Fic: Feral
Fic: Feral
Author: LMX
Fandom: Leverage/X-men
Verse: Mutant!Eliot 'Verse
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Logan/Eliot
Warnings: Strong language
Spoilers: None (pre-Leverage)
AN: Commentfic for hawk_dancing
-
Logan saw him from a distance the first time, running like he was being chased even though there wasn't another out of place scent for as far as his senses reached. He'd never tested the distance, but he'd smelled things long before they came into sight before now. He didn't chase, though the urge was on the edge of his perception (chase it, hunt it, catch it, kill it), just watched the lone figure cross the ridge on the horizon and scented his sweat-blood-meat scent.
Logan knew that sometimes he lost control of the more human part of himself. That it slipped away and left him feral, a tame animal escaped into the wild. He never remembered those times as anything more than a series of experiences. It's hot, it's cold, I'm hungry, it smells like meat, it smells like home, it smells like danger. He rarely remembered images, as if his brain didn't consider what he was seeing interesting enough to need recall. Sometimes, when it felt like he might be losing his tether to the world, he had to disappear for a while to remind himself why he stayed the rest of the time. Why he didn't just give in to the Wolverine inside him and escape into the wilderness.
This kid was just as feral, and undoubtedly mutant, or else seriously disturbed. He was maybe pushing twenty, hair tangled into a curly mess, like he was just outgrowing a crew cut. There was enough scent of the forest on him that Logan couldn't decide if he smelt of anything not-human, but he snarled as Logan approached, showing off an impressive pair of canines. It took Logan barely a glance to realise that the blood smell was his own, not a recent kill. There were three bloody marks in what remained of his dress shirt, bloodstains trailing down into his expensive-looking slacks, bullet holes - neat on the back and only one messy exit on the front - he shouldn't have still been on his feet.
"Enough of you there to understand words?" Logan asked blandly. The other man turned a handful of times, realising he was trapped. Logan hadn't intended to corner him, but if his wounds were still bloody then he didn't have Logan's healing factor and he was going to die without medical attention. "You're dressed like a business man, so I'm guessing ya ain't like this most of the time," Logan said, mostly to himself. The mutant was tensing as if he was about to fight his away out of the corner. There was something about the way he was standing that made Logan think the guy was probably something more than just a suit. His form suggested some serious martial arts training, despite the three holes in him and the wild look in his eyes.
With a muttered apology, Logan moved in close and bounced the guy's head off the rock face he'd cornered himself against. The extra head wound wasn't going to help him much, but better that than sticking another hole in him, or making the ones he already had worse getting him back to civilisation.
-
Eliot woke with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in the back of his throat that made him think of hanging from his wrists in a dark and stinking dungeon, swaying to the sound of other people's pain and waiting for his own to start again.
He fought down the urge to snarl when he realised there was someone in the room with him. He took a tighter grip on himself, feeling that… thing… way too close to the surface. Itching like it was about to burst out and take over. He realised absently that he'd lost time, so maybe it was already too late. But he was in the warm, a blanket over him and his pain muted by something.
He forced open his eyes and found himself staring down a solidly built guy - a fighter, his brain registered, muscles tensing - with impressive facial hair.
"Y'alright?" the man asked, and the English was a relief, though it made him re-think which country he was in. He'd been dreaming about Russia, or possibly Serbia, but he couldn't remember where he'd been last.
"Think so," he replied, and his voice was like gravel scraping over his throat and leaving him coughing hoarsely. A cup of water was suddenly at his lips, a hand on the back of his neck to lift him. He felt like his limbs were made of lead. He tried to reach for the cup himself but his hands barely twitched beneath the covers.
"Seems like you lost control of something back there," the stranger said, one eyebrow raised like he could see right into Eliot's thoughts. "Wanna talk about it?"
"What did you do to me?" Eliot growled. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Wolverine," the man glowered back. "And I saved your life, boy, so suck it up."
"Wolverine?" Eliot asked, the edge of hysterical laughter in his voice and a smirk pulling at his lips.
"Says the boy with the fangs." Wolverine snapped back with a wicked grin. Eliot ran his tongue over his canines, the extended teeth already receding. "That ever happen to you before, losing control like that?"
Eliot shut his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth again and recalling the last few moments. "It felt like going crazy," he said uncertainly. "I was working a job, and I got shot at as I was leaving the party… I know I got hit, but I don't even remember…" he trailed off, frowning as he opened his eyes again and met Logan's serious gaze.
"I've seen it before," Logan shrugged. "Hell, I've been there… If you're badly enough hurt, your instincts take over. Instead of passing out your cat took control."
Eliot smirked absently. "How do you know it's a cat?"
Logan grinned. "You fucking smirk," he pointed out. "Only cats smirk."
"Your logic is… fucked, man." Eliot shook his head, eyelids drooping.
"I'm right though." Wolverine chuckled.
"I don't know. I don't know what's in me," Eliot confided, the fog of sleep and pain killers taking all the danger out of the conversation. "I just know that sometimes it takes over and it's like I can't process anything beyond eat and sleep and fuck."
"Sounds pretty good to me." he replied.
"Not in the middle of L.A." Eliot replied dryly, eyes mostly shut. "Not when I don't care who I fuck."
A dirty grin crept over Wolverine's face, but he didn't say anything else. "Get some more sleep," he said, and patted Eliot's chest gently.
