XMMFicathon Fic: Grief Management (Logan/Scott NC-17)

[anneline]

Title: Grief Management
Pairing: Logan/Scott, references to Logan/Kurt, Scott/Jean
Rating: NC-17 for slash.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: A girl like Jean is hard to get out of your head.
Thanks to Many thanks to my betas rexluscus and storydivagirl for the speedy and excellent help. All mistakes are my own.

Written for: likeadeuce who requested Scott/Logan. b/t X2&X3 (no cheating on Jean, please!); physical exercise (ie, weightlifting, running) as grief management; a specific sound or smell as a trigger to memory. BONUS request fullfilled: Scott smokes a cigar




The first thing they did after Alkali was have a funeral. There was nothing to bury but they put a headstone in the garden and everyone stood around looking somber while Charles spoke. There was an X on the stone. It pissed Logan off that even in death Jean couldn't escape that. She was still branded by the thing that made her different -- the thing that killed her. He knew it was supposed to be a tribute, a symbol of the cause she devoted her life to, but it seemed to Logan that in the end, at least, she could have been spared that. She died for people -- for kids, for Scott and for Charles -- not for X-Men. But hell, thought Logan, maybe it's what she would have wanted. It occurred to Logan that he didn't really know her all that well. It was Scott's call and Scott was there, standing silent and angry, the sun glinting fire red off the glasses.

He was gone the next day.

Scott took the motorcycle to Logan's chagrin. He didn't tell anyone where he was going and the weeks dragged on without word from him. It was a strange reversal of things, with Scott the irresponsible one and Logan feeling trapped by obligation. Without Jean or Scott, Charles seemed distracted and remote. That left Ororo to bring some normalcy back to the Institute. Ororo's grief took the form of something hard and tight with edges so sharp, you might bleed if you brushed against her. She ran things with a brittle efficiency but she needed help. So Logan got stuck. He agreed against his better judgment to teach auto repair and self defense.

"I can only teach them how to fight dirty," he told Ororo. "I don't know any other way."

"Fine," she said. "The dirtier the better."

Logan had to admit that as much as he hated the idea of being a schoolteacher, he loved the Danger Room. He had free rein to create any combat scenario he could imagine and a couple of brainy students to do all the programming. They were literally brainy -- one an enormous, pulsing cranium with a tiny wisp-like girl attached and the other brain only, suspended in viscous fluid and fond of blaring Marilyn Manson. Together they manifested in holographic pixels and photonic projections whatever Logan dreamed up for the student "workouts."

So when Scott came back without warning, brushing past students with no sign of recognition, it was half out of pride that Logan decided a holographic work-out was exactly what Scott needed.

"Come with me," said Logan. Scott was in his room -- Jean's room, unpacking or maybe re-packing, Logan wasn't sure. The kid was a disheveled mess, unshaven, with his red sunglasses sinking into the dark, hollowed-out pits of his eyes.

"Where?" said Scott in a flat voice.

"Danger Room." Logan leaned in the doorway. "You're too wound up. You need to work it off."

"Logan," sighed Scott. "I don't need a workout. I need to be left alone."

"Well, if you don't think you can take me on.... "

"'Take you on?'" Scott looked up at Logan in surprise. "The Danger Room's not about competing, it's supposed to teach teamwork."

"Yeah, well, I made some modifications."

Deep within the bowels of the Institute, Scott waited with Logan in the cavernous room while the program loaded and the computer ran a dramatic countdown. Red lights flashed and a booming voice promised destruction and great bodily harm in five... four... three....

Logan watched Scott, who looked as tense as a string about to be struck. He was twisting his long body in a series of warm-up stretches. Even in the depths of despair, he was still a Boy Scout. His skin was paler than it had been before he left and the red cast of the Danger Room lights exaggerated its pallor. He hadn't bothered to suit up but he had put on the blast visor. The thick yellow rims glowed and the thin slash of glass that obscured his eyes was black in the red light. Logan thought it was strange that even with those unreadable eyes, Scott's every emotion shuddered off him.

When a burst of energy sent up an explosion of sparks between them, there was no more time to think. That's what Logan loved about a fight, what he reveled in -- the mindless physical exertion. Fighting, for Logan, was instinct. Scott, he knew, had to think -- had to plan. It made him a better leader but there was no joy in it for Scott. It was work. Still, it had to take his mind off Jean for a few hours, and Logan thought that would be worth something.

