares at Logan for a moment, then, shrugging his coat on, steps to the door.
Logan leaps up from the bed, only fractionally slowed down by the tender, lingering sensations within him, but it's too late. Victor carelessly unhooks the safety catch and walks out, slamming the door behind him. With the lock broken, the door bounces a little in the frame.
"WAIT! VICTOR!" he yells.
Logan glances around and frantically searches for his pants. They're not on the floor, and after a few seconds he realizes Victor must have taken them. Damnit, damnit, damnit.
He scrambles around throwing clothes on. He grabs his coat and ties his long-sleeved plaid shirt around him like a kilt, but by the time he opens the door, Victor's long gone. The icy wind buffetts him like a full-body slap.
For a second he contemplates the footprints in the crust of snow. He has Victor's distinctive scent fresh in his nose, and he could probably track the man for miles. But not without pants. Logan scowls. He studies the marks in the snow another moment, puzzled. Then he realizes, startled: Victor galloped away on all fours.
Like a pony.
Unbelievable.
Now... back to his RV to get pants. Oh, the assholes in the parking lot are gonna love this, he thinks. Logan rolls his eyes.
Not for the first time that night, it occurs to him that his life sucks.
-fin-
Setting: X-Men Origins: Wolverine movieverse.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest, obviously. Unbetaed.
Word Count: 5350
Summary: "You really don't remember? How did you lose your memory?"
* * *
To Remember
by Randi
Logan sits and drinks beer at a tavern in a barely-there Pennsylvania town. The weather's cold outside, and they seem to have the heaters turned up a tiny bit higher than necessary. The establishment is dimly lit, with the news pattering quietly from the small television set on the wall. Logan's not really watching it. He has nothing to do and nowhere to go. Nothing to do besides drink, finger his dog tags, and glower at anyone who bothers him.
Generally, no one does.
He hates his life, and who can blame him? It's been almost eight months since he woke up with no idea who the fuck he is or what the hell's going on.
"Fancy meeting you here," a low voice says from behind him.
Logan doesn't react at first. Despite the small size of the city, the bar is busy and populated, probably because it's the only one for miles around. Lots of people in the joint have friends; most of the folks who frequent it seem to know other patrons. A few of the younger couples even spin around on the tiny dance floor. Logan doesn't know anyone. For the umpteenth time he wishes he hadn't let the man on the island get away. The young man with wide eyes, who knew his name and claimed to be a friend. Logan should have gone with him. But he'd been in shock, confused, and if he's honest with himself, that stunned fog hasn't completely lifted.
"I said, hello. Anybody home?"
Logan looks over his shoulder and takes the stranger in at a glance. The man has lots of short hair, but as much of it is on the sides of his face as his head. He has a masculine, lived-in face and an arrogant set to his jaw. There's an air of cold menace about him.
Menacing to another man, that is. But no danger to Logan.
Logan turns back to the bar and motions the bartender for another beer. "Whatever it is, pal, I don't want any," he says in a flat voice without looking back.
The stranger pauses a moment. Just as Logan thinks he's going to be left alone, the man asks in a silky voice, "Did you miss me?"
That gets Logan's attention fast. He turns and looks the stranger over more carefully, taking in more details. Long black coat, black trousers, a few days worth of stubble on his faintly lined face. Perhaps 40. His expression is even, but Logan picks up a vague sense of malice from his eyes and the way he holds himself. The man's got an odd mix of smells, too--rare, bloody red meat and the outdoors, pine trees and damp earth. His arms are at his sides, but Logan can see his thumbnails and a few of his fingernails, and they're longer than a woman's and rather pointy.
Weird.
"That depends," he says bluntly. "Who the hell are you?"
Logan's been in a foul mood all evening, so when the stranger doesn't answer right away, Logan hops off the bar stool and gets in his face. The stranger is so close their thighs are almost touching. His expression, his inflection, his words all send Logan into instinctive suspicion. The stranger looks at him doubtfully. To show the man he means business, in one smooth motion Logan grabs the lapels of the man's black coat and shakes him. Not too hard, just enough to get the message across. "Who are you? What can you tell me?"