Author: LMX
Fandom: Leverage/X-men
Verse: Mutant!Eliot 'Verse
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Logan/Eliot
Warnings: Strong language
Spoilers: None (pre-Leverage)
AN: Commentfic for hawk_dancing
-
Logan saw him from a distance the first time, running like he was being chased even though there wasn't another out of place scent for as far as his senses reached. He'd never tested the distance, but he'd smelled things long before they came into sight before now. He didn't chase, though the urge was on the edge of his perception (chase it, hunt it, catch it, kill it), just watched the lone figure cross the ridge on the horizon and scented his sweat-blood-meat scent.
Logan knew that sometimes he lost control of the more human part of himself. That it slipped away and left him feral, a tame animal escaped into the wild. He never remembered those times as anything more than a series of experiences. It's hot, it's cold, I'm hungry, it smells like meat, it smells like home, it smells like danger. He rarely remembered images, as if his brain didn't consider what he was seeing interesting enough to need recall. Sometimes, when it felt like he might be losing his tether to the world, he had to disappear for a while to remind himself why he stayed the rest of the time. Why he didn't just give in to the Wolverine inside him and escape into the wilderness.
This kid was just as feral, and undoubtedly mutant, or else seriously disturbed. He was maybe pushing twenty, hair tangled into a curly mess, like he was just outgrowing a crew cut. There was enough scent of the forest on him that Logan couldn't decide if he smelt of anything not-human, but he snarled as Logan approached, showing off an impressive pair of canines. It took Logan barely a glance to realise that the blood smell was his own, not a recent kill. There were three bloody marks in what remained of his dress shirt, bloodstains trailing down into his expensive-looking slacks, bullet holes - neat on the back and only one messy exit on the front - he shouldn't have still been on his feet.
"Enough of you there to understand words?" Logan asked blandly. The other man turned a handful of times, realising he was trapped. Logan hadn't intended to corner him, but if his wounds were still bloody then he didn't have Logan's healing factor and he was going to die without medical attention. "You're dressed like a business man, so I'm guessing ya ain't like this most of the time," Logan said, mostly to himself. The mutant was tensing as if he was about to fight his away out of the corner. There was something about the way he was standing that made Logan think the guy was probably something more than just a suit. His form suggested some serious martial arts training, despite the three holes in him and the wild look in his eyes.
With a muttered apology, Logan moved in close and bounced the guy's head off the rock face he'd cornered himself against. The extra head wound wasn't going to help him much, but better that than sticking another hole in him, or making the ones he already had worse getting him back to civilisation.
-
Eliot woke with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in the back of his throat that made him think of hanging from his wrists in a dark and stinking dungeon, swaying to the sound of other people's pain and waiting for his own to start again.
He fought down the urge to snarl when he realised there was someone in the room with him. He took a tighter grip on himself, feeling that… thing… way too close to the surface. Itching like it was about to burst out and take over. He realised absently that he'd lost time, so maybe it was already too late. But he was in the warm, a blanket over him and his pain muted by something.
He forced open his eyes and found himself staring down a solidly built guy - a fighter, his brain registered, muscles tensing - with impressive facial hair.
"Y'alright?" the man asked, and the English was a relief, though it made him re-think which country he was in. He'd been dreaming about Russia, or possibly Serbia, but he couldn't remember where he'd been last.
"Think so," he replied, and his voice was like gravel scraping over his throat and leaving him coughing hoarsely. A cup of water was suddenly at his lips, a hand on the back of his neck to lift him. He felt like his limbs were made of lead. He tried to reach for the cup himself but his hands barely twitched beneath the covers.
"Seems like you lost control of something back there," the stranger said, one eyebrow raised like he could see right into Eliot's thoughts. "Wanna talk about it?"
"What did you do to me?" Eliot growled. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Wolverine," the man glowered back. "And I saved your life, boy, so suck it up."
"Wolverine?" Eliot asked, the edge of hysterical laughter in his voice and a smirk pulling at his lips.
"Says the boy with the fangs." Wolverine snapped back with a wicked grin. Eliot ran his tongue over his canines, the extended teeth already receding. "That ever happen to you before, losing control like that?"
Eliot shut his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth again and recalling the last few moments. "It felt like going crazy," he said uncertainly. "I was working a job, and I got shot at as I was leaving the party… I know I got hit, but I don't even remember…" he trailed off, frowning as he opened his eyes again and met Logan's serious gaze.
"I've seen it before," Logan shrugged. "Hell, I've been there… If you're badly enough hurt, your instincts take over. Instead of passing out your cat took control."
Eliot smirked absently. "How do you know it's a cat?"
Logan grinned. "You fucking smirk," he pointed out. "Only cats smirk."
"Your logic is… fucked, man." Eliot shook his head, eyelids drooping.
"I'm right though." Wolverine chuckled.
"I don't know. I don't know what's in me," Eliot confided, the fog of sleep and pain killers taking all the danger out of the conversation. "I just know that sometimes it takes over and it's like I can't process anything beyond eat and sleep and fuck."
"Sounds pretty good to me." he replied.
"Not in the middle of L.A." Eliot replied dryly, eyes mostly shut. "Not when I don't care who I fuck."
A dirty grin crept over Wolverine's face, but he didn't say anything else. "Get some more sleep," he said, and patted Eliot's chest gently.