The action was relentless as Scott and Logan dashed and ducked through a blasted urban hellscape. First there were laser shots followed by machine gun fire, then a endless number of faceless commandos spilling from behind a wall of smoke.

"What's our objective?" Scott shouted from a few feet away.

"Uh...." Logan managed to shove an abandoned car onto its side just in time to absorb a rain of bullets that had been splattering towards him. "Our objective is not to be killed."

"This stuff can't really kill us. Can it?" Scott scanned his surroundings nervously.

"Probably not," Logan shouted. He fell silent when he caught a glimpse of Scott, his whole body forming a perfect arc as he hurled the broken chunk of a concrete barrier wall at a group of commandos, who disappeared in a static fizzle of defunct code. Scott grabbed the side of his visor and blasted another group that had swung around to open fire and then he leapt, with a grace that made Logan's breath catch, behind the same upturned car where Logan crouched. A great electronic throb vibrated the air. Scott looked up.

"Logan," he hissed.

Logan shook his head to clear his brain. "Yeah."

Scott stared straight ahead, a look of disbelief on his face. "What the hell is that giant robot thing?"

"What?" Logan dragged his gaze from Scott to peek over one of the spinning tires of their temporary shelter.

"The giant robot thing?" Scott repeated, pointing.

"That,"' Logan shouted over the electronic pulse that had become a scream. "Do you like that? It's a giant robot."

"Do you really expect the children to come up against giant robots?"

"You never know."

The robot was too easy. Logan knew it needed work. The concept of a giant robot had been so cool that neither he nor the students had put much thought into how to make it formidable. Once the initial shock and awe aspect of a forty-foot, fire-breathing mechanical monstrosity wore off, it was pretty rudimentary stuff to take it down. The robot sent a torrent of flame straight at Scott and Logan, which blew the car to smithereens. The two of them ran in opposite directions to escape the explosion, the force of which sent them both flying a few feet through the air. Logan landed with a hard thud and rolled over just in time to see Scott send an unadulterated discharge of energy from his eyes. The whole room was flooded with scarlet ripples of power. The intensity pressed Logan flat against the ground. When the light faded, the robot was toast. Head hung in exhaustion, Scott stood over the blackened metal husk and screamed.

Logan pulled himself up with a grunt and limped to where Scott stood. "Hey," he said, laying a hand on Scott's shoulder.

Scott threw a punch, clipping Logan's chin. Logan staggered backward.

Logan rubbed his chin. Fighting phantoms, he knew, provided limited satisfaction. There was no clear smack of flesh against flesh and no crack of bone. Logan understood that this was why Scott turned on him. It still made him mad.

Scott thrust a left upper-cut at Logan's face but Logan caught Scott's fist before it could make contact and squeezed, twisting until he had Scott off balance and moaning. Scott swung clumsily with his right hand and Logan grabbed that too. Then Scott shifted forward, pressing his body against Logan's. He insinuated his thigh between Logan's legs. Scott was out of breath and so close that Logan could feel his damp panting breaths. Scott pressed his lips against Logan's, darting out his tongue in tentative exploration. Logan released the other man's fists and grabbed the sides of his face to hold him still and returned the kiss with more force. Scott's skin was tacky with sweat.

Scott's hands came up to rest lightly against Logan's chest and then with unexpected vehemence he pushed him away, breaking the kiss. Scott's face was twisted in anger. "Don't touch me, you fa-" Scott stopped himself but not before Logan had a blade to his throat. "I know about you and the blue guy," he said quietly. "Before he went back to Munich... I heard...."

"Yeah." Logan pulled back and retracted his claw. Gossip traveled fast at the Institute. It wasn't the best place to live if you wanted any sort of privacy and it didn't help that the biggest gossips were psychics.

"I don't understand," said Scott. "Because you liked Jean, didn't you?"

"I loved her."

"Yeah." Scott paused. The air was heavy with humidity and sizzling with static. "I knew that." Another long pause followed. "Then how--?"

"You married her and now you're coming on to me," Logan said. He started pacing uneasily. "You explain it."

Scott stiffened. "I'm not --" but he couldn't deny it. "God, I don't know what I'm doing half the time."

"Well, I don't remember who I am half the time. So, we've all got problems." Logan's skin itched. He wanted a fight or a fuck or he didn't know what but kissing Scott reminded him of how much he missed Jean -- as messed up as that was. And he was missing Kurt more than he imagined he would. "Let's get a drink," he finally said.