The stranger's eyes drop to where Logan's fists grip the front of his coat. "Tell you," he repeats dubiously.
Logan frowns, scrutinizing him. He can't tell if this guy is friend or foe, and so he shakes him harder. "About my life!" he shouts. "Who are you, and what can you tell me!?"
The stranger doesn't answer, and Logan doesn't like it. He yanks the strange man to the side and throws him into the bar. The man stumbles backwards and crashes hard against the wood, but he doesn't seem hurt or even fazed as he straightens, still looking at Logan.
"You two! Take it outside," the bartender calls sternly.
One corner of the stranger's lips quirk. "Let's do as the good gentleman says," the stranger suggests to Logan. In an exaggerated movement he inclines his head towards the bartender.
The bartender glares at them.
"Fine." Logan pushes by the man and stalks out of the bar. The wind outside blows frigid air and a few icy snowflakes into his face, but Logan doesn't care right now, doesn't care about anything but pressing this annoying, amused stranger for information. For a second he fears the man won't follow him, that Logan will turn around to find he's disappeared into thin air. Gone just like that, the way the man on the island melted away. But when he glances back, the strange man's just a few feet behind him.
He walks a couple steps from the barroom door, underneath the brightness of a floodlight, then turns on the man, crossing his arms. "I wanna know everything you know about me, starting with your name and how we know each other. Now."
The stranger grins at him, momentarily baring sharp white teeth and elongated canines. Logan finds himself staring, and it occurs to him that this guy's really kind of creepy.
"If we're going to play games, everyone should know the rules." The stranger cocks his head. "So tell me, what kind of game are we playing here?"
Logan doesn't like his smug manner, not one bit. Losing his temper, Logan decks the guy once, twice, three times. "I'm. Not. Playing." Not quite hard enough to break his nose, and not hard enough to really satisfy Logan's desire to wipe the smirk off his face. The single punch Logan lands on his chin should be hard enough to give the guy one hell of a jawache. But not only does the stranger not fight back, he hardly reacts to the blows.
The man leans forward slightly and Logan's tempted to hit him again, harder, when he realizes with a start that the man is sniffing him. The stranger suddenly starts to look surprised. Logan has only a second to think about what that might mean, that this man observes from scents the way he himself does. He gets distracted by the startled look.
The lines of the stranger's face settle into puzzlement. "You really don't remember? How did you lose your memory?"
The snow's starting to pick up. A couple guys shuffle up the hill from the parking lot and pass them, ducking through the door into the bar.
"Since I lost my memory, I don't fucking know, asshole," he snaps, unable to keep his voice from rising. "Think about it." He knows a few people in the parking lot are looking at them, but they could be ants for all he cares. His focus stays entirely on the mysterious man in front of him, and maybe it's paranoia, but the stranger's looking at Logan now like he knows a lot of things Logan doesn't.
But then Logan forces himself to lower his voice, cause neither the show of violence nor the show of anger is working with this guy, and cause he doesn't want to draw any more attention from the parking lot. He doesn't care overmuch about people witnessing their argument, but he doesn't want any interference in this conversation, either. He takes a deep breath, and releases it, and adds, "I don't know how. I was hoping if and when I ran into a friend from my past, they might have some insight."
The man's eyes move over Logan's face with an intensity that makes Logan damn near uncomfortable.
"But something's telling me we weren't friends, were we, bub," Logan says, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. Because he's frustrated, and he's disappointed. Oh, so disappointed. To finally run into someone who knew him from before, and it's not a friend. Not necessarily an enemy, perhaps, but this man doesn't feel like a friend. It figures. Maybe, given the way he is--the proneness to rages, the metal claws, the rapid healing made for fighting--maybe he didn't have any friends.
