Heavy things won't fly
And the sky might catch on fire
And burn the axis of the world
Scott is standing in the ruins of the mansion. He looks at the burned-out walls, at the shell of a Sentinel that Wolverine gutted. He picks up some pulverized brick, runs it through his fingers.
"Why did you let this place die?"He doesn't have to turn around
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Still, there are other explanations. "Not to go all Freud on you, Slim, but we do it to ourselves. It's our brains try'na torture us with all the things we don't wanna think. We just got the same avatar for the torturing."
Logan's always liked the feel of Scott's hands in his hair, and he doesn't pull away; instead, he pulls closer, close enough to rest a hand on Scott's thigh and let his middle finger draw concentric circles on the fabric of his shorts.
"I had a dream once where you were a bartender, and Jean was a bird," Logan adds. It's one of the few dreams he remembers with any amount of clarity. "A pretty red bird, and I was jealous you wouldn't sell me what you were selling her," he continues, though he leaves out the part about the dream ending with Logan fucking Scott's recently-deceased wife in the snow. Then he shrugs. "Brains. Thoughts. Don't make the torture any less real."
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He isn't sure whether the kiss is appropriate to the conversation. But then, Logan is touching his thigh, and Scott can feel himself getting closer to arousal. "Why do you think Jean is your -- what did you say? Avatar?" There's no jealousy in the question. Scott has grown to accept the closeness of Logan and Jean's relationship, in retrospect, without any resentment. In an odd way, it makes him feel better about the times that he and his wife hadn't been on the best terms. At least she had somebody there looking out for her.
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"She matters," Logan continues, to elucidate. "And she ain't here. So she pops up - my brain pops up - to remind me of that, of why I shouldn't be happy when I am. To make me feel guilty."
"Not that I'd blame her, if it really was her," he adds, running his fingers farther up Scott's thigh. "Hell, I can't see her being all too thrilled about what I'm getting up to with her husband." He says this matter-of-factly, without apology, but there's still the twinge of guilt. "I pushed her away, and I didn't push you."
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Part of him wants to leave the conversation there, to just kiss Logan now and let things take their course, to let the bad dreams fade. But now that they're talking things out, he isn't sure he wants to stop. "In the dream, she says we don't really want her here. You and I." He stops, waiting to see how Logan will react to that.
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"It's like the school, ain't it?" he hazards. "You're moving on, instead of trying to rebuild. You got a life that ain't all tore up with grief and attempts at resurrection, and your mind doesn't know how to handle that."
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"So you think I really feel that way?"
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"But," he adds, lifting his hand to run his fingers softly over the side of Scott's face, "I ain't a mindreader like her. So you tell me what you think."
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He moves his hand to cradle the back of Logan's head, and sighs. "It makes more sense than missing her because she and I would have been so happy together. Because, well, I think that horse left the barn."
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He takes Scott's hand, the one that isn't cradling the back of his head, and presses his palm against it, threading their fingers together. People are surprised, sometimes, by how gentle Logan's hands can be. He doesn't blame them for thinking that, seeing as half the time, he's using them to kill. But here, in bed with someone he loves, he'll gladly go out of his way to prove that his hands aren't just weapons.
"And yeah, maybe she would've had something to say," he continues. "But that don't mean it would've been any better'n what you've come up with."
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He kisses Logan's forehead. "Sorry I woke you up for this stupidity, anyway. Ready to go back to sleep?" Scott is not, particularly, ready to go back to sleep, but since he is the one who's been thrashing around like a child, he wants to give Logan the option for the next move.
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Logan isn't tired. He's fully awake now; he couldn't go back to sleep even if he wanted to.
He tilts his head up, plants a kiss on the edge of Scott's mouth and feels evening stubble against his lips.
"What do you think she'd do? If she was here, right now?"
He's not sure whether he means "here" as in with the X-Men, in light of all that's happened, or "here" as in here in this bed with the two of them. He's not sure it matters.
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"If Jean were here," he says, running the flat of his hand further down Logan's back, "she would have ended this conversation a long time ago, and she'd be on top of me. Not that that's a hint." He kisses Logan full on the mouth now, but makes no further movement.
Of course it's a hint.
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Then he decides that thinking is highly overrated, pushes Scott back against the headboard, and flips over to straddle his hips in one smooth motion.
Logan's hair is a little longer than usual, and it hangs down into his eyes as he presses his hands to the wall behind them, leans over Scott's body, and asks, "And what would she do then?"
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"What do you think?" Scott murmurs, and he reaches up to pull Logan's mouth back down toward him.
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"But maybe," Logan continues, reaching an arm around Scott's back and gripping the hard muscle there, "I want you to show me." And before Scott can react, Logan uses his strength to flip them over, so that it's Logan's back against the pillows and Scott laying over him, hips wedged between Logan's knees.
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