Scott stared. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I know a bar-- I like it. They let you smoke cigars."

"You're not allowed to smoke, period, inside New York bars."

Logan stopped pacing. "That's why I like this place."

Scott drove. He sped along recklessly -- taking the hilly curves at top speed. Logan watched out the window and tried to look broody and not scared shitless. Scott's hair was wet from a post-workout shower. He'd shaved and looked a lot better than he had earlier. A flush of color was back in his cheeks but he was still working the muscles of his jaw and the circles were still dark beneath his sunglasses. Logan leaned back and smiled.

The bar was typical of small-town, upstate bars. Smoky and sticky, it served watery beer and cheap whisky and was too ill-lit to allow the customers to see how rarely it was cleaned. Logan slid into a familiar and high-backed booth. The bartender caught sight of him and brought over two beers and a liquor bottle with a nervous speed that Scott noticed.

"You really do come here often," he said, noting the frightened expressions on the other patrons' faces.

"Yeah," said Logan. He poured liquor into one of the little glasses the bartender had brought with the bottle and shoved it toward Scott before filling one for himself.

"Canadian whisky?" Scott smirked.

"What? You want Scotch or something?"

"No, this is fine."

Logan swallowed his drink and savored its warm diffusion. Scott peered around nervously at the sparse but rough-looking crowd and then gulped down his whisky as well. Although Scott managed not to flinch, Logan could see a red flush blossom up his neck.

"How about a cigar?" Scott said, his voice tight and choked.

Logan smiled broadly. He pulled a thick cigar from his jacket pocket and cut the cap with a quick snikt of one of the blades at his knuckles. He handed it to Scott along with a lighter.

Scott tried to light the cigar awkwardly, putting out the lighter too soon and taking long futile drags on the unlit stogie.

"They're tricky to light. Rotate it near the flame, but don't actually touch the flame with the cigar," said Logan. "And don't inhale like a cigarette. Take shallow puffs, especially when you're trying to get it to catch."

Scott tried again without success and then handed it back to Logan in defeat. Logan lit the cigar skillfully, rolling it between his thumb and finger in the heat of the flame. Not until the small circular surface was charred and specked with bright embers did he place the other end between his lips. He puffed out gently to clear the cigar of ash and sulfur, and then, after turning it sideways to confirm that it was lit evenly, he handed it to Scott.

Scott held it tentatively between his lips. The cigar dangled dangerously off the edge of his mouth until he caught it with his hand.

Logan sipped his beer and gave advice. "You have to suck it more, like a breast or a c-- Well, you get the idea. Roll it along your tongue. Suck, puff, and don’t inhale. That's right. Take it slow. You can use your teeth, too."

Logan relished the sight of the fat cigar between Scott's lush lips, his tiny tongue darting out awkwardly to steady it in his mouth. Scott managed a few shallow puffs before his face twisted into a grimace.

"Ugh. This is just making me really sick." He handed the cigar back to Logan.

Logan had to admit that Scott was getting a little green around the gills. "Yeah. It's all right, Slim. Here...." He took back the cigar, damp from Scott's sloppy attempts. He closed his mouth around the end and pulling in his cheeks, drew a long appreciative puff and then swallowed another glass of whisky. He leaned back and let his eyes travel freely over Scott's shoulders and torso, always returning to stare at the lips, wet and pursed at the base of the high cheekbones that supported the red glasses.

Scott shifted uncomfortably.

"What's the matter?" asked Logan, drinking the last of his beer.

Scott shrugged. He took a sip of beer. "I'm not used to be ogled."

"No way."

Scott shook his head. He was sitting straight up; neither the beer nor the whisky had relaxed him yet. "You know," he said quietly. "I never -- I never had s- I never did anything with any other person. Besides Jean, I mean."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Come on," said Scott defiantly. "We started dating in high school."

Jean again. Logan shivered. It always seemed to come back to that. "You used her shampoo," Logan said suddenly.

"What?" said Scott.

"Her shampoo. Her soap. Something. I smell her hair. I smell her." Logan sniffed.

"Yeah," said Scott. "I guess so. It was whatever was in the bathroom. You know there are all these things that you never think to put away." Scott punctuated his speech with regular swallows of beer. "All these things that belonged to her that I keep finding. Her toothbrush, her winter coat, earrings she left in the common room. Hell, I think she still has dry cleaning that needs to be picked up. I don't know. She's everywhere."