For a nanosecond something like seething fury ghosts across the man's face, but then his expression smooths into inscrutability again, and it happens so quickly Logan isn't even sure he really saw it. The stranger says only, in his low rich voice, "Oh, we were much more than friends, Jimmy."
Logan's disturbed by the implications of that, and so he seizes on the name. "Jimmy? My name's Jimmy?"
The large man shrugs. "No, not really. It's what I called you. Your name's Logan. Or at least, that's what you called yourself."
Another man who knows his name. Well, that's something. Logan stares at him. "What's your name?"
He watches Logan closely as he answers the question, surveying Logan's expression like he's looking for a hint of change, or some small sign that Logan recognizes him.
"It's Victor."
Victor. Victor. Logan searches his brain, letting the name echo, but it comes back with nothing. Blank. No Victor in the memorybanks.
"You really don't remember," Victor says for the second time, his voice wondering now. The snow's getting heavier, decorating their hair with frozen white flakes. With one fingernail Victor thoughtfully scratches his temple.
In the soft white light from the outdoor lamp, Logan sees Victor's fingernails--really sees them, up close. Thick ugly claws the color of old yellowed cream, made for killing, and they look dirtier and somehow longer than they did in the darkened bar. "Jesus," he says.
Before he can react further, Victor jerks him forward into a passionate, slightly angry kiss, masculine scent and teeth everywhere and the tang of blood, of fresh meat. Logan is too surprised for a second to break it, and then the scent, the taste is almost almost jogging his memory, and he gets lost in the kiss, tasting and feeling Victor's aggressive tongue and trying to remember. Victor's whiskers rub against his own. The kiss goes on and on and he gets his tongue bitten and forgets to breathe before the man finally relinquishes his mouth and pulls his face away.
Breathing hard, in no small part because he just kissed another guy, Logan's as confused as he's been since waking up on the island. "We were ... lovers?" The audible incredulousness in his final word is so intense Victor laughs.
Logan growls at him.
Victor presses his lips together, forcing himself to reign in his blatant amusement. "Sorry honey, I'm just so taken aback you've lost your memory." He nods solemnly. "Yes. Yes we were. Lovers."
Logan stares at him in disbelief. Logan's slowly become aware that he might not be completely straight, as he's realized his eyes follow not just the beautiful women he sees from across the room, but also the occasional slim young man. His sexual preferences may have been on the flexible side. But he would never have thought this large hairy guy would be his type.
Logan studies the stranger. It's not that Victor's unattractive, not at all. He's charismatic. In fact he makes a first-rate case for the pull of animal magnetism, despite his obvious entertainment at Logan's predicament, and being annoyingly vague and not at all forthcoming with information. In his scent, along with the smell of rare meat, are notes of fresh air and the open forest. But the guy's bigger than him for godsakes, stockier and with powerful shoulders. Solidly built, like a trucker, except packed with muscle. Victor's even got facial hair sort of like his own. Victor's altogether too masculine.
For him.
He thinks.
"I didn't think I was gay," he finally starts to say. "At least--"
Then there's a yell from the parking lot. "Get out of here, you queers!"
They're still standing only inches apart. Victor glances towards the parking lot and smiles, a nasty predatory smile that sends pangs low along Logan's spine. For some reason, Logan can't help but think Victor wants to kill the man who shouted it.
Logan did know this person, he's sure of it. Logan inhales deeply. Something about Victor's scent is so familiar, but he can't place it.
"I don't think you're gay, Jimmy," Victor says reassuringly. "Only with me."
It doesn't make Logan feel better. "Are you gay?"
"Nah, I'm openminded." Victor flashes one of his disingenous smiles.
Logan pauses another moment, and another shout comes from the parking lot. "HEY, YOU!" Logan glances down, sees a few men clustered together. The heckler has his hands on his hips.
"Let's take a walk," Victor suggests. "Get inside."
"I don't wanna take a walk," Logan says angrily, coming to his senses and banishing all the gay talk from his mind, cause he cannot have dated this guy. He just couldn't have. No way Victor's his type. "I don't wanna take a walk or go anywhere with you. History or not. I want you to spill everything you know right here, right now."