Logan closed his eyes. He could almost feel the fall of her hair against his cheeks and lips. The smell on the air was all ash and Jean. He opened his eyes, hoping to see the curl and bounce of her familiar auburn tresses and there was Scott, his cheekbones casting sharp shadows across the planes of his face.

"I can't let her go," said Scott, an unexpected look of fear on his face. "I feel like she's calling out to me or something. All the time. Maybe I'm losing my mind."

"No. It's not crazy," said Logan, pouring Scott another whisky. "She wasn't just telekinetic. She could read minds, too, couldn't she?"

"Not as well as Charles," said Scott. "But yeah."

Logan nodded. "Girl like that -- gets into your head." Logan tapped his temple. "It makes sense she'd be hard to get out."

"She wanted you. She really did," Scott said without emotion. He drained the whisky and smiled at Logan. "We should go."

"It's early," said Logan, setting the cigar down in an ashtray.

Scott took a big gulp of beer to chase the whisky and stood up. "We should go now. I mean -- if we're going to do this thing." Scott dug in his pockets for cash. He put what he had down on the table.

"It's your thing." Logan reached to touch Scott's hand.

"I just want her out of my head," Scott said, pulling back.

Logan scooted out of the booth. "I don't think that this is going to do that."

"I don't care," said Scott. He headed towards the door. "It has to do something."

Logan couldn't complain. He was used to being used. He didn't mind it when he got something out of it. And Scott Summers was something. He wanted to see the uptight Boy Scout beg and moan. He wanted to know if there was anything besides reliability that Jean had found in Scott.

The trip back to the Institute rushed by in a haze -- the whisky hot in Logan's blood. He hardly remembered any of it other than the crunch of gravel underfoot when he grabbed Scott for a kiss in the driveway.

They barely had the bedroom door closed before Logan yanked the leather jacket off Scott. They both smelled of stale cigarette smoke and sour liquor -- a bar smell. Logan reached a hand under Scott's tight tee shirt and stroked his chest. He twisted one of Scott's nipples lightly and used his other hand to grab Scott behind the neck and pull him, again, into a hard, desperate kiss. Scott sighed against his mouth, struggled a little and then melted like wax.

"Here," said Logan, pulling at Scott's tee. "Take it off. Take everything off."

Scott made a small sound at the back of his throat before peeling off his shirt and jeans. Logan leaned in, taking Scott's nakedness into his arms, absorbing the heat, tangling himself up in the slender limbs. Scott was thin, probably thinner than he had been before he had fled the Institute. His muscles were firm but fading into nothing but skin and bone. Logan got a picture in his mind of what Scott must have been like in high school, the first time he met Jean, a skinny, pimply kid with eyes squeezed shut. Jean must have been the best thing that ever happened to him. Logan shook his head; he didn't want to think about Jean. He wanted Scott to himself. It was bad enough that a dark dread in the back of his mind kept telling him that Jean, having left some lingering desire behind, was the one driving this whole thing forward.

They were in Logan's room. It was small, cramped and musty-smelling with dirty clothes piled on the floor among empty whisky and beer bottles. Scott tripped over an ashtray as Logan steered him towards the bed and scattered towers of ash and cigar butts across the carpet. Scott still had on his boxers ands socks when Logan sat him down on the edge of the bed and slid to his knees. The tight boxer shorts did nothing to hide his growing erection which had worked its way free through the fly.

Logan rubbed his cheek across the flat ripple of Scott's stomach. He breathed in slowly. Under the smoke and soap he could smell skin and blood and life. The scent and excitement culminated at Scott's straining cock, long and thin with a graceful arc and a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. Logan licked his lips. He liked women and he had loved Jean. But despite that, he liked cock. It was second only to whisky, or maybe a fight. He could grow drunk on it.

Scott gasped at the first sensation of Logan's mouth, and sighed a second later. He was otherwise quiet but shivering as the room filled with the slurping sounds of Logan's thorough ministrations. Logan didn't want to think about it, but the thought kept straying into his mind that Jean's was the only other mouth that had ever been where Logan's was now. Logan swallowed Scott to the root, burying his nose in the coarse reddish hair that curled there, until the smell of Scott's desire chased every other thought from his head.