"Okay," Victor says. "We can stay here, but we'll have to kill those guys down there if they won't shut the fuck up."
Logan spares another glance towards the parking lot. He doesn't think Victor's kidding. "Fine. I have an RV across the lot."
Victor shakes his head. "I have a better idea. Let's go to an actual building."
Logan sighs. "Fine."
* * *
Victor leads and sets the pace, walking with long, purposeful strides. A few inches of packed snow have built up, crunching under Logan's boots. As they start to walk away from the pub the wind picks up, howling so hard they don't even bother trying to talk on the walk over. The temperature drops quickly. Logan's not comfortable, but the cold doesn't concern him the way it does most people. Frostbite and hypothermia are not things he worries about. The cold doesn't seem to trouble Victor much either.
Logan has nothing to do as they walk and can't stop himself from thinking helplessly about the gay thing. He eyes Victor, thinking about sex with him. Having it, and what it must be like. If what Victor says is true, they already have. "Unbelievable," he mutters.
Victor glances back at him, and Logan marvels for a second--the wind is whistling so loudly past their ears, he never would have guessed Victor would hear him. "What?" Victor shouts.
"Nothing," he shouts back.
Victor leads him to a roach motel about ten minutes away. Victor passes the tiny glass-walled office. Assuming he already has a rented room, Logan keeps following him. Finally, at the farthest unit from the office, Victor stops in front of the door and kicks it in, breaking the cheap lock.
"You've got to be kidding me," Logan deadpans, but after a quick look left and right he follows Victor inside. Victor just smiles and shuts the door, then fastens the safety chain and flicks on the light. The room's quiet after the shrieking of the storm outside, although they can still hear the whistling of the wind more softly now. Victor runs a hand over his short hair, brushing the snow and ice off the top of his head. Snowflakes continue melting on his cheeks.
The room's dingy, with the standard bed, desk and chair. The carpet is brown and icky, and Logan's standards aren't exactly high. Surveying the bed, he'd bet the sheets haven't been washed in their last dozen uses. Then he turns his attention fully to Victor.
"Whatever. Okay, I'm here." Logan crosses his arms and looks at Victor expectantly. "Start talking."
Victor takes a step closer to him and brushes the snow off Logan's hair, too. Logan shifts uncomfortably to his other foot, but he doesn't object. The gesture's filled with affection, and maybe it's true, maybe they were friends (or more?) after all.
"Forget talking," Victor says. His voice is measured, low and nearly hypnotic, and he slips a hand between them to cup Logan's cock through his jeans. "I want to show you."
Logan draws a sharp breath and uncrosses his arms quickly, not sure if he's going to shove Victor away or punch him again or--something else. Grab him and take control? He ends up doing nothing, but only stands there as Victor's hand presses purposefully against him. Victor unzips Logan's jeans and slips his hand inside, rubbing Logan's cock through the much thinner material of his briefs. Even with restricted movement, Victor seems to know just how to touch him, sliding his fingers around in gentle, delicate circles.
Logan's torn over whether to put a stop to this, but the welcome sensation temporarily brings all mental processes to a slow, sliding halt, and he stands still and lets it happen. He hasn't gotten laid in months, and what Victor's hand is doing to his cock is making his leg muscles melt.
Then Victor releases Logan's dick and shrugs out of his black coat. Their eyes meet, and after a moment, Logan takes off his leather jacket. Logan feels strange disrobing so matter-of-factly, and with all the fantasies and scenarios he's thought up about meeting someone from his past, he never imagined anything like this, undressing himself in a cold motel room with a man like Victor.
A this-is-a-bad-idea thought occurs to him: what if Victor wants to be on top? He eyes the larger man uncomfortably. Logan so does not want to go there.