Logan's jeans were getting uncomfortably tight. He had one hand circling the base of Scott’s cock. He used the other to unzip his pants and free his own erection. Logan sighed when the cool air made contact with the sticky heat of his cock. Scott moaned at that and Logan picked up the pace of his sucking. Using long, firm sucks, Logan brought Scott to his climax with the same rough efficiency with which he did everything.

Scott was quiet but shuddered when he came, Logan swallowing and sucking the softening cock while Scott squirmed and panted. Logan slid up Scott's body, planting sloppy, wet kisses against the heated skin until they were again face to face, Logan on top and Scott pinned underneath.

"I want..." said Logan, grinding his hard cock against Scott's softening one."Can I?"

Scott didn't say anything but there was no missing the signals. Scott was arching his back to bring himself flush against Logan. His glasses were askew, so he kept his eyes shut, but it was clear what he wanted.

Logan sat back to pull off his clothes, never taking his eyes off Scott. He rummaged for a minute in the drawer of his bedside table until he found what he needed. The tearing sound that Logan made when he opened the condom wrapper caught Scott's attention. He turned his head in the direction of the sound and a brief ripple of panic marred his features.

"No thinking," mumbled Logan. "Don't think."

Logan slid the condom over his cock and then grabbed some lube from the same drawer. After a moment of fiddling, he pressed two blunt, slick fingers inside of Scott. He crooked them upwards and scissored them apart, ignoring Scott's moans. Logan added a third finger and noticed with satisfaction that Scott was growing hard again. Tired of the preamble, Logan shoved aside a stack of Popular Mechanics magazines that teetered on the edge of the bed and settled himself on top of Scott. Logan was careful not to use so much weight as to crush Scott, but he used enough to pin the lighter man down. He wanted Scott to know that there was no backing out at this point.

Logan slid in with one smooth movement, grabbing Scott's legs and pushing them up against his chest. Scott let out a soft, slow groan.

"You all right, Bub?" Logan asked.

"Yeah. Yeah." Scott sounded almost surprised. "Go on."

Logan bit the inside of his cheek. He was glad he had chosen face to face. Scott's head was thrown back, his mouth gaping. His hair was a tousled mess. He looked lost, free, undone. Logan took a moment to enjoy the scene and the tight heat that spasmed around his cock. Then he started a hard, rhythmic fucking.
Scott's silence finally broke and he let loose a series of nonverbal noises that sounded like music to Logan. They harmonized well with the slapping sound of skin against skin and the grunting cusses and endearments that rattled out from between Logan's clenched teeth. Scott grabbed at the thick hair on Logan's arm -- gripping it hard. Logan noticed that the tips of Scott's fingers were slick with sweat. He leaned forward, compressing Scott's legs even more and planted a long kiss on his lips. Scott gripped at the large thick side-burns on either side of Logan's face and returned the kiss with a frenzied desperation. Then he pushed Logan away and gasped and squealed -- biting his lip, to silence his embarrassing outburst. Logan reached down to feel the sticky wet result of Scott's second climax against his stomach. He smiled.

Unable to hold back, Logan started pounding hard, snapping his hips and shoving Scott higher up the mattress. Scott's glasses bounced on his face. He still had his eyes shut but Logan could read him. Scott seemed almost happy -- peaceful, as his body was taken.

Logan dreamed of water. He could feel the advent of something tingle through his arms and legs. Something was coming. He was deep in sleep with the comforting rhythm of Scott's breathing penetrating his dream and the sound of his own heartbeat stirring the air. There in the dream, he sensed the falling away of everything. He'd have called it a premonition if it had felt the least bit cerebral. But it wasn't a thought or even a vision -- just an instinct. Something was coming, something wanted him.

It pulled at him like gravity on the tides. It overflowed its banks. He yanked himself out of its grip before it could pull him under, but he felt the current take Scott. He woke up when Scott screamed Jean's name in his sleep.

Awake, Logan watched Scott's face. Scott was awake, too. He stared at Logan without recognition, without understanding, his eyes unreadable through the red glass.

"You're leaving again," said Logan.

"I have to go," said Scott. He was curled up naked under Logan's sheets, white and red in the morning light.

"I'll go with you," said Logan. He laid on his side opposite Scott. He could feel Scott's warmth against his own naked skin. "Or take Storm. Someone. You shouldn't go alone. Wherever it is you're going."

Scott smiled. He reached out to smooth down the thick hair on Logan's head. "It's not a mission, Logan. There's no bad guy. It's just me and the things in my head."