Victor finishes taking his clothes off first. He drops his trousers to the floor and steps out of them, and he isn't wearing any underwear. He stands there naked and watching. Logan knows it would be pointless to try for surreptitiousness, so he lets his eyes flicker to Victor's package as openly as he can handle while still feeling more or less heterosexual. Even soft, Victor's dick looks awfully big. Logan sheds boots, plaid flannel shirt, T-shirt, socks, belt, jeans. He starts to unsnap the clasp of his dog tags, then thinks twice and leaves them on. Thumbs hooked around the elastic waistband, Logan hesitates at his briefs.
"Take them off," Victor says smoothly.
Logan doesn't obey right away. Uncertainty tugs at him again. He doesn't know a damn thing about this guy. He doesn't altogether like the idea that a possible former enemy could be getting him to willingly strip naked in an unrented room. Not that he couldn't leave if he wanted to. He can certainly take care of himself. You just never know. Victor seems to be as tough and as strong and as hard to hurt as he himself is, and while he knows nothing at all about Victor, this man could know major things about Logan that he himself doesn't.
He wavers again, then makes up his mind. This is not a good idea.
Nearly naked with a strange man and on the cusp of backing out, Logan drops his chin to his chest. He draws a breath that's almost a laugh, because while his life sucks most days, this evening has really turned out to be nuts.
"Look, Victor, this is insane. I didn't come here for this. I don't want to have sex."
"You will once I suck your cock," Victor answers calmly.
The words send an immediate surge of excitement through Logan's gut, but he swallows and tries to tamp down his rising lust. "Why can't you just tell me what you know about me?"
"I want you to remember." Victor nods at the bed. "Sit."
Logan reluctantly drops his briefs and sits on the edge of the bed. The coverlet is a hideous grungy orange, and feels scratchy on top of that. He's oddly nervous, not that he has anything to be nervous about. He can leave anytime he wants. But Victor kneels in front of him, and Logan feels his cock already half-hard and getting readier by the minute at the prospect of breaking his self-imposed dry spell.
He has another second-thought moment when he meets Victor's gaze and sees the voracious look in Victor's eyes; he doesn't know what Victor's hungry for, but that look of rampant animalistic appetite isn't conducive to wanting to put your cock in someone's mouth. He didn't panic over Victor's curling claws and he doesn't panic over this, none of his body parts are ever in real danger, but the look in Victor's eyes would give any man on the planet a smidgen of pause.
Victor doesn't give him time to pull away, though, as he immediately takes in Logan's cock and swirls his tongue around the head, and all Logan's reservations dissolve on the spot.
Victor knows how to do everything right. Logan moans as Victor sucks his cock like an expert, exactly the way he likes it. He wasn't even aware until just now that this is what he wanted in a blowjob, but Victor obviously already knows. Logan hasn't been with a man since he woke up in the dirt of the island not knowing his own name. He's been with a couple women, but he's never permitted himself to lose control. He's too dangerous, with his metal claws, and too strong, and he let them set the pace and decide what and when and how fast or slow. But with this large cocky man who's maneuvered him skillfully into bed, all bets are off. He puts his hands on the back of Victor's head and thrusts up into his mouth. Victor stops stroking Logan's balls to grab his hips, sharp nails pricking at his flesh.
Victor flashes Logan a threatening glance as he nips his cock. Not hard enough to hurt, just a warning, but the message is clear: he's not letting Logan fuck his mouth. Logan drops his hands, curling them into fists on the bed.
Victor teases him into a writhing frenzy, until he thinks he may actually lose his mind. He feels it building in him, and he doesn't want it to end almost as badly as he wants to come. Logan cries out sharply when he shoots. He pushes up into Victor's mouth, not able to help himself, and he sees stars when Victor lets him.
Victor licks at his dick until it's on the verge of being tender and not wanting to be touched anymore, and then leaves off. Logan falls back on the bed, breathless. The mattress is hard and lumpy, but he hardly notices.
"Jesus," Logan mutters.
"What?" Victor gets up and goes over to his long black coat where it's been thrown over the chair.
"We really slept together, didn't we."
"Uh huh," Victor says. He produces a small bottle of lube from a coat pocket and coats his hard cock with the liquid. "Spread your legs."
"No!" In an instant Logan goes from bonelessly relaxed to red alert. He scoots up the bed, clamping his legs together protectively as the muscles of his ass tighten without conscious thought. "No way." He sits up, grimacing slightly. "I'll suck you off too, okay?"
Victor scoffs. He comes back to the bed and grabs Logan's wrists impatiently. Logan's face darkens and for a minute they struggle. "So you lost your memory, I've fucked you a thousand times before, get over it," Victor snaps.
"A ... a thousand times?" Logan's about to pop his claws and fight Victor outright, but he winces at that. "Literally? How long did we know each other?"
Victor's next words change his mind.
"Shhh, Jimmy, come on. I want to help you. I want to make you remember," Victor says softly, earnestly even, loosening his grip on Logan's wrists. He presses his large, slick cock against the side of Logan's pelvis. Logan glances at it. It's a monster. He can't get fucked by that thing.
Logan raises his eyes to the broad, naked man before him. Victor's eyes contain real affection. And something else; Logan's not sure what. Logan wasn't at all confident before that Victor truly wanted to help him remember anything. He sure wasn't forthcoming about answering any questions, and he seemed to be enjoying a private joke at Logan's expense. But now, Victor genuinely seems to want to help him.
Or at least, Victor genuinely seems to want to have sex with him. Logan wavers again. When it comes down to it, he's got no idea what Victor's after. Victor's words from earlier in the evening drift back to haunt him.
What kind of game are we playing here?
Logan lets his gaze drop to the strong hands loosely encircling his wrists, to Victor's vicious, ugly nails.
The idea of casual sex doesn't bother him; it might be one thing to have sex with a person you don't know. He doesn't know why he remembers that and not his own name, but he does. But he's found it's truly empty sleeping with someone you barely know when you have no idea who the fuck you are, either. Empty like sexual abyss empty. And that's why, after having a couple casual encounters, he's avoided having any more. He's never met anyone who knew him from before, save the one he let get away when he first woke up.
The bottom line is, he can't walk away from this opportunity. He can't walk away from this person. He might never get another chance.
If what Victor says is true, maybe the sex, this sort of sex that he would never have agreed to have otherwise, will make him recall something of his previous life.
Besides, he reminds himself, he can always leave.
Logan becomes aware of Victor watching him. Victor lets go of his wrists, face expressionless.
Steeling himself, Logan pushes the scratchy coverlet down so they can lie on the sheets. He lifts and drops his shoulders in a tiny shrug, giving in. "All right."
Victor nods and adds more of the gel to a knuckle as Logan lies back. Victor's face remains impassive, but Logan senses his approval. Victor reaches down and lightly pokes Logan's asshole with his knuckle, smearing the sensitive spot with lube. To Logan it feels like a violation, but manageable. Then Victor wipes his slick hand on the pillowcase, pushes Logan's legs up and nudges Logan's tightly clenched opening with his dick.
"Relax," Victor whispers.
"I can't relax," Logan hisses. "I've never done this."
"Yes you have," Victor says.
"Well, I don't remember," Logan says crossly. Victor's breath still smells faintly of blood and raw meat, and it's agitating and arousing him at the same time. Echoes of echoes. He still can't remember. "Aren't you supposed to do a little more preparation for this?"
Victor lifts a hand and taps index fingernail to thumbnail twice.
Logan feels stupid. "Right." Victor would tear him up inside, and while the bloody puncture wounds might not last, they'd hurt like a bitch and probably feel degrading as hell.
Victor reaches for the lube once more. "You want to do it?"
Logan shakes his head no. "Just get on with it."
"Mmm, romantic." Victor sounds amused again.
Victor bears down on Logan's ass, putting what feels like all of his weight on his cock. He presses Logan's legs farther back until it feels like Logan's just about bent double. Logan tries to relax, and finally the head pops in. Logan's face contorts from the pain, but he holds back the cry that rises into his throat. He wishes Victor couldn't see him.
There's something way too personal about this.
Something way too personal about being fucked in the ass. And there's his deep thought for the day.
His mind whirls that he's actually doing this.
Victor pushes inside him slowly, but not slowly enough. Logan sucks in a rattling breath.
Retracing your steps, he thinks to himself. Maybe the memories'll all flood back. When Victor's balls-deep in him, Victor growls and locks his teeth in Logan's throat. Logan gasps, but while the bite's solid, it doesn't break the skin, and then Victor's fucking him. Logan takes it, grunting slightly. Victor's probably being gentle, but his lips are cold, and the rocking motion of his hips feels far too intense to Logan.
Victor releases his neck and growls again, still grinding into him, and harder now. Logan looks up at him. Having Victor lay into his throat was weird enough, but the full-body press, the face-to-face with the large, hairy, snarling man fucking him is just too much. He closes his eyes, but the feeling of being fucked like a woman on his back persists.
"I need to ease into this," Logan mutters. "Let me roll over."
Victor raises an eyebrow, but he pulls out to allow Logan to flip onto his stomach, then slides back in and continues fucking. His cock slips in much more easily the second time around. Logan turns his head sideways on the pillow, and Victor's inward presses banish all thoughts from his mind. He can't think at all. Can only feel. He moans, not even trying to hold it back anymore. The feeling's a damn good one, especially when Victor runs his claws lightly down Logan's back.
Victor ends up riding Logan fiercely, and Logan can't deny his body's response. When he starts moving his hips in tandem with Victor's, the larger man roars. He thrusts all the way in when he comes.
* * *
Logan looks at the ceiling. He props himself up on an elbow, takes a few moments to peer closely at Victor's face. He clenches his fists in the sheets, looking like he's trying to concentrate.
"Do you remember anything?" Victor asks quietly.
"No." Frustrated, Logan pounds his fist into the bed.
"Damn." Victor'd been hoping Logan would remember him and nothing else. That would have been perfect. Victor stands up and starts putting on his clothes.
"So answer my questions, goddamnit. We tried it your way. How old am I?"
"Old," Victor says curtly, pulling his shirt on. "I don't know how old."
You wanna know everything I know about you? You couldn't fit it in a dozen books, Victor thinks. For the hundredth time he wonders how the hell this happened to Jimmy.
"So we were boyfriends? How long have we known each other?"
Boyfriends. Victor grimaces, shoving his feet into his boots. "I didn't say we were boyfriends."
"You said we were lovers. Were we..." Logan trails off, looking for words. "Were we not in a relationship? Where are you going?"
"I can't believe you don't remember what we meant to each other," Victor says resentfully. He glares at Logan for a moment, then, shrugging his coat on, steps to the door.
Logan leaps up from the bed, only fractionally slowed down by the tender, lingering sensations within him, but it's too late. Victor carelessly unhooks the safety catch and walks out, slamming the door behind him. With the lock broken, the door bounces a little in the frame.
"WAIT! VICTOR!" he yells.
Logan glances around and frantically searches for his pants. They're not on the floor, and after a few seconds he realizes Victor must have taken them. Damnit, damnit, damnit.
He scrambles around throwing clothes on. He grabs his coat and ties his long-sleeved plaid shirt around him like a kilt, but by the time he opens the door, Victor's long gone. The icy wind buffetts him like a full-body slap.
For a second he contemplates the footprints in the crust of snow. He has Victor's distinctive scent fresh in his nose, and he could probably track the man for miles. But not without pants. Logan scowls. He studies the marks in the snow another moment, puzzled. Then he realizes, startled: Victor galloped away on all fours.
Like a pony.
Unbelievable.
Now... back to his RV to get pants. Oh, the assholes in the parking lot are gonna love this, he thinks. Logan rolls his eyes.
Not for the first time that night, it occurs to him that his life sucks.
-fin-